With all the parallels between today's world and the flu of 1918, it was hard not to think about Carlisle and Edward, and how my favorite fictional characters might have responded to another pandemic. So I knew I had to write it (even if I am a little rusty).

I hope everyone is safe and well, and enjoys this one-shot!

~Summary~

In 2018, Carlisle and Edward celebrate the one-hundredth anniversary of Edward's transformation. Two years later, they must face difficult parallels as a new pandemic surges across the globe, and Renesmee becomes sick.

.:2020:.

One hundred years have passed since the last worldwide pandemic. It was hard then, and it wasn't much easier now.

"Dr. Cullen, we need you in Ward 7."

They needed him in every ward. But he was only one man.

As most viruses did, this new strain of coronavirus manifested with silent speed, and it spread just as quickly. Carlisle had studiously remained up-to-date with future epidemic contingency plans, proposed control efforts of outbreaks, and highly monitored animal-based viruses discovered around the globe. He had seen many disease-ravaged eras, but it wasn't until the Spanish Influenza of the early 1900s that Carlisle realized how deeply devastating a pandemic could be. The population had been at its largest at the time, with many new ways of traveling, and a first-world economy that was now connected by a span of multiple countries.

Carlisle admitted that the personal connection he had made during that time was most likely the root cause of his acute attention on preventing it in the future, but he digressed.

Outbreaks could no longer be contained within a given area, and as a consequence, the risk of epidemics manifesting into pandemics had increased at a frightening pace. Jump a century ahead with an arsenal of new technology, transport, and travel, and Carlisle knew it was only a matter of time until the next one. He felt it creeping up, a snake slithering in the sand. He had hoped, however - perhaps even expected - that there would be more preparedness for this event than what the world had offered. No nation had been ready. And the novel coronavirus disease of 2019 had bound the human world in its deathly grip. Hundreds of thousands were victims of their microscopic predators once again.

Neatly dodging nurses, medical assistants, and fellow doctors, Carlisle reached the center console with the medical files for the patients in the next ward. The nurses, usually eager to jump into enthusiastic chatter with him, didn't look up from their work. Nails clacked against keyboards; spends scratched at countertops with frenzied speed. Dark circles drooped from every pair of eyes in the room. Filled coffee cups emanated cold, stale scents that indicated they had been given little attention.

Carlisle ruffled through the file binders until he found the papers he needed and clipped them to his board. As he turned around to grab gloves, his fingers brushed into an empty box.

Just in time, Dr. Porter came rushing around the corner, her black hair slipping from its tie. She slammed a heavy box of packaged gloves onto the floor. Her eyes were always bright and alert above her surgical mask despite the heaviness that weighed them all down, and Carlisle admired her positive strength.

"We are already down to our last three boxes," she told him as he began to help her unload the supplies. "We can barely keep up with the demand. I don't know how smaller clinics are coping."

"They're not," Carlisle replied. "I wouldn't worry about us - we'll be getting more soon." He didn't add that this hospital never reached an actual shortage because, on his required time off work, he was manufacturing more himself, packaging them with forged labels, and dropping them off in the supply storage without anyone the wiser. "We should just be glad we don't have to worry about ventilators."

Dr. Porter sighed, a sort of tired frustration that was unanimous throughout the building. The staff was overworked, tired, and more often than not, unable to see their family for fear of getting them sick. It's been months, and it was inevitable that many more months would come. If there was any way for Carlisle to help every hospital in the country - in the world - he would do it in less than a heartbeat. Instead, he had to settle for the largest, busiest medical institute in Baltimore. He spent days upon days never leaving the hospital, doing everything he was able to, at speeds he was lucky everyone was too tired to notice were unnatural, and yet he felt it wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

Dr. Porter's interned medical student, who had been pushed to graduate too early due to the crisis, took over handling the boxes as Carlisle found his size in gloves.

"I heard they called you to Ward 7," Dr. Porter said, watching Carlisle's hands disappear beneath blue latex. "That means more overtime. How many hours are you going on?"

"Forty-five," Carlisle answered.

The doctor's cheeks lowered, indicating a frown beneath her mask. "Are you sure you're able to stay, Carlisle?"

"It's not a problem at all. I took a quick nap in my office this afternoon," he easily lied.

"That's not it. When was the last time you've been home to see your family?"

As Carlisle grabbed his clipboard and a freshly sanitized pen, he smiled reassuringly at his concerned colleague. "My family understands. In fact, we're made up of essential workers. Believe me when I tell you I would only be a distraction to their work if I went home any more than I do."

Carlisle was already moving toward the elevators when he heard Dr. Porter murmur, "You and your family amaze me."

Amidst the chaos of the hospital and the acute awareness that resources and time were limited, a warmth spread through Carlisle at the thought of his devoted, dedicated family, all of which were busy these days. He missed them, missed the time they spent together, playing, laughing; however, none of them could sit around and watch the human race suffer when they were immune to sickness. Carlisle's pride for each member of his eclectic clan was incredible. All were so different, and yet all held that same deep desire to help and support others.

Esme and Emmett were busy working with shelters across the North East, setting up provisions that many were low on. Food, clothes, medicine, masks, shelter - purchasing and transforming abandoned buildings into functional and comfortable spaces, which were then loaned to medical facilities, shelter organizers, and the homeless alike, as well as survivors of domestic violence; the latter showing a high increase as many were trapped inside with their abusive spouses while on lockdown. The virus itself was a large problem, but its magnitude made it a pebble hitting water - ripples were inevitable.

Alice and Jasper also chose to tackle the tsunami of consequences. Alice entrusted herself and Jasper with a delicate, yet merciless task. She spent her time venturing through the futures of strangers within poorer communities, assessing - to the best of her ability - who might not survive financially. Unemployment was at an all-time high, and the future was grim for far too many. She and Jasper worked both within the system and off the grid to ensure stability for theses families where they could - donations, aid, community outreach and necessities, and even providing a means to reach one of Esme's and Emmett's shelters.

