Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight, but Carlisle Cullen owns me.


The Only Exception

Carlisle Cullen's Point of View

When I arrived home from work after Edward's first day back at school, he was standing on the front porch looking disturbed. Perhaps it was paranoia, but I immediately started wondering how much damage control would be needed.

Edward raised an eyebrow, a sardonic smile coming to his face. "Don't you have any faith in me?" he asked as I climbed out of my car.

I sighed in relief. "What's wrong?" I asked him, striding up to the porch and leaning my shoulder against the wall near him. He automatically adjusted so he was leaning as well, taking a habitually-human pose in response to my own. I wondered if he was aware that he did it. I tended to strike such poses without giving them any thought at all, and Edward was the only one of my children who would shift his stance to match mine when we were at home.

"I can't hear her," he said, pushing his hands into his pockets.

I furrowed my brow. For whom are we listening? I asked silently, wondering if there was some sort of danger. I could detect no unusual sounds in the woods surrounding the house. Edward didn't seem to be on the alert for anything, but his words made me uneasy.

"Bella Swan. I've spent the day listening for her thoughts. She's silent."

"Did you hear her before you left for Alaska?"

"I was too busy planning ways to kill her to notice," he admitted.

I frowned. "That's inconvenient. Being unable to read her intentions will make it more difficult for you to step carefully in her presence."

"Why, though? Why can't I hear her?"

I puzzled over it for a moment. "Have you ever come across anyone else you couldn't hear?"

"Not to my recollection," he said, and I couldn't help but smile a little and his choice of phrases. His recollection, of course, was perfect. It was simply a human way of phrasing things, and I was pleased he did it so naturally.

"Anyone you've had difficulty reading?"

"No one who wasn't intentionally trying to keep me out," he said with a pointed look.

My smile widened a little. I had been guilty of doing that on occasion, particularly when I had been struggling over my feelings about his mating with Esme. "I assume you can detect no distracting counter-measures from her, then?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. It's as though she has no thoughts at all."

I brushed my thumb over my lip thoughtfully, a fidget I had picked up from a former colleague and added to my repertoire when a patient of mine had told me I tended to go very still when I was concentrating. "Perhaps her mind works differently than the majority of the population," I suggested. "Or perhaps she thinks simultaneously with her speech, so her mental voice is obscured. Does she seem careless or excessively talkative?"

He shook his head. "On the contrary, she seems very careful about what she allows to be spoken aloud. And it's not only conversation. I see no visual thoughts from her either."

"Interesting," I murmured. "Have you noticed any other abnormalities?"

"She's excessively clumsy."

I jerked my head up to meet his gaze. Clumsy? My mind ran quickly over my speculations about the police chief's violent past and the likelihood of him continuing the cycle. Could she merely be passing off injuries as accidents?

Edward chuckled softly. "I doubt it, Carlisle. The girl has a talent for finding things to trip over or bump into. After a day of observing her through the minds of our classmates, I wonder if she doesn't have some sort of disconnect between her brain and her limbs. I suspect any injuries she sustains are merely the result of extremely poor muscle memory."

I nodded, putting my suspicions to rest and feeling guilty for having had them in the first place. I liked Charlie Swan. On the occasions that I had worked with him I had appreciated his honesty and thoroughness.

"You don't have to feel bad for thinking that way, Carlisle," Edward said drolly. "You're a doctor. It's part of your job to look for hints like that."

I answered him silently, for the sake of the police chief's privacy. If my worries came from suspect injuries, you would have a point. As it is, I'm judging the man simply because of abuse that was inflicted upon him when he was a child. It's hardly fair.

Edward nodded, conceding my point, before turning his attention to the cloudy sky. "It's unnerving Carlisle," he said, and I didn't need his mind-reading ability to know he was thinking of the Swan girl's mental silence again. "And peaceful. It's nice, not having to hear her think about how strange I am. If I didn't know better, I would almost think she didn't find our family repellant." He smiled wistfully for a moment, but then frowned at the direction my thoughts took.

"Honestly, Carlisle, when are you going to stop beating yourself up for saving my life? Sure, it's an unconventional way to live, but it's pleasant enough. You didn't 'doom' me to anything."

It's a lonely existence, I thought, a hint of melancholy slipping through.

He bowed his head in regret. "Not for all of us."

Of course. Those who mated would obviously have the sting of loneliness eased. In more than three hundred years, I had never had the pleasure of finding a match for my soul, so naturally I would feel the isolation from society more deeply than my companions.

"A match for you would be a rare creature indeed," Edward said softly.

I gave him a wan smile. Thank God for you, Edward. If not for your friendship, I think I'd go mad.

He nodded to acknowledge my thoughts, a small smile on his lips. "I'm hunting again tonight," he said, most likely changing the topic of conversation to ease my discomfort. "You look like you could use a run."

I returned his smile. "Yes, I'm due for a feeding. I'll join you."