AN: You know that Mature rating I've been teasing you with for the last 27 chapters? This one probably earns it. Just saying.
From Chapter 27
"Carlisle! You're covered in blood!" Esme cried.
Chapter 28
CPOV
Esme actually stepped back as she took in the state of my shirt. I looked down. It had been quite soaked, though was mostly dry now.
"I'm sorry, Esme. That was inconsiderate of me…" I was at a loss to know what to do. Perhaps Edward could fetch me a clean shirt and I could change outside so that Esme wasn't so exposed to the scent. I looked at him, but Edward was looking at Esme, shaking his head in answer to a silent question. He and I had these silent conversations about Esme all the time, but somehow it seemed more irritating when I was the one being discussed wordlessly. They both turned their guarded gazes to me, which I returned with a troubled stare.
"What's all that?" Edward asked, nodding at the paperwork.
"New research papers I took from the university library. I need to review them before returning to the hospital. I intend to start immediately." I looked at them, and they both wore amazed expressions.
"You went to the library… like that?" Esme asked.
"I kept my coat on."
She looked at Edward again, and I grew annoyed. "Edward, would you get me a new shirt? I want to change and get started."
There was a silence as they both gaped at me. Really, this was becoming too much.
"Edward, would you please—"
"No," Esme said.
I turned to her, stunned. "No?"
"No. You are not reviewing all those papers right now." Her voice was soft, gentle, but held an air of authority I'd never heard. "You are going to tell Edward what he should look for, and he will start reviewing them. You will meet me upstairs." Esme turned on her heel and calmly climbed the stairs. I watched, completely bemused, as she drifted upward. The room was quiet but for the soft click of her heels.
Have you ever seen her like that before?
Edward huffed a laugh. "Not toward you," he said quietly.
He watched my gaze as it followed Esme until she disappeared. After another moment, I heard the bathwater start to flow.
"You'd better tell me what I'm looking for, before Esme comes back down to scold us both."
I turned my gaze to him. Was this really my home? Since when did Esme scold? I walked over to the papers in a daze, collected them, and moved to the table in the library, where they could be spread out. I explained to Edward the symptoms I had seen in the hospital; I'd brought home papers on infections and parasites. All my senses told me it was an infection, but I couldn't rule out other possibilities yet. He said he'd take care of it, and nodded to the stairs. I paused, looking at him.
Edward?
He raised his eyebrows in response.
What did she ask you before, when you shook your head?
He smirked and then deliberated, clearly debating whether he should divulge something Esme had asked privately. He sighed, and then whispered, "She asked if I'd ever seen you like this."
The same question I'd asked about her, and Edward had indicated that he hadn't. I didn't feel different. What were they seeing?
Edward nodded at the stairs again. I sighed and started to climb, not understanding my home… or even my own thoughts.
I paused at the threshold of Esme's room, seeing she wasn't there. It seemed a long time since I'd been in this room. It had been months since she spent all her days lying on that bed. Months since my only view of her was through the gossamer haze of the sheer curtains cocooning the bed. Months since I'd longed to be inside that cocoon, where I could see her clearly and touch her and feel as though I weren't an outsider.
"In here, Carlisle." Her voice came from the attached bathroom. I walked through her room to the door at the far end and saw Esme place a vial of bath salts on her shelf. She then leaned over the tub, stirring the water with her arm. She'd already lit several candles and placed them around the full bathtub. The air was thick with steam and smelled of lavender. I tried to clear my head.
"Esme, why did you light so many candles?"
"I know you prefer natural light. The clouds are heavy today, and night falls earlier these days…there's not much light from the window. I wanted the room to be warm for you."
"You're wasting them."
"No, I'm spending them… you told me I could spend them as I chose, that you didn't want me to ration anything."
I had told her this, but I didn't mean for her to spend them on me… I'd bought them for her.
"I can bathe downstairs, Esme."
"My tub is larger, deeper… you'll be able to relax." I just stood, watching her as she finished her preparations. Her bare arm looked even more pale where it was submersed elbow-deep in the water. It moved gracefully back and forth, and the water rippled around it, currents of subtle opacity curling and spiraling and finally disappearing as the last of the salts dissolved into the water. She shut off the tap and turned to look at me, flinching slightly. Standing, she walked over to me, her hand twitching and rising slightly, as though she wanted to touch my face.
