Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

"Someday, Beauty Queen, you're going to get tired of just threatening me. I'm looking forward to that," Jacob Black said, all too aggressively for my approval. Their constant bickering was becoming quite taxing for the moment.

"Enough, Jacob," Bella ordered in a weary tone. Her face crumpled up into a cold glare.

"You want me to take off?" Jacob inquired, gesturing to the front door.

Bella turned into a puddle of radiating distress at the very notion of her best friend walking out. "No! Of course not." I hated seeing my wife muster up too much energy in her feeble state, but more so over Jacob. It was simple to figure out she needed him to be close right now, but I could tell this fact alone confused Bella as much as it did Jacob and I.

I assumed it was the indestructible relationship that bound Jacob to Bella—their love, I mused with a bitter taste in my mouth.

"You look tired," Bella told him, lowering her tone.

"Dead beat," he retorted.

Rosalie rolled her eyes, murmuring too softly for Bella to hear, "I'd like to beat you dead."

As much as Jacob would have love to think of a comeback, he didn't want to bother once he started to get comfortable in his chair—his bare foot coming into a precarious proximity to Rosalie. Soon enough, Bella came to her rescue by requesting more blood. My sister was only too ecstatic to get away from the mongrel.

Stupid, smelly, lousy mutt. I swear if they ever leave me in a room alone with me, I'll rip that lughead limb from disgusting limb. Rosalie thought to herself. If I had known better, I wouldn't have dared to think that things could get worse between Jacob and Rosalie.

Might as well take a nap, the shape-shifter mused, causing me to suppress a groan.

Oh, God. Chainsaws.

Jacob's snoring was without a doubt one of the most aggravating sounds I had ever encountered.

"Love," came a small voice.

Wait, what? This voice was unfamiliar to me, which either meant it was all in my head—highly unlikely for a vampire—or Bella had suddenly taken on a new tone.

"Did you say something?" I asked, hearing the confusion in my own voice as I looked at Bella.

"Me? I didn't say anything," Bella said, mirroring my puzzlement. Right, then. Surely my sanity was failing.

"Mom-ma, pretty! Pretty voice!" The onslaught of new thoughts were jumbled—like a newborn trying to say a coherent sentence—but clear as bell, or at least clear enough for me to want to continue reading them as I moved onto my knees and leaned over Bella. I needed to understand what was happening.

"What were you thinking about right now?"

"Just," Bella paused, observing my flabbergasted features, "Esme's island. And feathers." She blushed.

"Mom-ma. Momma!"

The angelic chiming rang through my mind, this time lingering. It was beautiful—like the sun rays peeking out from a gray cloud—so beautiful that I desired to listen to the strange sound again. I began to fit the pieces together in my head. How miraculous. . .Yet absolutely impossible.

"Say something else," I whispered; something in me began to transform. In an instant, my fear for Bella's life was overlapped with a new feeling—an inexplicable feeling. It—no—the baby had a mind, but what amazed me even more is that the baby could love.

"Like what? Edward, what's going on?" my wife queried, impatiently.

Before I knew what I was doing, my hands found the surface of Bella's mammoth stomach.

"The f-" I swallowed a lump in my throat. "It. . ." What nonsense was I spouting out this time? This living, breathing being was no merely an object of destruction; this was the love of Bella and I. "The baby likes the sound of your voice."

Bella titled her head, attempting to register this news. "Holy crow, you can hear him!"

A heartbeat quickened in surprise, causing it—erm. . .—the baby to kick out, and Bella cringed at the sharp pain. Softly and slowly, I positioned my hand to where the baby kicked her, and rubbed it.

"Sshh," I murmured, stroking my digits along the smooth skin of Bella's abdomen, and shocked myself. It was the same tone my father had adapted with me when I would scab my knees as a child. "You started it. . .him."

Bella's fawn brown eyes grew wide with a mother's glow. She ran her gently ran her fingernails along the side of her belly. "Sorry, baby," she apologized. "What's he thinking now?" Bella demanded enthusiastically, smiling while her hands continued to roam around her stomach.

