A/N: Thanks for your patience. I know this one was a long time coming, but it's finally here. Writing has been a bit of a challenge for me lately, as I've been feeling uninspired. Hopefully, with the summer holidays ahead, I'll be able to rediscover my muse and give you some faster updates.

Chapter 10- September 4, 2000

"Backpack, lunch bag, shoes, pencils…" Alice's voice rang through to the living room, where Carlisle sat engrossed by his newspaper. He suppressed a grin at her expense, torn between exasperation and amusement as he listened to her inventory of her new school supplies for what had to be the tenth time since the night before.

"It's all there, sweetheart," said Esme gently.

"I don't want to go back to school," complained Edward.

"You know Mrs. Carlson's rule," Esme reminded him gently. "You'll only get your piano lessons if you keep good grades."

Edward harrumphed, loudly enough for Carlisle to hear him.

The sofa shifted next to him, and Carlisle glanced over at the one child in the house who didn't have an opinion about Forks Elementary.

"Are you excited?" asked Carlisle gently, folding the paper. The boy shifted anxiously in his seat as Carlisle's eyes bored into him, his feet nudging his backpack on the floor.

"Dunno," said Emmett gruffly. "I guess so."

The previous night had been one filled with anxiety and nerves, both at the idea of starting a new school, as well as having to find new friends. Carlisle knew that while Forks was a safe, happy town, it had the same faults as all small towns- a rabid curiosity about anything new, and an unbelievable talent for gossip. He and Esme were already considered abnormal by Forks' standards, as they had an adopted son and four wards. He could only imagine that his children, being parentless, would be popular conversational catalysts. Edward had been young enough last year that his classmates were not yet at the gossiping stage, but Carlisle knew that even ten and eleven year olds took an interest in town rumours.

Carlisle reached his hand over and rested it on Emmett's shoulder, in what he hoped was a display of support and solidarity.

The boy eyed him suspiciously.

"You'll do great," said Carlisle confidently.

Emmett shrugged his shoulder out from under Carlisle's hand and hung his head, leaning away to rest on the armrest.

Carlisle heaved a sigh and stood, leaving Emmett to his thoughts.

"Esme, do you think these look right?" said Alice worriedly as he entered the dining room. Edward's eyes bounced between his mother and Alice as Esme assessed the pink sneakers Alice had on her feet, sequins glittering.

"They're lovely, sweetheart, don't worry so much about it," said Esme, pressing a gentle kiss to the girl's hair. "I'm sure the other girls will love them."

"I love them," said Edward sweetly, smiling broadly at Alice. Carlisle chuckled as Alice beamed at the youngest Cullen, Edward's cheeks reddening as she thanked him. Edward had a special soft spot for little Alice, and Carlisle suspected he would wear the gaudy pink sneakers to school if it made her happy. It was just last week that he'd kicked Emmett in the shin for laughing at her stuffed animals.

Emmett, Carlisle suspected, had only failed to retaliate because he, too, was very protective of his sister.

"Are there many girls in my class?" asked Alice quickly, taking the toast Esme offered her with relish.

"A few," said Esme, repeating the information again. Alice would never be easy until today was over, and she saw her new classmates for herself.

"There's Angela Weber," said Edward grinning, glancing up at his mother. Esme shot him an exasperated look as she wiped marmalade off of his cheek, shaking her head.

Angela Weber, the minister's daughter, had been the focus of Edward's childish romantic interests all of last year.

"Yes, there's Angela," said Esme gently. "And the Mallory and Stanley girls."

Edward made a face.

"You'll make all kinds of friends, don't you worry," said Esme, glancing at the clock. "Go and get your coat on."

"Already?" squeaked Alice. "But…"

"Go on," said Esme, taking the breakfast plates from the table. "The bus will be here any minute."

"Okay." Carlisle smiled encouragingly as her paper white, wide-eyed little face turned to him.

"Jasper! Rose!" called Esme up the stairs, her hands on her hips. "School!"

"Coming!" cried Jasper, tripping down the steps. Esme stopped him at the foot of the stairs to confiscate a handheld video game, Rosalie slipping around her with a smile.

"Told you," she said, smug, as Jasper frowned.

"Not at school," said Esme, ushering him down. "You can have it when you come home."

"Alright," he said with a long-suffering sigh. "I guess so."

"Grab toast and get your coat on," she said. "You're going to be late."