"Carlisle, what happened today?" she asked tentatively.
I looked away. "It's a long story, Esme. I'd rather not go into it." It was distracting, being in this room. It had been mine, before Esme joined us, but now it was definitely hers. It was so feminine: cluttered with vials of oils and salts, candles and flowers. Scents everywhere. Curling, hypnotic scents…
"I'd like to hear…"
My brow furrowed. Esme never asked about the hospital. She usually tried to keep me from doing hospital work at home. She and Edward both preferred that I leave it behind.
"There's nothing you could do about it, Esme," I said gently, still not understanding her sudden interest.
"I know there's nothing I could do about the situation, but perhaps there's something I could do for you."
"You do enough for me just being here, Esme. You and Edward both. Just your presence in the house is a comfort."
She huffed in exasperation, and then sighed, nodding. She turned toward the door, and it seemed like she was going to leave, but she stopped herself and looked at me again. I watched her as she struggled for words. She looked pained. She spoke gently, but her voice trembled.
"Carlisle, why create a family for yourself if you won't let us help you? If you won't share your burdens?" She was watching me intently.
"I don't need help."
"Is that so?" she asked sharply. I blinked, surprised at her tone. What was the meaning of this? She seemed angry. No, something else… but something fierce and glowing.
"You're… you're worried about me?" I asked, struggling to understand her looks, her words.
"Yes!" She tilted her head back, as though savoring a small triumph. I found myself drawn to the curve of her neck, wanting to bury my face there. Not to kiss, though Lord knows I'd thought of that before. Not to drag my teeth along the scar that marked the place I first made her, though that had crossed my mind in the past as well. No, I wanted to bury my eyes against her skin. I wanted to surrender. I was tired. So tired. But I couldn't show that sort of weakness.
"But, Esme, I'm fine…"
"Carlisle!" she said sternly, looking into my face again. Then she closed her eyes, and looked for all the world like she was praying for patience. But Esme doesn't pray. She opened her eyes and tried again. "Carlisle," she said softly, reaching up hesitantly to touch my shoulder, just a whisper of a touch. "Look at yourself." She put pressure on the back of my shoulder, turning me toward the mirror. I gasped.
Not only had blood soaked the entire front of my shirt, but also there were tiny droplets in my hair and on my face…probably too small for a human to notice, but clear as day to my family. But worse, much worse, was the haunted expression on my face. My eyes were flat, my cheeks drawn, not in thought but in…shock? Panic? I hardly knew. I barely recognized myself. No wonder Esme was worried.
"Esme," I whispered, meeting her eyes in the mirror, "what should I do?"
She sighed in relief, and I saw a bit of her usual warmth shine through the worry in her eyes.
"Get clean. Have a soak, and try to relax…try to process part of whatever happened today. When you're done, come downstairs, and Edward and I will show you anything we've found in those papers. After that, if you like, you and I can go for a walk, and you can tell me what the hell happened today." My eyes grew wider as she cursed…it was so unlike her.
"Here are some fresh towels. I made that water very hot, Carlisle, it should be good for at least an hour." She looked at me meaningfully.
"I understand, Esme," I said, smiling slightly. "You've convinced me."
She finally graced me with her smile and nodded. "Leave those clothes outside the door, and I'll set them to soak." I remembered the discomfort she must be feeling.
"I'm sorry, Esme, about the blood. I haven't meant to make you uncomfortable."
She shook her head. "I'm fine, Carlisle. I'm just worried about you. Try to relax." She started to leave, pausing at the door, "And Carlisle, if I see you downstairs before an hour is up, I'll march you back up here myself."
I believed she would.
She closed the door softly behind her, and her footsteps faded down the hall.
I got undressed and washed the worst of the blood off in the sink. I listened to their voices, making sure they were both downstairs before opening the door and setting the bloodstained clothes outside. I found my robe, folded neatly by the door. I took it and walked over to the tub, noticing the care she had taken in preparing the bath for me. It was a gift, I realized. It was something she felt I needed, but also something small enough that I could be convinced to receive it. Like Edward sitting at the piano to comfort me with my favorite music, this was Esme's way of showing care.
And I'd almost turned it down.
