I walked one and a half miles through two feet of snow to bring you this chapter!

All right, so it wasn't as bad today as Monday (at least seventy-five to eighty percent of the sidewalks have been cleared, though the ones that haven't are still pretty nasty), and I've been coming to the library every day anyway since my computer at home won't stay on. But that sounded really dramatic and dedicated, and was close enough to being true that I couldn't resist!

A/N: The "medical disclaimer" at the beginning of the story especially applies to this chapter, as I will explain further at the end. Barbie

Rendering Aid

"Hey, Doc!"

At the call, I looked up from checking Hal's feet. In the beginning I had nearly despaired of saving them, but two days ago there had been no new dead tissue to trim off, and yesterday I had begun to see signs of healing. He would not lose his feet entirely, but whether he would ever be able to walk without breaking open the scar tissue was more than I could say. There was only so much I could do…

"What is it?" I questioned, pushing thoughts of Hal's feet out of my mind even as I finished bandaging them. There was no scent of blood or illness about the man, and he didn't seem to hold himself as if he was in pain.

"I was choppin' some wood for a woman 'bout a mile up the road. She's got a sick son an' no money for a doctor, so I told her 'bout how you studied medicine some."

"So she asked you to bring me?"

"Well, not exactly; I said I would, an' left while she was arguing. Once you're there, I think she'll let you see 'im; sounds like he's pretty bad."

I nodded, getting to my feet. "Coming, Esme?"

Esme, having returned to my side when she saw the danger of blood was past, appeared torn.

"Hal will be fine," I assured her. "If he needs anything, he can call one of the others." Most of the hobos had seemed sympathetic to Hal's plight, perhaps realizing it could as easily happened to any of them.

"Then I think I will come with you," Esme decided.

"Absolutely no trying to walk, Hal," I reminded him again.

He grinned weakly. "I know, Doc. And believe me, I don't even want to try."

"I'll be back to check on your feet this evening," I promised. "Lead the way, Dick."

oOo

"This is the man I was tellin' you about," Dick explained when the woman answered the door to his knock. "Miz Myers, Carlisle Cullen an' his wife Esme. Doc, Miz Arietta Myers."

"Pleased to meet you," Mrs Myers murmured, frowning worriedly. "It's kind of you to come, but I'm not sure…"

"Dick said your son is ill?" I prompted gently.

"Yes; he needs a doctor, but we don't have the money…"

I heard the stress she put on the word and winced inwardly. "I was six months shy of graduating medical school when my funds ran out," I explained. "And before that, I had several years' experience helping my grandfather with his practice; he left his medical bag to me when he retired."

She still looked dubious, and I was nearly ready to produce my diploma and license when Esme stepped forward, laying a hand on Mrs Myers' arm. "Arietta, if your son is ill, isn't any medical care better than none? And Carlisle is really very good."

She drew a deep breath. "All right," she said in a low voice. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to let you have a look at him."

Dick touched his cap. "I'll be off then, ma'am. See you tonight, Doc."

I nodded briefly and rested a hand on Esme's back as we followed Mrs Myers into the house.

Her son lay in an upstairs bedroom, a boy in perhaps his mid-teens. His face was flushed and sweaty with fever; he tossed his head restlessly on the pillow, murmuring deliriously. I wondered at the callous self-centeredness of a doctor who could refuse to treat him for lack of the money to pay his fee, or perhaps at the pride of a woman who wouldn't ask charity even for her son. Or was it possible she didn't realize just how sick he was? Perhaps even willfully ignorant of it, I mused as I stepped forward to lay my hand on the boy's pulse. It was racing, but weak and thready; I could hear his labored heartbeats.

"How long has he been ill?" I questioned, taking my thermometer from my bag and slipping it under his tongue. I could get a quicker, more accurate reading by touch, but I had to keep up appearances.

"Three days…and the day before he was complaining of a sore throat."

