Joke warning for the fact that I have not written Carlesme since I was twelve, now ten years later I like to think I am better at it but I'm sorry if they come across as ooc. I am still trying to get a feel for them. Fic is not beta read as I don't currently have a beta. I tried to iron out the kinks and errors but I'm sorry if one slipped through the cracks!
Trigger Warning(s): Esme's canonical past (physical and verbal abuse), if that's not your jam then proceed with caution. It's not overly graphic but I still want to put the warning out there.
This fanfiction is cross-posted from my AO3, where it was originally published on January 24th 2021
It is a bit of an odd story how they find themselves in this particular position, not that it would look out of the ordinary as on the surface they are merely seated together and enjoying the other's presence, a game of chess long forgotten on the table beside them; but it is how they got there which feels like a whirlwind of events.
Carlisle and Esme are travelling by train now. It's rather funny to him now how it had all begun, in hindsight he might even think of himself as a bit of a fool. One early morning in spring Esme had admitted to wanting to see more of the world instead of having it pass her by in the blink of an eye. Not quite catching up on the hint he had suggested they could hunt further out and go on a long walk afterward to take in the surrounding forests without interruption.
Naturally she'd taken him up on the offer and they had spent much of that day running as far west as their legs wanted them to go. It wasn't until after their return two days later and Esme had gone separate ways from him inside their home that Carlisle had heard Edward chuckle. Asking him what amused him so met him with a somewhat obvious answer that he felt mildly slow for not having understood before.
"You know she is reserved, Carlisle," Edward had started from his position behind the piano, continuing to play the piece he had been practicing and speaking at a lower volume so that the combination of the two might mask his words from Esme's sharp hearing. He continued before Carlisle could get a word in, mirth in his voice "when she confessed to you her desire to see elsewhere, her thoughts were full of wanting to go somewhere with you, travel together, not just another hunting trip."
Edward is not usually one to betray other's trust by speaking of their thoughts but Esme's desires had been so warm, a continuous stream of love filled with want. The intrigue at possibly having more time with just the two of them, existing, had been enough for her. He'd left her fantasies to herself but that desire had been too strong for him to block out and it had been rather heartwarming. He hadn't been able to leave it like this, and seeing the way Carlisle is looking at him then, perfectly still and caught off guard, he is glad that he hasn't.
In the blink of an eye and a gentle breeze later Carlisle had moved from the sitting room to his office. Edward could still hear him think, which had started out with thoughts in which he called himself a fool for not having understood. Those had quickly become thoughts about travel, considering carefully what Esme might enjoy. Edward left his thoughts at that, focusing his attention entirely on the piano. If Carlisle was a fool, he was a lovesick fool; and Esme was much the same.
Carlisle had found them a suitable journey. Travel by steam locomotive, and a compartment coach with plush sofas all for themselves as they passed through his native land. Undisturbed and no need to hide from the sunlight coming in through the windows, no need to dress up in long coats, stuffy sweaters and sun hats. It would be just the two of them and the prospect of it was rather appealing.
So, he had arranged it all; a cottage near the North York Moors national park that would give them all the space they needed to exist in each other's proximity while also fulfilling Esme's wish of wanting to see more of the world. In line with this he had also arranged their ride there, giving them both some quiet time.
He had presented it to her awkwardly, fumbling like a human with a massive crush would. Had he been able to blush, he would have been beet-red. Esme had taken his written letter and his suggestion at heart, holding his hands with her smaller ones in the space between them. She had given him a kiss on his cheek so gentle that it made his nerves melt away like snow for the sun.
Esme had been excited from the moment he'd said he'd found something matching her wishes, had eagerly packed several clothing articles that she had not let him see for reasons she wouldn't tell him at the time but if the look of discomfort on Edward's face had been anything to go by, he needn't worry.
She'd been a bright ball of happiness and almost teenager-like eagerness right up until they'd found themselves approaching the station. Carlisle had just handed over their tickets to the conductor to get them stamped when he sensed it. Beside him Esme had locked her jaw and tensed up. When he had taken the tickets back and gently ushered her to the side of the platform her wide open topaz eyes had darkened significantly and were staring at a point far away. At her left side she'd been flexing her fingers, before her hand came up to hold onto her right bicep. It is an uncomfortable hold and he immediately recognized the way she had been fighting all of her instincts.
Esme had expressed her concerns to him before that she feared going around humans, even more so after the first incident several years prior. Their scent, the sound of them, the racing of their hearts; all of it she had confessed she found overwhelming at times, especially if there were many humans around her in the same area. They'd had many long conversations about this as well, and once leading up to this escapade. Carlisle had initially wanted to keep their private compartment coach a surprise but at her nerves he'd assured her that they'd be by themselves and while humans would be near, she would not have to worry about slipping up with fatal consequences.
