AN: Thank you, my dear readers, for your patience and tenacity. I wish I could update more often, but life is life, and this seems to be my new pattern. I'm always so grateful that you are still there and still reading.

I've added a story of Esme's Outtakes, called 'Intermezzo in E Minor'. It will have all the outtakes I've sent to reviewers, plus many additional chapters, but will still really only make sense as a companion to 'Prelude' and not a stand-alone story. I hope you'll take a look at it.

Thanks to my wonderful beta Coleen561, and all my writing buddies, especially StormDragonfly, who helped me work through the structure of this chapter.

SM still owns the boys and Esme.

Chapter 21

CPOV

"Nurse, more suction. I need that area clear." Even with my superior vision, I couldn't see the rupture clearly under all this blood.

"I'm trying, Doctor." She moved the tubes deeper, and the blood began to disappear.

There had to be another cut; that was the only way to explain the amount of blood seeping into the body cavity. The bone had punctured the right lung, and there was clear laceration of the fourth posterior intercostal artery, but I had it nearly sealed, and there was still far too much blood. I looked up at the bottle of saline that was being injected into the patient. He was losing fluids almost as quickly as he was taking them in. Part of me wished I could send Nurse Brooke away and work at full speed; I was beginning to think that was the only way Mr. Brown would be saved. As I mulled over my options, the far door opened, and a man in a clean surgical robe, mask, and freshly scrubbed hands walked in.

"Dr. Cullen, sorry I'm late."

I looked up from the open abdomen before me. "Dr. Evans! You are a welcome sight… how is your patient?"

"Stable, finally. How is yours?" he asked looking over my shoulder.

"Not stable. I have this rupture nearly closed, but there seems to be at least one other. I need to be in too many places at once."

"Show me where you need me. I've just rescrubbed."

"Try the sixth posterior intercostal. I think the other tear must be on that artery or the seventh. Both of those associated ribs were cracked, though not as badly as this one."

We worked in companionable if intense silence, each racing against time and the flow of blood. The tide was turning, and it seemed more and more likely that we'd stem the bleeding before we lost the patient. We were both starting to breathe a little easier, when Dr. Evans asked the nurse to go get one more bottle of saline solution as we began to close.

I didn't envy Mr. Brown. He was going to be extremely sore for a number of weeks, and who knew when he'd be able to ride a horse again. The one that had thrown him was now lame and being put down. Dr. Evans helped line up the edges of the opening we'd used to access the body cavity, and I began sewing the various layers closed.

"Carlisle?"

I looked up from my sutures, surprised to see a warm, if hesitant, smile on Dr. Evans face.

"It's good to have you back."

I smiled and began sewing again. "Thank you, Michael. It's good to be back." It was true; it felt good to be back at the hospital, using my skills. The challenges I faced here had solutions: diagnose, treat, perform surgery, save a patient or don't save a patient. It was a familiar pattern. Comforting, in its way. So much simpler than the challenges at home…

"How's Edward? We'd heard he's relapsed."

I paused, trying to decide how much to tell. "He's…well, he's been better. Medically, he'll be okay, I think. But his…condition…makes him moody, easily frustrated. I've requested shorter shifts so I don't have to leave him for long periods." Of course I was actually talking about Esme. I'd learned years ago to keep my lies as close to the truth as possible. Edward was a rock, but Esme was still wild and unpredictable…a challenge seemingly without solutions. It was a relief to have a few hours away, even as I harbored an ache, missing them both terribly. But things at home had grown so complicated…

Michael nodded. "I know; I'm actually one of the doctors who volunteered to move my shifts around to help accommodate your request."

"Oh, I didn't realize…"

He waved off my concerns. "I was happy to do it. We're a small community, and family is important." He paused for a moment, as if debating what he wanted to say next. "How are you holding up?"

I looked up again, taken aback by the sincerity in his face. I'd always liked Michael, but we'd never had a conversation like this. I wasn't sure what to make of it. I began stitching again.

"I'm fine." I considered leaving it at that, but there was something disarming about the undemanding way he was asking. "Now that my surgeries are almost done, I suppose I'm getting anxious to see how things are at home. But it's been good for me to be here. There's something comforting about the rhythm of the hospital."

