A/n: Chapter 16!! Finished this between finals and moving out to my new apartment. Thank you to all my readers for sticking with me! In between chapters I hope you all were checking out the gallery for fanworks: xevv. deviantart. com. I was recently paid a generous comission for an artwork featuring Edward; so far that has been the only way I've profitted from this hobby. I was actually thinking; would people enjoy reading a graphic novel version of How We Quit the Forest? Something along the lines of David Mack's Kabuki series (without all the blatant plagarism; TT Why David whyyyy??) with detailed and artistic layouts and such? It was either that, or maybe something like that but augmented with photostories (I'm currently in the process of collecting ball-jointed-doll versions of my characters)...probably not the entire story, but maybe a select few scenes could be photographed. If you thought your author's fandom couldn't get any crazier, last halloween she won 2nd place costume award for her Edward Scissorhand's costume (she even beat out a man with actual costume peices from the movie, but apparently he wore the same thing every year and his costume annoyed everyone on the dancefloor since it was so unwieldy). If anyone wants pictures of my costume, you can PM me and I'll give you the links to them (hosted on my facebook account--prince, how can you be this much of a fangirl when you're in COLLEGE)

I hope you enjoy this chapter! Things are starting to get interesting I hope.

It would be late in the evening when Paula lowered Edward's body onto the operating table in the inventor's private laboratory. Melora slid Edward's feet off her shoulders, gasping for breath. They both estimated that the mechanical man contained about seven tea-kettles in his chest, along with the gardening shears attatched to his wrist. He had not stirred at all, not a sound nor a snip to be heard. The twin holes in Edward's head bothered Melora, and she could not bear to leave them in such a state. While Paula rested in a chair nearby, Melora bent over her companion and did her best to wipe away the ghastly wells of oil around his eye sockets.

"Aren't you afraid of doing more damage than repair?" Paula asked, wiping the sweat from her brow.

"Actually, yes." Melora said, her hands hovering over Edward's pale face. It looked like little more than a porcelain mask, the dark eyeholes burning into her and making her spine tingle. "I could fuck up in so many ways I don't even dare count them. I could effectively kill him. I could horribly handicap him in some way. He might hate me forever afterwards."

The two women were silent. Without another word, Melora dipped her bare fingers into the darkness of Edward's eyes. She met nothing but lukewarm oil until her fingertips slid over greased gears and--

Melora yelped suddenly and pulled her hand away.

"What is it?" Paula gripped the armrests.

She sighed, her breath shuddering. "It's ok. I think. I just….his parts are still moving in there. It was like putting my hand in the guts of a sewing machine while pumping the pedal."

"Oh god…" Paula felt a little sick. She already felt as though they were playing with a dead body; it was easy to forget that Edward wasn't filled entirely with blood and organs like everyone else. "Look, Mel, give me something to do. I can't just watch you stick your fingers in someone's eye sockets like you're fishing for marbles, especially now that you've found bits of him that are still chugging away."

"All right. See that book on Descartes on the table? It unlocked the revolving bookcase, so it must be important somehow, more than all the other books Vincent had on automata. See if you can figure out why." Melora said, carefully putting her fingers back in. Paula obeyed and began flipping through the small book.

The short blond was sure not to feel too deeply, not wanting to damage what could be Edward's equivalent of a brain. Searching, she was relieved to feel something smooth and round buried high above Edward's eye socket. As gently as she could, Melora curved her fingers around the stray eyeball and pulled it down to rest in its rightful place, repeating with the other eye. As she did so, she heard a sound like a cable retracting in its socket, and the eye clicked into its place. Wiping her hands, Melora sat down heavily in a nearby chair. Her hands were shaking.

"Well, I think I see something relevant, though it probably wasn't exactly what you were hoping for." Paula said. "From what I can gather, Descartes' whole point is that reason and scientific thought can yield an answer to any of man's questions. He's quite the little atheist. Man's destiny is to take God's place in the replication and perfection of nature. So he claimed that all living things could be reduced to basic mechanical functions."

