Author's Note: This story was inspired by a prompt provided by Blue Kai. I am grateful to her for her support and feedback as her idea bloomed into a full tale. Please be aware that this is an AU story.

The Twilight universe is the property of Stephenie Meyer, and no infringement is intended.

For many individuals, monumental events bring only joy. The milestones in my life, however, had been tinged with poignancy. I had no parents or siblings to share in my successes. For the most part, I had celebrated my accomplishments alone.

I had tried not to dwell upon my losses. Indeed, because of them I had pushed myself forward, trying to gain something new. Nothing could ever fill the void left by my parents' passing, but my achievements brought me some measure of happiness. Still, as I took the final steps toward the Dean I found could muster only a tremulous smile in response to his grin.

He clasped my hand, his grasp firm, as he said heartily, "Congratulations, Dr. Masen."

I didn't realize how damp my palm was until he released his grip. I murmured an acknowledgement then continued walking toward the row of seats where my fellow graduates sat. My gaze skimmed their faces, noting the elated expressions. For just a moment I allowed my eyes to move to the rows of seats above us where family and friends gathered to share in the momentous occasion. As I searched for the familiar face,

a swath of coppery hair, elegantly draped across slender shoulders, caught my gaze. I drew a sharp breath and blinked.

My vision blurred, and my pulse thrummed. I blinked again, my eyes clearing enough to see the woman's features as she turned her head slightly. I did not recognize her face; there was no reason I should. But for a few seconds I had imagined that she was my mother.

My steps had slowed, and it was with considerable effort that I continued my short journey toward the seating area. When I finally sat down, it was with some relief. I exhaled slowly and ran a hand through my hair. Get a grip, Masen, I reprimanded myself silently. What the hell was wrong with me? Wryly, I wondered if psychiatry would be an appropriate field for me.

The names of my classmates were distant echoes in my ears as the ceremony continued. It wasn't until the thunderous clapping and whooping cheers began that I managed to rouse myself fully. I moved my hands together automatically and rose when the other graduates did.

Several of my classmates hugged me or clapped me on the back Jubilant laughter mixed with exaggerated sighs of relief as voices rose excitedly. Now the celebrations would begin. We exited the auditorium into a courtyard where the audience members were already waiting. Bright banners proclaiming congratulations to the University of Washington Medical School Class of 2005 hung from tables, and purple and gold balloons bobbed about cheerfully.

I was among the last of the graduates to enter the courtyard. There would be no embraces from family members for me. I hung back from the other celebrants, understanding that their revelry could not include me.

While I was on friendly terms with a number of my classmates, I did not feel particularly close to any of them. I had kept my distance from others emotionally; I was aware of this fact and knew that it had left me somewhat isolated. It had also given me the time to focus almost exclusively upon my studies. My undergraduate and graduate grades were exceptional, and I knew I was a favorite among the med school faculty. There would be time to form friendships later, once I was established in my career. Still, I felt a pang as I watched the little groups of parents, siblings, and spouses who exchanged embraces, caresses, and words of praise with the other graduates. My throat felt tight, and I swallowed hard. For a few seconds, the crowd began to blur again.

"Edward?" The masculine voice was soft, melodious, and kind. A hand closed gently over my shoulder. "Or should I saw Dr. Masen?" There was a light chuckle, then the grip tightened fractionally.

I blinked against the stinging in my eyes, focusing on the face before me. "Carlisle," I rasped, embarrassed by the hoarseness of my voice.

"Congratulations, Edward," he said, clasping my hand for a hearty shake. His tone had become serious, however, and his expression reflected concern. "Are you all right?" he asked.

I swallowed again. "Yes, fine."

His eyes moved slowly over my face, and I recognized the intensity of his gaze. I had seen it many times as he met new patients. He was an exceptional diagnostician, often sought out by senior colleagues despite his status as an attending. He was recognized by his peers as one of the finest physicians on staff. I felt fortunate to know him on both professional and personal levels. I had learned a great deal from Carlisle and hoped to learn a great deal more.

"Let's sit for a few minutes," he suggested, nodding toward a nearby bench.

I knew he continued to watch me with a professional eye as we walked to the bench. Once I was seated, he excused himself then returned a few moments later with a cup. I took it with a grateful smile and sipped the cool, slightly sweet lemonade.

"Better?" he asked simply.

"Yes," I replied.