"Did he complain of a headache or upset stomach?"

She shook her head. "He didn't seem to have much appetite, but I thought it was just because it hurt to swallow."

I checked the thermometer, my lips tightening at the reading. I pressed my hand to his forehead, hoping the instrument had been off, and found that if anything, it was running a little cool.

"Have you been doing anything to try to get his fever down?"

"Yes…I've been sponging him with cool water, but it doesn't seem to help. Dr Cullen, please…"

I smiled tightly; watching my professional manner, she had forgotten that I claimed not to have completed my training. "I'll do what I can," I promised. I had my suspicions already what was wrong, but I would complete my examination to be sure.

"Are there any other symptoms you're aware of?"

"He said he ached all over…especially his joints."

Esme saw my expression, and without a word put a comforting arm around Mrs Myers as I looked inside Roger's throat and felt for any swelling. Finally I took my stethoscope out and spent unnecessary minutes listening at his chest; I could already hear his struggling heartbeat far too clearly.

At last I straightened, draping the instrument around my neck with a sigh. "I'm afraid your son has rheumatic fever, Mrs Myers."

Mrs Myers gasped softly, and Esme's arm tightened slightly around her. "Is it bad, Carlisle?" she asked softly, concern mingling in her eyes with an absolute trust in my skills that I wondered if I deserved. For a fleeting moment, I wondered — if it came to it — if Esme would want me to change Roger as a replacement for Edward.

But no. Nobody could replace our son…and I still believed he would eventually come home.

"I'll do what I can," I promised quietly, knowing it was both no answer at all…and all the answer she needed.

Mrs Myers crumpled against Esme, and Esme gathered her close, letting the woman weep on her shoulder. "Shh," she soothed. "Carlisle's wonderful…if anyone can save your son, he can."

I glanced at her sharply, wondering if there was a hidden meaning to her words or if I had only imagined it. Surely she knew that if I "saved" Roger that way it would be no comfort to Mrs Myers, who could never know the truth of what I had done.

But in her eyes I saw again the trust in me; she believed I could render the question moot and save the boy human. As I bent over him to force a dose of medicine between his lips, I could only hope she would be proven right.

I worked over Roger steadily, trying to reduce his fever and ease the strain on his heart. As the sun began to set, I recalled that I had promised Hal I would return to check his feet.

"Esme, love, can you run back and let Hal know that I won't be making it back there this evening?"

"Of course," Esme agreed instantly. "Do you want me to stay there, or come back here?"

"Whichever you prefer."

Esme glanced at the woman she had been attempting to comfort all afternoon. "Arietta needs me more than Hal does," she said softly.

I nodded, pleased at her decision. "When you get back, you can fix her a light supper and try to get her to eat."

Esme murmured her promises to return in Mrs Myers' ear, then darted to my side for a quick kiss before leaving the room.

oOo

With Esme's gentle coaxing, Mrs Myers ate most of the meal she had prepared, but firmly refused when Esme suggested she go to bed.

I looked up, reading the exhaustion in her eyes. "Mrs Myers, you need to rest, or you'll be sick as well."

She shook her head dully. "I couldn't sleep anyway."

I turned from Roger for a moment and took a packet from my bag, handing it to Esme. "Mix this with a glass of water for her; be sure she drinks it all," I murmured. "Mrs Myers, I have some sleeping powder here for you. There's really nothing you can do for your son, and I'll call you if anything changes. Now go get some rest, and that's doctor's orders."

"Carlisle!" Esme hissed even as I realized my mistake. But Mrs Myers was too exhausted to notice my claiming of the title, and got up woodenly to go with Esme. That slip was enough to tell Esme how worried I was, I realized; she knew I never got a word of our cover story out of place, though the detail I went into varied according to need.

When she had settled Mrs Myers in bed, Esme returned to my side, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Is there anything I can do, Carlisle?"

I shook my head. "If I thought God would hear the prayer of a vampire, I would ask you to pray."

