Author's Note 1: This is a moment between a grandfather and his grandaughter. There is no mention of imprinting or her relationship with Jacob. I just wanted a nice familial moment.

Warning: Contains MILD medical/birth references, but nothing too gory.

Every child born into the world is a new thought of God, an ever fresh and radiant possibility. ~Kate Douglas Wiggin~

The leaves whipped against my face and branches snapped under my feet as I raced through the brush and ground cover toward Forks. The sun was near the highest point in the sky behind a thin layer of clouds.

I never should have left them alone.

My attention was divided. I was trying to monitor Esme's progress several yards behind me, keep an ear out for Sam's pack, and the focus of my consideration was devoted to my new daughter-in-law who had just birthed her only child and lay dying, about to be reborn.

I could imagine the agony my son was going through now, watching his only love writhe in pain, sweating, screaming, and begging for death. I remember all too clearly the overwhelming guilt. Wanting something you shouldn't have, and the wracking sobs that never come. And I remember the pain of transformation—the fever wiping out the deep recesses of human memory, the fire creeping from every direction, curling, swirling throughout your limbs, your lungs, before finally consuming your heart, and the traitorous, tainted blood laced with venom choking your very life away. Oh, I remember.

I had no idea what I would find when I got to the house. When Alice called and told me to return home with all due haste, I imagined the worst. I'd seen what the fetus had done to Bella's body—the broken shards of bone, the clawed tissue, the blackened blossoms on her skin. I knew the legends of mothers not surviving the birth process, and I had left my son to make the terrible choice whether his wife died, or his child. Such a fool!

I had seen how the darkness had closed in on him when he made the choice to leave Bella last year, and it had almost ruined him. It had almost broken us all. The young man I knew was gone, leaving the shell of some gruesome, pained creature in his wake. My son might not believe in souls, but his spirit shone brightly under the influence of Bella. He was incandescent and reflecting her brightness. I knew if something happened to Bella there would be no happy ending this time.

I never should have left them alone.

Edward was capable. So capable. I had so much more faith in him than he had in himself. But he had a level of emotional investment I did not. Two turns in medical school and countless episodes helping me over the years gave him all the knowledge he would need, even without the practice. But then, he wasn't working under the guise of healing, was he? Vampire nature had given him the tools he'd need—teeth and venom.

He didn't need me to save her. Though I would have no qualms about granting her everlasting life, Bella had made her choice; she wanted her mate's venom coursing through her veins, just as it should be. But that didn't mean Edward had experience changing someone. What if the bloodlust was overwhelming?

I shook the thoughts from my head. I shouldn't have left him alone to deal with this.

There were more complications than the transformation—there could be serious implications if the Volturi found out about Edward and Bella's child. We had no idea what this child would become. Would she be a bloodthirsty creature unable of being reasoned with? Would she have more human tendencies and present a problem for my newborn daughter-in-law? Had Esme and I been good examples in parenting our teenage vampire children? There were so many times I'd felt like a failure. Did any of us have the right knowledge to deal with a vampire-human hybrid?

I leaped over the river with a backward glance to ensure Esme was near, and dashed across the lawn toward the front of the house. The silence was beyond disconcerting; I expected to hear the screaming from several hundred yards out. Were my fears realized?

Seth Clearwater stood on the porch, a large sandwich in his hands. "Hey, Gramps, congratulations."

Congratuations? Did that mean…

Esme caught up with me as I threw open the front door, nearly taking it off its hinges. I had no idea what awaited me inside.

The smell of blood was overwhelming; it hung heavy in the air, chokingly thick like smoke. I closed my mouth, not breathing. Esme skidded to a halt behind me.

"Carlisle—I," she dropped her head shamefully. "I don't think I should go up yet."

I reached out to stroke her cheek. "It's all right, my dear."

I expected the children to greet us at the door, their cheerful chatter as everyone talked at once, excited and eager, over one another. I hoped for reassurance but was met with the calm, steady heartbeat and the gurgling stomach of the boy beside me. I turned and looked over my shoulder at Esme and Seth who were lingering on the porch. "Where is everyone?"

He held up a finger, asking for a moment as he chewed and swallowed a large bite. "Leah's on patrol, Jake… went to give Sam's pack some, uh, news. Rosalie and Emmett left for a quick hunt, and Alice and Jasper went shopping for baby supplies. Edward is upstairs with Bella and the bambino."

I continued to linger at the threshold, unable to force myself to cross over. I had been witness and catalyst to so many changes—my own painful transformation, the new awareness and understanding I had of the world around me and the beliefs I held. The choice to create another like me in the hope of companionship and camaraderie. The choice to take a mate in my beloved Esme. The decision to 'have a family' when I created Rose and Emmett, and then the adoption of Alice and Jasper in our clan, completing us as a family. Or so I'd thought. Of course, I had hoped we would expand our ranks for Edward when he found his own mate, but I had never imagined the natural creation of their own child. Yes, our existence would change again; from this day on we would never be the same. We hadn't been complete until now.

