Disclaimer: While the attempt has been made to be medically accurate, some artistic license has been taken, and statements made by Carlisle are not to be regarded as authoritative.

Recognizable characters and plotlines are the property of Stephenie Meyer; all original characters and story © 2016 FemaleChauvinist.

Do not post without permission. Do not copy/print without including the above disclaimer in its entirety.

Early Spring 2010

Nessie five A/E fourteen

Esme

I slipped into Carlisle's office and stood waiting for him to notice me. He sat studying a medical journal that was folded back at a particular page.

"Interesting article?" I asked finally.

He turned, an instant smile on his lips. "Actually, I was thinking about what I'm going to specialize in when we move; there's an ad here for a staff physician at a nursing home."

I frowned as I crossed the room to lean against the arm of his chair and slip my arm around his neck. "Geriatrics? I'm not sure that's the best idea."

He raised an eyebrow. "And why ever not, love? I'm qualified."

I smiled and kissed his forehead. "Of course you are." My Carlisle was qualified for anything. Then I sighed. "But it bothers you so much when you lose a patient…" On those days he would come home and simply sit holding me for hours; there were no words of comfort I could give him. He had admitted to me that it was the reason he had never seriously considered going into oncology…and now he wanted to take a job where most of the patients had a life expectancy of five to ten years or less?

He shrugged. "I doubt it's any worse than working emergency…and I didn't even have you when I practiced before modern medicine."

"I know, but…you'll be closer to these patients, Carlisle. It won't be like losing a stranger in the ER."

"It's the senseless deaths that bother me the most," he said softly, the memories haunting his eyes. "The children…the young adults…the parents with young families. These patients, Esme…they've lived full lives. Most of them have already lost a spouse. Their deaths…well, it doesn't seem wrong, Esme. I'll never believe in euthanasia; thou knows that. But I do think maybe there's a time to stop fighting…to let go…to accept death as a friend instead of an enemy."

I looked steadily into his eyes, and saw that he meant every word. Maybe he needed this; a few years of losing patients whose deaths didn't make him wish he could have done more. "Do what you think best," I told him softly.

He smiled and brushed his lips across the back of my hand. "I'll be fine, Esme…as long as I have you to come home to."

First story coming next week!

I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!

Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Twilight alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie