Author's Note: Osashiburi desu ne? Time to get back into the writing groove I suppose. I've written this piece because I think that Twilight is so close to fanfiction that writing something centered on Edward and Bella would just be white noise. Carlisle and Esme are such better centers of originality for me. I hope you enjoy.
Standard disclaimers apply.
The Old Rhythm ---
The quiet humming from the upstairs bedroom carried throughout the house like the melody of a song that was once familiar but whose words had long since been forgotten. The slow, lingering notes resonated like the strings of a violin in the throes of a poignant solo. For Carlisle the sound was divine, unlike the interpretations of whoever else seemed to be tuned in to the potentially sad song. Just hearing her voice in any form was enough for him.
Esme was happiest when she was singing.
Standing in the doorway of the study gave Carlisle a much-needed view of the woman that had, over time, become his world. She was sitting in his favorite chair and reading an old book that she had pulled off of his corner shelf. Her eyes were glued to the pages, scanning back and forth quickly as she consumed the words much liked frenzied vampire consumed the blood of a victim. Her legs were tucked under her body and one elbow rested on an arm of the chair, propping her upright. The hair that usually cascaded around her shoulders in waves was bound up above her head in a messy bun that had obviously been hastily fastened for utility rather than beauty. She wore his favorite green shirt in place of one of her own.
Once he had taken his eyes off of his wife, he realized that he recognized the cover of the book as his tattered copy of The Silmarillion. It was a favorite that he kept shelved alongside his other creationistic books. The subject matter was not one usually interesting to Esme's eyes, however.
"Are you just going to stand there and stare?" she asked after a moment.
"Maybe I will," he said with a crooked grin. "I think I have a right."
"You could come and read with me," she said, finally looking up to meet his eyes. "I don't bite, I promise."
"Now that, my dear, is a lie."
He walked to her side with a languid, human pace. His steps were steady, unwavering despite his need to be close to her. It had been a long day at the hospital, and even though he was used to lengthy shifts, he craved her touch more than usual. The feel of her silky skin against his own was the only thing in the world that he cared about at that moment in time.
"Hard day?" she asked as she was resettled into his lap. She could feel the stress in the tenseness of his body. He was more uptight in his actions than usual, and she could feel it in the way he cradled her from behind.
"I almost lost my composure today," he admitted into the curve of her shoulder. The words were like soft kisses against the skin there. "It was very trying."
Her hand reached up to thread through his golden locks of hair. Like a child, he enjoyed the soft touches of affection that she had to offer. Even in his most depleted states of being she was there beside him, ready to support him in whatever the trouble seemed to be.
"What happened?" she asked quietly as she closed her book.
"A dying boy was rushed into the emergency room today," he explained. "There had been some sort of household accident that ended with a knife buried in his stomach. There was so much blood…"
"It hasn't bothered you in all of your time working at the hospital," she said questioningly.
"All these long shifts lately haven't given me adequate time to hunt. I've been walking a thin line for the past week."
"This is exactly why you shouldn't overwork yourself," she scolded. "All work and no play makes Carlisle a cranky vampire."
He nipped lightly at her neck then, running his teeth delicately over her skin. With a deep breath he inhaled the familiar scent of the only person who could ever know the vulnerable side of his life. Esme knew all of his secrets and understood the ramifications that came with living a life so closely tied to the prey in which they were voluntarily forbidden to hunt. For him she reigned in her instincts.
"Do you ever miss the old life?"
"Sometimes I wonder if life wouldn't be easier that way," he answered. "I hardly remember the way I began this existence."
"Have you forgotten the taste?"
"Smell is, in a way, taste. There's so much blood in the hospital that it's become background noise to my senses. Although I clearly remember your blood."
"Do you really?"
"Of course."
"That's kind of sweet in a strange way," she grinned. "Too bad I never had the chance to sample what you had to offer."
"Esme Cullen," he balked. "That sounds quite scandalous."
"Does it? I hadn't noticed."
He chuckled then as his lips continued their trail up her neck, pausing to nibble at the skin along her jaw line. The way in which she tilted her head at that time gave him both better access and the unspoken permission that he always sought when vying for her physical affections. With Esme he never just took what he wanted; he was always a gentleman. Polite.
"I can think of a few other things that might sound scandalous," she whispered conspiratorially.
"Oh really?"
She pursed her lips together in over expressive thought. A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth, giving Carlisle a view of his wife's playful side. On any given day she was a very composed woman, but just occasionally she let the child inside escape her.
"Maybe you should tell me some of these things," he whispered back.
"How about I show you instead?"
---
"Why were you reading my book?" he asked a while later when things had quieted down. "You never read those kinds of stories."
"Maybe I wasn't really reading," she said sheepishly. "Maybe I was just waiting up for you."
"I'm sorry I've been so busy lately," he apologized. "The beginning of summer is always a rough time for the hospital."
"I know."
"But lucky for you I've got a handful of vacation days stored away."
She propped her head up on his chest to get a better look at his face. He was relaxed and complacent, with the lazy look of a man half on the brink of sleep. If she didn't know any better she would have expected him to drift off into unconsciousness.
"Where will we go?"
"Well we haven't been to the island in years," he suggested. "A little time away from the kids might do us both some good."
"Mmm, I think that sounds wonderful. We can get back into the old groove of things," she smiled.
"As much as I love things nowadays, sometimes I miss the beginning, back when we didn't have so many distractions around."
"Life has a funny way of throwing things at you. With as many years as we've been around, it's hard to believe it's taken this long to realize that we need a break."
They were both quiet then in the night as the shadows from the moon washed over their pale bodies. For hours they laid tangled together in their bed with the sheets tossed loosely over them. To any passerby it would have looked as though the couple had fallen asleep after a night of lovemaking. Decades of being together made their stillness comfortable for them.
When the morning light began to stream through the window, illuminating their skin, Carlisle got up to prepare for work. He still had several more stressful days of accidents and illness before he could be free to maraud around the private island he had bought for his wife.
"You didn't hunt last night," she commented as she played with his tie. Her eyes were fixed on the blackness of his own.
"I know," he grinned, "but that's no fault of my own."
"Will you be all right to work today?"
"I think I'll manage," he nodded. "I'll try to think of you if I get any urges for blood. You're quite the distraction."
"Well I try."
She walked him to the door then, pausing just outside to kiss him goodbye. She tucked an umbrella into his hand to fend off the sunlight that occasionally peeked through the clouds.
As he walked towards the car that he had left parked outside in the driveway, he heard the gentle singing that had lured him upstairs the night before. It was no less appealing, and brought back memories that left him with a smile on his face. He carried the tune with him throughout the rest of the `
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Note: Endings are so not my forte.
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