"Yeah, Descartes is an asshole. Just because he can't prove that the soul exists doesn't mean we're all reduced to moving piles of meat." Melora quipped.

"Our genius inventor didn't seem to think so. I'm willing to bet that he took Descartes to heart and made this part of his philosophy his own when it came to his creations. It gave him permission to even dare to make something like Edward." Paula said, closing the book and slouching in her seat.

"It doesn't add up to me, somehow." Melora murmured. "Vincent couldn't bear the loss of his son…and Edward is so much more than a human shaped lettuce shredder. I know him. He's got the spark of human life in him, somehow. How could a philosophy stating that all things can be reduced to mechanical processes yield something as true to life as Edward?"

"You got me there. Maybe Vincent just believed it generally, like when it came to building machines over-all. But then maybe he had his own philosophy about the soul." Paula said. "How do you know all this stuff about Vincent's private life? Did you find his diary or something?"

"I just know. If Vincent kept a diary, I'm sure he would have kept it here…" Melora said. She had begun to think of the house as having a life of its own, and the visions it gave her had gradually lost their discredibility.

Melora focused her attention once more to the task at hand. "This would be so much easier if Edward could tell us where he's hurt. Before I even think about some way of fixing him, I should probably see if I can find the main injuries first. What do you think?"

"You're asking me for advice?" Paula raised her eyebrows. "I feel like we're way in over our heads as it is. Did you say you know when Edward was built?"

"My guess is sometime in the twenties, just before Vincent died. Why?"

"Ok, Melora, now think. What else did they have in the twenties?"

"Uh…" Melora frowned. "Skyscrapers? Radios…nylon stockings, dropped waists, climbing hemlines, Rudolph Valentino, second generation cars, prohibition, assembly lines and mass-produced goods like makeup and hair products, bobs, cloche hats, vibrators,…..why am I telling you this?"

"You could almost mistake it for today, if you chose to ignore some things. Like, cds, color television, and….?"

"…and?"

"…computers, Mel." Paula said. "By most standards, Edward shouldn't even exist without a computer inside of him somewhere. The best anyone could hope for in the twenties, as far as the average inventor goes, was a programmed robot with no A.I. or free will. Just another appliance with a human face attatched to it. There's no way Edward could tell you he loves you, learn how to read, or dance, or make up new things to do without some kind of really advanced computer system inside him."

Melora crossed her arms over her chest and resisted the urge to become cross. "Ok, so Edward defies temporal logic. But….they had very primitive calculators then. And they had….Tesla. Who Vincent knew about; I saw his name somewhere on that bookshelf. Somehow I think he must be important. Point is, we don't know how Edward works, but he does. Or he did."

"The point is," Paula stressed, "that fixing something when you have no idea how it works is not an M.O. that I would take to something like Edward. What if you fuck it up? Can you really imagine yourself living with that on your conscience?"

"OH my god, Paula. Ok. I see your point. So after I'm done probing him, I'll do everything I can to get some basic idea of how he works." Melora gritted her teeth. "If you're so curious, why don't you start flipping through that pile of books on the work table? I got zapped when I tried to touch them."

"You got 'zapped'?" Paula muttered.

Melora got up and focused on Edward's body stretched out on the operating table. One thing was obvious: there was a giant gaping hole in his upper right arm. It smelled strongly of oily blood, acrid like the inside of an old print lab. It would certainly need to be fixed. But surely Edward didn't pass out from a simple break? What was keeping him under?

"Maybe he needs to be restarted?" Melora asked aloud. Without thinking she touched the unconscious man's face, rubbing her thumb across his lips.

"Whatever the answer is, somehow I think you'll find it here." Paula said suddenly.

"What is it?" Melora eyed the large burgundy-leather bound book Paula held open in her hands.

"His diary."

