Edward has to put his hands over Carlisle's mouth.

He can't define why, only that the panicked light in Carlisle's face and his eyes in digging into him harder and faster than the words -- and the words are doing a good enough job already of battering at things best left on closed doors and unspoken acknowledgments.

"Stop."

Beat.

"You aren't making sense."

Or he was making too much of it.

And he wasn't sure he wanted more of it.