I own neither Twilight nor Carlisle. In fact, I've only had him on loan--and sadly, I will have to return him with the completion of this story. I am bereft.
I would like to take this opportunity to thank all of you who have been reading, and the over one hundred and fifty of you who have me on alert and/or favorited. It is for you that this story has come to its final moments, and I cannot convey my gratitude enough. More to come in the ending A/N.
Bananapancakes7: what would I do without you? Well, this story wouldn't be here; I wouldn't be here, as I am. Not to sound incredibly sappy and over-dramatic, but you really have been a major inspiration, "on the page and off," as I am so fond of saying. But it is the truth, though I need to come up with a better way to convey it. Thank you for your amazing contributions as a beta, reader, fan, and friend.
Special thanks to EliseShaw for her support in working through some structure/stylistic issues.
It seemed like a normal afternoon: Edward, Rosalie, and Emmett had just returned from a hunt; Esme was curled against my side as we lounged in the living room together with our three wards, the gentle rays of a midsummer dawn filtering in through the east-facing windows, which set her skin and hair alight with a glimmering bronze wherever it touched. I almost envied the sunbeams; though, only almost, for I knew that I possessed the ability to make her glow even brighter—a simple, whispered vow of adoration from my lips could set a blaze within her that shone through every curve and line of her visage.
As my arm unconsciously tightened about her with my thoughts, my Love let out a small groan and buried her face in my shoulder. However, I knew that her thoughts were not of the same theme as mine; nor was this small bit of heaven on earth at the forefront of my mind—it was only a passing thought, sweet and elusive in light of the immediate circumstance.
This particular afternoon only seemed to be normal; for though my definition of the word was rapidly evolving, thanks to Emmett's arrival, and the scene in which I found myself was feeling sadly familiar, I refused to believe that this was to be our new norm.
In fact, it could not become so.
"Well, I don't know if you can count the second one," Emmett grinned, clearly amused with himself. "He ran into a tree and knocked himself out."
I sighed heavily before taking a deep breath, forcing myself to remain calm. "They were people, Emmett, not quarry to be tallied. Two souls inhabited those bodies—humans with lives and loved ones—and you killed them."
The newborn's expression sobered at my sharp tone, and I could tell he was genuinely penitent. Twice within the past several weeks, Emmett had managed to escape our company during the hunt and fall upon more tempting—and unfortunate—prey. His newborn speed and strength made him difficult to catch, and all the more impossible to restrain, especially when combined with those same, superior qualities that he naturally possessed.
But even more concerning, perhaps, was his ability to detect and dispatch his victims before any of us, save Edward, had scarcely sensed the presence of a human. This regrettable event, Emmett's third and fourth successive accidents, as Rosalie was so inclined to term them, had at least held one advantage for us in that Edward had finally been present, and could explain what was happening. Esme's soft pleading was all it had taken for him to abandon his reclusive behavior long enough to accompany us on the semi-daily hunting trips. The result found us in our current discussion, not even a week later.
"Emmett is just stronger than any of us realized," Rosalie explained, though the logic did nothing to soften the sharp pang of despair I felt at the loss of two more human lives. Perhaps the self-imposed guilt was irrational, but I couldn't find it within me to see the fault lying anywhere but with me. Like a new sin traced back to the Garden of Eden, this crime was born, ultimately, of my decision to bring yet another into our existence.
Edward was quick to argue with her. "That doesn't mean he's absolved, Rosalie. Yes, his physical senses surpass the strength of ours'—the humans weren't within my particular range of hearing for thirty seconds before he smelled them—but that's barely an excuse for his behavior. After he had finished the first, he was mindful enough to acknowledge our presence, and he blatantly chose to ignore us."
Emmett opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by an irate Rosalie. "And I suppose you were the one trying to stop him, physically? Really, Edward—of everyone in this house, you should be the quickest to hand out forgiveness."
"Don't bring my past into this as though you were there; as though it would bring me down to his level," he countered darkly, gesturing to Emmett.
"Why, you pompous, little—"
"That's enough," I growled, causing Esme to startle. Beyond that, everyone had fallen silent and still—Emmett's appearance held a strange mixture of sheepishness and genuine confusion, Rosalie was beyond irate, and Edward looked nothing shy of murderous.
Needing to quickly defuse the situation, I gave orders, my voice heavy with an irenic authority. "Emmett, please go upstairs and bathe while I have a talk with Rosalie and Edward. I doubt the added scent of human blood is doing anyone in this room any favors."
He nodded, his newly replenished, incarnadine eyes downcast as he turned to obey.
At his saddened expression, I added, "Understand, Emmett, that I do not mean to exclude you from our discussion—on the contrary, I expect you to be actively listening. If you have anything to add, you may do so upon your return."
His sorrowful gaze met mine only briefly before he murmured a quiet, "Yes, sir," and disappeared up the steps, the water running several moments later.
Esme immediately called after him. "Put your clothes in the sink, Emmett. We will need to burn them. And please try to be gentle with the faucets."