Esme softly kissed the back of my neck. "I believe God must hear the prayers of anyone as dedicated to saving human life as you are, Carlisle."

Perhaps she was right, for I knew my skill alone was insufficient to save Roger, yet by morning he was resting more comfortably, out of immediate danger though still far from well.

I did not consider the improvement enough change to warrant calling Mrs Myers; she needed the rest, and there was still little she could do.

She came in on her own shortly after sunrise, looking slightly better rested but still drawn with worry. "How is he?" she asked in a whisper, as if she feared the answer.

"Sleeping," I responded. "He's still very ill, but his fever's come down some and he seems to be resting fairly comfortably."

"May I…sit with him for a while?"

"By all means," I responded, holding the chair beside the bed and offering Mrs Myers a hand as she sat. I rested my finger surreptitiously against her pulse for a moment, still concerned that she might become ill herself.

"Esme, love, why don't you fix some toast and a cup of tea for her?" I suggested.

"And you…you should eat something," Mrs Myers murmured, gently rubbing her son's hand.

"I ate a little while ago," I lied glibly. Forcing myself to eat always seemed worse when it took food from humans who had little enough as it was.

Mrs Myers glanced at me as Esme left the room; I knew she would prefer to be left alone with her son, if only for a few minutes. "I'd like to stay where I can keep an eye on him," I told her frankly, and she nodded her acceptance.

An ear was more accurate, as I continued to monitor his heartbeat that was still far too labored for my liking.

I heard the rhythm of his heart and breathing change slightly before Mrs Myers noticed him stirring prior to waking. "Ma," he breathed hoarsely, his eyes struggling to stay open.

"Oh — Roger!" she exclaimed.

I allowed her to have a few moments with him before stepping forward. "Ma'am, I need to check his condition," I told her softly.

"Of course," she replied, getting up from the chair. "Roger, this is…Dr Cullen; he's been taking care of you."

Her slight hesitation told me she had remembered my original claim, though I was still unsure of whether she disbelieved it or simply afforded me the title the same way the hobos called me Doc.

"How are you feeling, son?" I questioned, stepping forward and resting my hand on his forehead for a moment before taking his wrist to feel his pulse. He was still running a moderate fever, though I was pleased it hadn't risen any since I last checked.

"Throat…hurts."

I lightly cupped his chin in my hand. "Open; let me have a look."

His throat remained red and inflamed, the scent of infection fairly strong.

"Are you still feeling achy, son?"

"Some…not as bad."

"Good." I bent over his chest with my stethoscope for some minutes, knowing I had to give a show of being as concerned about his heart as I truly was. If she saw my grave attention to it, perhaps it would come as less of a shock to Mrs Myers when I eventually had to tell her what I feared was true.

Roger's eyes had drifted closed by the time I draped the stethoscope around my neck, though the pattern of his breathing told me he was still awake. "Still with me, son?"

"Mm."

"I need to check your abdomen; let me know if anything hurts. And I apologize for my cold hands."

I felt carefully over his body, checking for swelling or tenderness that would be signs the illness had settled in other organs as well. Fortunately, such did not seem to be the case.

I glanced toward the pajama shirt hanging on the bedpost as I finished. "Mrs Myers, if I lift him up, can you slip that top on him?" Now that his fever had come down some, I thought it best to guard against his getting chilled.

"Of course," she murmured, slipping the garment over her son's shoulders with a mother's practiced ease. I fastened only two of the buttons, allowing his feverish skin to breathe.

After making sure he was comfortably propped up on the pillows, I turned to pour a dose of medicine. "I need you to take this, son."

He accepted the spoon obediently, grimacing as he swallowed.

"And now some water."

"Hurts," he protested weakly as I held the cup to his lips.

"Just take small sips," I encouraged gently. "Take your time."

He managed to drink about half the water before turning his head away, clearly exhausted.