"'Kay," said Jasper, petulant at the loss of his toy. To vent his feelings, he reached over and snatched Rosalie's fresh-buttered toast from her plate, smirking triumphantly at this small victory. To Rosalie's credit, she didn't lash out, but rolled her eyes and grabbed another.

Carlisle accompanied the ragtag group of youngsters out to the end of the driveway, trying very hard to keep the mood light and airy. Alice wrung her hands the entire way down the drive, Edward bounced with boundless energy, and Emmett hung back a good ten feet, silent and brooding. Jasper teased the life out of his sister, earning him more than a few reprimands, and Rosalie walked tall and statuesque, refusing to be baited.

"Jasper, that's enough," said Carlisle sternly gripping Jasper's hand as the grinning boy picked up a branch and began to prod his sister. "Leave her alone."

Jasper listened well enough, but it was only a matter of time before he found some new mischief.

Rosalie watched her brother contemptuously.

"Hey Rose," he said, slipping his hand out of Carlisle's. He moved again to stand beside her, his eyes glittering.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Rosalie sighed.

"Hey Rose?"

"What, Jasper?" she barked.

"Nothing."

Carlisle pursed his lips as Emmett sniggered from behind them, and Rosalie walked a little faster.

"Hey Rose?"

"Stop it."

"Nothing."

"Hey Rose?"

"Hey Rose!"

"Hey ROSE!"

"Stop it!"

"Jasper, come here," said Carlisle, his patience running thin as they neared the end of the drive.

Jasper was unperturbed as he strode beside Carlisle, a wide, satisfied grin on his face.

"You're irritating your sister," he said seriously. "That's not a nice thing to do."

Jasper darted his eyes and looked away, but Carlisle knew that while he would act contrite for the moment, there was no sincere regret. At that moment, Carlisle thanked his lucky stars that he was an only child, and had never had to endure the torment that came along with siblings.

"The bus!" said Alice suddenly, speaking for the first time since they left the house. She bounced on the balls of her feet as the yellow bus rolled down the long stretch of road, coming ever closer. Jasper, having been on the verge of tangling pinecones in his sister's ponytail, dropped his armful with a noisy clatter and moved closer to Alice.

"I see it," he said, his morning bravado fading at the idea of schoolbooks and homework.

When the bus stopped at the end of the road and the doors opened, Carlisle greeted the driver and sent each child onto the bus with a warm hug.

"Be good," he murmured to Jasper seriously, hoping his desire to aggravate Rosalie had abated. "Mind your teacher."

Emmett accepted the hug with stoic calm, marching onto the bus without ado. The bus driver gave Carlisle one last nod as his children seated themselves near the front of the bus, closing the door and driving off down the road to fetch the rest of Forks' schoolchildren.

When Carlisle reached the house again, the ever present rain had really begun to come down, and he made it inside just in time to avoid the incoming downpour. It had been months since his house had been this quiet, and the lack of noise unnerved him. While the sound of noisy feet on the stairs, little fingers plunking clumsy tunes on the baby grand, voices shouting, giggling, and teasing, and the constant sound of mischief were sometimes a source of annoyance, Carlisle found himself missing the noise.

Children, he thought, were what made his house a home.

"Strange, isn't it?" said Esme gently, her voice louder than usual in the silence. Carlisle glanced around to see her, lounging idly on the doorframe of the kitchen.

"Hm," he agreed, walking closer. Esme fell into his arms as easily as ever, and he took a moment to relish the feel of her, warm and soft in his grip.

"What do we do with this rare day off?" she teased, smiling mischievously at him. Carlisle grinned and held her a little tighter, bringing his face down to hers.

"No idea," he teased gently, pressing a kiss to her lips. "I wonder…"

Esme laughed and kissed him back, the two of them revelling in the empty house.

"Upstairs?" asked Esme, breathless as she pulled away. Her eyes were dark with passion, her chest rising and falling with each deep breath she took.

Carlisle carried her up the stairs.

Carlisle lay in his bed, the pristinely pressed sheets and duvet rumpled and wrinkled as he held his naked wife to him, grinning like a fool. Esme's ear rested on his chest, listening to the frenetic racing of his heart as he fought to catch his breath. The thought crossed his mind that he was out of shape, but that was quickly dismissed when Esme giggled.

"That was fun," she said, grinning up at him. Carlisle laughed. With the arrival of the new children, the anxiety about the one still missing, and the way the new school year had crept up so suddenly, the two had been forced to postpone their conjugal activities in favour of household business.