"Esme," Rosalie nearly whined. "Do you have to be so hard on him?"
My wife returned her plea with a warning glare. "Don't take that tone with me, Rosalie. He might be your responsibility, but he is living in our house and will learn to control himself, with both inanimate and animate objects."
The young woman crossed her arms, her face hardening into a mask of peevishness. Waiting to see if Esme would address it, and finding that she was choosing to ignore Rosalie's disrespect, I decided to instead investigate the earlier incident more fully.
"Edward, what happened after you found Emmett?" It was clear there had been some involvement on both his and Rosalie's part, as they both smelled of direct contact with humans—two males.
Rosalie seemed to think this question had been directed towards her. "Edward let—"
I cut her off with a raised hand and a reprimanding look. "I asked Edward."
The edges of her lips trembled as she fought to restrain a snarl, and I turned my attention to my son, rather than allowing myself to become sidetracked by her insolence. Edward seemed to have calmed, and answered me without pause, squarely meeting my gaze.
"Rosalie tried talking to him while he was still locked onto the first man, but he wouldn't listen, naturally—too lost in the bloodlust. He even threw her out of his way when he went for the second." She growled, but no one gave her the satisfaction of recognition. "As soon as it was over, we helped him bury the bodies and came straight home."
"Such lies," Rosalie spat. I began to silence her, but she wouldn't have any of it. "No, Carlisle—Edward could have done something, but he didn't. He just stood back and watched it happen without so much as a word. Maybe we could have stopped Emmett if both of us had been trying."
"The second man was dead anyway," Edward countered with a shrug, entirely composed. "He had seen us and noted how similar we all were, even with as petrified as he was. You know the rules."
Rosalie had no outward response, but even I could practically hear the stew of unpleasant thoughts that simmered just below the surface. As the shower turned off upstairs, offhandedly reminding me of Emmett's phantom presence in this conversation, I was suddenly struck by the strongest feeling that the issue between these two was not simply connected to this major event. There was something deeper that needed to be sorted out.
Almost on cue, a devious smirk found its way onto Rosalie's lips, and I felt myself tense in preparation for whatever hell she was about to unleash.
"Oh, so you wanted him to look the part of the insensitive predator, just because you hate the attention he gives me? Well, well," she sang. "I never thought I'd see the day when Edward would try to make someone look bad out of jealousy."
A predictable hiss came from the young man, but I answered her before he could, my tone thick with a barely contained growl.
"You go too far, Rosalie. From what I've heard, from both of you, Edward has done nothing wrong, nor has Emmett. If you feel that we have dealt unfairly with him, then we will gladly apologize. But what's done is done, and we will now lay this to rest, as we have all done with your own dealings. Am I clear?"
She gaped. "Crystal."
Though Rosalie seemed surprised by my defense of Edward, I could tell he and Esme were not—his features softened in almost gratitude, and I felt mine relax to match. I knew how Rosalie's developing romance with Emmett was a source of agony to him, and had relayed my recent, anguished conversation with him to Esme, who had taken the first opportunity to speak with him about it herself. Since that line of communication had been opened, it appeared as though a large burden had been lifted from Edward's shoulders, though he continued to remain relatively saturnine.
"From here," I proceeded, "I feel it would be best if Edward continued to accompany Emmett on all hunting trips—though I understand that there may be some days you would rather spend on your own." I nodded to him, directly.
Edward shrugged. "I don't mind it so much. Emmett is actually incredibly pleasant company." He emphatically glowered at Rosalie, who pointedly avoided his glance.
Esme finally decided to step in, thankfully. She stood, walking over to the rigid young woman and placing a hand on her crossed arms, gently encouraging them to open. "Rosalie, I thought you and Edward were past all this bickering. Yet, here you are, trying to pick a fight all over again. What's really wrong?"
Rosalie's inflexible stance yielded at Esme's tender pleas, but she refused to answer. Unfortunately, Edward seemed to feel it was the perfect opportunity to repay her for her cutting remarks.
"She's still harboring a secret, and it's become like a mountain between her and Emmett. They're both frustrated."
"That's not any of your business," Rosalie snapped.
Esme put a hand on her shoulder, having to repeat the action, as Rosalie had leapt away from her. "Calm down, Rosalie. We already know things haven't been progressing between you—as much as you keep him to yourself, we'd have to be blind to see that nothing has changed."
What my wife said was true—we barely saw Emmett four hours each day, so private were the two in their companionship. Regardless of veracity, Esme's comment bordered on her tendency to meddle, and it did nothing to settle a suddenly anxious Rosalie.
Of course, Emmett chose that inopportune moment to make his reappearance, thundering down the stairs.
"She's got a point, Rose," he casually asserted.
With a frantic look between Emmett, Esme, and me, Rosalie turned and fled to her room, the door slamming behind her.
The atmosphere was instantly lifted upon her hasty exit, though it could have been the beaming smile that lit Emmett's face.
"It's pretty fun to know someone as predictable as her," he laughed. "Back before all this," he gestured across his new form, "I was the one who went runnin' every time someone brought up serious shi—I mean, stuff."