I set the cup aside; he was still dehydrated but for now I wouldn't push him. Swallowing with a throat that raw had to be akin to the burn of thirst in a vampire.

I rested my hand on his forehead, more to let the coolness soothe him than to judge his temperature, which had changed only a fraction of a degree. "You rest now. Sleep." I brushed his hair back from his flushed face and turned toward Mrs Myers.

"How…is he?" she whispered.

"No worse. The next time he wakes up, I'd like to try a little nourishment; maybe a boiled egg, very soft, or a little pudding."

"I'll make a vanilla custard," she said instantly. "It's his favorite, and I still have nutmeg for it."

I nodded, wondering what the difference was between pudding and custard. "That should be fine, though I expect he won't be able to eat much of it." But I knew that soft foods like custard could be more soothing to a sore throat than plain water.

"Is he really going to be all right, Carlisle?" Esme asked softly when Mrs Myers had left the room.

I glanced up. "Did I say he was?" I asked quietly.

Esme saw the pain in my eyes and came to slip her arms around me. "I know you'll do everything you can for him," she murmured. Once again I wondered if there was a subtext to her words; it seemed almost an echo of Elizabeth Masen's plea for me to change Edward. Edward… Where was my son now? I wondered. With a deep breath, I drew myself back to the present; brooding over Edward would not bring him back any faster.

"I think he'll survive," I clarified, "but he may never be fully healthy again."

"If anyone can help him, you can," Esme murmured, gently rubbing my shoulder.

No, I decided, she wasn't hinting that I should change him. Esme knew I would only change those who were actually on the point of death; she was too compassionate to ask me for a son at the expense of his mother. She simply meant exactly what she had said; that she believed me to be the most skilled doctor there could be.

oOo

"You should get some sleep, Dr Cullen," Mrs Myers said in a low voice when she returned from preparing the custard. "You were up with Roger all night; you must be exhausted."

"And how many nights were you up with him?" I countered, unable to think of a plausible denial. I couldn't even claim Esme had spelled me and let me catch a few hours' sleep; not when even this morning I had refused to leave the room.

"Not like you were," she insisted. "I sat by his bedside and dozed some; you were up tending him all night long."

And how did she know that, I wondered. But it was true it was probably safe enough to leave Roger for a short time now. "All right," I gave in. "But come get me as soon as he wakes up again, or if there's any change at all, good or bad."

I beckoned Esme away with me; if I had to spend some time pretending to sleep, I much preferred to do it in the company of my love.

oOo

Roger seemed slightly stronger the next time he woke, and by evening I decided it was safe to leave him in his mother's care for the night. I left her with instructions for giving him medicine and water, and promised to return the next morning.

"I — don't know how I can ever thank you, Dr Cullen," Mrs Myers whispered with a catch in her voice.

I smiled tightly, feeling I had done little enough for her to thank me.

Esme laid a comforting hand on my arm; she knew I always felt personally responsible when a patient didn't recover fully, even when rationally I knew there was nothing more I could possibly have done. Worst of all were the times when I knew I could have saved someone if I had moved at vampire speed; it felt like stepping back and callously watching them die to preserve my cover.

"You did all you could, Carlisle," Esme murmured as we left the house.

I merely nodded. This time, it was true.

"What do you say to hunting after I check on Hal's feet?" I questioned.

"I am getting thirsty," Esme admitted, sounding a little ashamed of herself; it bothered her that she always needed to hunt before I did, no matter how many times I reminded her that I had been adhering to this lifestyle far longer than she had. Truly, I believed her innate compassion would override her base instincts except perhaps in the presence of fresh blood, but I took her hunting once or twice a week to be sure…and simply because I couldn't stand the thought of my Esme facing discomfort.

