He pulls away from Carlisle's shoulder, from hiding from something so large there would be no hiding from it. Away enough that then his chest isn't touching, but without taking any steps away. It's. There can't be.

This could be worse. He makes himself look at that face. Same face. Heaven. Hell. It's wrong. He's already said it. I can manage. He'll take what he can get. He knows how it broke everything. Last time.

When he didn't know even himself. When Carlisle was...

(I don't want to wait another ten years to see you.

I promise it won't ever be like that again.)

It's almost desperate: "Don't make me promise...anything."


He doesn't....

He can't.

Can.