He chuckled. "I know what you mean," he said quietly. But the pause that followed felt awkward and pregnant.

I looked up at him again, trying to understand the shadow that darkened his expression. What was he trying to ask me? Or tell me?

"Have things been okay here while I was away?" I finally asked. I tied a knot and checked several stitches before continuing.

He tilted his head slightly. "There have been… rumors." A chill settled deep in my core. Rumors were never good. Had Esme been missed? Had the coincidence of her disappearance and my own absence been noticed? I hadn't noticed any odd behavior in my colleagues today, but I'd been quite busy…

"Dr. Jones intends to make some more changes. Procedural changes, for the most part, but the sort of thing that can be irksome to doctors." He paused, seeming to weigh his next words. "I know he came down a bit hard on you during your last shift. He told you to leave for three days, and you were gone for three weeks. Some people…well, they think that perhaps you are looking for other work…"

"No," I reassured him quickly, and I saw the relief in his expression. "It was just a coincidence, Michael. It was good, actually, that I was forced to stay home; I was able to notice the change in Edward and deal with it before it became too serious. If things at home worsen, I might need to move us, but I have no plans of doing that in the near future, and certainly not because of anything that happened here."

He let out a long breath. "I'm glad to hear it. You're a valued member of this hospital Carlisle, even if, well, even if the administration comes down a bit hard on all of us at times. Look, why don't you let me finish closing? Your shift is almost up, and I'm sure Edward's anxious to have you back from your first shift in nearly a month."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely! Go. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you…" I handed him the taut thread, and he slipped into my position, continuing the row of small stitches. The nurse entered the room with the saline, and the two of them talked as I made my way to the exit, turning to give him a final wave goodbye before slipping through the door.

I stripped off my surgical gown, dumped it into a laundry bin, and made my way to the men's lavatory, where I inspected myself carefully for any blood on my clothing. Satisfied, I washed my hands and face, grabbed my coat, and signed out.

I couldn't deny that it had been a welcome relief to have a few hours to myself. Esme's aggression and emotions I could handle. Her fury was glorious, her mood swings, dizzying. She was so in touch with her own emotions, succumbing to every feeling, every fear, every triumph, every sorrow…so unlike me. And, in the face of her exquisite emotions, I was forced to hide mine even more than usual.

My traitorous body, for one, was reacting to her in ways that had to remain hidden. Fortunately, the few times I'd been close enough for her to feel my reaction to her, she had been, I hoped, far too crazed to notice. And then there were my traitorous emotions and wayward thoughts…full of longing and envy… which I struggled to hide from Edward, but I suspected he was all too aware of them.

Just a few days ago, she had picked up a dangerous scent while hunting, and I'd been closer to her than Edward, so I was the one who'd pinned her to the ground to keep her instincts from leading to her to tragedy. And for a second, she'd been under me, warm and soft and smelling of lilacs and something more complex. She'd looked up at me through the blood haze, surprised to find herself on her back and me on top of her. And in that moment, my body had begun to react to her proximity as I looked into her deep red eyes, her breath brushing my cheek, and her chest pressing against mine. It was subtle, accidental, but it caused my breath to hitch and my mind to fly to wondrous possibilities. In that second, my thoughts had soared.

And then they'd crashed. In the next second, my arms had closed over hers, pinning her, securing her against me and the ground, securing her against the lure of the crimson air. Her reaction had been explosive. We'd done it before; Edward had pinned her twice on previous hunts, and while she didn't like it, her response to him was tepid compared to her reaction to being pinned by me. She had become intensely violent, and then hysterical, screaming and sobbing. Edward had pulled me off of her, repeating, "It can't be you, Carlisle. It can't be you." Uncomprehending, I'd stood by, watching him reassure her, calm her, whisper to her that it was 'just Carlisle', and that she was safe. I'd stood in silence, all evidence of my awakening having slipped quickly from my body, my mind recoiling as I'd watched Edward soothe her.

It had been a terrible moment. The jealousy that had flared in me could not be hidden from Edward, and he'd given me an exasperated look over his shoulder as he'd comforted her. Within a few minutes, she'd recovered and the scent had passed. She'd looked at me sheepishly, squeezed my hand apologetically as she walked past me, and then she'd ran off through the trees to continue her hunt. Edward had put his hand on my shoulder as he went to follower her, but I'd felt none of the usual comfort from the gesture.