I'd have to be more gracious about accepting her gifts in the future. I stepped into the water, hissing at the scalding temperature, and lowered myself.
Oh, this was not like my baths. I did not merely sink into the water; whatever she had put in this divine fluid made it feel slick, luxuriant. The water parted to accept me, envelop me… caress me. I leaned back into the curve of the porcelain, and it felt like an embrace. I let out a small moan as the sensation overwhelmed me, and then froze upright as I heard the rustling of papers downstairs stop suddenly.
"Is he all right?" came Esme's quiet inquiry.
Edward… I warned.
"He's weary, " he answered her in a hushed tone. It was true; I did feel weary… though it had nothing to do with the moan that had escaped my lips. "I'm going to put on some music for him…"
I heard him expertly prepare the gramophone, and then Beethoven's Seventh Symphony wafted up through the floor and walls. I closed my eyes. Another gift, this time from Edward.
Thank you, Edward.
I could no longer make out their words, and knew that Esme at least could no longer hear me. Edward was, as always, a gentleman. I felt grateful for the mild privacy.
I submerged myself into the water, scrubbing my face and hair, anxious to finish the chore of bathing so I could enjoy this new pleasure of soaking. I did not, as a rule, indulge in such a thing. Alone for so long, I'd dedicated myself to pursuits of the mind: the pursuit of medicine, to help those who were not immortal, who suffered disease; the pursuit of philosophy, though it seemed at times that less progress had been made answering those fundamental questions than the mysteries of medicine. There was purity in these pursuits.
I indulged in my carnal need for blood; that was necessary. But other visceral needs and desires I'd always shunned. Having so little memory of my mortal life, it was difficult to tell which were natural, and which were caused by the hedonistic monster within. So my first reaction was always to refuse them all.
Esme did not. Months before, while the summer ebbed, and the greens of the forest grew dull, I'd watched her from my study window as she lay in the grass. Her eyes were closed, and she lay on her back with her skirt and her hair fanned out, absorbing the warmth of the fading sun, running her hands gently over the blades of grass, simply for the pleasure of feeling them caress her skin, it had seemed. She had done it for hours, not moving any part of her body except her hands, swishing over the blades of grass, until clouds blocked the warm rays of the sun. She had sighed regretfully when she finally rose to come back inside.
She sought out sensation: the breeze in her hair, the sun on her face, the lapping of water on her ankles at the lake. She caressed tree trunks just to understand their textures, and then spent hours drawing it. She found beauty in the world, yes, but she also found pleasure in it. Real, visceral pleasure. She did not see its pursuit as a weakness.
I scrubbed the last of my body as I heard Esme's footsteps enter her bedroom. I froze again as I heard her collect the clothes outside the bathroom door and then retreat downstairs. Finally clean, and knowing that I would be left in peace now until I came downstairs of my own accord, I leaned back again into the porcelain embrace and closed my eyes. I tried to mimic the position Esme had lain in the grass, knees to one side, as I tried to let the warmth of the water soak into me, as she had let the sun's rays soak into her. I swished my hands gently as she had, imagining blades of grass, but instead feeling the silken water slip through my fingers. My movement caused gentle ripples in the water that stroked my skin, and finally some of the tension of the day began to ebb.
I'd been so frustrated, so angry. Losing patients was something I could accept, but losing them because I was helpless to convince a colleague was excruciating. It was terrible to know that medicine was being hoarded in a cupboard when it could be used to save someone, all because the chief of staff was unconvinced of the infection — an infection I could smell with my own senses — but for which there was no known diagnostic test. It was infuriating. And we had lost so many today, and they had passed so violently. It had been agonizing. I'd felt so alone, as I went to the library in search of any new analytic tools that might convince Dr. Jones. He seemed to me only a heartless administrator, attempting to save money when people were suffering in my ward. He had not come home with his shirt soaked in blood; with it splattered through his hair. He had not frightened his family into uncharacteristic action. I breathed heavily, squeezing my eyes closed against the vision of my last patient on the operating table. Too much blood. Too much death. A choked groan escaped me as I tried to force the vision and my sense of helplessness away. The gentle waves continued to massage my neck and shoulders, releasing the tension stored there. In time, I calmed. The scalding water had scorched away my pain. My body was now warmed through and relaxed, and water still felt like slick warm fingers stroking and caring for my entire body.