Hal's feet were continuing to heal well; I was more optimistic than ever about his recovery. Perhaps the venom I had used had helped… I toyed briefly with the idea of trying to create a venom-based serum that would repair Roger's heart without turning him into a vampire, but knew that even if it were possible, it would require extensive testing before I dared use it on a human. And if something went wrong…if word ever got back to the Volturi… I shuddered at the thought. I might well be considered the best friend Aro had, but Marcus and Caius wouldn't allow him to exempt me from discipline if I acted imprudently.

oOo

We returned to the Myers' house early the next morning, shortly after dawn. I questioned Mrs Myers closely, and found that Roger had spent a fairly restful night. Mrs Myers had given him the medicine as I prescribed, but had managed to get some sleep herself, though the dark circles under her eyes still concerned me. Perhaps Esme and I should have stayed at least one more night, but I had thought it best to play human, needing sleep after tending Roger all night long.

He lay dozing when I arrived, but roused at the touch of my cool hand on his forehead. He was still running a slight fever, though nothing close to the dangerous levels of two nights ago. Once more I examined him carefully, and listened to his heart for long minutes, longer perhaps than even a human would have needed.

"Is…he all right?" Mrs Myers whispered anxiously.

I pulled the covers up to Roger's shoulders before answering. Maybe I was a coward, waiting for her to suspect and ask before I told her what I had known from the start. Or perhaps I had been hoping I was wrong; that the damage would heal with the passing of the acute stage of the illness.

"There's…some…damage to the heart muscle," I admitted quietly, still holding back; the damage was actually quite severe.

Mrs Myers gasped softly. "But — it will get better?"

"With rest and freedom from strenuous activity, perhaps," I allowed cautiously. "But cardiac damage of this sort in rheumatic fever patients can linger for years, and is often permanent. Certainly I would advise he be under a doctor's care for the foreseeable future."

"You?" Mrs Myers whispered.

I smiled sadly. "I'm a hobo, Mrs Myers, not a doctor," I reminded her gently.

Mrs Myers merely nodded, the proud flash in her eyes telling me she wouldn't be asking the town doctor for help.

"The man must be an-an ogre!" Esme hissed as we left the house later that day. "To deny anyone medical care because of money…"

"Don't judge the man before you meet him, love," I advised her lightly, though I had harbored similar thoughts myself. "Even doctors need money to live; perhaps he fears offering free care to one person will lead to everyone leaving their bills unpaid."

Esme growled.

"Or perhaps he has not offered because he has not been made aware that there's a need," I continued. "I think we should pay the man a visit, Esme my love."

"You could scare him into treating Roger," Esme mused. "That glare of yours when you think someone has been taking human life lightly can be quite intimidating…"

I chuckled. "I was thinking more of vampire charm and bribery, love…if offering to pay Roger's doctor and medicine bills can exactly be called bribery."

I asked several people the way to the doctor's office, and paused as we neared the building. "Esme, love, maybe you should wait outside. I doubt there's a back door; if someone comes in to have a cut taken care of, the only way out will be past them."

Esme shook her head. "No; I'll be fine," she insisted.

Sometimes I wondered if she and Edward pushed themselves too hard to live up to my standard…perhaps that was why he had snapped and gone "traditional." "Love, it's all right if you can't handle it; I wouldn't have intentionally exposed myself to fresh human blood at your age." Indeed, I had been still more or less avoiding most human contact at that point, venturing near their habitations only when I was well-fed.

Esme graced me with a dazzling smile that made me swallow, longing to sweep her into my arms and run for the sheltering privacy of the woods. "You didn't have a strong mate ready to restrain you if you lost control," she purred.

I sighed; explaining a suddenly feral Esme would be almost as bad as having her slip. Maybe worse; I had never yet been forced to…take care of witnesses, and prayed that I never would.

But surely if Esme was somewhat prepared for the enticing aroma, she would at least be able to maintain an outward semblance of calm. "All right. But stay close to me."

Esme slipped her hand into my arm. "Always, Carlisle."