Back home, Bella offered free tutor sessions with children across the country. She provided free books, free materials, and set up a program that anyone could receive free internet access in their homes during this time. Where their own country had failed the young, Bella had vehemently stepped up to the task.

Renesmee spent the days vigorously crafting various degrees of masks and gloves, both for medical professionals and the general public. Everyone needed them, and the country was low on supply, unprepared. Throughout a single day, she was able to provide thousands of supplies, while Jacob, Embry, and Seth - the latter two sent this way by Sam Uley to help with the efforts - ventured out to distribute it all.

Meanwhile, Edward and Rosalie braved the brunt of the crisis by, astoundingly, becoming first-time doctors themselves.

Their medical credentials were real and continuously studied to keep up-to-date, so all they had to do was forge current paperwork. At a time when so many needed assistance, no hospital denied their service despite how young they physically appeared. Finding an opening for them quickly was quite easy. Although Carlisle would have appreciated a tag-team at one hospital, it was wiser that the three of them spread their immortal advantage to cover different medical facilities across the North East. As Carlisle remained in Maryland, Edward entered as a specialist a few miles south, and Rosalie was accepted into a children's hospital in southern New York. Carlisle constantly worried about his eldest daughter. He had warned her about the toll such a decision could have when small lives could not be saved; but, of course, Rosalie had insisted it was what she wanted to do. If she could save at least one child, it was worth everything else - a mentality Carlisle resolutely understood.

The world had offered his family great opportunities and amazing fortune, amidst the adversity. They were a strong bunch. Resilient, despite the fact this current danger had no weapon against them. And they all had a job to do.

So, although he missed the carefree days with his wife, and children, and granddaughter like so many others, he knew that - unlike those other families - his would still be there when this was all over, unaffected. It would feel wrong, as a centuries-old practitioner especially, to relax during another fateful outbreak against the fragility of human life.

Carlisle had already mesmerized each file in his hand as the elevator dinged open to drop him into the seventh ward. He could see why they needed help. The halls were filled with a surplus of patients laying in gurneys, no empty rooms available for them to rest in. There was wheezing, throat-clearing, groans, and the silence of those too tired or in pain to bother moving at all. A single ward hadn't been this busy since March, and Carlisle's dread drowned him as he realized what this meant - the second wave had hit. The Spanish Influenza had four.

Before him, the world morphed back in time. Stark white hallways remained ever plain as the equipment aged. The sickly faces around him transformed, their clothes converted to colorful, tea-length skirts and slim suits. Boots were on every foot, and men pressed their derby hats or fedoras to their chests as if they could barricade the pain in their lungs. It was as if Carlisle was moving in slow motion. Colors blurred around him, all familiar. Too familiar.

Of course, he had seen it all before. Yet, as he gazed at the pleading eyes watching him, hoping he'd be the one to fix them or their loved one, he ached for them. For although most in this ward had come from anti-mask protests or holiday social gatherings as the prolonged quarantine pressured their patience, Carlisle could not blame them. He wished they would have tried harder to understand why they were denying, just as he had wished the anti-mask movement in 1918 had understood. However, in the end, no matter their belief, no matter if they were prone to optimism bias or pure ignorance, they all ended up here. Humans had an unhealthy habit of realizing the truth too late. History continuously repeated itself.

And Carlisle was doomed to endure it every time.

By the time the sun neatly tucked itself behind the hills in the west, Carlisle finished his final diagnosis - COVID-19 positive. When he reached his office he shed his gear and took a moment to catch a breath he didn't' physically need. Mentally, it was a release. It could be draining, even for a vampire.

Carlisle allowed himself no more than a few seconds to care for himself, however; he needed to get back out there.

He changed clothes and prepared to re-wrap himself in plastic. He glanced at his phone multiple times, debating whether to check in with Esme before his next round in intensive care. Before he could make a decision, it flashed on, beginning to vibrate against his desk. Carlisle frowned. Esme always waited for him to call her, and on silent, his cell only allowed his family through. They never contacted him at work unless...

Unless it was an emergency.

Suddenly urgent, and too tired to speculate horrible scenarios, Carlisle flipped his phone over to reveal the caller's identity, then immediately had it to his ear.

"Bella."

"Carlisle," came his daughter-in-law's soft voice, coated in apprehension. "I hope I'm not interrupting, it's just..." She trailed off in a way she sometimes did when she believed she was overthinking. When she was afraid of sounding foolish, yet could not risk the chance of something bad happening if her fears were warranted.

"What is it, Bella? Is it Charlie? Renee?"

As far as they knew, Forks had been relatively spared from the outbreak, given its size and location. The Quileuetes were keeping Jacob current on news in their area, as well. Bella's mother was most at risk as she lived in densely-populated Florida, which had one of the highest case counts in the country. Charlie kept in contact with his daughter and was relaying information regarding Renee. As of Carlisle's last check-in two days ago, everyone was safe and healthy. Could that have changed?

Bella answered quickly. "No, it's not my parents."

Unease gripped Carlisle in its vice. He's had too many phone calls that began just like this one - none granting him good news.

"It's Nessie, Carlisle."

The doctor stopped cold in his tracks. Bella spoke quickly, her motherly distress seeping through the speakers.

"I know the only times she's caught colds they were mild and over quickly, but... She's had this weird cough all day, and now she's complaining about her head... It came on so suddenly. Carlisle, her temperature is ten degrees hotter than it should be."

Carlisle was already grabbing his car keys. "I'm on my way."

OoOoOoo

.:2018:.

The Chicago skyline was a glimmering expanse of blackening silhouettes as night descended. Willis Tower reined above the birthplace of skyscrapers, its black, block-like architecture and towering rooftop spikes unmissable, proving just how far the city had come since the last time Carlisle had sat to observe it, which was an incredible century ago. The evening marked the anniversary of the night Carlisle had made the biggest decision of his long, long life. One hundred years ago, to the hour, a beautiful, sickly woman with strange copper hair had begged him to save her son with every option he had available to him.