Esme cocked an eyebrow at his almost-expletive, but refrained from comment. Her gaze wandered past him to the staircase, and I knew her thoughts were with Rosalie. Even as forthright with her troubles as she was, our daughter was still too afraid to let herself love. And try as she might, my sweet wife was too tenderhearted to not care when someone was hurting—particularly when the ache was self-induced and preventable.
She and I were somewhat alike in that regard, though my knowledge of human anatomy and physiology paled in comparison with her ability to tend to the broken and wounded hearts. I was the strong leader of our family, but longed to also understand my loved ones as she did, to know precisely what to say and do to right the wrongs.
But I adored her all the more for the apparent ease with which she could lead—in the way that only a mother and lover knows: with love and grace, strength and beauty, and an all-encompassing tenderness.
That evening, upon Esme's suggestion, Edward and I took Emmett out for some "bonding time," which conveniently left the two women alone. While my wife held to her promise that she wouldn't meddle, she avowed that she would not let Rosalie avoid the issue any longer. Something was mentioned about women needing to air everything out, and men being unable to comprehend the complexities of the female emotions, so I had no choice but to agree to her terms.
And beyond that, I was anxious to speak with Emmett about his slip that morning. The matter was not entirely settled where he was concerned, and I needed to know how we could help him. From a purely diagnostic standpoint, I could tell there was a vital piece of information we were missing. He was stronger than we were, of course, but there was something in his attitude toward the matter—in his approach to the situation with such levity—that it simply had to be something beyond his buoyant personality.
Edward led us to a secluded lake to the northwest, constantly on alert for anyone drawing too close and adjusting our course likewise. After several hours, in which Emmett had discovered the wonders of underwater exploration without the need for air, and had challenged both Edward and me to several races, we finally settled on the lakeshore to dry. Emmett began skipping stones across the water as we talked about Rosalie, encouraging him in his frustration with her vacillating temperament. Though, we refrained from sharing Rosalie's secret, stating only that it was her story to tell, and that what she was running from had little to do with him.
"Yeah, I already know all that," Emmett shrugged. "She's not telling me something that's really important to her, and every time she starts getting close to me, she's afraid of letting it slip. So, she moves away. And I'm fine with being patient, but it really wears on a guy, you know?"
Edward chuckled. "If I wasn't in your head already, I would think you had some sort of extra-sensory ability. It took Carlisle and Esme months to understand Rosalie on that level."
I nodded in affirmation, completely agreeing about the ease with which Emmett seemed to deeply comprehend the intricacies within Rosalie.
"I wish I could be in Rose's head," Emmett sighed. "Then I could know what to do to make her happy—I'd take on the world if that's what she wanted." He flashed a wide, smug smile. "And you know I'd win."
Speaking only from what I knew, I hoped it would help. "You don't need to hear her thoughts to know that, Emmett. From experience, it's in the silence between words that women speak their desires the loudest. The more time I spend with Esme, the better I am able to hear her, even when she doesn't say anything."
"Huh." He threw a stone, and we watched it skim the water two dozen times before sinking. "You didn't just bring me out here to swim and talk about Rosalie, though, did ya?"
I sighed; although, interestingly enough, the tone of our conversation did not become heavy with the abrupt change in direction. Emmett's unyieldingly warm disposition simply didn't allow for much solemnity, even when the situation might otherwise feel overwhelmingly intense.
"I thought it best to wait until we were away from Rosalie and Esme to ask," I began. "Do you have anything to add to what either Edward or Rosalie had to say earlier?"
"Yeah, I do."
He paused, almost self-consciously, and I nodded for him to continue.
"I know I keep messing up and being a big disappointment, and I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to kill those guys—but…I didn't exactly care if I stopped, either."
"What do you mean?" I asked, suppressing the urge to scold him for his flippant attitude toward his misdemeanors.
Emmett was silent and still for a long moment, seeming to have difficulty explaining himself properly. I felt sympathetic, however; after all, he was in an existence for which most of humanity could not hope to have a vocabulary. The sensory experience for a newborn, from my own recollection, was nothing shy of overpowering. And as one who had never fed from a human, there was absolutely no way for me to empathize, personally.
At last, he seemed to be satisfied with his answer. "Maybe it's like Edward said—everything's just so much more for me than it is for y'all. When I smelled those humans, I wasn't even thinking about killing them. I just ran. It's not just the smell, or the taste, it's…everything. When I drink that blood, it's like…for the first time, I'm a whole man. And I wanted that more than I cared about the how.
"Even when I was human, everyone always saw me as the stupid one who was good at making people laugh. I couldn't do much right except hunt and play sports. No one really expected me to do anything else. Even with as big as I am, I've always felt that people saw me as less—and maybe they were right to. But all I know is that I've never felt as…significant as I do when I've had human blood. It's like I finally have all the parts of me, inside and out."
"You feel like you've fulfilled your purpose," Edward suggested.
"Yeah, that's it exactly!" Emmett exclaimed, almost excited at the recollection.
