A/N: All human. I don't own Twilight.
He sees her, and even though he knows better, decides to take the empty seat beside her. The bar lighting isn't strong, but his eyes are. He can see how young she is despite her tidy, conservative appearance—too young and too pretty to be studying her reflection in her shot glass.
"Rough night?" he asks. He isn't surprised at her silence. The world, and the people in it, are not as kindly as the one he had been raised in.
"Not at all," the young lady answers, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see her posture straighten. What does surprise him is the sweetness in the curve of her lip, no matter how guarded and polite and brief her smile was. "Thank you for asking."
"It's nothing to thank me for. Honestly, it's ingrained in me to help someone." Especially someone who, out of consideration, cares about hiding their pain from a perfect stranger.
"Are you a shrink?" she asks.
"While I am a doctor and psychiatry is a noble calling, it's not my cup of tea."
While the bartender takes his order with a knowing glance between him and the vulnerable girl beside him, she makes a game out of his life's work.
"Then what are you? A family doctor?"
"A neurosurgeon?"
"A cardiac specialist?"
He has to whistle at that. "Most young ladies would call me a heart doctor, but yes, cardiovascular diseases are my specialty. How did you guess?" He really isn't sure what about his appearance gave it away.
"It's my luck," the girl says, and the smile finally reaches her eyes. "My heart was sort of crushed recently. Figures I'd attract someone who could fix it."
His face gets hot and it's because of his drink. Has to be.
"I'm Bella," she continues and extends her hand. "And you are Doctor…?"
"Carlisle." Technically, he is Doctor Cullen but doesn't want to introduce himself in such a formal and impersonal capacity.
"Well Doctor Carlisle, it was very kind of you to look out for me, but I'm in my 20's. I've heard that people my age recover quickly from heartbreak."
"How old are you?" Carlisle asks, and he's thinking that she must be 26 or 27 with amazing genes.
"I just turned actually… This will be my first drink. Cheers." And she sips at it.
Which makes Carlisle choke a little on his. "You are 21?" In his days as an emergency room surgeon, he's picked a lot of windshield out of many 20-somethings.
"How young are you?" she throws at him in a revolted tone before adding sheepishly, "Excuse me, this stuff is vile."
"I'm a very spry 43," Carlisle admits.
"Huh, an old 21 and a spry 43. We're a unique pair," Bella remarks, and then she deflates.
"Are you quite alright?" He can't help but push her barely touched shot glass out of the way. In doing so, his thumb glides over her bare fingers.
Bella flinches, pulls away her left hand. "Not really, no. I mean, he left me. Almost out of the blue. He had plans for us tonight, if his cryptic teasers leading up to my birthday were anything to go by." Her lips tremble as she absentmindedly rubs at her hand. "Happy Birthday to me."
It doesn't take sharp eyes like Carlisle's to see that it is the ring finger on her left hand that she compulsively touches, as though to make sure it is real. Empty and real.
"I'm sorry," Carlisle says. "I understand." And he really does. "As far as my children know it, I've been married for almost 12 years." His jaw clenches determinedly as Bella watches him struggle to admit to deceiving his loved ones. After a long pull at his drink, and flexing his fist many times, Carlisle confesses.
"She and I filed for legal separation as soon as my youngest entered college for a bachelor's. We've lived amicably for a couple years, agreeing to finalize our… divorce… as soon as our son graduated. Neither she or I wanted family problems to make his schooling difficult."
"Hold on," Bella interrupts incredulously. "You're really 43? And your youngest is in college? You can't have more than one even if you and your wife married out of high school. And you did med school for how long? And you're a surgeon!"
Carlisle smiles, and he forgives. "Very observant of you." He is really curious on what she is in school for, a girl as intelligent and quick as she was. "Esme and I were so in love and we had much to look forward to when we married. I wanted to finish my residency first before having our first child." He stared at his empty glass, licking his lips and not sure what he was thirsty for. "Esme pressured me for children as she came closer to 30. She was married before, but it ended terribly when her baby died in the cradle. She wanted—and I wanted for her—"
"Stop," Bella says. "I want to listen to you. I swear." She looks around the bar and gestures at the sticky counter, the walls plastered with flickering neon lights and sports paraphernalia, the other listless customers, etc. "Just somewhere a little more private."
She couldn't possibly be offering to—
Carlisle's shock fades as Bella bobs her head to a more remote corner of the place where the tables are empty and away from the windows. He could see her watching him out of the corner of her doe eyes, from the way her lash flutters.
