Author's disclaimer: all rights go to Stephenie Meyer, with the exception of the plot in this story.

Author's note: please, leave me reviews and let me know what you think. This is just a one shot - I really wanted to write a story for Esme. I found the story of Edward and Bella a little dull and lacking in depth in comparison to the characters of the Cullens. Their back stories are fascinating and full of so much that we can explore. I really felt for Esme and I was interested in her story. I think she and Carlisle are the sweetest couple and I wanted to write something for them.

Author's aside: lyrics used in this story come from Dance in the Graveyards by Delta Rae

Holding On and Letting Go

The bristles of the paintbrush could be heard scraping across the paper, the trails of paint leaving behind a strong smell of oil and intoxicating solvent. As time passed by, the strokes got quicker and more urgent as a picture was formed on the page. Delicate eyebrows pulled together into a frown, in concentration or distress, one couldn't be sure. The sun peeked through the slight gap in the curtains, allowing light to blare through into the darkened room. The light bounced off the delicate, slender fingers of the artist, forming an array of colours to grace the room. The skin sparkled like a diamond, highlighting the smooth marble skin. Flawless.

She felt a presence at her side, the familiar warm scent of cinnamon, nature and musk enveloping her senses. She closed her eyes as she inhaled, hearing a sigh pass his perfect lips. She felt his hands cup around her shoulders.

"That's a perfect portrait, Esme darling," her husband, Carlisle murmured into her ear.

"Thank you," she replied, applying more paint to her brush.

"You haven't coloured in the eyes," he noted.

Esme stiffened, snapping her paintbrush in half.

"What is it?" he asked, rubbing his hands down her arms.

"I don't know what colour they should be," she said brokenly.

Carlisle stared down at his wife, losing himself in the billows of soft caramel-coloured hair that fell down her back in gentle curls. He noted the colours in them, changing when the light streaming between the drapes caught the strands, the gold, the brown… the red. That stopped him. It was so reminiscent of Edward's own colour that he could no longer pretend all was well. A hole was ever present in their home since he left them, and Esme had taken it the hardest.

"He'll come back, love," he said firmly. Edward's choice to leave had stung. He tried not to show it to Esme – she had seen enough already. Edward had been a very angry new born and he saw that same angry new born once again before he chose to leave. He had screamed at Carlisle, bitter for having his appetite curbed for so many years. He hated hearing the evils in people's mind and the added burden of being a vampire. This was perhaps the first time Carlisle had ever considered that he'd made a mistake in changing him. He couldn't help but grieve for the people that Edward would inevitably kill. He only had to hold onto hope that his son would return.

Esme, however, grieved for another reason. She felt the pain of losing a son. Another son. And it hurt so much. After her transformation seven years ago, she felt his acceptance when she subconsciously treated him as her own son and thus, that's what he became. She always felt the ache of losing her first child when she was human, but Carlisle had soothed the pain. She accepted that Edward was the closest she'd get to a son, but she loved him all the same. There was however, also the burn.

Edward had been gone for over a year now and with Esme's loss came an increased thirst. She usually went on hunts with Carlisle and he never questioned why she wished to go more often than usual. She didn't venture out and mingle in society like she used to do, and even that wasn't often. She struggled with her bloodlust after her awakening as a new born vampire, yet even now, she still struggled and these days, it was worse.

"Carlisle," she whispered.

Carlisle walked around her chair and knelt in front of her, gazing into her heart-shaped face. His eyebrows furrowed in concern upon watching her face crumble with emotions he couldn't easily place.

"I've been sitting in this room for hours before you finished at the hospital, just sitting, seeing his face. I had to get it out of my mind, so I drew him. For a moment, it felt like he was right in front of me. Then I got to his eyes and I remembered. I saw myself stepping off that cliff and I felt weightless. One step was all it took." Esme stood up and walked to the window, standing to one side so that she didn't stand in the direct sunlight. She lifted one hand and considered her glittering hand. "I should be stronger than this. It's been how long since I last attacked?"

Then Carlisle understood. Her thirst had become unbearable in her grief over losing yet another son. He knew the pain of her human life still haunted her, but he hadn't considered that it affected her senses so much. "Be patient with yourself – how we're living, if you have the strength for it…" he trailed off as her face hardened, staring out into the garden.

"It sickens me how much I yearn for the scent of human blood. I miss enjoying the smell of fresh oranges, bread right out of the oven."

"What can you smell now?" he asked simply.

She closed her eyes. "You," she smiled, remembering the good that she now has in her life. "Leaves warmed by the sun, crushed grass… papers." She frowned on the last one and turned to look at Carlisle who was now standing with his hands clasping two elegant envelopes. "What is it?"