My thoughts turned to Esme. She was changing, and I was so wrapped up in the trials at work, I was missing it. She had started her life with us so lost, so vulnerable, but today she was a fierce pillar of strength. Somehow, it changed everything.
God, she was beautiful. Not just her face, or her body, but her. I'd always thought so, even when she was too young for such thoughts to be entirely appropriate. I remembered our first meeting. She was so fearless, so perceptive. She'd seemed to look into my depths, and reflect truths back at me that I'd denied for so long I was blind to them. Through her observations, I saw the truth of how hollow my existence had become. The thought of her had haunted me for years, and though I resisted attraction to her barely pubescent body, I'd clearly been drawn to her mind and, if truth be told, her eyes.
Then when I'd found her again, she was beautiful, womanly, and utterly broken. Any attraction I'd felt had to be tamped down. She needed me as a sire, as a mentor. Even when Garrett arrived, and she started showing me more physical affection — slipping her hand into mine, sitting beside me, standing near enough that our shoulders touched — it all seemed to be geared toward her security. She drew strength from me to supplement her own quiet strength: the strength of a survivor. Still it had affected me. For weeks I'd grown increasingly distracted by her… by the memory of her hand in mine, or a look from across the room. I'd been skulking off to the woods, relieving my desire so I could better hide it from her, guilty that I was satisfying my own lust with thoughts of her loveliness and fidelity. It felt almost dirty, desiring her like that when she still turned to me for protection and security.
But tonight, she hadn't needed my protection or support. Tonight she had offered me hers. And that was enticing in a completely different way.
I rubbed my hands over my face and through my hair, enjoying the feeling of the water running back down my face and the more substantial touch of my own fingers on my scalp. I closed my eyes, sinking deeper into the embrace of porcelain and luxuriant water, allowing my hands to rest gently on my chest, still waving them gently to illicit subtle waves in the water that stroked my skin. I remembered how Esme's concern had made her touch my shoulder just there, where the tub now pressed into me. How her eyes had met mine. The gentle curve of her neck when she turned toward me, asking to share my burdens. Today I'd been lost, but with Esme's touch, I no longer felt that way. I felt… cared for, renewed. I felt… oh, God. I closed my eyes. Desire coiled in my abdomen, and I arched as it radiated through my body like a wave, urgent and demanding. And I didn't feel the usual guilt: the shame that had haunted me on my forays to the woods, those furtive attempts to deal with my body's needs efficiently before coming home to face her.
Esme's touch had not been in any way erotic, but it had been intimate, as her eyes had met mine in the mirror. It had been the touch of an equal, not a dependent. Esme had come into her own, and suddenly her touch had a potential I'd not allowed myself to truly contemplate before this. I had spent my entire existence wishing to feel useful, to be needed. But this was new. As I thought of Esme's touch, turning me and making me see myself clearly, I realized my need for her. Who else could have made me see myself so quickly? Who could have convinced me so easily that I was wrong? I needed Esme. The weight of this truth settled on my chest as I drew a ragged breath.
Perhaps I should feel guilt at the reaction of my body, but I couldn't bring myself to. While satisfying carnal needs in the past had been empty, reeking of sin, of exploitation, this felt different. My need for Esme was branded on my heart and on my mind; I could not fault the rest of my body for following suit. Not when the water that caressed my skin had first been caressed by Esme's bare arm. Not when this very porcelain had felt the weight of her own nude body only hours earlier. Not when I could close my eyes and see her caressing the grass in the sunshine, delighting in the senses of her own body, and then see that same arm as it stirred the water… the hot, slippery, sensual water...
My hand slipped down my torso until I palmed my erection, hips jerking forward in spite of myself. I drew another shaky breath and slowly stroked my length, relishing the feeling, as well as the ripples that curled around the rest of me. I found a slow, steady rhythm, and felt my senses expand: the music, the scent of lavender and salts and melted wax and Esme, the steam still rising into my dipped face, the warm darkness behind my eyelids, the soft murmur of Esme's voice, the intimacy of being in her room, her tub, her water… and the building tide that was rocking my body. My closed eyes saw the water stirred by her arm as I felt it stirred by mine. I heard her breath as I held my own, turning inward now; all my senses focused on a spot at the base of my spine. Her scent, her voice, her eyes, her arm, her heat, herherher… I trembled, and then my body tensed and pulsed, and my vision was seared with white heat as I bit back my growl and released.