I handed Esme the insulated cooler containing the blood we'd traveled so far to get, and stepped inside. It was too quiet. I moved further inside the home my family had shared, every moment here a living memory committed forever in my mind: the day we moved in and the kids wrestled for room assignments, sitting around the dining room table having the worst fight we'd ever had, the day we voted to end the life of the girl upstairs.

A distant sound compelled me to stop. It wasn't one sound but two different, distinct sounds. Like humming, almost echoing like a melody. One was a syncopated bass sound, the other was more steady, more lively.

Heartbeats.

I exhaled with relief, my worst fears quelled for now. I'd heard that irregular rhythm several times—four to be exact—but the other was completely new to me. I let the sound draw me forward up the stairs, a pleasing tune I wanted to hear more closely. I paused outside the door to the library adjacent to my office, consumed by the cadenced beating inside. I tapped the hurried rhythm against my leg, giving myself over to its pace so as not to alert Edward to the thoughts and fears threatening to overcome my mind.

I pushed open the door with intent to breeze in but stopped, caught up in the emotional scene before me. Edward sat in a black leather office chair beside the makeshift operating table. His wife was stretched out, rigidly still and eerily pale, wrapped in a white sheet. Her hair was matted and her exposed arms were still smeared with blood and amniotic fluid. Her fluctuating heartbeat was louder now, and I couldn't help but smile. She was well on her way to achieving the goal she'd set out to accomplish little more than a year ago. Her expression bore no immediate signs of discomfort—no furrowed brow, grimace, or narrowed eyes. Maybe the morphine worked. Maybe the pain of transformation had been lessened.

Edward's face was hidden from me. He rested his head against his forearm on the edge of the table, his left hand gently grasped Bella's wrist. Cradled in his other arm, drawn close to his chest and swaddled in pink blankets, was his daughter.

I was moved. So moved at the sight. I had delivered babies before, and seen the bonding begin as I laid an infant in its mother's arms, but to watch my son embrace his own child—my throat felt tight and my eyes tingled with tears I could not shed. I longed to stand and witness the tenderness of the new attachment. Newborn babies were amazing, recognizing the voices that had spoken to them in the womb for months and quickly memorizing the individual smells of each parent. Conversely, I knew Edward had memorized the scent of his daughter the moment she tore her way into this world, nearly destroying his other beloved in the process.

Unable to contain my curiosity any longer, I made my presence known.

"Son."

He lifted his head slowly, wearily, as if he hadn't known I'd been spying. The baby's feet squirmed beneath the blankets.

His expression bore all the pain and agony Bella's did not. His eyes were black, and the purple rings beneath them were even more obvious than usual. "Carlisle, I—I don't know if I did it right. She hasn't cried or screamed or even flinched." His voice quivered with worry and terror at the thought of losing her.

I smiled reassuringly and inhaled. I could smell the venom in her blood as her heart pumped it through her body. "The process seems quite normal as far as these things go. I might even wager a guess that she's a little more advanced than most are at this stage. It appears as though your plan to use the syringe was successful." I watched as his thumb gently stroke the underside of her wrist. He was attempting to soothe her, but was taking her pulse as well, no doubt.

I remembered how it felt to watch someone I loved bear the burning pain of my interference, how it felt to wonder if she would resent the life I had chosen for her. "Edward," I began, hesitantly moving forward until I stood at his side. "I'm sorry I wasn't here. I wanted to be here for Bella. And for you." I rested my hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"I know."

I looked down at the sleeping child in his arms, not surprised to see her look many months old instead of merely hours. Her advanced growth rate had been a concern for the last few weeks, and it would require further study, but such practical thoughts seemed unimportant as I looked down at the angelic face.

"She's beautiful, Edward."

For the first time since I entered the room a figment of a smile ghosted across his lips. "Yes, she is. Meet your granddaughter, Renesmee."

I was no more related to this child than I was to Edward, and did not want to presume any relationship between us. I would love her as I loved each of my children and perhaps, I realized as I ached to hold her, I already did. She looked so like Edward.

He interrupted my thoughts. "You're my father in all the ways that matter, and so you'll be her grandfather in all the ways that matter. Who else is going to tell her our family history? And tell her what a horrible adolescent I was?" His lips twitched again, and I thought he might smile before his eyes darted back to Bella and he lifted her hand before pressing a kiss to it. "I need you, Carlisle. For the first time in a long time I'm not sure what I'm doing. I don't know if I have any instinct for this—for parenting. What if—what if Bella doesn't—"

His head dropped back to the table and he fisted his hair, threatening to pull it out. Renesmee stirred in his arms but did not wake.

I squeezed his shoulder in support once again. I had no doubt he and his wife would make wonderful parents; she had taught him patience, compassion, and understanding. He was a different man than the one he'd been two years ago. I hoped now was a moment when he was reading my mind. "Son, Bella is going to be just fine, and the two of you are going to make wonderful parents. It might not be quite as instinctual as our vampire nature, but the love for your children and the desire for their happiness guides you. I won't lie. It's difficult sometimes. But Renesmee is your natural daughter. Your bond and circumstances will be different than yours and mine. Or mine and Alice's."