It was hard to find a moment alone with five curious youngsters roaming the house at all hours.

"I love you," said Carlisle gently, reaching over to run a hand down her back. Esme hummed her approval into his chest, her smile widening.

"You too," she whispered.

BRRRIIINNNG!

Carlisle and Esme both jumped, startled, as the old-fashioned telephone on their nightstand rang noisily. Jolted from their bubble of bliss, the two separated and Carlisle reached an irritable hand over to snatch the receiver.

"Doctor Cullen," he barked, not at all pleased with the caller's timing.

"Yes, this is Susie calling from Arizona Child Services," said the voice on the other end, and Carlisle sat up. The sheet fell away from his hips as he rose from the bed, fumbling with his boxers and jeans.

"Yes, hello," he said flustered. In the quiet of the house, Esme could hear some of the conversation as well, her face focused and excited. She reached into her bedside drawer to hand him a pad of paper and a pen, as she, too, pulled on her clothes.

"I received your message this morning, and am returning your call," said the voice calmly. "I'm afraid there is nothing new to tell you."

"Nothing?" asked Carlisle, disbelieving, as Esme's fingers fumbled with her bra straps. "How can that be?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss specifics with you," said the woman on the other end, "but I do have clearance to let you know that as soon as the child is located, she will be reunited with her family."

"Do the police have any leads?" he asked desperately. "Little girls don't just disappear."

"I know it's hard," said Susie, in an annoyingly placating voice, "but they're doing all they can. We all want to find Isabella safe."

"Can I have the name of the supervising officer?" asked Carlisle, in a last-ditch attempt to wheedle some more information from the reluctant officials.

"Certainly," said Susie, and Carlisle heard the tapping of a keyboard in the background. "Do you have a pen?"

"Yes."

"Adrian Costner," said Susie. "623-466-1999."

"Thanks," said Carlisle, dejected and discouraged as Susie bid him goodbye, and hung up the phone.

Esme's post-coital smile was replaced with a look of concern, as she watched him set the receiver down.

"Nothing," he said hoarsely, glancing up. "No word at all."

"Nothing?" asked Esme, disbelieving. "How can there be nothing?"

"I've got the number to the detective," said Carlisle quietly. "Hopefully he'll know something more."

"That poor baby," said Esme, her voice shaking. "How can someone just take her, Carlisle? What are they doing to her?"

Though he wanted nothing more than to speak words of comfort to her, he had none to offer. In this day and age, with the advent of televised news stations and shows like Dateline, he and Esme knew all too well the fate of children who disappeared. Anyone who watched television knew that more often than not, a child missing for more than 24 hours was a child lost forever.

It sickened him.

Carlisle, to keep it fresh in his mind, had, with the permission of both Alice and Emmett, taken a photo of Isabella Swan for himself, mounting it in a frame in his office. That sweet, gentle, innocent face stared up at him with a gap-toothed smile whenever he worked, keeping her in his thoughts. He might only ever be the temporary guardian of the Swan children, he might never be given the right to call them his, but he would be damned if he let that little girl slip through the cracks. He would be damned if he wouldn't do all he could to find her, dead or alive. With the same determination that had driven him through years of med school, that had bore him through years of his father's scrutiny, and which had won him Esme's love, would he give Alice and Emmett the only thing they had ever asked him for.

Whether or not those two sad, sweet children stayed with him, he would do all he could to bring Isabella home.

When the phone rang again, Carlisle and Esme were just washing the last of the breakfast dishes together at the sink, forgoing the dishwasher for some quality conversation time. Carlisle was laughing at the tale Esme was relaying, involving the ludicrous request of her last high-profile client, for whom she was redesigning a kitchen.

"In the middle of the floor, Carlisle!" she choked, laughing. "He wanted it in the middle of his dining space!"

Carlisle was about to ask how lazy a man had to be to request a toilet stall in his kitchen when the phone cut him off, his question dying on his lips.

"Cullen residence," he answered quickly, chortling at the very idea.

"Hello Doctor Cullen, this is Mrs. Cope from Forks Elementary," said the voice on the other end.

"Hello," said Carlisle jovially, stepping closer to the counter as he pressed the phone between his shoulder and ear. "What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Carville has your boy here at the office," said Mrs. Cope. "He's been detained for fighting."