It was then that I realized how much Edward must be able to appreciate another man in his life who could identify with his past struggles, who could share in his experiences. Despite the bitterness my son felt toward his solitude, I sensed Edward was beginning to feel like a mentor to Emmett, an empathetic role the newborn desperately needed, and which I was unable to provide.
A smile tugged at the corner of Edward's mouth at my inward remark, and I rejoiced in the fact that he was undoubtedly feeling a renewed sense of purpose for himself.
"It always starts out that way," my son warned Emmett. "However, that's your newborn instincts talking. Once the rush fades and the hunt loses its novelty, you'll find an irrepressible conscience lurking in the shadows."
His trademark, crooked grin was now on full display as he shot me a glance. "Carlisle is the only vampire I've come across that was actually born into this life with moral convictions. I think it must be hereditary, because everyone Carlisle has created owns it almost from the start. Even I wasn't able to fully suppress it while living my truculent life away from them."
"But why fight it?" Emmett murmured, picking up another rock, this time throwing it as far as he could. It had disappeared from view before it hit the ground. "I'm not trying to be disrespectful or anything, but you say we shouldn't kill people because they've got souls. But people eat animals all the time, and the animals run from them 'cause they don't want to be eaten. And people kill each other all the time. It's a dog-eat-dog world, right? What's the big deal if I'm out looking for a bobcat and a human happens to walk by? If this is what we are—maybe we're supposed to do this."
"That's thinking of it rather simplistically," Edward grimaced. "We're no longer on the same level as anything else in this world, Emmett—animals can run from the hunters, and some—as you learned with the bear—can fight back. Humanity has almost no defense against our kind."
Emmett remained unconvinced. "I still don't think there's anything wrong with thinning the herds, so to speak."
Though I remained silent as the two young men debated, my thoughts were reeling. Mere logic would not be enough to convince Emmett. He needed something that grounded him, something irrefutable and personally significant. I searched through my knowledge of him, all the things that I had learned in my relatively brief time with him, in the past month. And for some unknown reason, my mind repeatedly revisited one memory, in particular.
In an instant, I knew what I wanted to say. I could only pray that it would be effective.
"Emmett—do you remember what it was like to weep?"
He answered without pause. "Sure I do. I did it a lot—when no one was lookin', that is. No one would've let me live it down if they'd known. I mean, a big guy like me, crying…"
"You cried when you were changing," Edward remarked. "It really had an effect on Rosalie."
"It did? She didn't think it was weak or anything?"
Edward shook his head in answer.
Emmett grinned. "Maybe I should try it again sometime, then. She's so hard to get through to…"
"We don't possess that ability, Emmett," I stated. Emmett seemed confused, and I realized my error immediately. With a chuckle—for it was indeed a small, albeit unfortunate, truth that men rarely had success in figuring out the perplexing labyrinth of the female heart—I clarified. "We cannot cry."
"Oh," was Emmett's nonchalant reply. "Well, that's not so bad."
And here was my point. Edward's eyes widened as my scattered thoughts converged into one, concrete idea; although, he averted his gaze quickly, obviously hoping I hadn't seen his astonished expression. I felt a small degree of pride in my ability to still offer something of consequence to him after the infinite number of equally brilliant ideas he had encountered over the years.
"I think, in a moment, you'll understand the true importance of such a small action Emmett," I began.
"During my medical studies in the early 1850s, I became fascinated by the physiological effect of emotions on the human body. Lacrimation is the clinical term used for the liquid produced by the eyes for cleansing and lubrication—but with my highly developed senses, I one day became acutely aware of the difference, in smell and texture, between tears shed from physical necessity and those of emotional pain. A patient whose body produced tears due to an injury, for example—the solution secreted by their eyes had a vastly less sweet scent than those of a parent who wept for their sick child.
"I researched the phenomenon, as much as I could with the limited studies that had been documented, but nothing could explain the differentiation. No other creature on earth, of which I am aware, sheds tears as an emotional response—yet in humans, the slightest thought or experience can trigger a complete, systemic reaction, eventually manifesting in the form of weeping—"
Emmett interrupted, apparently trying to make my point for me. "So, humans have some special talent for showing feelings…and you're trying to tell me that they're better than animals."
"I wasn't finished," I replied, sensing his impatience to understand. I realized that I was beginning to sound too clinical, and I was losing him in the terminology. Forming my next words carefully, I tried to make the concepts more approachable. "I conducted my own research, secretly collecting samples of tears and observing their makeup under a microscope. With the aid of the machine, I could see even deeper into the composition of its cells than a human, and what I found was nothing shy of amazing.
"Tears of any sort contain protein, normally serving the purpose of protecting or purifying—but those shed from emotion contained far more protein, the smell sweetening from the larger presence of the attached hormones. Such an increase of the substances seemed illogical, and I came to the conclusion that the response was meant to purge the body of something that high levels of emotion caused to build-up."
Emmett looked nothing short of bored, but at least Edward was more than attentive. I was beginning to feel that this hortatory oration was more for his benefit than Emmett's, though I knew the daedal crux of the matter was the one thing that both of them needed to hear.