Uncharacteristically they had both forgotten boarding would still be a concern of many people. Carlisle had stepped into her line of sight, prying her fingers loose from her trembling form and taking her hands ever so gently in his own, making sure her gaze had been on him instead as he whispered warm reassurances that only she would be able to hear.
"Esme, look at me, look at me," her eyes had shifted momentarily before flickering back to something behind him and he had repeated this mantra until her gaze was on him and stayed there, even if with much strain on her behalf."Esme, you are okay, you are so strong, you can fight this."
She had crumbled against his chest, leaning her head against him as he wrapped his arms around her. Assured that she'd regained control over herself he had brought her over to what was to be their compartment for the next day and night. She had visibly eased up at seeing it, knowing that they would have the entire coach to themselves and would be away from prying eyes if they wanted to be.
It's decorated warmly, the little luggage they have with them going stored in the corner near the door. There's oil lamps and Esme takes to lighting them the minute she is done grounding herself. Carlisle settles down with some book or another but he doesn't focus on the texts. Instead he observes his beautiful wife as she moves about the compartment, lighting lamps, drawing half of the curtains and keeping herself busy.
Carlisle can not quite tell if it is because of nerves or something else, so he lets her go about while wondering in silence. Both of them take notice of the chess set that sits tucked away in a cabinet on the far end of the compartment. There's a bible and some other books beside a rather thick leather bound travel guide on the shelf below it and he can see her muse over the options. Both are so preoccupied they'd completely missed the whistle and the train picking up steam below their very feet.
She moves over to him and settles down near him, her eyes are watching the trees pass them by outside and she smiles delightedly as she spots a meadow where a herd of sheep are lazily grazing. The sunlight plays off of her delicate marble-like skin brilliantly and her soft face is framed by her caramel coloured curls, making her skin appear brighter and lighter. Yet, he recognizes effortlessly that there is a certain tenseness in her shoulders. Her legs are crossed and she is sitting perfectly still, more so than usual. He nearly misses the shadow that dances behind her gaze and the brief twitch of her ear as she brushes a stray curl behind it.
"Esme," he begins warmly to draw her attention, "are you okay?"
Carlisle is mostly intending to refer to her minor panic upon their initial arrival, the test of her restraint; if he didn't know any better he'd almost say she looks tired from it now. Her gaze shifts to his and he is startled at the weariness he finds there. She masks it almost instantly but he's seen it. He tries his best to relax his features, giving silent encouragement for her to speak.
He has watched her for much too long in the few short decades that she's been with them to know that she doesn't want to speak of whatever it is that seems to be troubling her. The way her jaw is set and the way she is looking at him with a polite smile he knows she usually only gives to those whom she does not wish to upset are quite telling and he wishes he could unravel her right then and there, have her spill all her darkest thoughts to him so she doesn't have to be alone with them. He won't, a promise he has made to himself and her a thousand times over. He won't force her to do anything, he refuses to be so.
"It's nothing, I'd hate to ruin our travels with this," Esme smiles at him, conveying reassurance that it really doesn't matter but he's not taking the bait, she can tell from the way his eyes are silently pleading with her.
Her gaze goes downcast, a habit he recognizes mostly from the first few months after he had turned her; shy and withdrawn. Uncomfortable at being put on the spot Esme had often ducked her head before muttering a brief answer, if any at all. Concerned, that she might draw the wrong attention, that the slightest thing will make her less worthy of the love she deserves; of all the love he wants to give her.
"Esme, you could never ruin this," Carlisle implores kindly, "please, speak to me."
She takes a moment and they sway fleetingly as the train passes over a rough part of rail. Her ear twitches at the sound it produces, giving away to him that she is on high alert.
"I had hoped these memories would have faded faster than this," she admits, voice hollow and low. His brow furrows lightly, disquiet. He has a feeling he can't quite shake, that these memories she speaks of might be about her first husband and he knows that it is not a pleasant lane to walk down. He remembers vividly the first time she had opened up to him, by herself and without prompting. She had wandered into his office, of which he always kept the door open on purpose, hoping to show her that she'd always be welcome.
She had stayed by the door at first, anxiously holding herself and breathing deeply to steady herself even though she did not have to, a human habit. Before long she'd started letting down her tall walls, letting him see into her still heart. She had told him about her first husband's abuse of her, the way he would snap and snarl at her, make her feel small. Esme had told him about the way her skin would be black and blue for most of the years she had been with him, and how he cared very little about her health if at all. How he would pull painfully at her hair until some strands would come loose and how sometimes he would grab her by the collar of her dress, pulling the fabric tight until she'd find herself wheezing.
Esme shakes her head now, a gesture barely visible. She bites her lower lip, something she usually only does when gathering her thoughts or when she is extremely focused on a painting. It is safe to assume now is the former, but she needs no prompting; soon enough her lips start forming words and it isn't long before she seeks out Carlisle's eyes again, finding safety there.