"What others cannot do, that is what you must do for my Edward."

My Edward.

A century later, Carlisle deeply understood Elizabeth Masen on levels far greater than he could have imagined at the time. Edward was not his biological son, but he was a part of him. And maybe it was wishful thinking, but he couldn't help but see some of him in Edward, too.

"To be fair," a smooth voice interrupted, intruding into Carlisle's thoughts. "You have been a father to me much longer than my biological parents. Longer than any natural being has the privilege to, actually."

"I thought you would stay home."

"No, you didn't."

Carlisle smiled. Edward was right, after all.

The brave, passionate, stubborn bronze-haired boy from that day came up to stand beside him, now a man. Together, they gazed out at the evolved city of architectural ingenuity. A cemetery of history. It somehow seemed more peaceful in its city noise than the eerie silence of the isolated, dying Chicagoans of a century ago. Carlisle and Edward took a moment of silence, in honor of all who had suffered, of all who had been lost. Visions of overflowing hospitals, humid streets with masked, fearful faces, and terrible scenes of mass graves filled their heads. Carlisle prayed for the innocent souls subjected to such misery.

"It will happen again, won't it?" Edward wondered after fifteen minutes of silence.

Carlisle glanced over at his son, his best friend. The years since his transformation had been equally kind and cruel to the boy. "Yes," he answered solemnly.

"Will it be any easier?"

Carlisle shook his head. That was a question with no answer. It was like comparing the medieval Black Death to the more current AIDs epidemic - different variants of disease in vastly different times. However, the Spanish flu killed more people than any pandemic disease before or since. Ten percent of its victims perished, and in the end, it eradicated a third of the world's population. Older pandemics, such as the sixth-century Plague of Justinian or the bubonic plague, were horrific, nasty moments in human history; yet, even with the increase of proper hygiene and healthcare hundreds of years later, the influenza that ravaged the world in the 1900s had proven that advancement in technology and higher numbers might be part of the downfall. In 1918 and thereafter, people traveled farther than ever before, and they took the disease with them. A lot more didn't want to believe the devastation that was occurring or refused to give up their conveniences for the collective wellbeing of their communities. Carlisle tried to imagine the Spanish flu hitting today, with so many new modes of transportation headed to every corner of the globe, and the population consisting of 7.5 billion people, whereas in 1918 it had been 1.8 billion. If history had taught Carlisle anything, it was that the more people existed in a single place, the harder it was to regulate them. All the varying perspectives, with little compromise, set humans on dangerous paths. Carlisle saw it happening everywhere, especially in the United States. The modern world had the medical and scientific means to defend against the next virus. But when - not if - another virus strikes, it could prove deadlier than the last if precautions were ignored.

Edward tilted his head, contemplative as he listened to Carlisle's thoughts. Finally, he said, "I've never been more relieved to have an immortal family."

Carlisle chuckled bitterly at the darkness of it all, for he, too, couldn't help but feel that sense of relief whenever an epidemic hit the country. It was hard not to be thankful that he never had to worry about losing any of them in such a helpless way, even as his heart perpetually ached for his patients and their loved ones. Just as it had for Elizabeth Masen.

"You know, Carlisle," Edward continued, his tone softening and becoming serious. His left foot pawed at the sand in a nervous gesture Carlisle fondly recognized. He couldn't imagine what Edward had to say that would make him even the slightest bit sheepish. "I never thought I would live to be one-hundred, let alone experience all that I have, experiences that I never would have had the chance to see or do. If I had lived through the disease as a human I would have had to cope being alone, and then I most likely would have died in the war anyway."

Carlisle knew this, had thought about it more times than he wanted to admit. Sorrow and an irrational fear gripped him every time. A world without Edward was unimaginable to him. Their encounters with the Volturi were more than enough reminders of that.

And who knew where Carlisle would have ended up. Also alone, somewhere. Edward had been the catalyst to move to Ashland, Wisconsin during the time Esme had eventually arrived. From the moment Carlisle decided to save him, the entire course of their family history relied on Edward as much as it did Carlisle. Had he not found Edward... Well, he might have given up existing at all after another century alone.

A shudder escaped Edward. "Obviously everything would be different," he conceded. "But had I survived, had I eventually created a family - found Bella, had Rensmee... Imagining seeing them - or Alice or Emmett or Jasper or Rosalie or Esme - get sick the way I or my mother or father was, makes me extremely thankful that I will never have to experience it again. They don't have to worry about suffering through something like that. Slowly, painfully...dying. I can't remember my human experiences in great detail, but I very clearly remember that. And how my mother wouldn't rest no matter how many times I begged her." He shook his head. "I don't think I would survive mentally if I had to helplessly watch it happen again."

There was another moment of silence, both lost in their thoughts, contemplating the what-ifs of their complex lives, remembering Elizabeth Masen in her halo of stubborn defiance and wise eyes and how, ultimately, she decided Carlisle and Edward needed each other.

The breeze from Lake Michigan lifted rings of sand around their feet. It was warmer this time of year. A wave broke evenly against the shore, and Edward ran his fingers through the strands of his Masen-bronze hair, which fell perfectly back into place.

"I need you to know, Carlisle, that..." Again he hesitated, searching for the right words.

"You don't have to say it, Edward," Carlisle assured. They'd been together too long for him not to already know. Affection was shown between them in acts rather than words, and it was easy for Carlisle to spot.

"I know you know," Edward said. "You always know, Carlisle. You can read my mind almost better than I can read yours. But I still want to say it. It's been a hundred years - the least I can do is say it."

Patient, Carlisle waited. Perhaps a little eagerly, which he clearly couldn't hide from Edward, but he tried not to focus on that.

With a light laugh, Edward met Carlisle's eyes, gold on gold, and smiled through his own awkwardness. "I am so grateful, Carlisle. To you, for finding me; and to the world, for finding you. I love you, and the family you've given me.