"A charity function," he said, holding up the invitations. "A party at the Davenport family as donation to the hospital. An invitation we should accept if we want to avoid setting ourselves apart."

"You think I'm ready – even after this?" she asked, staring into his golden eyes.

"I'll be right by your side," he replied, standing in front of her. "You don't have to go anywhere until you're completely sure. You just have to trust yourself. I do."

She considered him for a moment, smiling faintly at the unwavering trust, love and devotion in his eyes.

Later, she came downstairs to meet her husband at the door. He turned to her, holding out his arms and smiled. "Well, how do I look?" he asked.

She studied him carefully. He was dressed in a tuxedo, his tails black but a white waist coat, shirt and bow tie completing the look. "Dashing," she smiled, coming forward to him, placing both hands on his chest. He smiled, leaning down to give her a chaste kiss on the lips.

"Are you sure you want to stay?" he asked, the adoration in his eyes never leaving them.

She nodded from within his embrace. He pecked her once more on the lips and left their home. She sighed, turning around to return to her bedroom, only to stop in her tracks upon noticing a silver box on the ground, well in sight, tied shut by an intricate sparkly silver ribbon. She picked it up and opened it carefully, still paying close attention to the strength she used. She pulled off the lid and looked inside, the contents hidden by a piece of paper resting on top. She took up the paper to see Carlisle's familiar script gracing the page with the inscription 'I love you'. She smiled as she looked deeper into the box to find silver, one-inch heeled sandals for her. She looked in the direction of the door, warmth filling her at Carlisle's gift and encouragement. She headed upstairs to her bedroom, shoes in hand, her mind changed as she got ready to join her husband.

She knocked, and the door was opened by a man that no one took much notice of. She walked into the large hall and all eyes in the vicinity turned to stare at her. This wasn't wholly unusual. She noticed this occur in hospitals when Carlisle was at work. Even she had done it when she was a human when she met him for the first time 18 years ago. However, now the attention was on her. Carlisle's wife was somewhat of a mystery to society as she didn't mix in company like she once tried to. Her bloodlust limited the amount of time she wished to spend away from the safety of her home and Carlisle. Yet, he was here. She picked up on his scent and looked around the room to find him.

She manoeuvred her way through the crowds, one woman bumping into her side and taking a sharp step back from Esme's cold touch. Esme barely registered the glares and stares from envious women and enamoured men. Her hair was twisted up into a bun just by her ear, the curls falling in soft cascades. A black flapper dress that fell to her mid-shin graced her body, the thin, silver embellished straps complimenting her shoes. Dark, black and grey make-up completed her look.

As she caught Carlisle's scent that told her he was close by, her attention was caught by the distressed murmurs of a young girl, perhaps 18 years of age. She turned quickly.

"I'm not lying, please believe me, father!" she cried quietly. "Look at what he's done."

Esme caught the girl in the corner of the room with what looked like her father. Esme's keen eyes caught the apparent finger marks down the girl's arms. When she turned her head to look up at her father, the light caught her cheeks and Esme took in a deep intake of breath upon seeing the yellowing adorning her skin.

"He's a good man, Florence," he hushed her. "It happens." He shrugged it off as he ushered his daughter away to freshen up and return to the party.

Hands came out and took up Esme's own. Esme turned and gazed into familiar golden eyes. She smiled faintly. "Carlisle."

"I'm happy you came," he said, placing a kiss on her cheek. "You look so beautiful, as always," he whispered for her ears only.

"Dr Cullen!" a voice boomed out, getting closer to where they stood. The couple turned to see the host of the function coming towards them, with a smile plastered on his face. "Ah, this must be your beautiful wife that we hear so much about. Mrs Cullen, charmed to meet you." He held out his hand in greeting and after a moments hesitation that only Carlisle noticed with his enhanced senses, Esme took his hand, bowing her head slightly. Mr Davenport recoiled slightly at her cold touch but chose not to say anything, noting the similarity that she held with her husband. "Dr Cullen, may I have her hand in a dance?"

Carlisle looked at Esme, searching out her answer before passing it on as his own. He saw a slight nod from Esme allowing this and he replied, "of course, sir. I'll just mingle in the party. Excuse me." Carlisle touched Esme's arm as he turned to disappear into the crowd.

Esme turned and placed one hand at the man's shoulder and the other in his hand. They swayed to the music, nothing extravagant as Mr Davenport was staring intently into her face. "So, how do you like it here, Mrs Cullen?"

Esme pondered the question and looked up at him. "It's a quaint little town. It's pleasant."

"Your husband is a great asset to the community," he nodded.