"It can be a bit overwhelming, can't it?" he commented. "It's the culmination of years of effort and study, but in many ways it's just the beginning." A sympathetic smile twitched at his lips. "You looked a little unsteady after you shook the Dean's hand."

Feeling abashed, I took another sip of lemonade, focusing my gaze on the cup in my hand. "Did I?"

"Actually, I was worried for a few seconds that you might faint." His expression sobered again. "You were terribly pale. You still haven't gotten all of your color back." His words held no judgment, no criticism, only concern and empathy.

It was not in my nature to reveal my emotions to others; I had suppressed that tendency years ago. However, I found it difficult to prevaricate in the face of Carlisle's compassion. His innate kindness had been a comfort to me in those dark hours seven years ago when, within a matter of minutes, I had become an orphan.

Carlisle was a first-year resident assisting the trauma team when my parents were rushed to the hospital after the accident. While he had not delivered the devastating news to me himself, he had taken the time to sit with me for over an hour as I processed the depth of my loss. His presence had given me comfort and strength.

He had also inspired me to pursue a career in medicine. In him, I had sensed a genuine desire to help others. His work made a true contribution to the world. After the loss of my parents, I was much in need of such a purpose. Within a few months I had decided that I would undertake pre-med studies.

I was seventeen and had just begun my senior year of high school when my parents died. I had always been a strong student and a responsible teenager, and with the help of an associate from my father's law firm, I was granted status as an emancipated minor. Initially, I had found some small comfort in remaining in my own home, but soon I realized that the memories were overwhelming. Searching for a reason to get away, I threw myself into my studies, graduating at the end of the semester. Immediately I began taking college courses. With continuous study during summer and interim sessions, I completed my undergraduate degree in less than three years.

I eschewed social activities but realized that experience in a medical setting would enhance my med school applications. I began volunteering at a free clinic, and that was where I encountered Carlisle again. Despite the hundreds of patients and family members he had dealt with during the two years since I'd first met him, he remembered my parents and me.

Over the next five years, we developed an amiable relationship. His recommendation was instrumental in my acceptance to medical school, and he became something of a mentor to me. Although much of our interaction centered on medicine, occasionally we would find a spare hour to share a coffee or a meal. I enjoyed these times immensely. Carlisle was the closest thing to a real friend that I had.

As we sat together on the bench, I realized that his presence at my graduation meant a great deal to me. In his gaze, I saw both pride and affection, the same emotions reflected in the faces of the fathers of my classmates.

"Edward?" Carlisle's voice drew me from my musings. "Are you all right?"

Running a hand through my hair, I admitted, "I thought I saw my mother."

"While you were walking to your seat?" His tone showed immediate understanding.

I shrugged. "Maybe I should take a cue from Whitlock and consider specializing in psychiatry… or else make a standing appointment with him."

Carlisle placed a hand upon my shoulder again. "Between your hours at the hospital and your non-stop studying, I'm guessing you've gotten very little sleep these last few weeks."

I gave a half nod of acknowledgement.

"You know the effects of sleep deprivation," he said gently. "You're exhausted, Edward."

I really couldn't argue with that. My reflection in the mirror had shown dark smudges beneath my eyes for several days.

Carlisle's tone was soft as he continued, "I know your mother would be very proud of you. Your father would be, too."

My eyes stung again. "Thank you," I managed. We sat quietly for a minute or so until the tightness in my throat eased. "And thank you for coming," I said. "I appreciate your being here."

"It was my pleasure. You've accomplished a great deal, Edward. I'm very proud of you."

I felt a surge of affection for him, and a distant emotional memory tugged at me. This was the way I had felt when my own father had given me a sincere compliment.

"Thank you," I repeated, then gave Carlisle a quick but heartfelt embrace.

"Do you have plans this evening?" he asked. "I know several of your classmates are throwing parties."

"I suppose so, but I hadn't really planned to go."

He gave a nod of understanding. He knew that I was not particularly close to the other students. Even so, a fellow student, future psychiatrist Jasper Whitlock, had extended an invitation to join his celebration. I had declined. I knew he had a fiancée, and he had mentioned that several family members would be there, as well. In no way did I begrudge anyone the happiness that family celebrations brought, but I simply did not have the energy to immerse myself in such an event.

"Then come to dinner with Esme and me," Carlisle said.

I had met his wife several times when she had stopped by the clinic years ago, and more recently when she had brought baked goods to the hospital during a couple of his shifts. While I did not know her well, she struck me as a very kind woman. Indeed, she had made it a point to say hello to me and ask how I was doing whenever one of her visits coincided with one of my stints in the ER.