Pausing only to assure that Emmett was not entirely ignoring me, and receiving an affirmative response from him, by way of eye contact, I continued.
"Our conversation today has thrown new light on the subject, and my newest inference is rather staggering, even after almost three hundred years of study. Each tear produced is an individual piece of that person, and is as distinctive as a fingerprint, full of living cells. Such knowledge is impossible for the more ephemeral beings, as they cannot observe what I have seen. But every small droplet that falls to the ground leaves its mark, as each life does. It is more than an expression of emotion—it is evidence of life, proof of existence and meaning.
"As vampires, we cannot cry, cannot leave such a signature of our pain or substantiation of our lives upon the earth—perhaps it is because human knowledge of our true nature is forbidden. But such an act is more an outward verification of inward sensation, and most of our kind do not acknowledge the emotional humanity within them—it is easier. And so they take, giving nothing in return, and leaving nothing in their wake.
"Since my own birth as a newborn, I have longed for the privilege of crying, the one thing to make me feel a part of this world, not like a scourge. And so, I rejected my selfish desires in order that I might transform my pain, and the tears I cannot shed, into acts of love."
"You became a doctor," Emmett stated, the inflection making it into a question, almost.
I was surprised to hear Edward answer for me. "All the lives you've saved are like your own, personal teardrops on the earth—a phantom impression of a remarkable life that no one can ever know."
I nodded, feeling my silent heart swelling within me.
For the first time, I fully realized everything I had actually accomplished with my calling. It was humbling to grasp the reality that I was only a small piece of a much larger plan. Perhaps there was a loving Deity that yet remained with me through my steadfast faith in this normally Godless existence; if so, it was clear that He that had brought Edward, Esme, Rosalie, and now Emmett. I wondered what plan the five of us had yet to fulfill if I, alone,had come this far.
"If you cannot find it within you to see humanity as anything but prey," I, at last, addressed Emmett's earlier remark, "then at least consider your own existence: naught but others of our kind and the earth on which we tread can know what we are. Much of who we are is defined by our actions, which is how others will know us.
"In the end, I suppose it comes down to how you want to be known by this world: for your inexistence, or for your tears?"
Both young men were silent in the wake of my declaration. Even I felt the need to find a quiet place for solemn reflection—it was a grave question, and I suddenly wished I might share such a challenge with every vampire in existence. It was doubtful that it would change every mind, particularly when so many were fully absorbed by their primal desires.
But I knew I could not be the sui generis, a pioneer of morality within a race of murderous savages; there had to be others whose soul thirsted for more than blood.
As the three of us headed home in pensive silence, Edward fell into step beside me even as he continued his dutiful surveillance, and I wrapped an arm around Emmett's shoulders in solidarity—I noted, with amazement and slight amusement, that I was barely able to reach. As he leaned into my embrace, it was clear he had resolved to change his perspective on his life—and his diet.
For the first time since his arrival, I felt as though he and I had truly connected. Although Emmett had fit so seamlessly into our home from the beginning, he was now an indivisible part of the whole as he shared in our struggles and hardships, and chose to borrow the strength he would need to live out a higher, and more onerous, existence.
We arrived at the house a little after two in the morning. My wife ran out to meet me, whisking me away to the privacy of our cabin—though the purpose was hardly a passionate one.
Curled in my arms as we laid on the couch, both of us intentionally avoiding the bed, Esme shared with me that Rosalie had, indeed, just needed to hash out her fear and apprehension aloud, and that she had resolved to tell Emmett that morning, so long as we promised not to interfere.
Likewise, I shared all that I had learned from Emmett's views, where Rosalie was concerned, in addition to the lengthy discussion regarding his offenses the previous day.
"So it's settled, then? He understands?" she asked.
I had to consider it for a brief moment. "I think so. Obviously, it will be even more of a struggle for him now that he's coming from a mindset of indulgence, but with the four of us beside him in support, and so long as he desires to change, I think he will be all right."
"Have I ever told you that you're the most brilliant man to ever exist?" she teased with a kiss, obviously speaking of my epiphany.
I grinned, reveling in her praise and feeling all the more prideful because of the love from which her compliment was formed. "Not recently," I replied. Then, cheekily, I added, "However, feel free to tell me as often as you like. I wouldn't mind the extra attention."
She giggled, pressing against me suggestively and raising an eyebrow. "There are apparently several parts of you vying for my attention at the moment—to which shall I attend first?"
I pretended to ponder the question for a moment before raising a hand to tap a finger against my mouth, unable to keep from smiling at her playful mindset.
She allowed a beautiful, light giggle to escape before leaning in to capture my mouth with hers. I held her against me a moment longer than she had intended, and Esme smiled against my lips when I finally allowed her to pull away. "We shouldn't linger, Carlisle—with those three alone in the house, they're liable to reduce it to rubble within the hour."
"I know," I groaned. Though I wanted nothing more than to ravish my wife on the spot, and set aside our family's troubles for a brief time so that I might immerse myself in the warmth of our physical union, now was not the time, unfortunately.