"It. . .her or she, is. . ." I paused, listening for more. The thoughts were increasing in volume as if they were for a purpose—a message—and for a moment, I felt the baby's joy. "He's happy!"

Shame and guilt flooded through my inadequate heart. Bella had been right about this child all along, but I had been too blind to see it. Only now, I began to understand the life she was fighting for, and as if it were a pattern I should be used to by now, I was astonished by Bella's wisdom. This would not be the abomination I was fearful of, and this would not be a monster to vanquish from the face of the earth.

No, this was a harmless, innocent infant. But for all this time, I had been plotting against Bella up until now. I even brought Jacob into this chaos. I am so sorry.

Yet, I could not neglect the dueling warmth I felt inside my chest, waiting to rupture in sheer delight. This child shall be ours—Bella and I. Now. Now I shall assist Bella in any way possible as I should have done from the very beginning. I would no longer live in unnecessary fear of a monstrosity that did not exist. Bella's fight was now our fight, and our baby would be saved from the opposing world: Sam and his pack, and whomever else dared to bring danger to my family.

"Of course you're happy, pretty baby, of course you are," Bella crooned merrily, tearing up. "How could you not be, all safe and warm and loved? I love you so much, little EJ,"—I was not positive if it was the baby or I that questioned that title—"of course you're happy."

"What did you call him?" I queried; again, someone disagreed.

"I sort of named him. I didn't think you would want. . . well, you know," Bella blushed.

"EJ?" As in—?

"Your father's name was Edward, too," Bella stated.

"Yes it was. What. . ." I trailed off.

"Dad-dy. Dad-dy! Daddy!"

"Hmm."

"What?" Bella asked.

"He likes my voice, too," I replied, feeling a fraction of smugness about this.

Bella only smiled at me as though this fact was unbelievably obvious. "Of course he does. You have the most beautiful voice in the universe. Who wouldn't love it?"

Rosalie adorned a gloating smirk, leaning over the couch. "Do you have a backup plan? What if he's a she?"

For an invisible reason, the baby's thoughts seemed to perk up at this inquiry.

"I kicked a few things around," Bella began, unable to rip her eyes away from mine, "Playing with Renée and Esme. I was thinking. . .Ruh-nez-may."

"Ruhnezmay?" Rosalie put an index finger to her scarlet lips, testing out the name. . .Well, it's most certainly different.

"R-e-n-e-s-m-e-e. Too weird?"

"No," Rosalie answered reassuringly with a smile, "I like it. It's beautiful, and one of a kind, so that fits."

"Purdy name. Beautiful. Beautiful Renesmee! Yes, I love it. I love Momma and Daddy more, though! They have nice, soothing voices!"

"I still think he's an Edward," Bella commented.

"No, but I love ya anyway, Momma!"

"What? What's he thinking now?" Bella questioned as the baby's train of thought swirled around the glee upon hearing Bella's voice.

"He loves you. He absolutely adores you," I said, feeling my paternal instincts take flight. I basked in the warmth of my child's musings: I've never heard so much love from a single being before.

My head snapped to see Jacob hauled on his feet; his head filled with hatred, loss, and betrayal. He was desperate for a way out of this—an escape, rather. I was far from being the proper mood for dealing with his boyish negativity, and I would only be glad to help. Jacob Black would not ruin this moment for Bella and I.

"Ahh," I choked, my eyes flashing for the wooden drawer by the couch. Within a second, I had hauled a shiny pair of silver keys out of the drawer—the ones to the Aston Martin Vanquish. Damnation, I thought to myself as I flung the keys at Jacob. "Go, Jacob. Get away from here."

As the shape-shifter dashed out like a madman toward the garage, I heard a painful screech of a protest; although it had not been from Bella's lips like I had been anticipating, but from the baby's thoughts.

"No, Jake-ub. Jake-ub, not go! Come back!"

I turned my head slowly as the cries would not cease from the unborn child. There was something else I was missing here and Jacob. . . Jacob needed a real escape from the hatred he had born for this baby; it was beginning to consume him.

"Jacob. . ."