August 1893

…it is a pity that Tesla isn't wealthy to begin with. Then he could do as he pleases as I do. Oh but he is so full of ideals, it's so trying at times. He cannot keep his aims for humanity a secret, he wants everybody to be content and fair-minded. I respect that in him, but his financeers do not appreciate his anti-capitalist views. Had he put on hold his fantasy of free power for the masses, he would have been the first billionaire employed by Westinghouse. Such a pity. I really do feel as though he is my only friend left in this world, though he has many of his own. I do not care for parties and conventions. I never leave this house now and I'm afraid I have fallen out of touch with the rest of the world; it is very good then that Tesla writes to me, for otherwise I would truly notice how empty this house is.

November 1893

…Tesla has agreed to help me then. I confess I am surprised; why should he help indulge an old man's follies when he could be working on his unified field theory? I think it must be because I am the last person who does not ridicule his efforts for being follies of his own. I believe him when he says he will create wireless technology. If he does not, then I fear all hope is lost for my poor Edward…

January 1894

…Today I tested the base frame for mobility problems, using the generator of course. It fell over several times; it was a nightmare to make the proper adjustments to the internal gyroscopes. The balance will improve in the conciousness phase of progress, but I want to make things as comfortable for Edward as possible for when he is finally "born". The process is much like cooking; so much planning must go into the simple effort of timing. What shall I concentrate on, fine motor skills? Tissue generation? Logic gates? All must be mastered, all must be swiftly executed at the correct time in the correct sequence…

May 1895

…The question of internal organs versus a surface membrane has finally been solved, I believe. For months now I have committed mistake after mistake, blunder after blunder, in trying to create one without the other. How I envy the ease with which a woman creates another human being! Then it struck me--I would have to build a womb for Edward to come together in. Nothing less will do. So I created a sort of vat where Edward could rest while his organs and tissues came together. It has been one of the most difficult stages yet--almost every organ required a special machine built to make it. Muscles had to be woven and braided into the frame centimeter by centimeter. Everything is made with the same material: spun silk of the best quality, reinforced with the finest platinum ore. What results is a flexible and very durable material that is soft to the touch. It is permeable, just like skin. Next comes an infusion of electrolyte fluid. Here again I experienced failure after failure. It was only a brilliant accident that led to a solution: amber. It is a natural conductor for electricity, and without it Edward would never see completion. The electrolyte fluid is then pumped to the muscles, while synthetic hemoglobin courses through the body's channels and later to the surface membrane. The surface membrane, which serves as Edward's skin, retains a small amount of the synthetic blood in the nose, cheeks, ears and chin. The effect was ghastly until I altered the synthetic blood to spread itself more or less evenly. Finally I created a casing for each body part in resin which housed the organs and base frame. The surface membrane added shaping and elasticity atop the casing, and was wrapped and woven about one hundred and thirty seven times at the thinnest point…

Melora paused. She looked at the body on the table, daring herself to imagine Edward as a jointed doll wrapped in electrolyte logged silk. Strangely, the thought did not chill her. Melora stroked her unconscious companion's cheek lightly, wondering at the miracle of his construction.

Flipping through the rest of the diary, Melora skimmed the pages for clues as to how to restart him.

"I keep reading about this wireless grid in the later parts; what does that sound like to you?" Melora turned to Paula.

"Wireless? Like using antennas?" Paula was sifting through the loose papers atop the inventor's desk.

"I guess. It seems like Edward needs it in order to function. And electrolyte fluid."

"Is that what's been leaking out of him? If it is, he probably needs more." Paula said.

"Right. Electrolyte fluid. Which looks like oily blood. I guess I'll have to find his notes for that; all I can get from his diary is that in involved amber somehow." Melora frowned.

"Ok, well, I do have work tomorrow morning, so I'm going to get some sleep. I'll try to help you when I can," said Paula, "tell me if you figure it out."

"What? Um, ok…I guess I'll see you tomorrow then." Melora had not realized how late it was, but part of her felt a little abandoned as Paula left the workshop yawning. She had been so wrapped up in what she had been doing that she didn't notice Paula's fatigue.