It occurred to me that they were often like that. I would watch them in the library, and I felt as though I was eavesdropping on private moments. Esme rarely spoke at these times, she was just agitated, and Edward would move to comfort her before I was even aware that there was a problem. It reminded me of a paper I'd read several years ago on "twin speak". Edward and Esme weren't speaking a secret language — Esme usually wasn't speaking at all — but I could definitely commiserate with the parents in that study. I shared their sense of being on the outside, looking in: the feeling that I would never be as close to either one of them as they were to each other. Esme didn't speak of her pain, but Edward knew it and knew how to respond to it in a way that calmed her. I should be grateful to him for easing her pain, and I was, truly I was. But I was also jealous. I wanted to make her happy, remove her pain. I still had only the vaguest idea of what she had been through, what she was dealing with; Edward was intimately aware of it; the confidence was forced on both of them, but now they seemed at ease with it. There were no reasons for me to impose myself or interfere that didn't reek of selfishness. I had no right to intrude on their budding relationship. And it was nothing I could ponder in his presence. He was already dealing with so much; I couldn't lay my petty envy at his feet as well. Yes, the hours in the hospital were going to prove a happy relief for all of us.

I stopped at the post office, picking up a letter from the furniture store in Minneapolis. It contained my receipt and requested directions for delivery. I'd wanted to get the bed immediately…as soon as I'd found it. But Edward had forbidden it, claiming that Esme would just ruin it as she had so many other pieces of furniture. I'd argued that I'd buy her a bed every week for as long as it took for her to be stable, but he'd shook his head, his expression showing that he was using every bit of his patience, and he'd asked me how it would look in town if we had the same piece of furniture arrive every week. He was right; of course he was right. I was just so frustrated with my own impotence.

My final errand was the flower shop; they had my standing order waiting. Every four days, they pulled a mix of cuttings from the hot house for me. Mrs. Foster smiled when I entered; she wrapped the bouquet in paper and assured me that soon there would be tulips and daffodils. If she was curious about what two men needed with a constant supply of flowers, she never showed it. But Edward's caution was wearing off on me... or rather my own usual caution was finally breaking through the haze of confusion that had engulfed my mind since Esme re-appeared in my life. I'd have to start varying where I got the flowers.

I sighed as I headed west out of town, realizing that soon I'd have to hide all these thoughts again. I refused to compound either Esme's or Edward's troubles with my own concerns. They were both dealing with enough already. They needed my support, even if that support was mostly silent. They needed my care and my strength. I turned onto our road and got out to open the gate; we'd taken to keeping it locked all the time now. As I drove north, I forced my thoughts away from attraction and jealousy. I focused on what I'd done at the hospital, how I'd been received after being gone several weeks, and how much I'd missed them, Edward and Esme. As I approached the house, I could hear the strains of Un Bel Di Vedremo, and it made me smile. Esme had been wearing out the gramophone with our opera collection. The music was well suited to her passionate disposition.

I parked the car, gathered my things, and had almost made it to the porch steps when Esme came barreling out the door, Edward calling after her. I barely had a chance to notice the bloodlust in her eyes before she knocked me backward, toppling us both over and landing on top of me, pinning me on the ground and sniffing wildly.

"Don't bite him!" I heard Edward command just as Esme's face approached my neck where I'd been marked twice before. She froze, and for one very long moment we were all suspended as she made her decision. Her eyes softened, but her mouth kept moving down until, in a flash, Edward had pulled her off of me, pinning her arms behind her back. She snapped at him, pulling away, straining toward me with a fierce glow in her eyes. And as she continued to writhe and hiss, Edward maintained his grip on her arms and calmly said, "Welcome home, Carlisle. How was your first day back at the hospital?"

I sat up, noting the somewhat crushed bouquet on the frozen detritus of the forest floor to my right. Watching as his face remained completely impassive, and Esme's twisted in fury and thirst, I answered, "It was fine, Edward." How are things here?

"Did you perform many surgeries?"

"Three; why?"

"Your clothes reek of blood."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" I looked down as if perhaps I'd be able to see the odor on my white shirt. "I checked my clothes carefully before I left; I didn't see any blood on them."