Mentally shaking myself from the deep sadness of having to postpone the delicacy of making love to my Esme, I stood and offered my hand to her with measured grace, struggling to contain the ardor that threatened to overtake me.
She took my hand with a sigh of her own, chuckling lightly as she took in my expression—I had yet to master the art of hiding my true feelings from her.
As we walked out of our sanctuary and back to the house, she stretched upward to nip at my ear and neck, purring, "Promise me…later?"
Edward and Emmett had been deep in discussion when we returned, formally adapting the rules of football and baseball for fewer players—in particular, the five in our family. They sketched out plays and possibilities on paper as they sat on the floor, at the low table. Esme and I sat in, enjoying the confabulation of the two young men; unfortunately, my own experience with the sports in consideration was incredibly limited—rarely had there been an occasion that necessitated my athletic ability.
Rosalie, who had apparently remained upstairs since Esme's departure, joined us after a little while, sitting casually on the smaller, unoccupied sofa and opening a copy of Jane Eyre. Emmett looked once between the table in front of him and the open space beside Rosalie, immediately moving to sit beside her without further hesitation.
Edward, having lost his associate, simply moved to the desk in the room, apparently resolved to silently compose a new work. Though printing his music was unnecessary, Rosalie was often inclined to request sheet music of his pieces, that she might learn them also. Withdrawing several sheets of staff paper from the top drawer and a pen, he set to work.
"Speaking of games—what do y'all do around here for fun?" Emmett drawled as he carefully sat upon the couch, stretching his arm to rest behind Rosalie, on the back of the couch. She stiffened, but did not draw away. Esme and I shared a quick, optimistic look.
"Well, of course, Edward and Rosalie enjoy their music and mechanics, respectively; Esme and I are avid readers—"
Emmett interrupted with a barking laugh. "So, 'reading' is what the old folks are calling it these days, huh?" He winked at Rosalie as he chuckled, and she attempted to suppress a smile—albeit unsuccessfully. I couldn't help my amusement as his jest, though I was forced to hide my chortle behind a fake cough as Esme's shocked expression dissolved into an indignant grimace.
"That's quite enough of that, Emmett," my wife chided, clearly abashed.
I was entirely confused by her sudden shyness at the subject—after all, we'd already spent years enjoying each other in the relatively close proximity of our adopted family. Regardless, I wrapped my arm around her, drawing her to my side in comfort.
"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Esme," I said, planting a gentle kiss on the top of her head before she pushed me away slightly, even as she leaned further into my embrace.
"'Course not," Emmett agreed. "Everyone does it at some point—except for maybe Edward…" He trailed off suggestively with a smug grin, meriting a withering glare from Edward as we fought to contain our laughter—though I suddenly realized, to my bewilderment, that Rosalie did not share the emotion.
She turned sideways on the couch to face Emmett fully. "Have you?"
The room was instantly silent, the mood shifting with the gravity that was inherent in Rosalie's question. It was difficult to get a read on the purpose behind her inquiry, as to whether or not she was hoping for an affirmative answer.
On the one hand, I speculated, it was possible she was hoping he had—experience would prove beneficial in more ways than one, both in making her feel less worthless and providing less insecurity on her part in their intimacy. Personally, I found my own deficit of experience on my wedding night to be overshadowed by the absolute love and affection we shared—and whatever I may have lacked, Esme made up for in sheer enthusiasm.
I smiled at the memory, though it quickly faded as I realized that, likely, this was not the scenario for which Rosalie was searching.
On the other hand, perhaps she was hoping Emmett did not yet know of carnal desire; that unlike her, seeing herself as spoiled and unwanted, he would be spotless and pure, the one thing in this world kept especially for her, almost as a gift. I could not see the young man as she did, however, for she spoke of him almost as a mother does her son—I knew that his bawdy speech was not simply that of a lusty young man.
I felt my expression melt into a remorseful look—I knew all too well the horror of the woman you love posing an unanswerable question. Either way, you became the fool.
Emmett, however, seemed entirely unaware of his entrapment. "Well, I'm definitely not green, Rose," he grinned. Then his expression turned serious as he looked into deeply into her eyes. "But I'm no expert, either."
To my immense astonishment, Rosalie actually seemed appeased. She sat back once more, her attention restored to her book—though, I noted, not a page had turned since she entered the room. She whispered a small "Thank you" without any further expression of her feelings, inclining her upper body sideways and toward him slightly, an entirely contented appearance gracing her seated form.
Emmett, likewise, seemed entirely settled on the matter, and continued with his previous train of thought. "Well, I know we might have to adjust things a little, but I don't see why the five of us couldn't play a little pick-up football or something. I've got a case of cabin fever like you wouldn't believe!"
Edward guffawed, his attention barely drawn from his compositions, hand still flying across the staves while he spoke, as the chords formed in his mind. "Yes, God forbid you subsist indoors for more than two hours."
"Damn straight!" Emmett exclaimed.