"And don't say it back," he added hurriedly, as Carlisle's mouth opened to respond. "You've said it on too many occasions, even after some of my more reprehensible mistakes. Tonight was my turn." He lifted a small package Carlisle hadn't noticed he'd been hiding. "Also, your granddaughter helped me make this for you. She said it wasn't an anniversary without a present. After throwing glitter in the air and taking a well-timed selfie, I might add."

Carlisle's heart soared, with warmth and amusement, as it did every time he thought of his granddaughter, of how she was the truest blessing to him, to his wife, to their son, and their family.

Taking Edward's gift, Carlisle teased, "I can't imagine where she inherited such theatrics."

"The greatest unsolvable mystery," Edward shrugged, feigning innocence.

'Unsolvable' Carlisle thought with a silent scoff, earning another smirk from his son.

Unwrapping the small package, Carlisle discovered a large, ornate, hand-crafted iron frame showcasing pictures of each member of the Cullen clan. Edward. Esme. Rosalie. Emmett. Alice. Jasper. Bella. Renesmee. Jacob. And Carlisle. Smiling, single faces organized around an even greater centerpiece, the heart of the frame - a picture of them together, a candid group hug that had been captured last Christmas, every smile blinding. You could hear the laughter pouring out of it. Above it was the Cullen family crest in delicate detail, and Renesmee's familiar script, reading, "Made in 1918".

My family - 100 years in the making.

If Carlisle could cry, he knew he'd be worse than Esme when she opened sentimental gifts. He vaguely felt Edward's hand on his shoulder. For many seconds, Carlisle had only the emotion in his thoughts, unable to form words. Never in his hundreds of years had he thought his prayers for companionship would be answered. And to see the evidence here in his hands...

"Thank you, Edward," he choked out. He went in for a hug before he knew what he was doing, but luckily Edward didn't seem to mind. Edward clapped him on the back, pulling him in, too. The embrace lasted less than a second, but it was a moment of tender celebration that Emmett would surely have made fun of them for.

Edward grinned against Carlisle's shoulder. "You're not wrong," he said, as they pulled away. "Also, Alice might have a party prepared when we return."

Carlisle chuckled. "Of course she might."

"She's calling it The Cullen Centennial Centennary Celebration."

Their laughter broke louder than the waves, an explosion compared to their quiet conversation. Carlisle granted that dramatic displays of any kind were evidently a Cullen curse. And yet, their vibrant personalities warmed him to the core.

Taking one last glance at the city where it all began, the duo left Chicago behind them once again, basking in the wonder of the moment, of how much they have accomplished, each carrying the same hope for many more celebratory centenaries to come.

OoOoOoO

.:2020:.

There weren't many things that could tempt Carlisle to speed at the levels he did now, but his granddaughter was top of the list.

The first time Renesmee caught a cold had been unnerving, to say the least. It was something Carlisle hadn't considered when she was half-vampire. But she was so original, with great unknowns regarding her species. At first signs of illness, Edward had rushed his daughter - 5 years old at the time (with a teenage physique and mentality) - to Carlisle immediately, but by the time he had finished his evaluation, Renesmee's symptoms had already begun to weaken. Whenever her human half managed to catch a contagion, it lasted no more than 24 hours, usually less. Her white blood cells were drastically stronger than an ordinary human's, ensuring that the ribonucleic acid of a virus was unable to spread. Worrying had never been necessary after that discovery.

It was evident to Carlisle, now, that they had come to rely on that safety net too fast. How had he failed to foresee Renesmee's susceptibility to this new strain of coronavirus? And how would its novel strength and mutation affect her?

Would Bella have contacted him at the hospital if her daughter had familiar, manageable symptoms? Probably not.

There were already precautions in place around their household for the werewolves' sakes, as they were more human than Renesmee, but Carlisle realized his granddaughter may have needed to quarantine away from the family. Not alone, of course. Bella's online tutor sessions meant she had no physical contact with the outside world unlike the rest of them; she and Renesmee could have temporarily relocated. It would not have been an easy transition, especially for Edward, but it was a precaution they could have managed if necessary. Better separated than endangered, and Carlisle wished he had thought of it sooner.

He sighed. It was too late to dwell on a choice that could not be changed.

On a high valley in northern Maryland, the secluded estate of the Cullens was anything but quiet when Carlisle finally rolled up the driveway and put the car in park. Behind the red, colonial brick there was an obvious conflict, Jacob's and Edward's voices distinct enough to discern. Although they weren't shouting, volume and tone suggested it was not an amicable conversation.

"She needs to rest," Edward was saying.

"She could if you stopped helicopter-parenting the poor girl," Jacob snapped back.

Carlisle hurried to one of the shower stalls Esme had installed in the garage as a safety measure to keep the house as sanitized as possible. There was no exception to washing up. As Carlisle finished up and turned the faucet off, Esme appeared, fresh clothes for him in her arms. She was in one of her work skirts with a loose blouse hanging at all the right angles, though Carlisle was aware she managed her work at the house today. Caramel waves descended, unruly, down her shoulders, a sign she must have had a rough day regardless. And, yet, her face still brightened the dim room. The sight of his wife wasn't enough to distract Carlisle from what he arrived home to, but it certainly was uplifting after days of her absence in his everyday life. He greeted her with a kiss, and when she stepped back to let him dress, her honey eyes churned with a familiar warning. He nodded his understanding.

Esme knew as well as Carlisle that Edward had been balancing on a precipice over the past month, forgotten traumas of disease and death digging their way out of the recesses of suppressed memories. Current events were forcing him to remember things he hoped he had forgotten or at least recovered from, and although he was open about it at first, by summer he refused to discuss it with even Bella.

Their son was one wrong remark away from falling over the edge. And now, like father like daughter, Renesmee had caught influenza.

Hair wet and cool against the rush of air as he dashed inside, Carlisle grimaced at the parallel. It was Edward's worst fear come to life.

Carlisle allowed Esme to pull him by the hand up the stairs, to the second story, where Bella was achieving nothing with her peace-making tactics.