Melora worked very late into the night. Most of it consisted of her reading in a grotty armchair, fighting to stay awake, and occaisionaly lifting a piece of equipment and then setting it down. Sometimes she would wander over to the table where Edward lay so silent and still and imagine all the things she would say to him if he were awake. The glittering machine parts anchored to the ceiling, their cables hanging down in ropy loops and coils, became the night sky for her. As the night wore on and turned into day, then one day turned into days, then days turned into a week, Melora felt herself slipping down a steep slope of defeat. She would have slept in the workshop had Paula not insisted that she return to her upstairs bedroom. Melora's dreams returned her to the operating table where she worked tirelessly still until waking , upon which she would realize the futility of the night's work and fight back bitter tears.

Paula was willing to help, but only as far as physical labor went. She had long reached the bottom of the slope, and having lived a life where success came only in brief respites from long heavy periods of disappointment, she was not ready to encourage what she believed to be hopeless fantasies in her delusional roommate. The day she glimpsed Edward's animated form threatening her with its razor bladed appendages grew dimmer and dimmer in her memory, replaced by the unmoving doll he'd since become. This pessimism did nothing to cheer Melora, however silent it was. The deceased inventor had a brilliant mind, but it was hardly organized. Day and night Melora sifted through notes on subjects ranging from stage illusion to art to entymology, and occaisionally would happen upon a packet of papers even remotely connected to Edward's construction. Vincent seemed to make no difference between them, somehow they were all connected. Eventually, in an allergic fit of organization, Melora took to sorting everything into piles. At first she felt as though she was tampering with something sacred, in some deep urge to keep the laboratory in its original state, but it wasn't long before an equally strong utilitarian tendency surfaced and Melora remembered that there was no sense in trying to preserve uselessness in a place like a workshop, or else nothing would ever get done. So, entymology and anything else with a diagram of an insect went into one pile, and anything with cross-hatching excercises or nature studies went into another.

The stage illusion notes were trickier. Some were definetly related to Edward's construction. It wasn't long before Melora saw why. Both the magician and the inventor were concerned with fitting a large amount of moving parts into a small space, and disguising the inner movements as much as possible from the surface. Melora found cross sections of what might have been 

Edward's chest on yellowed paper, revealing an enormous array of wires, gears, pistons, tubing, and what could only have been organ casings. Yet in all the notes she found, Melora saw only blank space where Edward's heart would have been, and there was no clue as to what lay inside Edward's head. This confused Melora, she would have thought that of all the parts most important to creating a man, surely those two would have volumes written on them. But then perhaps it was this importance that warranted their utmost secrecy? Could Vincent have been hiding something, and if so, from who?

The first real breakthrough came one day by accident. Melora closed the diary for the hundredth time, sighing in frustration, and backed up to take a long look at Edward once more. As she backed up, Melora felt herself gently collide with one of the ancient machines lining the far wall. She would have thought nothing of it had her ears not picked up a faint crank of motors and whine of a turbine starting up.

Melora froze. Impossible. Nothing in here could still be working. She had told Paula that something might still be operational, but even then Melora had only believed it to be true with the help of extensive refurbishing. How could a gentle tap of Melora's rear end activate such a relic?

Yet there it was, the unmistakeable red glow of an electric light, like the eyes of a beast encased in armor.

"….HOW." Melora couldn't help but ask aloud. She was met with silence.

Examining the device, which stood like a complex loom, Melora found no ports or electric sockets of any kind. It was as if it ran on its own power, independent of an outside generator. Much like Edward. Melora thought to herself. A flick of a switch set the loom into action: its racks dipped and swiveled, and several needles shuttled through them. Something was being woven; Melora could see that right away. It was white and almost translucent. Twenty minutes passed and the loom hissed to a halt, and all the racks righted themselves to present Melora with the finished product: a tightly woven bandage that was as soft as….