Esme sighed, wearily. "Emmett…"
"Oops. Sorry, Ma'am." His fingers swiftly moved forward to rest on Rosalie's shoulder, and seeing that she made no objection, the action was soon followed by his entire hand.
Rosalie smiled, secretively.
After that, no more was mentioned about Emmett's sexual experience. After a few rounds of football played with a ball chiseled from a rock, in which Esme decided that she preferred learning to referee rather than being pummeled into the ground by Emmett, we all decided to retire to our separate rooms. Encouragingly, a soft conversation could be heard between the new couple as they sat in the living room, however casual the topics were at the beginning.
Esme and I tried not to eavesdrop—at least, I attempted to engage my thoughts with my hands as I kneaded my wife's lithe muscles, admiring and comforting, though the massage was entirely unnecessary. But it was all I could do to keep Esme curled into me as we sat on our bed, for she was becoming increasingly frustrated with Rosalie's evasive tactics.
"I'm going down there," she whispered after only a few moments, struggling to slide forward and off the bed. Rosalie was attempting to comment on the lack of cloudy days, of late.
I wrapped my arms around her middle, pulling her back against my chest, tightly. "No, Esme—let them be. Rosalie has expressed her wish to do this alone, and we must let her."
Emmett laughed at something the young woman had said, clearly content to let Rosalie lead the conversation.
"But she's avoiding the issue again," Esme huffed, though her voice remained barely audible. She wiggled against me, ineffectually, fighting my hold—and her movements against my lower half inevitably stirred reactions that, upon her notice, immediately stilled her squirming. "Oh, dear."
With a sly smirk, I pulled her snugly against me, brushing her hair to the side so I could whisper in her ear. "I'm more than happy to allow you your opportunity to listen—however, if you would rather be otherwise occupied, I am absolutely willing to oblige your meddling in more pressing matters."
A slight whimper escaped her lips, and I could practically feel the mental and erotic irresolution within her at my suggestion. From another wing of the house I could hear Edward exit via the nearest window, with a disapproving groan of repulsion, and Emmett and Rosalie's conversation paused, momentarily. Instantly, my face was buried in Esme's hair as I stifled my peals of laughter, Esme placing one of my hands over her face in a similar attempt at concealment.
Suddenly, Emmett inquired as to whether or not Rosalie still had questions about our earlier discussion, and I wondered what he had seen on her face to merit his sudden change of subject. As the tone of their discourse shifted toward solemnity, the tension between Esme and I lessened, though she still managed to lean her head back onto my shoulder and remark, "Well, I don't see why it has to be 'or'—why not 'and'?"
She settled herself back into me once again, pressing more firmly than was absolutely necessary in silent promise of what was to come.
And then, as if Emmett had broken through a cement dam, a swift current swept through the house in the aural form of Rosalie's lilting voice. Esme turned slightly in my embrace so that she could tuck her head into my favorite resting place, on my shoulder and beneath my chin—I knew she wanted to feel wrapped within me as much as possible while the grief of memories past enveloped us.
As Rosalie narrated her tragic, tenebrous tale, Emmett offered the occasional question, though we could tell he was desperately trying to hold back.
I maintained a soothing, steady ebb and flow of unnecessary breathing for my Esme as we listened in quiet support, though she seemed unable to maintain the pretense; even I found it impossible to fight the marked interruptions in practiced tempo as we soon heard Rosalie's muffled sobs. We both knew why the sound was impeded—Emmett had her in his strong embrace as he whispered his own sorrow for her losses, and his assurance that it had no effect on his feelings for her.
The empathy became too much; the happiness and relief I felt for Rosalie melded with our own ecstasy at how quickly things were now progressing, and I needed to express it.
Moving quickly to stand, I held out my hand for Esme as I nodded toward the door. Upon seeing the vivacious expression that I knew to be lighting my features, she leapt from the bed, landing swiftly on my back and nipping lightly at my neck as she softly laughed. Racing from the house and into the brilliant, summer morning, I released a silent prayer of thanks to the heavens as my Love and I heard one last word from Emmett.
"You forgot the best part of the story, Rose—all of it brought you to me."
Several hours, as well as an indelibly distracted, barely successful shower, and two sets of un-ruined clothes later, we began our journey back to the house. Esme was situated comfortably on my back, her legs around my waist and hands caressing my chest and shoulders as I walked. The combined sensations were far too close to the memories of what seemed like just moments ago—and from her smirk, which I could feel against the side of my neck as she nipped and sucked at my neck and ear, I could tell it was entirely her intention.
With a playful growl, I turned the tables, flipping Esme around to the front of me and pinning her to the nearest tree in the same motion. Yet, it was her wide grin of victory that met my carefully crafted, frustrated expression as I leaned in to lap and nip at her collarbone. While I entirely understood her desire to not leave Rosalie alone with Emmett for toolong, hence our—relatively—expeditious return to the house, her purposeful sensuality was far too reminiscent of her legs about my hips as I pressed her into the wall, her nimble fingers mapping out the shape of my muscles as I moved above and within her, and her petal-soft lips as they so lovingly surrounded—
"Edward?" Esme breathed the question before I had the chance. I'd immediately sensed my son the moment he left our home, which was not five hundred yards from our current location. He raced past us with little more than a subtle nod in acknowledgement, but his eyes revealed the complete return of his piercing anguish, and I found myself mentally reaching out to him, begging him to stay. But he did not even recognize my plea as he sped his pace even more, almost anxious to get as far away from home as possible.