Could I guide my son through this experience? Edward was nearly an adult by the time we came to be together; I didn't raise him, I simply guided him through his transition into vampirism. I had no experience with the terrible twos or a toddler testing my patience. I tried to be a consistent moral guide, but I could not fathom explaining our way of life to a child and asking her to keep our secret. Could a child understand the critical importance of keeping that secret when our very existence depended upon it? I could not afford to think of that now when Edward was nearby and distressed.

"Son, you have a lifetime to parent your daughter. Take some time with Bella. You should clean her up. The blood, even her own, will begin to smell appealing soon."

Edward swallowed and nodded in acquiescence before slowly rising to his feet, careful not to jostle the baby in his arms. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Will you take Renesmee?" He held his arms out expectantly, raising his eyebrows as he awaited my response.

"I—well—sure—yes," I stammered out, eagerly reaching forward to take the sleeping baby from Edward's arms. I'd delivered children, held friends' children, and comforted my own 'kids,' but something was wonderfully different when my son settled his daughter in my arms.

Her warmth seemed to radiate through the blanket, into my skin and straight to my heart. She wriggled, attempting to find a comfortable position, and a wide yawn revealed a mouthful of sharp teeth.

It might take a lifetime to discover the mysteries of this miracle child, I thought as I smoothed the curly bronze locks from her forehead.

Edward chuckled humorlessly. "You have no idea. I'll fill you in soon."

Perhaps with more caution than I had ever exercised, I slowly carried the precious bundle downstairs. Esme was waiting at the bottom step, her gold eyes glistening and a tentative smile on her beautiful face.

"Is Bella all right?"

"She will be." Esme pressed her soft hand to her chest in relief. "And this," I said quietly, full of pride, "this is your granddaughter, Renesmee."

"Oh, Carlisle, she's just beautiful. There's no other word to describe her." Esme reached out hesitantly and swept that same soft hand across the baby's forehead, smoothing the unruly bronze curls. The gesture sent a waft of cool air bearing the sweet scent of the baby; she smelled like a vampire.

We moved to the sofa and cuddled up close as the sun struggled to break through the clouds behind us. I placed the baby in my wife's arms, watching the positively joyful look on her face as she gazed down at Renesmee. Despite the warm moment, melancholy thoughts filled my head. Not for the first time I wondered it would be difficult for Esme to have a child in the house after losing her own so tragically. I had always known she would have been a wonderful mother, especially after seeing her with Edward, Rosalie, and Emmett. She was so encouraging, so warm, so patient, so understanding. She was a natural nurturing spirit, and would be, perhaps, a much better inspiration for Edward and Bella as they parented their newly born daughter.

I had almost a century to imagine the natural born children I would never have with this woman. There would never be first steps and skinned knees, no midnight feedings, no training-wheeled bicycles. There were many nights we held each other close and felt sorry for ourselves before remembering the good fortune we have received in our adopted children. They made our lives whole and fulfilling, and it was hard to feel pity when graced with Alice's smile, Jasper's charm, Emmett's sense of humor, Rosalie's beauty, and Edward's soulfulness. We had been blessed.

And continued to be blessed. All the stress of the last month seemed to vanish upon beholding this child; the wedding, worrying about Edward's impulses on their honeymoon, Bella's pregnancy, and the terrifying birth only last night. But now, this child was the fruit of all our hope that everything would turn out all right.

She was hours old, and I only met her moments ago, but I wanted to know everything about her. As Esme gently traced each knuckle of Renesmee's clenched little fists, I wondered what color eyes she had. Would her hair always have the vibrant reddish hue? Would she drink baby formula? Would she cry? I had fallen in love with this new life, and I shut out the serious, nagging, worries that had threatened to consume me. Would she continue to age rapidly? Would she be more vampire or human? What if the Volturi found out? I refused to consider the worst during a time of such joy.

The uniqueness of this child—her very extraordinary nature—was a miracle. Every day might hold a new discovery. I had no desire to abandon hope and faith now. We'd come too far.

"Bring her here," I whispered, rising from the couch to stand in front of the great wall of windows at the rear of the living room.

Esme narrowed her eyes even as she tried to contain a smirk. "Carlisle Cullen, what are you up to?"

She knew me too well. I was burning with curiosity. I had to unravel at least one of the secrets contained in my new granddaughter. "I just want to see," I offered innocently, unable to hold back the grin now.

The sunlight entered through the windows, refracting, angling sharply across the floor. Esme stood at the threshold of light and shadow. She stepped over the line, and Renesmee's eyelids twitched imperceptibly at the increase in brightness.

The light did not reflect off her skin as it did mine and Esme's, sparkling like tiny diamond-like facets; instead it shone with a luminous glow.

Her eyelids finally fluttered opened as she yawned again, revealing mahogany-brown eyes like Bella's. Renesmee was matchless, a perfect fusion of human and vampire.

I smiled down at her. "Simply amazing."

A/N 2: Thank you to moonlitwoods for the advice and beta. This fic was drastically improved by your suggestions.

This fic was written for the TwiCanonFodder challenge community here at I will link the comm in my profile.