About when Carlisle met Esme, it's in two hits so it makes it easier to read. Too much on one page just makes me go, urgh, and not read it. So here it is.
The year is 1911. It's a more genteel time, or so the more well-to-do would like everyone think. Ankle-length dresses, with cinched waistlines, fancy hats and even little parasols are not unheard of. Children's fashions are a little more relaxed, certainly, but one girl's mother keeps trying to impress upon her that she's not a child anymore but a young lady… so she's been forced to wear a slightly fancier outfit today. But to her mother's dismay, what her mother dresses her in does not stop Esme from running out with her younger friends to climb trees; yes, in a pretty silk dress of royal blue and cream with ribbons and pleated bits, lace and baubles — just the type which would get dirty, ripped and then break her mother's heart.
But sadly, one of the boys was rough-housing a little too much up in said tree, accidentally knocking the budding young lady off the bough she had perched upon. There was a loud snap, then Esme could hear a blood-curtling scream… only to realize it was she who belonged to the scream.
Some time later, she is physically carried into the hospital by her father, a gruff-seeming man with a kind heart. The young girl's heart-shaped face is pale, ashen, her caramel-hued curls hanging about her face, clinging to clammy skin. Her eyes are closed and she whimpers occasionally as her father steps a little more harshly than intended, jostling her. Beneath her skirts, her right leg hangs at a bit of a funny angle.
Having just finished with one of his patients, Carlisle's lips pulling into a quiet, reassuring but charming smile for the little girl he had just treated. She has two stitches in her forehead, but she is grinning broadly. "Thats a good girl." He soothes and straightens to look to the parents. "Two weeks then the stitches can come out." With nods given, he smiles once more and turns to leave the curtained area as he takes the chart in hand, writing down a few notes at the bottom before signing off on it.
A nurse intercepts Esme's father and points towards one of the open beds. "Over here, please, sir." Carlisle hasn't changed much from now until the future, his short blonde hair remaining the same- his eyes a striking golden hue. His clothes are much in tune with the times, his white labcoat in the fashion of the era draped down his form to denote his status as a doctor.
Esme's father grunts briefly and nods at the nurse, following obediently along toward the indicated bed. Despite how gruff he might seem on the outside, he handles his daughter with great care… as much as his large frame allows. Gently lying his daughter on the indicated bed, he intones to the nurse, "It's her right leg. Ruddy girl fell out of a tree if you can believe it." His wife might make excuses of being tossed off a horse or falling out of a wagon but he'll do no such covering up.
"Whatever she needs. Hear me?" He then releases the girl and straightens, running his hand through his hair. He looks a little helpless for a moment, looking down at his daughter. He then mutters something about leaving his wife in the waiting area and begins to lumber off in that direction, deciding there's not much else he can do.
Esme, for her part, lies on the bed almost motionless. Her face is tear-streaked but she appears to be calm for the most part. Or unconscious. Maybe she's simply in shock.
Carlisle passes the father on his way to Esme, a polite if quiet smile is tilted towards the man, perhaps a glimmer of recognition as well. He's sure he's seen him around the area before. Moving into Esme's curtained area, the nurse is going about making sure that Esme is comfortable with pillows and trying to bare her broken leg for the doctor to examine. She is careful in her movements, not wanting to cause her any more pain than she is in.
Carlisle takes up a fresh chart, penciling a few things before he moves more to Esme's bedside. "Greetings." He begins in a soft voice, his golden eyes gentle as he works at visually assessing Esme. "What is your name?" He starts, and once that is answered, despite having heard the tale from her father, he questions in another soft tone: "What happened?"
As Esme hears the voice near her asking her questions, something in the back of her brain tells her that it's speaking to her. Slowly she rouses, not yet opening her eyes. She tries to shift a little, then winces, suddenly reminded that her leg is injured. As the nurse bares the injured leg for the doctor, it's plain to see that it's a break in the lower portion of her leg.
"Esme," the girl finally replies, her tone and volume soft and quiet. "Esme Platt," she adds, as though realizing he might have been asking for more than just her first name. She speaks as though through just waking from a nap, sounding a little groggy… it's just the effects of the injury. Slowly, she starts to open her eyes as she adds, "I… fell out of a tree…" Deep brown eyes are slowly revealed as she looks up, not yet focusing on the doctor hovering nearby. "Then I heard a loud crack… and then there was a lot of pain… in my leg." She fell out of a tree, dressed like that. She's obviously a little bit of a rebel against her parents… a little adventurous by the virtue of her clinging youth.
"Esme," Carlisle breathes the name, using his talents to try and sooth her and give her something else to think about except the pain. A simple name said, however. His gaze shifts to the nurse and he hands over the chart with a few murmured instructions- mainly to take over the writing and to fetch a cup of willowbark tea. He doesn't want to subject Esme to morphine just yet, but willowbark will at least take the edge off.
As the nurse leaves, he moves around to the other side of Esme's bed and slips on a pair of gloves. The material hides the coolness of his touch at least some, but the thinness doesn't bar him to the point of impairment in his work. He leans over her, letting the overhead light shine as with his fingers he gently opens her eyes to check her pupils before he lets go. "Are you dizzy at all? A headache?" She might have a concussion from the fall.
For a long moment, Esme remains absolutely still, seeming to stare off into space, unaware of the transaction between doctor and nurse. But then he's touching her, checking her eyes in the light above the bed. She fights the reaction to blink until he's finished, murmuring, "No… none of that. My… leg just really hurts…" Yet, she's keeping calm. The creases in her forehead might indicate the strain she's used to keep calm now. Likely, her mother chided her along the way and told her to 'buck up' and be brave, to save face to some degree.
Only once his hand moves from her eyes does she now turn her gaze over to the doctor… and for a moment, she nearly stops breathing. Quickly remembering herself, she clears her throat and looks over his shoulder a bit. She's used to older doctors, perhaps. But even through her pain-filled haze, she can't help but take notice of the young doctor's handsome features. Trying to cover for her misstep, she murmurs, "I don't think I hit my head. I landed on my foot…"
As she finally makes eye contact with him, Carlisle can't help but offer a soft smile. "You will be alright." He promises. Though as he shifts to take a look at her leg, not yet touching her, the nurse returns with the tea. "I'm going to help you sit up, honey, then you need to drink this down, alright?" The nurse, has to be in her mid-thirties, is pretty for her age but weather and age worn. Years of long days and stress show in the lines of her face, but her brilliant blue eyes are still sparkling with life. She sets the chart down and slides an arm around Esme's shoulders to slowly help her up.
However, noticing the slight strain on the nurse, Carlisle sidesteps to be at Esme's side again, one hand effortlessly moving to her back, hand flattening against her spine. A touch of support as much as it is comfort, looking ready to 'tense and capture' the patient if the nurse should lose her. The cup of tea is offered, given to Esme's lips. "Down it all." Carlisle instructs quietly.
Carlisle's reassurance seems to relax her slightly but sitting up isn't going to be easy. Even trying to sit up pulls on muscles… everything's interconnected, after all. So as the nurse helps her sit up, Esme winces and lets out a little whimper, but so far she's doing what she can to be brave, as her mother asked. But with Carlisle's help, she finally gets into a seated position.