Renesmee suddenly spoke up, quieter than the rest. "I'm in the room, you know? I can make-" she coughed, dry and scratched, "-my own decisions."

"Don't talk," Edward said. "Drink your water."

"She knows what she needs to do," Jacob insisted. "She's been sick before."

"Not like this."

"Stop arguing," Bella sighed.

"We should give her some space," came Embry's voice amidst the others.

"Tell that to Edward," Jacob responded.

"I am not leaving."

"See?"

"To be fair," Emmett joined, exasperated. "You're the one who keeps talking."

"Because Edward won't let anyone near her!"

"Quiet, Jake," Renesmee grumbled. "Even though Dad is acting ridiculous, I am trying to sleep."

"Your voice is giving her a headache," Edward added.

Jacob snorted. "No more than yours, I bet." But he lowered his voice all the same.

"Let's give her some quiet," Bella suggested, but Edward was defiant.

"You guys go. I'll take care of her. She's my daughter, and I'm not leaving."

"She's my daughter, too, Edward."

"I don't mean to discredit you, Bella. It's just-" Edward started, but Jacob interrupted with a low bark of, "Hypocrite," and Edward growled.

"Jake, stop," Bella warned.

"We'll just let Carlisle tell him how crazy he's being," Jacob said.

Seth broke into the conversation, then, with a tired passivity that was odd for the usually cheerful werewolf. "C'mon, Jake, Edward and Bella are her parents."

"All this arguing isn't solving anything, that's for sure," Emmett added.

The growl rumbling in Edward's chest deepened. "That's. What. I've. Been. Saying."

Carlisle and Esme reached their granddaughter's bedroom just in time. Embry stood at the doorway, peering inside, as if afraid to enter the war zone. Carlisle didn't blame him. He stepped past the tall boy with a comforting pat to the shoulder.

"Edward," Carlisle addressed, exuding calm into the room. He watched, relieved, as his son's shoulders relaxed, albeit slightly. "What is Renesmee's condition?"

His attention successfully diverted from the destructive conversation, Edward walked Carlisle through his daughter's symptoms, routine to strange, benign to severe.

"It came on so suddenly," Bella added when her husband was finished. She swapped the melted ice pack Renesmee had on her head with a frozen one. They wouldn't last long against her unnaturally hot temperature as it was, Carlisle couldn't imagine they helped much at all if she was even hotter. "She nearly fainted. But since then she hasn't seemed to get any worse."

"So far," Edward amended, unsatisfied.

Renesmee's face scrunched as Carlisle touched his cool fingers to her neck, revealing an accelerated heart rate. Her Masen-bronze hair fanned around the sharp angles of her face. She was fully grown now, physically, her mother's genetics now sprinkled lightly throughout a face that matched Edward's almost perfectly. Tired, glassy eyes peered up at him, and Carlisle suddenly imagined the curls cutting away, turning to wisps of unruly, sweat-matted strands clinging to the forehead of a teenager with determined green eyes instead of brown. The likeness had him pulling back. His arm retracted as he straightened, like he had been electrocuted.

"What? What happened?" Jacob demanded, most likely in unison with thoughts around the room. Only Edward would have realized...

Without resolving any confusion, Carlisle went right back to work, as if nothing happened. He couldn't let the past sneak up on him, despite how closely Edward's daughter resembled him. It would only prove distracting, and he needed to focus on Renesmee's needs, which ended up being quite simple to discern. It may be a stronger flu than normal, but combatting it was more or less the same. Edward was right - she needed to stay hydrated and to rest.

After Carlisle's assessment, Edward was suddenly commanding the room. "That's it - everyone out."

"Edward," Carlisle addressed calmly again before Jacob responded with something that might fuel Edward's distemper further. Edward had matured greatly in the past decade. Although still passionate in the extreme, it was odd for him to have an outburst like this. He knew the situation was delicate, and his own thoughts, his own memories, were not helping matters.

Calm, Edward. We're all here to care for her. You know this.

Edward began to pace to ease some of his tension. Bella and Esme watched him apprehensively. At least he was listening.

Renesmee's cheek burned against Carlisle's palm again. She reveled in the coolness of his touch. He was certain she had contracted the illness, but he would make absolute certain first. As her eyes stayed on him, like he was the calm in the storm that she had been searching for, Carlisle smiled ruefully down at her.

"Your father is going to help you sit up now, love," he told her. Edward was already at her side, gently sliding his arm under her. She didn't resist as they pulled her into a sitting position.

"Is this going to hurt?" she wondered, eyeing the encased nasal swab Carlisle pulled from his bag.

"It will be uncomfortable more than anything else," he answered honestly.

She groaned. "Let's get this over with."

Smiling slightly at the same unhindered determination that was present in a similar patient he had ended up with a century ago, Carlisle opened the capsule and readied the pipe-like stick at the entrance of her nose. He tilted her head back for easier access, and smoothly inserted the swab into the nasal passage. Renesmee held still, even as it reached her throat and Carlisle twirled it around several times. Water welled in her eyes as its intrusion activated the lachrymal reflex. When it was over, Carlisle removed the swab and sealed it back in its case.

"How do you feel?" he asked as she rubbed at her eyes, a tear set loose down her right cheek.

"Like death," she answered, making Edward tense. Carlisle frowned. It wasn't the best phrase she could have used. "But I'm fine. My head hurts and I'm tired. That's it. Nothing like earlier. My throat isn't even sore anymore."

"Well, I'm going to run your sample through in my office," Carlisle said. "In the meantime,-"

"You rest," Edward finished for him.

Renesmee scowled. "I get it, Dad."

"Now, let's let her sleep," Esme said, ushering everyone out. Jacob reluctantly shuffled down the stairs after Emmett, Embry, and Seth, who were more than eager to escape. Bella kissed Renesmee's forehead and stood. She hesitated by the door as Edward took the empty seat she had just vacated from.

"Edward, she's just going to be sleeping," Bella said. Carlisle joined her by the door, glancing back at his son, who began toying with the washcloths that were soaking in a bowl of ice on the nightstand. He picked one out and wrung out the excess, then folded it neatly against Renesmee's head. She didn't protest, already falling asleep.