Esme smiled, her expression freezing on her face as she was twirled around, another couple catching her attention. She noticed Florence in the arms of a younger man. She was startled to see his strong grip on her, one hand at her upper arm. She realised this must be her husband. His long fingers the perfect shape and size to match the bruising across her skin. Esme hissed. As she was twirled back into the arms of Mr Davenport as the music ended, she bowed to him quickly, turning away, only to walk into the arms of Carlisle. He took up her hands in his own and guided her away in a quiet part of the great hall.

"What is it, Esme darling?" Carlisle asked, keeping hold of one of her hands as he used the other to tuck a stray curly lock of hair behind her ear.

Esme squirmed from under his touch and he frowned. She looked in the direction of the couple and grimaced. Carlisle followed her gaze and sighed. He pulled her into his gentle embrace. "It's okay, Esme."

"No, it's not," she mumbled, the look of fear and distress on Florence's face imprinted on her memory. "Excuse me, Carlisle." She took herself out of his embrace and walked to the gardens.

"Esme," he called after her, watching her leave through the back door. He sighed, returning to the party to talk to others within the group attending the function.

Esme reached outside and looked around. She saw no one, everyone was socialising inside. She took a short run and jumped onto the roof of the large spacious house. She sighed, sitting down, wrapping her arms around her legs. She could see herself showing her parents the bruises, the cuts and abrasions. She could never get out of her head how they shrugged it off and pushed her back into Charles' abusive arms. His gentle exterior covered his violent, unpredictable personality from the public, so no one ever thought twice. The fear and anxiety never truly left Esme. Carlisle was a saving grace for her. She never worried for her safety or what could happen when she waited for Carlisle to come home to her. As a vampire, she was stronger, but sometimes she couldn't feel more helpless. The images of the rejection of her parents and the dread, horror and panic that enveloped her when she was waiting for Charles to come home and then spend the evenings with her haunted her. The cold never bothered her, but even so, sat on this roof, she couldn't help the shiver that wracked her body.

Suddenly, voices caught her ears and she was rocked out of her reverie. She looked down at the gardens below her and realised that the two people who had interrupted the quiet of outside were shouting at each other in hushed tones. Or at least one of them was shouting at the other and the other was quivering. She stood slowly, confident that she wouldn't be seen, the breeze sending the sweet smell of hot blood to her keen nostrils. Esme held herself back, paying closer attention in an attempt to ignore the call of the hunter.

"Florence, I heard you! Why would you tell your parents that you got the bruises on your arms from me?" she heard the man she saw on the dance floor urgently say. "You are the one who fell over. You walked into that door and that's how you bruised your face. You're so bloody clumsy, aren't you? You're ruining my reputation. This is your fault." He poked her hard in the chest, making her yelp.

Esme frowned, staring down at the scene below. She paid closer attention to Florence's face and saw a reflection of her own from many years ago, a vague memory but nevertheless, still there. She then stopped in disbelief, shocked she hadn't noticed before. It wasn't quite obvious to the human eye, but Esme could see it as plain as the grass is green. Florence was pregnant, if by only a few weeks.

"I'm sorry," she surrendered, holding her hands up.

"Sorry? I give you everything, Florence. You force my hand," he said. "You just need to keep this shut." He raised his hand and gave her a hard blow across her bruised cheek which promptly sent the trembling girl to the ground. Esme could hear his heartbeat quicken as he made the harsh actions, which sent the strong scent of blood to Esme. The harm he was placing upon his wife struck a nerve and it momentarily shocked Esme into stone. She watched as he brutally kicked Florence once in the ribs which made her yell out in pain. Then he kicked her in the stomach and Esme saw red, shocking her out of her flashes of the past.

She was down off the roof in less than a second and she grabbed the abusing man by the wrist, pushing him away from Florence. He turned in anger and made to strike Esme. She bent her back and dodged the blow, before coming back at him and pushing him back. He felt the blow, unable to breathe correctly and thereby come back at her. She threw him in the air and slammed him on the ground, crouching at his side, the skirts of her dress falling around her legs, her hand around his neck. The smell of his blood was intoxicating, and she was moments away from ending his wasteful existence.

"Esme!" Carlisle's voice was urgent in her ears. "Esme, stop."

Esme stared into the face of this hateful man, seeing Charles. She looked at his hands making to grasp at his neck. Those hands were abusive hands. Hands of people like Charles. She snarled at him.

"Esme, he's not Charles," Carlisle said, crouching the other side of the weakening man. "Stop."

"He doesn't deserve a child," she stated, bitter.

Carlisle looked over at the unconscious Florence, noticing what Esme had. He looked up at his wife. "No, he doesn't." he said simply. "But you do. You're too good to kill."

Esme's grasp tightened by a fraction, an action not gone by unnoticed by Carlisle. "I've killed before." She said accusingly, questioning the truth of his statement. Her compassion left her when she saw another woman with a child fall at the mercy of another abusive man. She couldn't bare the thought of a child enduring such pain.