Carlisle's laughter died on the spot as he sighed and stepped back, leaving a puzzled Esme mid-laugh.

"What's wrong?" she mouthed, but Carlisle just shook his head and listened.

"Mr. Carville would like to meet with you and your wife as soon as possible, to discuss sanctions," said Mrs. Cope gently.

"Which one is it?" asked Carlisle hesitantly, feeling reasonably sure that it wasn't his youngest.

"Emmett," said Mrs. Cope. "We had to send the Newton boy home with a terrible nosebleed, but Emmett's just got some bruises."

"We'll be down shortly," said Carlisle, sighing. "Thanks for calling."

"See you soon," said Mrs. Cope, and the line went dead. Carlisle hung up the phone.

"What happened?" said Esme, her eyes bright with worry. "Are the kids safe?"

"They're safe," said Carlisle, sighing. "We need to go to the school to pick up Emmett. He's been fighting."

"Oh dear," said Esme, sighing as she dried her hands. "How bad?"

"The Newton boy went home with a nosebleed," said Carlisle. "I don't know what else."

"Let's go," she sighed, glancing at the clock.

"In trouble before lunch has even started," Carlisle thought sadly, wondering what had set him off.

The car ride down to the school felt long and tense, as neither Carlisle nor Esme knew quite what to say. Edward, upon his arrival in their home, had not been one to act out, especially not with physical violence. Jasper had his fair share of tantrums involving fists and feet, but never had he conducted himself so in public. Neither Carlisle nor Esme had experience handling school discipline procedures, and both hoped that this bout of misbehaviour was short lived.

The boy was obviously unhappy, and Carlisle felt like a fool for not having noticed this morning. Emmett seemed a naturally quiet boy, but his lack of involvement this morning was strange, even for him.

Carlisle pulled his black Mercedes into the visitor's spot of the parking lot, taking a deep breath before turning to Esme.

"Ready?" he asked, feeling very much like he had as a youngster whenever he had been hauled into the principal's office for some minor misdemeanour.

"I suppose so," she sighed, slipping from the car. The schoolchildren were on their lunch break, and having eaten their food, were out in the yard, shrieks and laughter echoing through the playground.

"Hi mom!" cried a familiar little voice through the fence. Carlisle saw Edward, his face pressed against the chain-link fence, beaming and waving as his mother smiled back. Both parents waved at their youngest son as they moved to the front doors of the school, leaving Edward to play freeze tag with his friends.

Thankfully, the school was empty when they went inside, the stout secretary clacking away on her computer. When she saw them enter, she gave a wide smile and ushered them through the door to their right, and escorted them straight through to the principle's office.

The room, much like many institutional offices in Forks, looked as if it had been snatched directly from a 1970s decorating catalogue. The desk had to be as old as Carlisle himself, with a brass-embossed nameplate that read Richard Carville in shiny letters. The rusty orange chairs matched the shag carpet on the floor, offset by the dark wood paneling on the walls. The balding, fat principle of the school, familiar to Carlisle through his medical practice, sat heavily in his wheeled office chair, silhouetted by the dim, overcast light coming in through the dusty window behind him.

Emmett sat across from the man, his face downcast and his shoulders slumped. He didn't look up as Carlisle and Esme came inside, but continued to examine his shoelaces as the principal greeted them.

"Ah, Carlisle," he said jovially, standing with some effort to shake his hand. "And Esme. Thank you for coming in."

Carlisle shook the man's hand and sat in the seat beside the young offender, turning to watch the boy. Emmett continued to look away, his eyes damp.

"We've had a bit of a run-in," said Mr. Carville matter-of-factly, ushering Esme into the seat on Emmett's other side. "Mr. Swan, here, saw fit to start a fist fight when one of his fellow students disagreed with him."

Emmett said nothing.

"Well?" asked Carlisle, turning his chair to face Emmett's. "What happened?"

Emmett shrugged and jutted his chin towards the principal, indicating that the story had already been told.

"Sweetheart, what's going on?" said Esme, her voice causing him to look up at her. Carlisle saw with a sinking feeling that his eyes were not just damp, but wet, and his jaw was set.

"I punched him in the nose," said Emmett, angry. "He called me trouble."

"You can't go punching everyone that upsets you," said Carlisle firmly, earning him a frown as Emmett resumed his examination of the carpet.

"Michael Newton will be fine by tomorrow," interrupted Mr. Carville calmly, "but there remains the question of what to do with the perpetrator."