"Silk," Melora whispered, ghosting her hands across it. The bandage felt slightly sticky to the touch. She was looking at the very fabric of her companion's skin, stretched on the loom and awaiting a cast to be molded to. Melora shivered.

Immediately Melora had it in mind to explore the other machines in greater detail. There were several stationed throughout the workshop; all of them must have played a role in Edward's creation. The notes she could find on them were scattered throughout Vincent's things, leaving Melora frustrated and fighting the urge to get angry. Save your anger for the suburbanites. Anger will slow you down and tire you out fast here.

Melora decided to try the anteroom. Up until then she had spent little time in it. The great iron basins gave her an uneasy feeling. However, the potential for a new development urged her to ignore her fears, and she once again pushed open the heavy wooden door.

Do this for Edward. Do it for him. If you can just do this, you will be happy. He will be happy. Bring him back to life, and he'll never leave your side. Things will be as they were.

The basins were more complex than Melora had originally thought. They were massive, but an arrangement of swivels and a surrounding frame revealed that with great effort they could be rotated into almost any position. There were switches hinting that the process could be completed electronically, but Melora couldn't bring herself to find out. She couldn't understand why the vats terrified her so much; there was something extremely ominous about them. They were so big, and they were filled with something--she could hear it sloshing around as she tilted one downwards.

Lining the wall most hidden in shadow was a machine that looked vaguely like an overgrown coffee maker. It was bolted atop a rough-hewn painted cabinet, which revealed gallon jugs and other miscellaneous supplies that Melora promised herself she would go through in more detail later. For now she would examine this smaller machine and try to deduce its purpose.

A large glass vial was immediately obvious. It was imbedded in the guts of the machine, but it was placed in the center. There was a tiny bit of liquid in the bottom; why it had not dried up in a century of disuse was anyone's guess. After a few unsuccessful attempts at starting the machine, Melora pressed the button immediately above the vial and suddenly it came to life with red lights.

Crickacrickacrickacrickacrickacrick--

Melora scampered back across the room as the roof lowered, opened, and three spindly arms descended to jab their prongs into the receiving ports on the machine's column-like head. Immediately pistons began firing, the arms pumping up and down while cables running their length undulated. The noise was almost unbearable, after so many days of silence. Melora made ready to bolt incase the situation grew too much out of her control; she would drag Edward as far as she had to by herself if it meant protecting him from another cave in or some sort of hideous industrial accident.

It would be another twenty minutes before the pistons stopped firing and the tripod retracted into the ceiling. Shaking slightly, Melora made her way back to the once more innocent looking coffee-machine.

"I need a sign for this room that says 'Scary Machines Only.'" Melora muttered, peering deeper into the guts of the device. Even though she knew she shouldn't have been surprised, Melora couldn't keep herself from feeling a current of shock go through her when she realized the vial was filled with a dark fluid. A simple latch mechanism released the vial into Melora's hands; upon sniffing the contents, her heart lifted.

How had Melora found herself in this position?

She had briefly considered eating lunch before continuing her work, but her impatience and need for results had convinced her against it.

Should anyone dare interrupt her work, she would blame hunger and faintness for her compromising situation.

That wouldn't come to pass, however. Melora ensured it with the bolt that added extra security to the revolving bookcase.

Melora felt a bit ridiculous. Why should she feel embarrassed? Surely Edward would not have minded.

Surely not, surely not……

Melora was grateful she had worn overalls that day. She briefly imagined the feel of leather belts and iron buckles pressing into the bare flesh of her thighs beneath a skirt; even she was surprised how fast the heat spread across her face and down her neck.

She had originally wanted to do this job on her feet, but she realized she would need to abandon the cane in order to work with both hands. Standing without the cane was not something she was prepared to endure for more than a few minutes, and so a different method was needed in order to continue her work. The table was too high to use a chair, so Melora firmly locked the bookcase behind her and climbed atop her comatose companion.