"That wasn't by choice, Esme," Carlisle replied gently. "Let him go. He's not Charles. No one can hurt you anymore."

Esme hissed as the man had now passed out from shock. She let go. Carlisle got up, offering her his hand. She frowned and after a moment's hesitation, took it. They walked together to Florence and she knelt at her side, stroking her bruised cheek. Overwhelming sadness enveloped her as she saw this broken woman. She looked at her stomach where a baby was beginning to grow. She mourned once again for the loss of her son. The loss of her life.

Carlisle picked Florence up in his arms. "Let's bring her inside." She nodded, walking at his side as they made their way to the large house. They passed the crowd as they looked on, whispers following them.

They reached their home and Carlisle pulled into the driveway. The journey had been silent, neither of them knowing what to say. They sat in the car for a few moments until Carlisle reached over to take one of Esme's hands that were resting in her lap. Upon his touch, she shot out of the car and upstairs in the house. He watched her leave and could hear that she'd gone to their bedroom. He got out of the car slowly and followed her inside. He went up to their bedroom at a human pace, giving her the chance to collect her thoughts. He knocked gently on the door before coming in.

"Esme?" He heard a soft sigh.

"Yes, Carlisle?" she murmured, so softly that the human ear wouldn't have picked up on it.

He walked into their bedroom and sat on the bed next to her. After a pause, he took an unnecessary breath. "Do you need to talk about anything?"

Esme wrung her hands in her lap. "I'm so sorry, Carlisle."

"What are you sorry for?"

"I would have killed him without thinking twice," she replied and before he could open his mouth, she continued. "I never wanted to kill anyone. You know that, I know you do. But when Edward left, it was like losing my son all over again. I can't die, Carlisle. It took one step. That's all. Now, I can do the killing. It's so backwards. It sickens me. I wanted to kill him. You were right. He isn't Charles, but I saw him in that man. I didn't want that woman or her child to suffer what I did." Esme took a breath. "I still grieve. It just makes the blood lust worse than ever before. I was so close to ignoring you. It would have been so easy."

"Of course, it would," Carlisle replied, not a single hint of accusation or judgement in his voice. He reached over and took her hand firmly in his. "You proved me right, though, Esme darling. You are too good to kill. You didn't do what would have been the easiest thing in the world. You protected her, like you did your own son." He pulled her other hand into his and he looked into her face. "I love you, despite the moments you feel your compassion die. It never will. You are still a mother and Edward will return because he loves you. I will help you hunt as much as you need. You'll always be safe with me, Esme."

Esme knew that if she could cry, she would. Her face crumbled as the emotion became too much for her and she dry sobbed, pulling her hands from Carlisle's grasp and her face fell into them. Carlisle pulled her into his embrace and he silently held her for as long as she needed. They sat that way all through the night. Esme barely noticed the rain lashing against the window as dusk turned to night. For the first time, Carlisle felt blessed that he was a vampire and possessed the ability to not need to move because this is where he was needed.

Eventually Esme's despair subsided, and she simply leaned into Carlisle, resting her head on his shoulder. "You won't be sad forever, Esme," Carlisle whispered softly. She smiled faintly, her eyes closed, inhaling his sweet scent. She felt Carlisle shift and then her eyes opened only to find her husband standing in front of her with his hand outstretched to her. "I believe we were interrupted."

Music started at a low volume, just filling the silent air. Esme bit her lip, smiling. She grabbed his hand and he pulled her up into his arms. He swayed her in time with the music then twirled her around, making her laugh. Mr Davenport had two left feet in comparison to her husband. The music had a drum beat to it that she knew Carlisle had chosen to help change her saddened mood. He loved nothing more than to see her smile. Her eyes widened when she heard lyrics start to blare through the gramophone record.

When I die
I don't want to rest in peace
I want to dance in joy
I want to dance in the graveyards, the graveyards
And while I'm alive
I don't want to be alone
Mourning the ones who came before
I want to dance with them some more
Let's dance in the graveyards

"Oh, Carlisle," she said, squeezing his hand as he swayed her once again.

"You're the heart of this family, Esme," he said, bringing her close to him.

"Thank you, Carlisle," she murmured into his shirt. "You have always been my salvation."

"Your knight in shining armour?" she heard the teasing tone in his voice.

She smiled the dimpled smile that he loved so much. "In the end, when you lose somebody, every candle, every prayer's not going to make up for the fact that the only thing you have left is a hole in your life where that somebody you cared about used to be." She felt Carlisle hold her head between his hands and he kissed her gently.

"And he'll always be a part of you and our family," he said.

Esme felt warmth at Carlisle's words. He was embracing her son as his own. She encircled his waist with her arms and hugged him close. "Never leave me?"

"I'll always be here," he murmured into her hair. "Always."