Slowly — slowly — my vision returned to the outside world, and I sank back into the curve of the tub, letting out a low shaking breath. Relief and pleasure formed a warm heavy weight on my chest, and though a small part of my mind chastised my behavior as irresponsible and possibly disrespectful, my predominant emotions were reverence and contentedness. Esme's voice continued downstairs, nearly drowned by the music. Edward's was deeper and softer as he answered her, and I was relieved that she seemed completely unaware of my activities. Edward, of course, could not be ignorant, and I could only hope he was getting better at tuning out our thoughts, or was in a forgiving mood. Either way, it was too late to do anything but apologize when we were alone.
I lay perfectly still now, relishing the delicious relaxation that had settled over me. Soon I would have to leave this bath, this delightfully feminine room, and return to the medical problem at hand. I fiercely hoped they'd found something in those papers for even though I wanted to find a solution, I no longer felt that I would happily spend my time at home poring over medical research. Esme wanted to take a walk, hear what had happened. I was inclined to satisfy her curiosity — tell her anything she asked, truth be told. Her instincts had already helped me so much; I felt so much more able to face my dilemma, just knowing that she was there to support me.
Of course, even if they'd found a potential diagnostic tool, there was still the issue of getting it implemented. I sighed and ran my hand over my face. It was time. I was sure I'd been up here longer than an hour. I smiled as I got out of the tub and wrapped myself in my robe…even Esme should be satisfied with time I gave my bath. I looked in the mirror, confirming that the haunted look I'd seen earlier was gone, drained and cleaned the tub, and retreated to my room to get dressed.
I entered the library, clean and dressed and combed, and stopped abruptly as I noticed how closely Edward and Esme were standing as they looked at the papers spread out on the table. Jealousy surged, and I stamped it down. It was ridiculous, irrational. I knew their relationship, and there was nothing threatening about it. Edward took a step away from her to make room for me between them, and then turned to give me an inscrutable look. He raised an eyebrow, and I sagged under his gaze.
I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me.
He shook his head slightly, catching Esme's eyes, and she turned toward me.
"Oh, Carlisle. You look much better. Come see what we've found. Well, Edward found it really."
She took a step away from Edward as well, making sure I had space to settle in between them. There were several piles on the desk, but the two closest to the edge were short, possibly one paper each.
"What have you got?" I asked, placing my hand on his shoulder, hoping it made up for that irrational surge of emotion, as well as anything he might have heard earlier.
He studied me for a moment, giving me a stern look that I knew meant we'd be discussing this later, and then turned toward the papers.
"You said that Dr. Jones was thinking it wasn't infection because early symptoms didn't include a high fever."
"That's right. By the time fever sets in, it's too late. To be honest, we don't have much to fight it with, anyway. But there is a small supply of powdered molds that occasionally help in these cases, and he won't release them, saying that if it were a real infection, fever would be the first sign."
Edward nodded. "There are two papers in that mess you brought home that might help. This one," he said, picking up the paper on the left, " details an outbreak of Tularemia from 1912, with many of the same symptoms—"
"— It's not Tularemia," I said quickly. "You're right, many of the symptoms are the same, but Tularemia would have fever. And I've seen it before; I know what it smells like."
"Okay," Edward said, setting the paper aside. "Then the best I've got are hints at predicting an infection prior to fever setting in based on blood sedimentation rates." He picked up the other paper and handed it to me. "This study shows that some infections increase the number of cells in the plasma, and they settle out at a faster rate than normal blood. It's a really small difference, though. It would be difficult to discern."
"I'll be able to see it," I said as I read over the methods section of the paper. "And we have all of these supplies, except… they used a dairy centrifuge to spin down the samples. That's a unique application. This could help though." I looked up at Edward, grateful for his help, and even more grateful for his understanding, or if not that, his discretion.
I saw the beginning of his smirk as he looked away. "Good. So I'll just clean these up while you two, er, get some air," he said, waving his hand slightly, whether in dismissal or in search of his euphemism, I wasn't sure. He pulled the paper out of my hand as I turned toward Esme, who was already backing toward the door. When my gaze met hers, and she was sure I was following, she turned and headed outside.
