Taking Blame
Edward didn’t spend much time with them anymore, and though the whole family was careful not to think about it, everyone felt the loss.
Emmett was fairly certain it was his fault. He was the newest addition, after all, and he knew Edward had been disappointed in him after that last ... lapse in self-control. It had been Edward who’d pulled him off the girl, while Carlisle and Esme held Rosalie back, keeping her eyes turned away. Innocent Rosalie who’d never tasted blood. He’d felt a world away from her in those instants, as Edward snarled at him over the dead body. They’d fought, and Emmett had fought hard, but in the end Edward was just too quick. Emmett was never quite able to get his hands on him, and as the scent of blood faded, his fury at being interrupted had cooled as well.
Edward had maintained a crouch over the girl until Emmett closed his eyes against the sight of her, lying broken on the concrete. He remembered the cliché thought that had gone through his head. What have I done? He’d buried his face in his hands for only an instant, during which time Edward had taken the body out of sight, and Rosalie had been released, and launched herself toward him. He caught her, of course, because he couldn’t do otherwise, but he hadn’t felt very worthy of her consolation right then.
None of the others - not Esme or Carlisle or Edward - had ventured to say anything further to him about it. But it seemed to Emmett that it wasn’t long after that that Edward started to drift away from the family. Many times he considered going to him to apologize. He thought about it almost constantly for weeks on end before it occurred to him that Edward already knew how sorry he was - better than any of the others could. He then started to wonder if it was BECAUSE he was always thinking about it that Edward felt driven to spend so much time away. He couldn’t know unless he asked, but he didn’t think he’d ever work up the nerve to ask.
Rosalie was fairly certain it was her fault. She’d been as subtle as she knew how to be, in the time before she’d found Emmett, but no amount of subtlety could prevent her from seeming forward to a mind reader. She was sure he despised her, but didn’t know what to do about it. Part of her felt like it was not her problem to worry about what Edward thought of her, and she clung to that part on the rare occasions when he was in the house. Often, though, when he’d been gone for days at a time with no explanation, she found herself wondering what it was about her that he’d found so patently unlovable.
She had tried to please him. She’d tried reading books she knew he liked, so they’d have things to talk about, and she’d even sat through several hours of him teaching her how to read music. But she hadn’t really enjoyed those books, and she’d never gotten to be very good at music, though of course, she had played as a human, as every girl of her class had done.
He had been fairly disinterested in her, and so she hadn’t thought twice about saving Emmett. Looking back, she wondered if it was wrong of her to give up on Edward’s affections so easily. Would he have loved her in another ten years? Another twenty, maybe, if she hadn’t brought Emmett into the family? Had it hurt him, somehow, that she wasn’t more patient? She didn’t know. She would never know unless she asked. And though it made her angry not to know, she would never put aside her pride to ask.
Esme was fairly certain it was her fault. Edward had been distant for as long as she had known him, but she got the impression that before his ‘rebellious years,’ that hadn’t been the case. She always got the impression that he’d been far closer to Carlisle, before she had jumped off of that cliff and into the family he’d left behind.
She wondered, sometimes, if he resented her taking up Carlisle’s time so often, but there was never any indication on his part that that was the case. Edward had been flawlessly polite to her since the very beginning, and sometimes she caught him gazing at her with a slight smile on his face, as if just being in the same room with her gave him contentment. More often, though, his face was frighteningly blank of emotion, as if he’d put on a mask that wasn’t his own. She tried not to dwell on it, but it was difficult. And every time he caught her wondering, he frowned slightly and wandered away.
She worried about him. Of the four of them Carlisle had brought into this life, he was the most volatile, though he hid it the best. And he was the most prone to temptation, and the hardest on himself when he gave in to it. She knew that he knew the same stories she did of Carlisle’s early attempts to rid the world of the monstrosity he’d seen himself to be in the beginning, and it frightened her when Edward was depressed. She knew depression, and she knew Edward. If any vampire could find a way to kill himself, it would be Edward. She wanted desperately to know if he was all right. If there was anything she could do to make it easier for him to be with the family - to prevent him from ever considering the route both she and Carlisle had attempted and failed to follow to it’s logical conclusion. But she knew she’d never dare to offend him by asking.