Still, I hesitated to be a third wheel. "If you and she have plans, I don't want to intrude."

"Intrude?" He arched an eyebrow at me. "We want to celebrate your achievement. You've earned it."

"All right," I agreed.

"You're looking a little better," Carlisle informed me. "If you're up to it, you might speak to the Dean and faculty for a few moments." Then, with a small grin he added, "A bit of schmoozing is usually a good idea."

I always welcomed Carlisle's advice, so I spent the next half hour shaking hands and offering words of gratitude to my professors. By the time I had spoken with each of them, I could feel the exhaustion stalking me. A dull ache lurked behind my eyes, and my steps were slow as I finally made my way to my car.

Carlisle had suggested a small trattoria a few miles from the university, saying it was one of Esme's favorite restaurants. They arrived several minutes after I did, entering the building hand in hand. Their mutual adoration was obvious, and I thought, not for the first time, what a beautiful couple they made. He was tall, lean but muscular, with fine features framed by golden hair. She was average height, but she had a striking figure, and silky caramel-colored hair that curled softly over her shoulders and around her pretty face.

Esme exuded a sense of warmth. The moment she saw me, her face lit up, and she hurried forward to embrace me, offering her congratulations in a gentle yet ebullient tone.

When she drew back, she placed a hand upon my cheek, still smiling. There was something particularly endearing about her. I recalled the way she spoke so kindly and encouragingly to all of the students and interns whenever she visited her husband at work.

She had a lovely, nurturing quality. It came through in spades as her brow furrowed slightly and she said, "You looked exhausted, Edward."

"It's been a tough semester," I agreed.

"You need to get some rest," she continued. "I've never understood the rationale behind making med students and residents keep such long hours. It's certainly not healthy for any of you, and it can't enhance your focus with your patients."

Carlisle smiled ruefully. "I'm afraid it's the nature of the beast. I can't say I'm entirely in favor of it, but attendings don't get much of a say in policy."

"Well, you're due for a good rest," Esme concluded, smoothing a hand over my unruly hair. "You'll have some time off now, won't you?"

"Yes," I replied. "I won't begin my residency until June 18."

She nodded in approval. We were shown to a table, and Carlisle ordered a bottle of Barolo, despite my attempts to protest the expense. He insisted that the occasion warranted a little extravagance.

We chatted affably until the wine arrived. He had mentioned that Esme was an architect, but I knew little else about her work. In response to my queries, she explained that she worked for a well-respected Seattle firm and was currently part of a small team creating designs for a new boutique hotel downtown.

"Esme is in line for a junior partnership," Carlisle added with pride. "Her work is exceptional."

She blushed; she and her husband were both humble people. "I always try to listen to the client—I mean really listen to what he or she wants. Sometimes people can't put their ideas into words clearly, so I attempt to get a sense of the person so that the design can reflect his or her character."

"She's incredible," Carlisle said. "Her designs are works of art."

The wine arrived, and once our glasses had been filled, Carlisle proposed a toast. Now I was the one whose face grew warm. His words were complimentary, encouraging, and affectionate. When he finished his short speech, Esme placed a hand upon my arm, saying, "We're both so proud of you."

I was deeply touched by their sentiments. I did not know now her well, yet I felt her words were utterly sincere. I managed to choke out "thank you" then took a sip of wine. It was very good, a much-needed tonic to soothe my weary mind and body.

By the end of the meal, my glass had been filled and emptied three times. My headache still lingered, but the wine had softened it. However, when I stood up, I faltered. I gripped the edge of my chair for support.

Carlisle was at my side immediately. "Easy," he cautioned benignly. "Do you feel dizzy?"

"Just a little light-headed," I murmured, embarrassed by the slight slurring of my words. "I guess I had too much wine."

"That and lack of sleep will do it," he agreed.

He slipped an arm around me, and before I realized what was happening, he was helping me into the back seat of his car.

"I'm okay," I protested weakly. "I can walk home from here."

Esme was seated beside Carlisle. She turned around to look at me. "Nonsense. You're coming home with us tonight. You are in dire need of some TLC. Doctor's wife's orders."

Carlisle chuckled. "I wouldn't try to argue with her, Edward. You won't win."

Resigned, I allowed my head to fall back against the soft leather and closed my eyes.

To be continued…