I had only ever known him to leave our home in such a manner for one reason—had we been so intolerable in our play?
With a shared look of wariness, Esme and I broke from our embrace and walked hastily back to the house. We were hoping to hear the new couple affably engaged in some meaningful conversation. However, I was immediately suspicious at the complete lack of dialogue from within, though their strong, distinctive scents left no doubt that they were still at home.
The door was still open from Edward's swift departure, and Esme and I walked in silently, the unmistakable smell of arousal greeting us like a surprise visitor. We proceeded cautiously, though the scent floating in the air was more than enough to prepare us for the scene unfolding in the living room.
As we rounded the corner and stood in the doorway, we found Rosalie and Emmett…entangled. Emmett sat facing us, Rosalie straddling his lap as their lips met and parted and reunited, again and again. His hands were buried in her thick, sinuous locks while her arms were wrapped around his neck—though it was difficult to tell, it was clear he was following her lead with boundaries, careful to not push her limits.
Looking beside me to gauge Esme's reaction, I found her looking up at me with complete joy, though there was a slight edge of uncertainty pulling her brows together as her gaze left mine to silently question the situation before us.
I caught the unspoken meaning in the expression—she was wondering if we ought to interrupt them. While it was rare for vampires to become so centrally focused on one activity that they disregarded awareness of everything else, Esme and I could empathize with the beauty of those precious moments in which all else faded but the one you love.
It was a hard decision to make, but I chose to make our presence known, lest things progress too quickly without their knowledge of our company. Intentionally clearing my throat, I had to smother a laugh at the comical scene that unfolded.
Rosalie leapt from atop Emmett gracefully, yet with an unmistakable horror, landing on the opposite end of the couch and smoothing her clothes and hair posthaste. Emmett, however, remained completely at ease as he met our ubiety with a wide grin and stentorian greeting.
"Well, hi!"
"Sorry to interrupt," I said, answering the young man with a knowing smile of my own. Rosalie, on the other hand, kept her gaze averted. Her arms were crossed in front of her, and her face was half hidden by her hair. "I just thought you would appreciate knowing we were here."
"You could've knocked," Rosalie murmured, finally meeting my questioning stare.
She was nearly alight with a refulgent glow of pride and comfort, and to my astonishment, it seemed as though she really looked different. I was taken aback by the great amount of peace I saw within her eyes—and even more surprising was that she didn't appear to be annoyed in the least. The almost constant tension that had tightened and oft furrowed her brow was now entirely absent, any hard or firm line throughout her whole form softened and relaxed. Perhaps the burden of secrecy had been far greater than any of us knew, and the alleviation of it had returned her to the Rosalie we knew before Emmett.
But I knew better.
Her heart, for the first time, was freed—from guilt, from shame, and from fear.
Esme wrapped an arm around my waist as she practically vibrated with her elation, and I drew her close beside me while Rosalie scooted back over to Emmett, mirroring our posture, though seated.
Emmett threw his arm around her and planted a firm kiss on her cheek, before sweeping her up into his arms and spinning them both, causing her to cling tightly even as she released a free laugh. It was a sweet, carefree sound that I had never heard her voice, and I thought I felt my heart leap within my chest at the melodic tone.
With a boisterous whoop, Emmett came to rest not two feet before us as he proudly proclaimed—
"We're courtin'!"
Post-Script A/N, to answer several questions that I am certain will arise:
There is one final "chapter," which will be entitled, "Epilogue." Much in the proper style, it is of reasonably brief length, and will be the capstone to this tale. I will post it either tomorrow or the next day, as it is already written and simply needs to be shined and polished.
As much as I long to write Alice and Jasper's arrival (mmm, I do love me some Jasper!), it is not possible right now--reality is a complete bitch and I'm not certain I will be at a place, time-wise, where writing will be feasible. However, if the opportunity does arise that I can add their arrival, I will do so, but as a separate, one-shot story. This is because "In My Power" covers only the Cullens that Carlisle changed, himself. So if you're interested to hear how I envision "the odd couple's" arrival, and are optimistic that I will find the means to write it, then put me on author alert.
Thank you to all who voted for me in the Sparkle Awards. The winners will be announced on November 30th. Regardless of whether or not I win (I'm up against two of EliseShaw's stories, so it's doubtful), it has been a privilege and an honor to be held in such high esteem among my readers. You are all so amazing, and I feel as though each of my faithful reviewers has become a cherished friend, and I will miss hearing from every one of you after each update!
Thank you all, and I hope Carlisle's final words will be as much of a blessing to you as your responses and encouragement has been to me!