Carlisle was fairly certain it was his fault. These last few years, he had come to view Emmett and Rosalie as his children, and always he had viewed Esme as his wife, before she’d even agreed, in fact. But Edward was different. Edward had been the first, and the bond between them was strong, but damaged. It had been Edward who damaged it - leaving abruptly because he felt it unfair to deny himself the prey his body demanded. But Carlisle had done his share. He was sure Edward felt as though he’d just been trying to replace him when he saved Esme. He couldn’t let himself think on that topic, though. It wasn’t the sort of conversation one should have without asking the other person if they WANTED to participate. And he knew without asking that Edward didn’t want to discuss it. He knew Edward very well.
He knew how Edward had struggled to reconcile his body’s thirst with his conscience - attacking only the vilest, most evil cretins he could find on the streets of Chicago. And yes, he knew Edward had been in Chicago. Though the family had moved on, Edward had returned there, as if to somehow reclaim his humanity even as he appeased the monster he had become. But Carlisle was careful never to think on these things either.
It was the guilt that he couldn’t seem to control. That was what he suspected was driving Edward out of the house for longer and longer periods of time. For centuries he’d been proud of his self-control. He had tasted human blood only to save his family. He had never killed, unless he counted the rare occasions when he’d failed to save a patient. A deep part of his soul counted those occasions, but the rest of him had always reveled in his own relative purity. That is, right up until Edward left him. That’s when the guilt set in. He’d thought at first that it would consume him. For weeks, he didn’t leave his room. Not to work, nor to hunt. Whatever Edward did - every life he took - it was all Carlisle’s fault. His struggle to keep his perspective on the value of human life had been for nothing because he’d failed to instill that same perspective in Edward.
Over the decades since Edward’s return, Carlisle’s guilt had lessened. It was only on rare occasions, like Emmett’s recent mistake, that it came back to him full-force, and he lamented not knowing the extent of the damage he had caused in the world. How many were dead because of Carlisle’s choices, because of Carlisle’s family, because of Edward? He could never know unless he asked. And he would never risk causing Edward more pain by asking.
Part 2
Emmett was fairly certain it was his fault. He was the newest addition, after all, and he knew Edward had been disappointed in him after that last ... lapse in self-control. It had been Edward who’d pulled him off the girl, while Carlisle and Esme held Rosalie back, keeping her eyes turned away. Innocent Rosalie who’d never tasted blood. He’d felt a world away from her in those instants, as Edward snarled at him over the dead body. They’d fought, and Emmett had fought hard, but in the end Edward was just too quick. Emmett was never quite able to get his hands on him, and as the scent of blood faded, his fury at being interrupted had cooled as well.
Edward had maintained a crouch over the girl until Emmett closed his eyes against the sight of her, lying broken on the concrete. He remembered the cliché thought that had gone through his head. What have I done? He’d buried his face in his hands for only an instant, during which time Edward had taken the body out of sight, and Rosalie had been released, and launched herself toward him. He caught her, of course, because he couldn’t do otherwise, but he hadn’t felt very worthy of her consolation right then.
None of the others - not Esme or Carlisle or Edward - had ventured to say anything further to him about it. But it seemed to Emmett that it wasn’t long after that that Edward started to drift away from the family. Many times he considered going to him to apologize. He thought about it almost constantly for weeks on end before it occurred to him that Edward already knew how sorry he was - better than any of the others could. He then started to wonder if it was BECAUSE he was always thinking about it that Edward felt driven to spend so much time away. He couldn’t know unless he asked, but he didn’t think he’d ever work up the nerve to ask.
Rosalie was fairly certain it was her fault. She’d been as subtle as she knew how to be, in the time before she’d found Emmett, but no amount of subtlety could prevent her from seeming forward to a mind reader. She was sure he despised her, but didn’t know what to do about it. Part of her felt like it was not her problem to worry about what Edward thought of her, and she clung to that part on the rare occasions when he was in the house. Often, though, when he’d been gone for days at a time with no explanation, she found herself wondering what it was about her that he’d found so patently unlovable.