She goes to a booth and gestures to him again. He orders two more drinks and follows, spilling a little on himself when he scoots onto his seat. Bella surprises him by plopping down next to him, causing him to spill alcohol on her.
"Bother! I really didn't mean to do that. Please accept—"
"Relax, Carlisle. Don't you dare apologize for my clumsy tendencies." Her eyebrows raise. "Did you know that you're speaking English?"
"Handy ability in the States," Carlisle states wryly.
"You didn't start with the Queen's English," Bella points out, smirking. "An authentic accent, too. Impressive." As he looks at her really, really pretty mouth, some of her radiance dims.
"You've come so very far," Bella says, and it's cute how she props her chin in her hand and sighs. "Please tell me more about yourself."
Lord, give him the strength to do this.
"Right then," Carlisle fumbles. "The long and short of it is, we aren't able to have our own. We tried fostering for a time, but then Esme and I had to stop after taking in five kids."
"Why?"
"We ended up adopting all of them," Carlisle says, and Bella laughs out of disbelief. "I make a very comfortable living, but putting all of them through college, or vocational school for Emmett, on top of saving for retirement, paying off mortgages, a financial adviser—a good one, mind you- Not to mention that Esme and I adopted extras from The Fast and the Furious."
Carlisle pauses and finishes another drink. "My youngest has his eye on an Aston Martin. The shipping costs alone—well, these are the sort of concerns which will interest you in a decade or two."
"Oh, I'm interested," Bella responds, and she bites her lip.
"Would you like the number of our financial adviser?" Carlisle asks. "It's the least I could do, making you listen to my life story. I really meant to give you cliff notes."
"You could do me one better." At his perplexed expression, Bella decides to just freaking go for it already. "H- how about your number?"
Bella misinterprets his stunned silence. She's already slipping her purse strap over her shoulder. "I apologize. You must think I'm trying to take advantage. Please, laugh it off as a gaffe committed by any typical American girl."
While many of his cohorts normally consider him to be on the ball most days, things painfully dragged themselves into place for Carlisle: He was technically single, in a bar where he was not the youngest nor the most attractive technically single man, spending his Saturday evening with what appeared to be a smart and attentive woman who was likely the youngest and definitely the most attractive and very much single.
After three years of sharing a marriage bed so large that husband and wife rarely ever touched, even Carlisle has his limits.
His hand smacks itself forcefully on the table top. He doesn't care about any curious bleary-eyed stares the noise attracts because she stops and he doesn't have to risk laying an unwelcome hand on her.
"Should you find yourself interested, in a decade or two, I would certainly oblige you." It's not really cheating if his native tones surface in the heat of the moment.
"That's cheating," Bella tells him flatly. "Unprovoked use of Brit speak."
"Heat of the moment, and what have you." He has not felt this way since he asked Esme to dance with him.
"Then what if I'm interested now?" Bella inquires.
He is foolish for asking at this point in time, but she is young and vulnerable and he is older and knows better. "In a nightcap?"
"Yeah. My place." She eyes the number of drained glasses that have steadily cluttered his side of the table in less than half an hour. "I'll drive. It's not far from here. I'll drop you off in the morning."
In the two or three minutes it takes to walk to Bella's car, Carlisle assures himself that he is not betraying Esme, not really. Esme's lawyer made her intentions very clear.
"Be forewarned. My, uh, car is a preface to my apartment," Bella says, reverting to her shy voice.
Carlisle can't stop himself from reacting when she opens the door of a dull, red truck. "Your landlord does have the building up to code, right?" His hands poke around his wide seat and find nothing to stop him from meeting windshield if anything happened.
Even if Carlisle weren't a perfect gentleman, he would not have intentionally distracted Bella as the truck's engine chugged along the dark streets. The Almighty, Carlisle has learned painfully through the years, included irony in Creation, fathomless though His reasons may be.
The entrance and the hallways are admittedly repugnant with tobacco, urine, and curry. Carlisle breathes when Bella shuts out and locks out the nasal assault. It's dry and stuffy in her apartment, but it smells familiar to him. The first thing he sees are the piles and piles of books neatly stacked on every flat surface, including the limited floor space in front of what might be a TV.
It smells like a library in here.
"Take a seat, if you can. Can I get you something to drink while I change?" Bella asks.
"Water is fine," is Carlisle's stock answer. He is comfortable standing next to a couch that has a few books opened and placed cover side up, possibly to save the page number.