She ran ahead, and I made a gentle chase, unsure if she was heading somewhere specific or just letting me stretch my legs. Her skirt billowed behind her as we ran, flapping and waving me on. Beckoning. Mesmerizing. And I followed the lure unquestioningly, until she launched herself into a tree and began climbing, and I realized we had circled around to her tree, and we were a mere half-mile from the house. I climbed, watching as her pale skirt disappeared around the trunk and into the higher branches. I followed, passing the branch where we had sat together and I had held her while she cried. We climbed into the upper boughs, the ones that I could glimpse her sitting in from my chair in the library if the wind was right and blew the branches just so. I found her settled on a branch near the top, and there was just enough room for me to sit right up beside her. We were above the canopy, this tree being taller than the others around it, and the view was stunning. I could even make out —
"The hospital. You can see the hospital from here."
She nodded, and I knew she was showing me this on purpose. "It always made me feel better when you were on your shift, if I could see where you were. It's silly, I know, but it helped me when I was scared."
I studied her face. It was so determined. "You aren't scared now."
"No," she acknowledged. "I am worried about you, though. Things haven't been good at the hospital for a long time, I know, but you never say anything, and now," she looked down, but I knew what she meant. Now I was so troubled I was unaware of my appearance in public. It was dangerous, and not just to me. "Edward won't tell me anything other than you are arguing with a colleague. I know you don't like to talk about work when you're at home, and I know I probably can't help, but will you let me try? Will you at least tell me what's happening?"
Her gaze met mine with this last request, her honeyed eyes trusting, but troubled. The confidence that had emanated from her earlier ebbed, and her fingers twitched nervously.
She was asking me to trust her and wasn't sure I would. Oh, Esme. I remembered the times she'd asked in the past, and I'd told her not to worry, that there was nothing she could do. It struck me as very patronizing. I'd treated her like a child, or a patient when she had tried to offer help as a friend. And while there may have been a time when protecting her had been appropriate, she clearly didn't need or want it now. And I rather liked the confidence I'd seen earlier and the comfort and intimacy it implied. I didn't want to undermine it.
And so I nodded, and slowly told her everything. How things had seemed fine when I first arrived, but Dr. Jones soon began to single me out. He'd question my assertion that I could perform certain surgeries, and then seemed disappointed when I'd succeed. He'd question my diagnoses, reverse my patient care decisions, and interfere with my ability to practice. He clamed he did it so we would all be treating patients in a similar manner, but he routinely made me change to others' techniques, rather than having them emulate mine, despite my better record.
As I explained my frustration, Esme slipped her hand into mine and twined our fingers together. She listened intently, watching my face, but I found myself studying our fingers as I spoke. Hers were slender and delicate, but strong. I'd watched them before, wielding a charcoal pencil or a paintbrush. Dancing. Creating. They were fingers that drew life from inanimate objects. Mine were stouter, but still nimble. The fingers of a surgeon. Our fingers, entwined, fit together perfectly. Every gentle pressure of her fingertips was welcome, every press of her palm comforting, as I explained the pain of watching patients suffer. I described how his interference became more pronounced, and more damaging. Any attempts to discuss it with him only made things worse.
"When was he made Chief of Staff?" she asked, cradling my hand in both of hers, now.
I looked up, contemplating. "About a year before I arrived," I answered, not knowing why it might matter.
"And he's an older gentleman? With a family?"
"In his forties. And yes, he's got two boys and a wife at home. They have a house in town that he bought before I got here."
Esme smiled like she knew a secret.
"So what do you think? What do you advise?"
Her smile faded, and her eyes grew wide. Had I said something wrong? "What is it, Esme?"
She shook her head, smiling again almost ruefully. "Sorry, your question… just startled me. I'm not used to people asking my opinion."
I thought she'd wanted me to ask.
She sighed, squeezing my hand slightly. "You know, I often think about how different my life is now compared to a few years ago," she continued. "There are the obvious changes, of course. Those don't surprise me any more, but this…"
"What?" I asked softly.
She paused, considering her words for a moment. "Let's just say, there were many things Charles Evenson wanted from me, but my opinion was never one of them."