"Someone should stay to make sure she keeps cool," Edward said, barely above a whisper.

Bella and Carlisle looked at each other, knowing there was nothing either of them could say. Carlisle shut the door behind them as they left him in peace.

Downstairs, Esme coaxed a still-protesting Jacob out the back door. "Why don't you help Emmett finish the masks Ness was working on? We have an emergency order going out tomorrow and we have a lot to get done."

Jacob grumbled unintelligibly, but conceded, heading for the greenhouse-turned-manufacturing outpost.

Esme turned to Bella next, engulfing her in a comforting embrace. "She will be alright," she insisted, ever observant. Bella hugged back, nodding.

"Honestly, she was worse earlier," Bella said. "I think her dizzy spell was the peak of it. I hope it was, anyway. But it didn't help that it happened right when Edward got home."

"It's difficult for him."

"I know. And there's nothing I can do to help. Nothing anyone can do."

"There is one thing we can do," Carlisle said, unhappy with seeing his daughter-in-law attempt to cope with her helplessness, a feeling he knew all too well. Bella glanced at him, puzzled, cautious, afraid to be tricked into optimism.

"What?" she wondered.

"It may not seem like much, but we can provide him with the tools to nurse Renesmee back to health. At least one weight will be lifted from his shoulders." He took his wife's hand and wrapped an arm around Bella's shoulders, squeezing tenderly. "Would you ladies care to join me in my office to run her samples?"

Two beautiful smiles were all the answer he needed.

It took less than an hour for Carlisle to conclude that his granddaughter was, unfortunately, COVID-19 positive. All the known symptoms had been there, and Carlisle had seen enough of it to recognize when it hit. He assured Esme and Bella that, if Renesmee had indeed looked better when Carlisle first saw her compared to earlier in the day, then she would surely be in even higher spirits once she woke up from her nap.

"You have tutor sessions today, do you not?" he asked Bella. "There's no reason you can't perform them."

Bella shook her head, her ponytail swinging. "I would only be distracted. I already e-mailed the parents."

"A distraction could be beneficial. There's not much else to do except wait. I'll go check on her fever."

Right as Carlisle's foot hit the first step, Edward was there.

"It's down three degrees," he informed them, expressionless.

"That's good news," Carlisle smiled. "Three degrees in an hour's time? I would say her body is well equipped to fight it off."

Of course, Edward remained unconvinced, and everyone could see that. His only response was that he needed more ice, and then he started heading for the kitchen. Esme sped to the laundry room and back, providing him with fresh washcloths, while Bella filled a cup of water for him to bring up. As Esme tucked the towels under Edward's arm, she gazed at him, brushing the back of her hand to his cheek. Edward immediately shook his head.

"It doesn't matter how I am feeling, Esme," Edward said, answering words only he could hear.

"Of course it does," she argued. She bit her lip, hesitating. But she couldn't hide her thoughts, and Edward's face fell into an unreadable mask once again.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, making a hasty exit out of the kitchen just as Emmett and Jacob carried armfuls of boxed masks into the living room.

"Don't want to talk about what?" the werewolf asked through a yawn. Carlisle vaguely wondered when the last time the wolves had gotten some sleep.

Even though Jacob seemed over their earlier confrontation, Edward passed him without any acknowledgment.

"Hey!" Jacob stepped quickly to block the stairs. "Is she awake? Let me see her now-"

"No."

Jacob scowled at Edward's sharp response. "Man, you haven't calmed down at all. What's with you?'

Emmett stepped in before Carlisle could. "Jake, let's get these boxes sealed. Seth already has the truck emptied."

"Wait," Jacob said, turning to Carlisle. "Does she have it, Doc?"

"Edward already confirmed the symptoms," Emmett muttered. Even he was running out of patience. It was clear Emmett was optimistic about Renesmee, as he was most things, and, though he gave Edward a wide berth due to the circumstances of Edward's transformation, Emmett was irritated with all the extra anxiety.

Whatever answering thoughts Jacob had about Emmett's comment must have been unpleasant considering the irked expression Edward threw Jacob's direction. Jacob noticed, and shrugged. "Not my fault you exaggerate things. I want Carlisle's answer."

Edward turned. "In case you've forgotten, Jacob, I'm also a doctor. One who has been treating pandemic patients for months. I know what it looks like-"

"Yeah, yeah. You won't let us forget it." Jacob rolled his eyes. "You think that makes you the boss of Nessie?"

"I'm her father."

"And it was probably you who brought it home to her. Way to go, Dad!"

There was a horrible, horrible moment of silence as the words pierced through the room, sharper than a blade. It was like the room was suddenly sheathed in ice. Anger surged through Carlisle's veins before he could think. However, the freefall into stunned silence snapped just as abruptly into outrage.

"Jacob!" Esme and Bella gasped simultaneously, eyes as fierce as their tone.

Boxes dropped at Emmett's feet as the man's eyes burned. "That was way out of bounds, man."

For Jacob's part, there was obvious regret lining his frown, enough that Carlisle found his sense over his instincts again; but there was also a hint of a challenge etched onto his tanned face, as he braced for a rebuttal. Or a fist. Edward's hands were balled at his sides, nails ripping into his own skin. Carlisle was instantly between the boys. Facing Edward, Carlisle slowly addressed Jacob. "Don't you, Embry, and Seth have other deliveries to attend to today?" Before there was an answer, he left no room for argument. "I suggest they be given priority."

Suddenly, Edward's head snapped up, as if someone had called his name from above. "She's thirsty," he said. Then, in a flash, Edward maneuvered around Carlisle, and Jacob, and was gone, Renesmee's bedroom door shutting behind him.

With Edward out of sight, Jacob's face softened. He looked apologetically at Carlisle. "I didn't mean... I wasn't thinking..."

"Jacob," Carlisle mustered all emotion he could get through to the Quileute native. "I know these times are hard. But right now, regarding Renesmee, you need to let him be."