"Hello?" I called as we stepped into the cool, dim waiting room.

A man stepped out a few minutes later, perhaps in his late fifties or early sixties and a bit on the heavy side. His face was kind, but his eyes were tired, shadowed with concern. "I'm Dr William Phelps; what can I do for you?" He glanced between Esme and me as if trying to determine which of us was the patient.

I gave him a smile calculated to put him at ease. "Might we have a word with you…in private?"

"Of course; come this way," he invited, leading us into a room that seemed to double as a study and consulting room. "I'm sorry I can't offer you much in the way of refreshment; would you care for a glass of water?"

"None for me; love?"

"No, thank you," Esme murmured.

"Then please, have a seat. What seems to be the problem?"

"Nothing, in the way that you mean."

His brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Then if neither of you has need of a doctor, why have you come to me?"

"I'm Dr Carlisle Cullen, and this is my wife Esme," I introduced; for the first time his eye fell on my black medical bag. "I've been living as a hobo, claiming not to have finished my last year of medical school; I thought it likely hobos and others with little money would be more likely to accept free medical care if they believed I wasn't fully qualified to offer it."

"Interesting theory," he mused, "though it still doesn't explain what you need from me. Were you hoping for some supplies, or did you want my permission to treat patients in this town?"

I grinned a little ruefully. "Actually, I already have. I apologize that I didn't think to ask permission first." Even had the need to do so occurred to me, I doubt I would have wanted to take the time with Roger so ill…and I chose not to tell Dr Phelps my uncharitable thoughts of him.

He waved my apology aside. "Don't worry about it; the important thing is that they received medical care…as long as you are qualified." He fixed me with a glare that might have intimidated me if I had been human.

"Fully qualified and licensed, though I would appreciate it if you would keep that to yourself."

"As you like," he agreed. "But you still haven't told me the reason for this visit."

"Do you know the Myers family?" I questioned.

He nodded heavily. "Arietta and Roger; it's been hard on them since Horace left."

"Well, it's even harder now," I said grimly. "Roger has rheumatic fever. I was just in time to get him through the acute stage, though it was practically a miracle, but now his heart's damaged. He needs long-term medical supervision, but I won't be in town much longer, and Mrs Myers is too proud to call on you herself."

Dr Phelps sighed. "Like so many of them…" he murmured. "I'll keep an eye on him; I don't think she'll refuse me if I'm actually standing on her porch. And if she can't accept charity, I'll let her pay in as small amounts as she needs to." He shook his head. "Even aside from their pride, if I gave everyone free care I'd soon be in the same position as you…"

Esme looked at me, her heart in her eyes, and I grinned. We had sorely misjudged this man, though the knowledge that raised our opinion of him lowered it of Mrs Myers. Pulling out my pocketknife, I opened my bag and neatly cut the stitches that closed the slit in the lining. Reaching inside, I slipped my hand beneath the diploma and medical license and pulled out a plain white envelope. "Here," I said, tossing it carelessly to Dr Phelps.

He opened it and looked inside, then looked up, his face white. "There's a thousand dollars here!" he gasped. "I thought you claimed to be a hobo, young man!"

I chuckled. "I claimed to be living as a hobo," I corrected. "Use that for yourself or your patients, however you think best."

He was still stammering his thanks as Esme and I got up to leave.

Ending next week!

A/N: I started writing this with no idea what Roger's illness was, and found out about the same time Carlisle did. It was two days before I could get to the library, so I had written most of it before I was able to look rheumatic fever up on the internet, and consequently I got some things wrong (the most obvious being that it sets in two weeks after the sore throat has already gotten better). At some point I may go through and rewrite it to be more accurate, but I like Carlisle's line about a throat that sore being akin to vampire thirst so much that I'm not sure I want to! Barbie

I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!

Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Twilight alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. (I also have a chronological list of my stories, so you can see where they fall on my timeline.) Thanks for your understanding! Barbie