AN ~ SORRY! I am so sorry to leave you guys hanging for so long, but it's my last year of school (nearly the end...) so I'm UBER busy. But though I can't concentrate on writing much at the moment, I thought I'd post something to let (my Twilight readers at least) know I'm still alive!
I wrote this ages ago, as the beginning of a piece for fandom4floods. It is set near the end of Breaking Dawn, the night Carlisle and Edward go off to scout for the oncoming Volturi. Its title comes from the song of the same name by Delta Goodrem which, while it doesn't exactly fit the situation in this story, speaks to me with Esme's voice about the fears/hopes she has for her family at the end of Breaking Dawn. You should listen to it.
Disclaimer: the characters nor the song/title are mine
The Last Night on Earth
Twilight creeps upon the Cullen house; tonight its usually gentle, embracing tendrils bring nothing but uncertainty and foreboding. Though the rooms are full of colourful characters, scarcely a word can be heard as the sun hides his golden crown below the horizon.
Into the dusk, they walk, hand in hand: a man and woman, husband and wife, mother and father. Her caramel locks glisten in the soft light, and his rich golden eyes track their hands, clasped together and swinging, savouring the moment neither of them want to face. The one which could be their last.
"Esme," he murmurs at last, bringing both of them to a halt. He finds he cannot think of a word adequate with which to continue, so he wraps his arms right around his wife and hugs her tightly. She is shaking; scared, desperate...he feels the same.
"Carlisle," she whimpers into his chest, pressing her forehead to his shoulder for a long moment, before looking up at him. He removes a hand from her back, and uses it to brush the remaining tendrils of hair from her face. Deep eyes of butterscotch plead with him, dragging on his heartstrings, begging him to stay.
"Don't leave me." Her voice, strangled by tears, joins the plea. "Whatever happens..."
"Never," he vows, with a gentle smile. "Have no fear, my love; I will always be with you."
"I don't believe you," she manages. Carlisle gently pulls his wife back into their former embrace, and her eyes flutter closed as she reluctantly commits to memory every detail...just in case this is the last time.
"Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love," he reminds her, assuringly sweeping his hand down her tresses.
"There is no greater," Esme sniffs. "I love you...but no love in the world can put out a fire, no love can create life from ashes...I'm so afraid I'll lose you, Carlisle. I cannot live, knowing you may not be back in the morning..."
"As long as you want me, I'll be here. No hatred, no fear, no coercion will sway me from your call, I promise you."
"If they chase you?"
"I shall run."
"If they tear you to pieces?"
"I shall pull myself together."
"If they burn you?"
"I shall spend all my years in heaven training to come to you in saintly apparitions."
She smiles, even laughs a little, at the last comment, but his eyes darken slightly. His thoughts move to his oldest, yet youngest, son Edward...new husband, new father, new man – yet a man who does not believe there is a heaven awaiting him. How is he handling the news that he and his beloved Bella may be parted so soon? Perhaps there is a different place for vampires; not heaven but not hell, where they hope to be reunited. Carlisle frowns, disappointed that he has not kept up to date with his son's troubled and ever-changing mentalities. Edward, who previously came to his father whenever he had a question, has become increasingly private since Carlisle's decision to let Bella's dangerous pregnancy carry on. Now both parents and grandparents are glad for that decision, but while he could never detest Nessie, Carlisle has his regrets: as early as tomorrow morning, they could all be dead, with Edward's trust in him never reconciled.
As Carlisle ponders his recent fallout of communication with his son, Esme breathes deeply the scent of her sanctuary; her husband, lover, dearest friend, unwavering support in times of trouble and beacon of purity and hope. She can feel the golden crucifix resting comfortably against his chest, and wonders if right now, it is as heavy to him as she feels it must be; after all, he could very well be fighting, even killing, some of his oldest friends tomorrow. Especially for one like Carlisle, that is no easy burden to bear.
Quietly, as smoothly as possible, she adjusts her position so that the pad of one of her fingers rests over the tiny crucifix. She's not very experienced in faith matters, but who or whatever is out there, she supposes, will appreciate the effort. Silently, she prays: she asks for protection, and for the strength to defend her family despite the cost. She asks that the friends they have gathered remain faithful, but that they do not suffer too much for their loyalty. She prays for Edward and Bella, and particularly little Renesmee to be saved, so that they might enjoy at least a little time together after such a long fight to get to where they now stand. For the first time in nearly a century, tears threaten to trickle down Esme's ghostly-pale cheeks as she thinks of her dear granddaughter; so cruelly abused already, to have life taken from her infantile fingertips.
"Carlisle," the low, quiet voice of Edward gently calls his parents from their thoughts. He is standing out of sight, allowing them a private moment of farewell. The sky is dark now. Esme knots her hands in Carlisle's shirt, begging their last few seconds to go as slowly as Father Time could make them. Carlisle covers his wife's hands with his own, and gently pries them away. She does not resist.
"I must go," he murmurs, kissing her forehead with the tenderness of a feather landing there.
"Stay, please, stay," she whimpers, closing her eyes. She feels dizzy, as if she will not be able to stand straight once Carlisle lets her go. He squeezes her hands reassuringly, and leans in for a better kiss – a kiss worthy of a goodbye like this one – but he cannot bear to do it. Instead, in a rush of wind, Carlisle leaves his wife at the bottom of their yard, swaying in the cold, prickling wind.