How….intimate this contact proved to be. Edward's frame could support Melora's full weight; indeed he was much stronger and more solid than he seemed at first glance. From above his face was a beautiful porcelain mask, scars and all. He looked only to be peacefully asleep. His hips filled the space between Melora's thighs in a way they never had before--in all the times she could remember falling asleep next to him, had they really ever come this close? Had their affection for each other really been so platonic and cerebral?

But that was what Melora had needed then. Even the possibility of sex had been too scary for her. It still was. Edward was safe, somehow she knew. He wasn't going to be able to "perform" like other men could. Did that mean she loved him any less? No.

But here, behind a locked door, with no one looking, Melora was free to explore feelings she had not acknowledged in herself since the day she had set foot in suburbia. And before that, everything was a white haze. Now she hovered over her companion like a lover. She became aware of their bodies, the space between them, the intimacy of the contact. Her breasts were clothed in a ribbed undershirt and restrained by denim straps and buckles; they swayed above Edward with her every breath.

Was it possible for Edward to be a sexual person? This is what Melora wondered as her shaking hands found what she guessed was the best place to start--the garter slung over one shoulder. She loosened the delicate strap out of its buckle and pulled it free.

How could Edward not have some sort of physical desire? Regardless of his artificial nature, he could feel. He possessed all his senses. And he was most definetly not genderless--he was distinctly male, apart from whatever equipment society required for this to be true. And he seemed to show a preference for female companionship, denoting a sexual preference…? Yet Melora realized that there had been very little noticeable sexual tension between them--they had been, up until this point, more like very close friends, even siblings. Had there been any such thing between he and Kim, that suburbanite who had won his love and returned it only too late so many years ago? Did Edward suffer for the physical distance between them?

Down to the row of larger belt buckles encircling what would have been his ribcage. These did not want to yield beneath her fingers at first, and Melora had to clench her teeth and knees and pull as hard as she could to undo each fastening. As the belts fell to the side they exposed soft crinkled leather beneath, which again parted…..

"Oh." Melora couldn't suppress a breathy exclamation. The white skin underneath was like the boiled surface of an egg. First her hand touched it. It was like a thousand soft things she could recall: the scalp of a newborn infant, the inside of a woman's wrist, the softness of an unpeirced earlobe. And it was molded to look like a chest, even having a tinge of pink at the nipples like any normal man. But it seemed so very very thin. Pressing down with her fingers, Melora could feel the cast resin just below the surface. Despite some attention to detail, the torso had obviously not been intended to mimic life. Rather it was only a pale imitation, a permanent substitute for something that should have come later in Edward's designs but only too late.

The biggest proof of this lay in the patches of ruptured skin due to blunt trauma; Melora guessed a beam may have struck her companion in the cave-in. Where the skin ruptured, it was frayed and dry, returning to the normal texture of silk. Something was keeping the healthy skin soft and moisturized.

In the center of Edward's chest was a man made orfice, like a valve. In Melora's research, the inventor had mentioned something about ports in Edward's body that allowed him to supply the automaton with the complex electrolyte fluid. It would make sense, then, that one of the ports should be close to Edward's heart.

Would Edward feel it if I touched him here? Melora rubbed her fingers back and forth along the last bit of skin disappearing under the leather belt girding his waist. How would he react? Would it feel good? Would it hurt? If it felt good, would he let me keep at it? Would I embarrass him? Or would he want me to touch him here? Melora imagined Edward's eyes pleading with her to continue, and suddenly she felt very strange.

The bottle of electrolyte fluid had a catheter on the tip, and this Melora inserted into the valve, praying she was not doing something stupid. Pouring the fluid down into the opening, Melora waited for any reaction.

"Edward?"

Closed eyelids fluttered. Melora's heartbeat shot up to roar in her ears.

Then the black fluid beaded between his lips, welled up, and then slid down the side of his mouth to pool on the table. Everything was still.

Melora did not reenter the workshop for a week.

Please tell me what you think!