"Here you are." She gives him a tall glass with crushed ice and transfers the books from the couch, still open and cover side up, to perch precariously on the piles taking up residence on the table. "You'll have to excuse the clutter. I had no reason to expect company, like, ever."
"Forever is a long time."
"Yes." She looks away and heads towards where her bedroom must be. "I won't be taking nearly as long."
Carlisle takes note of where her bedroom must be and quashes the image of her sprawled on a bed of books. He's not bored at all, reading the various titles and sipping the water to minimize the dehydrating effects of the alcohol. A hangover is not in the cards if he wants a pleasant wake-up with Bella.
"My lady reads The Brothers Karamazov?"
Bella, looking younger than the 21 year old she claims to be in a man's shirt and polka dotted pants, blushes and reaches for her copy.
"Everything is permitted," Carlisle says, giving her an out.
Bella blinks muchly at him, and her nervous half-smile melts into an easy grin. "Fyodor," she names the speaker he has quoted correctly.
"Your loveliness," Carlisle begins, is only surpassed by your intelligence."
Of course, she stares at him as though hearing a compliment directed at her for the first time. Then her obviously good upbringing kicks in. "Th-thank you. You really mean that."
"Surely you've been told."
"I've gotten 'beautiful' and 'adorable' and 'Bambi'," Bella stutters, and she nudges the copy of The Brothers Karamazov on a pile that sways and falls, sending paperbacks every which way.
"And graceful. You embody grace," Carlisle teases once he's sure that she's not hurt.
To his relief, Bella laughs and wordlessly commands him not to clean up her mess. She takes the two he has picked up and hugs them to her chest.
"Be fair. I haven't done this before," Bella states defensively. Her upper body turns side-to-side while she clutches the books in schoolgirl fashion, an effect that is magnified by her unmade face.
It makes Carlisle feel like a bad man. He's not sure if he is reaching for the books or the beautiful person hiding behind them.
"What? You haven't let anyone…" Carlisle gently rests his hands on her tense shoulders, rubbing her arms a few times. He can hear her swallow, hard, from how closely he leans into her.
He whispers. "…carry your books, luv?"
That earns him a smack.
"Holy crow. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Of course, you know what I meant. Picking up a really hot guy, okay? Letting you into my cave. It's really not how I roll."
This time, Carlisle steps out of range. "Maybe if you traded in that monstrosity…"
"Oh, you! Maybe I should trade you in! We haven't even kissed and I can tell that you're trouble."
"Hmmmm, we haven't. You should've said something earlier," he says, half expecting her to swat him with Crime and Punishment when he cups her smooth cheek.
"Please," Bella says when he hesitates. "Everything is permitted, remember?"
"Good man, that Fyodor." He doesn't even know what he's talking about anymore because all he can see is her lip trapped under her teeth and all he can do is coax her supple, pink lip free with a kiss.
He must've said something more appropriate for seduction because Bella shivers under his fingers which somehow found their way under her shirt. Carlisle loses track of time, and more importantly, direction as they kiss and feel each other up. In his current lack of mind, he wouldn't be able to navigate through her books to her bed.
It's a good thing Bella takes the lead, guiding him to her bed as her hands guide his towards more intriguing paths down—well, down.
She makes the loveliest picture, sprawled and mussed with only the shirt left on her body, and the poor shirt is hanging for dear life off her pale shoulder. It takes Carlisle a few seconds and many displaced buttons to get what he wants.
And then she's perfect, with not a stitch to mar her perfection, framed by a pillow and the unmade covers.
"Carlisle."
"Bella."
She says his name again when he's more or less fallen on her. There is so much of her skin, and only so much of it he could put his mouth on. As methodical as any health practitioner, Carlisle decides to go from top to bottom and if that didn't work out, he could always go back.
He kisses her wrists before pinning them over her lovely face. He devours her mouth. He nibbles what's left of it, and, letting Bella catch her breath, proceeds to nuzzle the delicate skin of her upper arm, inhaling deeply the scent of her body, trailing his nose and mouth almost lazily along her throat, between her breasts, down her navel, and flicks his tongue against many crevices.
Perhaps a minute passes when Carlisle realizes that Bella's last boyfriend clearly had no idea how to handle a woman like her. After only a handful of light caresses, she's amazed with his touch and what it's doing to her. She's gasping for it.
And he's only taken off his polo shirt.
"What is this?" Bella moans when his tongue curls around her ear as his fingertips stroke the base of her neck and trails along her spine into the dip of her arching back.