She had tried to please him. She’d tried reading books she knew he liked, so they’d have things to talk about, and she’d even sat through several hours of him teaching her how to read music. But she hadn’t really enjoyed those books, and she’d never gotten to be very good at music, though of course, she had played as a human, as every girl of her class had done.
He had been fairly disinterested in her, and so she hadn’t thought twice about saving Emmett. Looking back, she wondered if it was wrong of her to give up on Edward’s affections so easily. Would he have loved her in another ten years? Another twenty, maybe, if she hadn’t brought Emmett into the family? Had it hurt him, somehow, that she wasn’t more patient? She didn’t know. She would never know unless she asked. And though it made her angry not to know, she would never put aside her pride to ask.
Esme was fairly certain it was her fault. Edward had been distant for as long as she had known him, but she got the impression that before his ‘rebellious years,’ that hadn’t been the case. She always got the impression that he’d been far closer to Carlisle, before she had jumped off of that cliff and into the family he’d left behind.
She wondered, sometimes, if he resented her taking up Carlisle’s time so often, but there was never any indication on his part that that was the case. Edward had been flawlessly polite to her since the very beginning, and sometimes she caught him gazing at her with a slight smile on his face, as if just being in the same room with her gave him contentment. More often, though, his face was frighteningly blank of emotion, as if he’d put on a mask that wasn’t his own. She tried not to dwell on it, but it was difficult. And every time he caught her wondering, he frowned slightly and wandered away.
She worried about him. Of the four of them Carlisle had brought into this life, he was the most volatile, though he hid it the best. And he was the most prone to temptation, and the hardest on himself when he gave in to it. She knew that he knew the same stories she did of Carlisle’s early attempts to rid the world of the monstrosity he’d seen himself to be in the beginning, and it frightened her when Edward was depressed. She knew depression, and she knew Edward. If any vampire could find a way to kill himself, it would be Edward. She wanted desperately to know if he was all right. If there was anything she could do to make it easier for him to be with the family - to prevent him from ever considering the route both she and Carlisle had attempted and failed to follow to it’s logical conclusion. But she knew she’d never dare to offend him by asking.
Carlisle was fairly certain it was his fault. These last few years, he had come to view Emmett and Rosalie as his children, and always he had viewed Esme as his wife, before she’d even agreed, in fact. But Edward was different. Edward had been the first, and the bond between them was strong, but damaged. It had been Edward who damaged it - leaving abruptly because he felt it unfair to deny himself the prey his body demanded. But Carlisle had done his share. He was sure Edward felt as though he’d just been trying to replace him when he saved Esme. He couldn’t let himself think on that topic, though. It wasn’t the sort of conversation one should have without asking the other person if they WANTED to participate. And he knew without asking that Edward didn’t want to discuss it. He knew Edward very well.
He knew how Edward had struggled to reconcile his body’s thirst with his conscience - attacking only the vilest, most evil cretins he could find on the streets of Chicago. And yes, he knew Edward had been in Chicago. Though the family had moved on, Edward had returned there, as if to somehow reclaim his humanity even as he appeased the monster he had become. But Carlisle was careful never to think on these things either.
It was the guilt that he couldn’t seem to control. That was what he suspected was driving Edward out of the house for longer and longer periods of time. For centuries he’d been proud of his self-control. He had tasted human blood only to save his family. He had never killed, unless he counted the rare occasions when he’d failed to save a patient. A deep part of his soul counted those occasions, but the rest of him had always reveled in his own relative purity. That is, right up until Edward left him. That’s when the guilt set in. He’d thought at first that it would consume him. For weeks, he didn’t leave his room. Not to work, nor to hunt. Whatever Edward did - every life he took - it was all Carlisle’s fault. His struggle to keep his perspective on the value of human life had been for nothing because he’d failed to instill that same perspective in Edward.
Over the decades since Edward’s return, Carlisle’s guilt had lessened. It was only on rare occasions, like Emmett’s recent mistake, that it came back to him full-force, and he lamented not knowing the extent of the damage he had caused in the world. How many were dead because of Carlisle’s choices, because of Carlisle’s family, because of Edward? He could never know unless he asked. And he would never risk causing Edward more pain by asking.
Part 2