Carlisle and Esme turned back to face the man, listening.

"I don't want to suspend him on the first day," said Mr. Carville quietly, contemplating, "but there must be sanctions for such behaviour. It's flies directly in the face of school policy to allow one student to assault another."

Carlisle found his matter-of-fact tone grating, and he forced his face to remain stoic.

"Detention," continued Carville, "will be the most prudent avenue, I believe. Perhaps some lines, as well as a written apology to Mr. Newton?"

Carlisle looked up and saw that the principal was looking to him and Esme for approval, and he was quick to give it.

"Very reasonable," said Carlisle lowly.

"Wonderful," said Carville, clapping his hands together. "Mr. Swan, tomorrow after classes you will come to the front office for your detention. I expect no more violence from you, or I shall be forced to take more serious action."

"Yes sir," said Emmett stiffly.

"I think it would be best if Emmett went home for the rest of today," said the principal gently. "Give him some time to cool off, and start fresh tomorrow?"

"That's fine," said Esme, rising from her chair. "Thank you for calling."

"Thank you for coming in," said Mr. Carville again, shaking his wife's hand most enthusiastically. Carlisle stood, resting his hand on Emmett's shoulder as he coaxed him out of his seat.

"Go out to the car," he said stiffly, pointing him out of the office. Emmett, without another word, slouched out of the room and moved to the front doors, not a peep coming from him the whole way.

"I'm being lenient with him, because of his circumstances," said Carville in a more serious, bothered tone once Emmett was gone, "but assaulting a fellow student is a very serious offence. I can't let it happen again."

"We understand," said Esme firmly. "Thank you for the call."

Carville said nothing more as Carlisle and Esme filed out of the office, feeling like naughty children themselves. Neither said a word to the other as they left the building, spotting Emmett resting sulkily against the back door of Carlisle's car.

"Get in," said Carlisle, unlocking the door with the remote. Emmett's eyes flickered nervously up to his before he slipped into the backseat, his mouth shut tight.

The first five minutes of the drive were quiet and tense, until Esme broke the silence.

"What happened today, sweetheart?" she asked, turning to face Emmett. Carlisle adjusted his rearview mirror to watch the interaction, keeping a sharp eye on the road.

"Dunno," said Emmett, slouching down in his seat. "Got mad."

"What did that boy say to make you mad?" asked Esme, concerned.

"He called me trouble," Emmett repeated darkly. "Called me an orphan."

Esme and Carlisle both fell silent for a long moment before Esme spoke again, tentative.

"You're not trouble," said Esme quietly, trying to break the awkwardness in the car.

"But I am an orphan," he spat bitterly, flaming eyes flickering to his wife's face.

Esme had no words for him as she turned back around, worried eyes flickering to meet Carlisle's

"That's no reason to hit that boy," said Carlisle curtly, his voice harder and sharper than he'd intended.

"Oh yeah, take his side," snapped Emmett, his voice breaking. "I knew you would."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Carlisle, eyes narrowing. "You're the one who's assaulted another kid."

"Nothing," said Emmett, wiping angrily at his eyes.

The silence ensued again and Esme looked bothered.

"I want to go back to my old school," Emmett said, after a few moments of silence. "I hate this place."

Neither Carlisle or Esme knew what to say.

"There's nothing for you in Seattle," said Carlisle eventually, frowning as his words came out the wrong way again.

"There's my house!" hollered Emmett, growing angrier by the minute. "And my friends! And my parents!"

"Your parents are—"

"Dead! I know!" he shouted, his voice breaking. He flung himself down on the car door and hid his face from view, no doubt ashamed of his tears and grief.

Esme felt her heart breaking for the poor, sad child, and she swallowed thickly to keep her tears at bay.

The car turned down the long driveway to the house, the road growing bumpier as they approached the house.

"You live here now," said Carlisle, in what he hoped was a soothing voice. "And…"

"Oh shut up!" bellowed Emmett, his temper bubbling over again. "Shut up!"

"Emmett!" gasped Esme, wheeling back around to see the boy. The house loomed into view in front of them and Esme reached back to try and soothe him, but before she could, he unbuckled his seat belt and jumped out of the car before Carlisle had a chance to stop. Carlisle's eyes widened with fear as Emmett toppled over, the car passing him as he rolled away from the moving wheels. With a shout of alarm Carlisle slammed on the breaks and looked anxiously back, relief and red-hot anger surging through him at the sight of Emmett, rising from the gravel driveway.