I swallowed down the venom that rose up whenever his name was mentioned. I calmed myself by raising my free hand to her temple and brushing back the loose strands of hair that were threatening to cross her brow. "Well, I am no Charles Evenson, and I'd like to know what you think."
"No, you're not," she said, meeting my gaze and tilting her head slightly into my touch. "What I think… well, I don't know Dr. Jones, but I've known men like him, and I think he's scared of you."
That seemed highly unlikely. "He really just treats me with contempt, Esme, not fear. And I'm very careful at the hospital. He doesn't think I'm anything but human."
"Oh, I don't think he fears that you're a mythological creature," she said smiling in a teasing manner. "I think he fears that you're after his job."
"But I've never given any indication that I want to be an administrator. If anything, I'm known for my disdain for paperwork."
"Look at it from his perspective. He's worked at that hospital for years, right? Slowly working his way up through the ranks, and he finally gets the top position, when this young, handsome doctor comes in who is a better surgeon than he is, is able to save men's legs after that mining accident when he'd thought it impossible. A man who is well liked, innovative, and not afraid to question a superior's methods. He's trying to discredit you, because he's afraid if he doesn't, the owners of the hospital will wonder why he's still around. His home is probably mortgaged. He's treating this conflict between you like a war, because you are a threat to his livelihood and the wellbeing of his family."
I stared at her as the words sunk in. It did make sense. I had been so focused on caring for my patients, that I couldn't seen any rational defense for the way he was acting, but this was it, surely.
"But I'm not even staying. I couldn't become director, even if I were asked. My contract is up at the end of the year, and I don't intend to renew. I thought we'd take the opportunity to move, go somewhere you couldn't be recognized so you could reenter society, if you wanted."
She squeezed my hand in hers. "Does he know that?"
"He knows my contract is up, and… oh, God, he's been trying to trump up my failures regarding procedure so he has an excuse not to extend my contract." I understood now, but it still made me furious. "I can't believe he's endangering patients over this."
"Well," she said gently, "men have been known to do extreme things when they feel their families are threatened."
I remembered my posturing when Garrett first arrived, and how Edward had had to reassure me before I escalated things unnecessarily. "I suppose that's true."
She smiled and squeezed my hand again. "Just tell him that with Edward's health being what it is, you think you need to move further south, where the winters aren't so harsh. I'd be surprised if that didn't diffuse things."
I nodded, looking out toward the horizon at the hospital rooftop. I still had a few hours before my shift started again, and for the first time in perhaps weeks I noticed the stars and the crescent moon. It was a beautiful night, and I was sitting in a treetop holding Esme's hand. How many of these moments had I not noticed because I was too wrapped up in work?
"Esme?"
"Hmmm?" She was looking at the stars too, seemingly content.
"I should ask… I mean, I haven't wanted to presume, but things between us the last few weeks…" I sighed, willing the words to just come out already. "Will you be joining me and Edward when we leave Ashland? I would like you to." I turned to look at her. "I would very much like you to, but it's your choice. You have your own money, and I would never want you to stay with me just because you felt trapped. For all the grief I may have caused you by bringing you into this life, that, at least, I hope you will never live through again. You have choices. I will help you settle into whatever life you want. Even one," I faltered, "where I am merely a visitor."
"Oh, Carlisle," she said softly, squeezing my hand and leaning to rest her head on my shoulder as she looked at the stars. "I can't imagine a life in which I would want to be anywhere but by your side. And I have a vivid imagination."
I huffed a small laugh. "Yes, you do…" my love. I extracted my left had from hers and replaced it with my right. She looked up, startled, but then settled back against me as I wrapped my left arm around her and pulled her even closer. I tucked her head under my chin, and felt her lace her fingers between mine again. "Well," I whispered into her hair, not wanting to disturb this new peace too much, "perhaps it's time that we begin making plans… for the future."
I could feel her smile against my chest.
AN: Both hematocrits and penicillin were not invented officially until later in the decade, but there were preliminary observations surrounding both by 1921. The medical aspects of that side plot were not the most important parts of it, but I did try to be somewhat realistic. And the first centrifuges really were used by the dairy industry to separate fresh milk. The medical field only found applications later. The Beethoven symphony (or parts of it) will be added to the web play list. Thank you for reading.
