Summary: Carlisle reunites with Edward after Renesmee's birth. Missing moment from chapter 19 of "Breaking Dawn." Short and sweet father and son scene. Reviews are encouraged!
Now We Wait
The Mercedes was barely in park before Carlisle and Esme leapt out of it. They sprinted past Alice, who held the front door open, expecting them, and into the living room where Jacob sat on the blood-stained couch. Tiny limbs were stretching out of a bundle of blankets in his arms. Esme gasped and stopped, but Carlisle kept running. He found Emmett outside the library door.
"He growls whenever I try to go in," Emmett said. He looked helpless. He kept fisting his hands, eager for something tangible to take his anxiousness out on. "He won't speak to any of us, not even Alice."
Carlisle swallowed the sting in his throat. There was so much blood on the other side of the door. "What does she see?"
Emmett shrugged. "Nothing. Nothing bad, nothing good, nothing."
They stood in the hall for a minute, both men listening to a fluttering heartbeat nearby. Finally Carlisle placed a palm on Emmett's shoulder. "I'll try to get through to him. Put the Mercedes in the garage for me, will you? The blood is in the trunk."
Emmett nodded and called for Jasper as he went down the stairs. Carlisle raised his knuckles to the oak library door, but before he could knock, a meek voice said, "Come in, Carlisle."
Carlisle hadn't witnessed an equal scene in the ER for a long, blessed time. Every surface from the books to the ceiling was splattered with blood. Most of Bella's naked body was soaked in it, and it pooled beneath her on the lipped operating table. The incision across her abdomen was sealed, but raw—the teeth marks matched the dozens of crescent-shaped bites along her skin. Edward was hunched over in a folding chair beside Bella's body. He faced away from Carlisle with an ear laying directly above her heart, one hand in her hair and the other gently massaging the skin above her bellybutton. Edward was covered in nearly as much blood as Bella. Softly, Carlisle shut the library door behind him, which shut out most of the light. He stood in the semi-darkness and tried to read the back of Edward's head.
"Her heart stopped beating before I got the venom in her," Edward whispered after several lengthy minutes. "It still keeps stopping once or twice an hour…Maybe I'm doing the compressions too hard…maybe too fast…"
"I'm so sorry I wasn't here," Carlisle blurted. He was surprised at the emotion in his voice. He knew that Edward could hear the apologies in his thoughts, the sincerity, but Carlisle wanted to announce it to the room. "I'm so sorry, son. I should've been here."
Edward lifted his pale fingers from Bella's stomach and waved them at Carlisle. "Couldn't be helped," he murmured. "Thank you for getting the blood…Renesmee goes through it pretty fast…"
"Renesmee," Carlisle repeated, trying out the name with his mouth.
"My daughter…" Edward whispered to himself. His hand tightened in Bella's hair. "Our daughter…"
Carlisle had a granddaughter.
Carlisle tiptoed forward, slowly, smoothly. He didn't make any sudden movements or noises. Working around Edward, Carlisle examined Bella: the color and texture of her skin, the uneven rhythm of her heart, the punctured organs and broken bones. He examined the entry points of each bite and the bruises around them. He smelled the morphine, and the venom. The transformation was only a few hours old…was Bella feeling the burn? Gently, Carlisle lifted one of her eyelids and ran a flashlight across the iris.
"Is there any chance?" Edward whispered, his voice heavy and barely audible even to vampire hearing. If Carlisle didn't know that Edward was quite undead, the doctor in him would've diagnosed him with a severe head cold.
"I think," said Carlisle. He willed more confidence into his voice and spoke again, "Really, son. You got the venom in, her heart is pumping…For the moment, this is the best we can expect. Now...we wait."
Suddenly Edward stood, his hands leaving Bella for probably the first time in hours when he pivoted to face Carlisle. He twitched. It was some combination of a shrug and a dry heave. His face scrunched, screwed. He seemed to be searching for words that didn't exist. He scratched at his cheek, pulled at his hair. And then Edward released a wet cry of grief, or terror, or desperation, Carlisle wasn't sure which. He lifted his arms, and then let them fall again, but Carlisle strode forward embraced him.
"Oh my son," Carlisle whispered into Edward's bronze hair as he held him. "It'll be all right, Edward, it'll be all right…"