"I don't see any either, but the smell has completely permeated the cloth. Esme's noticed too, I think," he added wryly, as she continued to struggle in his arms.

"I'll go change…and bathe," I added, getting up. Looking into Esme's feral face, I regretted the strain I'd put her through with my thoughtlessness. "I'm so sorry, Esme." I glanced back at Edward. "Perhaps I should use the back door, so I can go straight into my rooms and not pollute the common areas."

"That's probably best," Edward agreed.

I went around the house and entered near the kitchen, going straight to my bathroom. I put my clothes in the sink to soak, and drew a bath for myself, scrubbing diligently. After washing myself and my clothes, I changed into a clean shirt and pants. The crushed and dirty flowers lay on the edge of the sink, and I debated just throwing them away and getting more tomorrow, but I could smell the decay in the existing arrangement in the library. It was time for new ones. I rinsed them as best I could, and went to the front of the house to find Edward and Esme.

"He's not," I heard Edward whisper. "He's just really desensitized to it. The scent barely registers in his mind… Esme, don't be ridiculous; the idea of Carlisle being disappointed in you is preposterous. Well, no, but he wasn't working in the hospital when I was your age. I had to deal with much subtler scents from his visits to the post office, but nothing like this."

I stopped in the hall, sorry to be eavesdropping, and then realized that Edward likely knew I could hear and wanted me to know Esme's concerns.

Edward? Do you need a few more minutes with her?

"Carlisle, you smell much better. We're in the library," he said in a normal voice, inviting me to join them.

I took a deep breath and turned the corner. The room had changed a bit since Esme joined us. The old sofa had been destroyed during her transformation, and a slightly larger one had been purchased and moved closer to the fireplace, near the existing pair of chairs. The table by the window now held a vase that was continuously full of flowers. There were books on the table that Edward had tried to interest Esme in: books by Jane Austen, Edith Wharton, Somerset Maugham, and others. The only one that had her scent infused in it was The Secret Garden by Francis Hodgson Burnett…about a young girl coming to live in a strange home full of sick and secretive people…

Esme was sitting on the sofa with her hands in her lap, and Edward was just rising as I walked in; he'd probably been kneeling before her as he'd tried to reassure her. He nodded at me and moved toward the hearth, where the fire was sputtering. He set about reviving it as I moved to stand in front of Esme, sad to see her fidgeting and nervous.

"Esme, I'm very sorry for causing you discomfort…again. From now on I'll wash and change before coming home. I can even have those clothes laundered in town. There's no reason you should have to be exposed to the scent of human blood yet… I just wasn't thinking."

She nodded, but wouldn't raise her face, so I sank to the floor until she couldn't help but see me.

"I should have thought of it, Esme. I'm very sorry."

Her head snapped up, and her expression was pained. "I should be apologizing, Car…Dr. Cullen. I could see it was you, but I just… I couldn't stop myself. I'm so sorry."

I started to put my hand over hers where it sat on her knee, but pulled back clumsily. "You were following your instincts, Esme, which is a completely reasonable response. I wouldn't expect you to be able to control your reactions at this point. Edward attacked me when he was much older than you are now, when I'd brought home a blood-soaked cloth."

She covered her mouth and nose, as if trying to fend off even the thought of the offending scent.

"The point is," I said, getting exasperated with myself, "it's too early to worry about your control. Once your eyes start to clear, we can begin working on it, but that is months away, and in the meantime, you needn't feel bad for acting like a vampire." She flinched at the word, and I cursed myself again for the pain I always seemed to cause her. Guilt still played around the corners of her eyes. "Were you harmed?" I asked.

"Of course not," she answered, confused by the question.

"Neither was I, so let's think no more of it. And I'll take precautions so I'm not so tempting in the future." Her eyes widened, and I groaned internally as I heard Edward coughing behind me. I stood, finding it impossible to believe that a simple conversation could be so difficult. I'd been conversing in a multitude of languages for centuries, but with this one woman, I couldn't string five sentences together without offending her, embarrassing her, or causing her pain. Even as I longed to approach her, reassure her, comfort her, there were so many reasons to hold back, not the least of which was Edward's warning. I trusted him to have good reason to tell me it couldn't be me, even if I wasn't sure to what exactly he was referring.

