"Edward." At the sound, a nostalgic pulse rushed through me. I was used to being able to hearing her thoughts now. My hearing was still selective, she only granted me what she wanted to. Frustrating as it was I had decided it would have to be enough. Having something I once longed for would always bring me excitement, surges of adrenalin that rushed over me, regardless of the amount of time that it had been available to me. I was unsure if this was a character trait or an undead one if being able to hold onto old dreams was apart of a frozen personality or myself.

"Hm." Eyes still closed I mumbled into her hair, the absence in my voice noticeable. If I did not know better, I would assume I had been sleeping, dozed off maybe, only awakening at the sound of her 'voice'. I supposed I did my own form of dreaming, daydreaming perhaps? I opened my eyes now. She looked down a small smile on her face. She was fidgeting with the hem of my shirt, her thin fingertips tracing over the stitching. She enjoyed our small, mental talks almost as much as I did. Almost.

She paused a second, still biting her lower lip. She was blocking me out while she thought. This agitated me but I ignored it, pushing the emotion to the back of my mind. Patients were something I would always have to struggle with. After another moment, she looked up at me. "I love you, you know." Her lips were pressed together in a hard line. As if she were admitting something she didn't want to. My eyebrows puckered. "Do you really?" Though only a whisper, the words carried doubt.

I placed my hand along her jaw, my thumb grazing back and forth along her pronounced cheekbone. The concern expression remained on my face as I pressed my mouth to hers. "I love you too." The words slipped soundlessly out from between my lips and into hers. She sighed, kissing me back before leaning away. "You know what I mean." The words were spoken aloud this time. Tendrils of dark hair floated around her face as she shook her head, her eyebrows mocking mine.

She was still upset over our disagreement. Being a father was never something I had considered for myself. It had never been a possibility for me, not that I knew of anyway. The trials were as difficult for me as they were for Bella. We often had different styles of parenting. As Renesmee grew we struggled on how her milestones would be placed for her, both of us wildly inexperienced with the process.

I lifted my head, placing my lips on the top of her hair. She was trying to apologize. "I know." She leaned into me now, her face resting in the nook of my shoulder. This is how we spent many nights, the way we use to. Absently, I ran my fingers through her hair, my eyes closing again. This was our sleep.

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