"Don't you ever…" he shouted, his words lost as Emmett bolted up to the house and slammed the door behind him.

"That does it!" shouted Carlisle, jumping from his seat and slamming the car door behind him. He saw Esme flinch as he left the car, still far away from its regular parking spot, leaving his wife to walk up to the house alone.

"Emmett!" he shouted, angry as he followed the trail of watery footprints to the stairs. He marched up them two at a time, single-minded determination possessing him as he moved to Emmett's bedroom. Banging three times on the door, he flung it open and saw, with a twang of distress, the boy laying face down on his bed, shoulders heaving.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded, angry and worried as he moved to the bed and knelt down next to it.

No response.

"Sit up," Carlisle ordered, taking the bulky shoulders in his hands and forcing him to sit up. His anger began to melt away when the watery, brown eyes met his own icy blue ones, bottom lip trembling as tears fell.

"Are you hurt?" asked Carlisle again, leaning in closer to examine a scrape on Emmett's cheek.

Emmett shook his head, looking ashamed and trying to pull away from the doctor's inspection.

"Stop that," scolded Carlisle, peering carefully into his eyes, looking for signs of trauma.

Emmett didn't say a word as Carlisle conducted his inspection, checking for scrapes, breaks and bruises. Finding some superficial injuries, Carlisle decided to give him some ibuprofen before bedtime, satisfied that his wounds would heal on their own.

Unable to help himself, Carlisle took Emmett's face in his hands.

"You will never," he began vehemently, "do something like that again. Do you understand me?"

Emmett nodded, looking properly ashamed.

"You could have been seriously hurt," continued Carlisle, an unfamiliar feeling of mingled dread and relief coursing through him at the idea of one of his children being seriously injured. "You could have hit your head, or the car could have run you over…"

He stopped himself before he got worked up, forcing years of ER trauma memories from his brain.

The boy was fine.

"Sorry," said Emmett in a low, gravelly voice as he took a deep, shuddering breath.

Carlisle sighed heavily, and unable to stop himself, reached forward and pulled Emmett in for a tight, much-needed hug.

"I'm sorry too," he said quietly, pleased to feel Emmett returning the hug with some strength and vigour. "I know this has been unbelievably hard on you."

Emmett said nothing, but continued the embrace. Carlisle didn't complain.

"I know you miss your parents," said Carlisle delicately, being sure to phrase himself carefully, "but Esme and I want you to be happy."

Emmett stayed still and silent.

"I know we can't take their place, nor do we want to, but I do want you to know that you mean just as much to us as any of the other kids."

Silence.

"This is new for us too," he continued, words bubbling up. "We went from no kids to five in less than three years."

"Oh."

"We might make mistakes sometimes," he continued, "but that doesn't mean we're not trying. I want you to come to us when you feel bad, or sad. Let it out before it bubbles over, and you punch people." Carlisle let a little smile break free as Emmett chuckled, a reluctant, embarrassed sound.

"Sorry."

"I know," he said, feeling as though he was close to a breakthrough.

"I'm not trouble," said Emmett suddenly, jerking away from the hug to look Carlisle in the eye. "That stupid kid said I was, and he said that you would send me back for being bad. Then I told him that there was no back, and then he called me an orphan. So I hit him."

Carlisle listened to the confession with a neutral expression, choosing his words wisely.

"Esme and I would never send you away," he said, convinced that what he said was true. "I can't speak for the people at CPS, nor can I speak for you, but you want to stay with us, you will always have a place here."

The brown eyes brightened again, and the arms wrapped around him with renewed vigour. Carlisle felt the last of his anger and frustration melt away as he patted the boy's back gently, wondering what kind of torment this child was suffering to be acting out in such a way. It was only then, as he sighed and glanced up, did he notice his wife standing in the doorway, her hand over her mouth and her eyes glistening.

And not wanting to ruin the moment, Esme left Carlisle with their newest boy in his arms, closing the door with a soft click behind her.

A/N: Carlisle is learning too... as you can tell, he's a bit of a hot-head. We saw a little bit of this in Dark Waltz, but it's even more pronounced here, as he is younger and less experienced. Emmett acts out because he's confused, sad and scared. Carlisle reacts to this behaviour because he is still learning how to handle it, which in turns fuels it even more.

Baby steps.

Thanks again for your patience, and please, let me know what you think!