"Charles was drafted once, for the war…" she starts softly, "I'd waved him off as he went, like any good wife would. I waited for the train to leave, to take him far away from me."
Carlisle lets her speak, his book forgotten in his lap. She seems so far away from him, out of his reach even though she is looking right at him. Her brow is furrowed like his own but for another reason. Even though the memories had come to her quickly before, much too quick for her liking, she finds that she has trouble speaking them out loud. They, much like her tongue, feel fuzzy. It's difficult to form words.
"As a human, those were the best two years of my life."
Momentarily her face breaks into a pained smile that disappears as swift as it had shown. "I remember looking at myself in the mirror, finding no bruises and thinking I must be dreaming."
She leaves out how every shadow had still startled her, how the neighbours slamming a door one night had sent her running for the safety of the bathroom, locking herself in until she had managed to calm her mind and heart down. There had been better -more blissful- days, but the shadow Charles had cast over her had been suffocating. Sometimes it still is, she finds. Thankfully, at the very end of that shadow now awaits a bright light for her and so her hand slides across the velvet of their shared seat and Carlisle closes the gap between their hands assuredly, taking a hold and encasing her hands with his. Her grip on him turns tight, a need for security.
"I remember coming to the station two years later, selfishly hoping with all of my heart he might have died abroad. I- I don't know what came over me to hope that..."
Esme sombers up rapidly, and Carlisle finds himself thinking that hoping such a thing in her case had not been that selfish at all, knowing that she might have felt guilty for thinking of him in such a way. He brushes his thumbs over her knuckles in a soothing motion, waiting patiently.
"He hadn't," she continues sadly, a dry sob escaping her, "the sound of the train screeching to a halt also brought him back with it. Perhaps even worse than before..."
It is then that Carlisle gives in to the urge to physically comfort her. He cautiously tugs on her hands and she obliges, seeking out the safety of his embrace. She fits into his side perfectly, like they are two of the last pieces of a puzzle, making the picture fit together.
Her head rests against his chest and she brings a hand up to his side, fingers curling around the material of his prusian blue turtleneck and lightly holding on.
Esme chuckles sadly, eyes downcast.
"See, I'm ruining it," she mumbles against his chest. Carlisle takes a deep breath out of habit and brings his free hand up to stroke her hair in a way he knows will comfort her, she leans in instinctively.
"You are not," he says decisively, "I should have been more mindful, I should have planned differently." Perhaps if he had, these memories would not have come back to her. Perhaps, the start of their trip would not have taken on a sad turn.
Esme lightly shakes her head, and turns slightly in her seat so that she is leaning against him sideways. She tilts her chin upward so she can look at him, big pleading eyes meeting his. "No, this is not your fault, Carlisle."
The gentleness and quiet in her voice could easily have broken his heart but he won't let it, he needs to be strong for her right now. He knows all about the darkness that sometimes comes to steal her away with its dark long claws and even longer shadows and now, he won't allow it to.
"Then it is neither of our faults, Esme," Carlisle returns, the back of his fingers lightly brushing her cheek, "I see nothing ruined, I only see my beautiful wife, trusting me with all she has. You have nothing to apologize for."
Another dry sob escapes her, and had it not been for the faults in their existence, she might have been crying. Her brow furrows and her frame shakes, eyes screwed shut. Neither of them notice the rain pattering against the glass of the window, the weather having shifted like Esme's mood had.
They sit together in this way for longer than either of them had intended, luckily neither of them mind it. Esme finds comfort in the way his fingers brush over the cold skin of her cheek, her knuckles. Her pain fades post-haste as she focuses her attention on him instead, her ex-husband long forgotten again.
Esme lays resting against his side; she is not sleeping but merely taking a moment of shut-eye to ground herself. Carlisle doesn't mind. He watches the pain dissipate from her features and a soft smile graces his features as he follows her lead in this moment of quiet.
Being in the other's space worked miracles on them equally. For Esme it meant being safe and wanted, away from what she might still fear at times. For Carlisle it's an end to a lone existence, patience rewarded by a God he might have thought had forsaken him. Together, it brought them peace.
"Carlisle?"
Esme speaks for the first time in what feels like hours. The sky has gone dark outside, starry lights dancing in the dark so far away from them. The light of the oil lamps in their compartment give her a warm glow as it bounces off her pale skin, she almost looks human.
"Yes love?"
When he looks down at her, meeting her gaze, he finds that she looks positively radiant; happiness has moved in where her fears had been moments before. Carlisle can't help but hold her a little tighter, pulling her tight against him. She laughs at this but returns the favour, bringing her hand up and letting fingers brush over his chest.
"I was hoping we might entertain ourselves with a game of chess?"
It is then that he remembers seeing the game tucked away in a cabinet as she had moved through their compartment earlier. His smile broadens.
"Of course."
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