She's not as pliant when Carlisle mumbles unintelligibly against her hip and palms her bottom. Her legs, shaking from holding it all in, snap together. Fortunately, his one hand is on her bent knee, fingers splayed over her thigh. Gently, gently, Carlisle's touches soothe her, rubbing calming circles in the flesh.
"Relax, luv. I won't bite." He doesn't, but he might as well have. She bucks when he puts his mouth there and, holy crow, not happening, not happening. God, she did not just try to crush his head with her thighs.
She most definitely did not scream. An apology, of all things.
"No need to be sorry, Bella. Wanted you to." She doesn't care for the taste when he kisses her, this time on her lips, but it makes her want him more, somehow, incredibly. She's pretty much jello, but Bella is determined to get his pants off and return the favor, watery limbs be damned.
Thankfully, he laughs when she swats him for helping her with his belt. Bella entertains the idea of unzipping him with her teeth, but decides to save that for next time.
Carlisle frowns and thumbs her nose when she stops, with a dazed expression. Almost bashfully, he slips off his wedding band, or tries to before her fingers clamp firmly on his arm.
"No, don't. You told me about your marriage. I should know what I'm getting myself into," Bella says, and she eases his ring all the way back on. With a crooked smile, she tells him. "Heh, you should know what you're getting into, figuratively speaking. You are my first time. I want to remember everything as it really is."
"You are really quite—" Carlisle balks, the rest of her eloquent words catching up to him. "I'm your first?"
"Yeah," she says, and her lashes are fluttering and her eyelids are lowering as she leans into him for another kiss.
Which doesn't happen.
He's gentle and slow and careful, but that doesn't change the fact that he's pushing himself away from her.
"Bella, I'm going to have to take a rain check on that nightcap," Carlisle says, and it pains him, in all sorts of ways.
"What? Hey, why are you—with the clothes?"
He's put his shirt on, doesn't bother with fixing his collar. "I can't do it, after all."
"Oh," Bella says, and she pulls the covers up her body.
From the devastated look on her face, he has to explain himself. "You won't feel it in the morning, or the next day, maybe not even the next year… but eventually, you would come to think of me as not only your first, but your first mistake."
"Oh!" Bella exclaims, and then the anger kicks in. "This is what it's about? Because I'm a virgin, you're not going to sleep with me?"
"Essentially. Listen to me when I say that you should save yourself for a man who's committed to you." Carlisle doesn't mean for his words to come out clipped, but he figures that he needs to leave now. A woman who reads Tolstoy must have many sizable literary classics in her arsenal.
He would have to lie about his injuries if she beaned him with War and Peace. Or worse, Paradise Lost, the whole lot of it.
"Fine, whatever. It's a little late to be acting like my father." As pissed off as she is, Bella does not lob any of her books at him. Instead, she pulls her clothes on and stomps out of the room, presumably to show him out the door.
Carlisle buckles his belt and finishes wedging his foot into his shoe. The back of it is digging into his heel, but he doesn't let that keep him for a minute or a second longer.
"Bella, I—what are you doing?"
Instead of slamming the door on him, Bella follows him with her car keys in hand.
"We were in there for awhile. It's late. You are not walking through this block by yourself."
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"You have less of a reason to be outside this late," Carlisle says, looking pointedly at her polka-dotted bottoms.
"I'll be fine. You, however, have five VERY good reasons not to be here." She pauses. "And one really lame one."
"I appreciate you thinking of my safety, but I was going to call a cab."
"Carlisle!" Bella snaps. "I am emotionally invested in your well-being, and I am never going to see you again. If you take out the part where I say a proper goodbye to you, it's exactly how it went with my ex."
"…At least let me follow you back to your apartment in my car to make sure you get safely inside."
Bella relents.
Before he gets into his car, she tells him, "You suck. For whatever it's worth, best of luck with your kids."
"Thank you Bella. Best of luck with…"
"Yeah. My ticker. That's Brit speak for it, right?"
She's definitely not smiling, not even close, but somehow Carlisle relaxes, knowing deep down that he is doing the right thing.
Once he is back behind the steering wheel, he doesn't flatten the accelerator. Carlisle doesn't know how long he is staring at the door that locks behind Bella, but it must have been too long because he sees her face through the window on the second floor, and that's when he finally drives away, determined not to look back and wonder why the light in the window never blinked out.
A/N: Ah, nerd love. Don't own any of the titles mentioned in the fiction.