I looked around the room for some topic with which to continue the conversation. I saw her book, and then the vase, and I realized I still had the flowers in my hand. I should take the vase to the kitchen and leave them be...

"How was work, Carlisle?" Edward's question interrupted my escape.

"It was fine, as I said before," I answered, turning to look at him. He was on one knee as he adjusted the wood in the fireplace.

"Who is Michael Evans?"

"A colleague," I answered, shrugging. "He seemed relieved to have me back. There were some rumors, apparently, that we might be moving."

"Anything about Esme?" he asked, poking the logs.

"Ah, no," I said, glancing at her. "Though to be fair, I don't think anyone ever realized she was there. I removed her from the morgue before she'd been checked in properly."

"No one will look for me," Esme said, and both Edward and I turned to study her. It struck me as a sad thing to say, though her voice held no regret. "No one will look for me that I would want to have find me, anyway… even if I weren't dangerous to them…" Her eyes glazed slightly as if daydreaming.

"Not even Mrs. Brighton?" Edward asked, interrupting her train of thought.

"The superintendent at the school?" I asked, and Edward nodded.

She shook her head. "After Colin died, I told her I was leaving my teaching post. She has no reason to think I didn't do that. She'd tell anyone at the school I'd left town. No one else who knows me realizes I live here… the only person I'd want to see would know better than to try to find me."

"Why is that?" I asked, surprised. Could someone be aware that Esme was dangerous now?

Esme looked down at her fingers for a moment, weighing her words, it seemed. Then she looked up at us. "She wouldn't try to find me, because she'd know that she'd be followed, and she loves me enough not to let them find me."

I was stunned. Esme had been hiding in Ashland? From whom? In her second week with us, I'd gone into town one night and broken into the office at her school; I'd checked her records, ensuring no one would likely be looking for her. I'd seen her personnel file: Esme Carmichael, war widow. Qualified to teach reading, writing, art, and early math. No surviving family. Looking at her now, it seemed the story was much more complicated.

"Esme?"

She stood abruptly and hesitantly reached for the flowers. "Why don't I put those in water? They're going to fade otherwise." She gave me a quick smile and took the bouquet as I tried to measure the pain on her face…pain that had nothing to do with me or anything I'd ever done. She took the vase from the table and left the room, heading toward the kitchen.

As she rounded the corner of the library doorway, I turned to Edward.

Whom is she hiding from? She's a widow!

He pursed his lips, giving me a pained look. Then he looked to the doorway.

"Esme, Carlisle and I are going to go get some more firewood. We'll be back in a few minutes," Edward said loudly enough to carry to the kitchen and be heard over the sound of running water.

"Okay…I think the fireplace in the music room is low, too," she called back shakily.

"We'll take care of it. We'll take care of everything," he added, looking directly at me and nodding. He motioned toward the door, and I turned to go outside, where if we were careful, we could talk privately. This seemed to be his intention. I didn't know how much of her story he was willing to share with me, but right now, I was willing to carry firewood endlessly for even a scrap of information about anyone who might be still looking to harm her. I recalled every old injury I'd found on her in the morgue and during her transformation: every scar, every poorly healed bone. I knew there were likely others where I'd refused to look. I'd assumed that the threat was gone, that whoever had hurt her was long since dead. To think that the people responsible were still alive, still looking for her, still wishing to cause her harm… my fists began clenching as I made my way to the front door.

We stepped out into newly falling snow. It was cold and quiet and peaceful looking. It was the antithesis of the hot rage growing within me, wanting to burst forth and incinerate any who threatened her. And for the first time in my existence, I felt no desire whatsoever to maintain my own control.

AN: Finally, a talk coming up in the next chapter…seems like they need it. I will add the aria to NixHaw's playlist (http: / grooveshark . com / # / playlist / Prelude+In+C+By+Atonau / 60866524) and to my profile page soon. And check out a translation…

Those of you who haven't found 'Intermezzo in E Minor' yet, you can find that on my profile as well. And I can be found on Twitter (ATONAU), if you want to see where I am with the next chapter, or just chat about the characters.

And much thanks, as always, for reading. I love to hear your thoughts.