"But why does he do that?" Jacob asked, tame, but with a spark of his previous irritation. "He's not the only one concerned about her."

Carlisle focused on the hummingbird-beat of Renesmee's heart, listened to the gentle whispers of Edward's cool voice prodding her to sip, the soft rustle of blankets as he tucked her back in. As Carlisle wistfully pictured what he was hearing, it wasn't Edward and his daughter he was seeing - it was Elizabeth Masen and her son.

"Do you know the history, Jacob, of how I came to find Edward and why I changed him?"

Jacob shifted, uncomfortable. "Yeah. I heard the story."

"Then you should understand."

OoOoOoO

Renesmee slept for another three hours, her fever fading further every time the hour hand swept past 12. She stopped sweating as much, and, according to Edward, she fell deeper into her REM cycle, a good indication her body was less stressed.

Edward, for his part, never left her side, and nobody pestered him about it.

Perspective had finally started to dawn on Jacob - why Edward was acting extreme, why the family seemed content to allow it, to tip-toe around him - and he set out with Embry and Seth to complete their daily deliveries on Bella's promise to call him if Renesmee's condition changed.

Emmett and Bella went back to work sewing masks in Renesmee's place, Emmett enjoying his role as comedic relief to keep his sister-in-law's spirits up. Carlisle and Esme ended up sealing and labeling boxes. Side-by-side, they basked in each other's company. Sharing stories, it was clear that the pandemic and its subsequent consequences were only just the beginning - tougher times lay ahead. It was a blessing to know they had each other to mend the emotional and mental toll their compassionate hearts dealt with on a daily basis. The two agreed to stay vigilant when it came to the same exhaustion in their adopted children. Cold bodies didn't equate cold hearts.

"He's the hardest, you know?" Esme said, printing the next batch of labels out. Carlisle knew who she meant. "He keeps things to himself. He doesn't want to burden us, even though he gets burdened with all of our troubles straight from our minds. Volunteered with no choice. And he always helps." Her tender smile turned down. "It seems unfair."

Carlisle agreed. "Even though he's come a long way since finding Bella, there are certain times he falls back into his old ways, if only for a day or two. Old habits, and all that. Presently, I think what he's dealing with is too much for him to articulate." Carlisle's mind wandered to his own unfocused daydreams, anxieties of the past blending with the present. He glanced at the house, at the second story window where Renesmee's plum purple bedroom wall was visible. Edward's words two years ago about his sick parents crossed his mind.

I don't think I would survive mentally if I had to helplessly watch it happen again.

Somehow, Edward's walls had to come down, for his own sake.

Esme patted Carlisle's arm, bringing his attention back to her. But her smile was knowing. "Go on. Go check on our boy."

"Are you sure you're not the mind reader of the family?" he teased, kissing her laughing lips before heading inside.

Carlisle was prepared for Edward to turn him away, already knowing Carlisle's motives were about him; however, Renesmee had woken up.

"You're hovering, Dad," she was saying.

"I'm sitting - not hovering."

"Grandpa!" Renesmee exclaimed as Carlisle knocked before entering the room. He smiled at his moniker.

"You're looking better," he said. Her newfound energy to rebel with her father was a positive sign, as much as Edward himself probably hated it.

Carlisle ignored the look Edward gave him and felt Renesmee's forehead. "Your fever broke. How are you feeling? Be honest."

"Well-rested," she emphasized pointedly at Edward, who rolled his eyes over to Carlisle, who repressed a laugh. "I'm not so hot anymore. I don't feel dizzy, and my headache is gone. My body still feels weak, though. And-" her stomach interrupted with a growl. "And I'm hungry."

From downstairs, Bella shouted, "I'm already on it!"

Renesmee shrugged. "Other than that I'm fine. Can I get back to the masks? I feel like I've wasted the whole day."

"Recovering from influenza is hardly a waste," Edward grumbled, then louder added, "You are staying in bed. The masks are taken care of. And if they're not done in time, then they're not done in time."

"What?" Renesmee's eyes widened, appalled at the thought of delayed deliveries. She kicked her bedsheets off. "No. I need to help."

Edward wasn't the only one who pinned her back. Renesmee stared at Carlisle, betrayed.

"Your body is still recovering," he said. "You may feel energized after all that sleeping, but remember your body is exhausted. It's been battling a virus."

"So I need to recover from recovering?" she whined.

"In a sense."

"You're also not fully recovered yet, anyway, so don't get ahead of yourself," Edward added.

"But I'll be fine, right?"

Carlisle nodded. He was one hundred percent certain of it at this point. And beyond relieved.

"Well, then I can sew masks. It's just sitting at a machine-"

"Ness," Edward interrupted. He wasn't having it. "It's not out of your system yet. And it can always come back. Do you want to tempt fate?"

"How can I rest when people need help?"

Edward stilled. "What?"

"I can't rest. I need to help."

It was like Carlisle knew he and Edward were having a joint flashback, as Elizabeth Masen's face appeared over Renesmee's, then back again.

I cannot rest, Doctor. I need to help.

"Renesmee." The girl in question looked up at Carlisle, and he shook his head, implying that she let it go. It was a fight she wouldn't win.

She seemed to understand this, but, stubborn as her parents, she insisted. "Well, I can at least get out of bed. It's not like it'll kill me."

Carlisle cringed as he watched terror flash through Edward's eyes. Edward sucked in an unnatural breath and stepped back, nearly stumbling. His chair fell on its back. Carlisle was next to him immediately. Confusion washed over Renesmee's face.

"Dad?"

"Edward...?"

Edward stared at the floor, then took a steadying breath and straightened, shaking his head. "Sorry. It's just... I need you to stay in bed." He leaned forward so he was eye-level with his daughter. "Tell me you'll stay. Right here."

Renesmee hesitated, but nodded.

"Good. Now I'm going to get your food from your mother." He left without another word.

Her round eyes moving to Carlisle, Renesmee whispered, "I just meant lay on the couch or something."

"That would be fine," Carlisle assured her carefully. "Your phrasing was what lacked a certain...tact."

"He doesn't need to hover over me, though," Renesmee grumbled, rattled. She hated upsetting anyone, no matter her intentions.

"Perhaps. But you must realize that the situation the world is in is...triggering for your father." I smiled sadly at her. "There are a lot of unpleasant memories resurfacing."

She knew the story. She even researched the Spanish Influenza of 1918, and dove into the pasts of her biological grandparents out of curiosity.

"But he found you through it," she pointed out, as if it nullified the horror and suffering of what Edward went through.

"He was only a child, love. And he had just watched his friends and family die."

Her brows knitted as she imagined such an experience. Really imagined it. It was a lot easier with today's setting than it had been before.

"You have seen what families are going through right now," Carlisle continued. "Edward has lived it firsthand, as the observer, as the caretaker, and as the sufferer. The current virus is a respiratory illness as well. And from social distancing to quarantines, from face coverings to overflowing hospitals - the parallels are eerie. You were very lucky, being who you are, but Edward knew far too many whom he loved who were not. Including himself.

"Would you begrudge him wanting none of that for his daughter?"

Renesmee peered down at her lap, her fingers lacing and unlacing together. "Okay," she whispered. "I get it."

Carlisle patted her hands tenderly. "You may be bedridden - or couch-ridden, if you so choose - for the next day or so, just to be safe. After that, you will be back to normal. I promise."

"Normal for me," she said, her typical joke. With a chuckle, Carlisle nodded.

As footsteps approached the doorway, Carlisle resumed the ending of the conversation. "And that's that. Unless your father wants to add anything."

"Great segue, Carlisle," Edward remarked offhandedly as he entered the room with a tray of soup and crackers. They figured Renesmee's human parts needed more sustenance at the moment than her immortal ones. "But I would like to add something, because, well, you're not wrong." He sighed, setting the tray onto the bed, Renesmee gracious as she took in the aroma.

"I may have been a tad overbearing," Edward admitted. Renesmee opened her mouth to comment, but Edward cut her off. "Yes, only a tad."

He and his daughter shared small, identical smirks, and then Edward's frown was back.

"It's been harder than I thought it was going to be, working with the sick. I wasn't prepared for the flashbacks. Or taking every loss personally because of said flashbacks... I see in their heads. I feel it all. Between that and the sudden memories, I became overwhelmed. It's' been too much."

Carlisle's brows furrowed. "Edward, why didn't you tell me?"

Edward fidgeted. "Part of me was ashamed, I suppose. Embarrassed that I didn't have the strength to stay steady like you or even Rosalie. Then I realized what the real problem was, that I was, in a way, reliving the last months of my human life over again. I didn't want to remember. Every time I treated a patient, I felt like I knew them - a friend from school, the grocer down the street, a neighbor I'd helped trim the bushes that one time. Watching some of them lose the battle was like being a naive, scared seventeen-year-old Chicagoan again. There was an inevitable gnawing in my stomach that I was next.

"You guys have been so busy and stressed enough without my personal problems getting in the way. Saving humans was what was important.

"Then, I decided to mention some of it to Bella when I came home this morning and saw the same pain I had been reliving for months echoed back to me through my daughter's mind." Edward steadied his gaze at the girl in question. "You may not forgive me, and t may not excuse me, but I am equally sorry and - how does your generation put it? - not sorry."

Renesmee took a deep breath, eyes closed and all, before leveling with her dad. "Okay, first of all - don't ever say that again. Second, I understand - so, you're forgiven already. And third - and this one is important - you taught me that in this family we don't go through hardships alone. So don't try to hide it anymore. Mom wants to help you. Grandma and Grandpa want to help you. Let them help, or so help me I will... I will hide your music collection all across Maryland."

Edward's eyebrows lifted at the threat. "You wouldn't dare."

"I would," Renesmee laughed.

"She would," Bella and Emmett yelled from outside. Of course everyone was listening. Edward pinched the bridge of his nose.

Amused, Carlisle added his two cents. "She has a unique way of putting things, but she's not wrong. Edward, we all need support, especially right now. We're in this together. All of us."

"You're right," Edward conceded. "I'll try to express myself better in the future."

"Does this mean I can go to the couch?" Renesmee asked after a moment of everybody lost in their own thoughts. "I mean, I love you, Dad, but I'd also like you to ease off just a bit. Just a little, tiny bit."

"I will try," Edward promised, humored. "Any more demands?"

His sarcasm was met with a dimpled smile that didn't bode well for him.

"Yes - will you let me have a say on what's best for me from now on?"

"Yes, I will."

"Will you let me pick out my next car?"

Edward rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"Will you let me visit Isle Esme?"

"You know, that's not up to me."

"Will you let me travel by myself?"

"Fine."

Carlisle watched the exchange with a lighter heart than he's had since the first case of COVID-19 hit the United States. He would be back to work by the time the sun rose above the Atlantic tomorrow, but he would have a lighter step, an increase of confidence, of hope. Whatever went on in the world, he would be there to do all he could to help. All of them would. And when it came to the Cullen family, they would be there to heal each other, too.

Renesmee was healthier, and Edward had successfully treated his daughter the way his mother couldn't for him, and Carlisle knew the two of them would be just fine.

"Will you let me sleep over at a human friend's house for once?"

"Yes."

"Will you let me go to a Grad Nite?"

"Yes."

"Will you let me live on my own for a year?"

"Yes."

"Will you let me move into a house with Jake?"

"Absolutely not."

"What, why?!"

"Because I said so."

"I'm a grown woman."

"You are 19 years old. Focus on your education."

"What does that have to- We could live on campus!"

"We are not discussing this right now."

"We are so discussing this right now."

"Renesmee Carlie, we will talk about this later. End of story."

Renesmee huffed, burying herself under her covers; Edward huffed, leaning back in his chair with folded arms.

Well, Carlisle thought, a fond smile playing at his lips. Fine for now.