As you may be able to tell we are nearing the end of Carlisle's narrative. Hope you have enjoyed it thus far!

Thank you always for your dedication. Would love to hear your thoughts!

Following their evening barbeque, I do my best to stray from their entertainments. My migraine had developed in the last few hours and while I could just about speak my greetings, if I so much as look at a screen, the light blinds me.

Apparently missing my presence, Alice comes to find me that evening. She knocks on the bedroom door and unusually, waits to be granted permission to enter. For reasons I couldn't fraternise with, I had hoped it was Esme and while pleased to see Alice looking well, I can hardly offer much in the path of conversation.

'You're sought after,' she says, popping her head round to door to see where I have laid myself, fully clothed across the bed.

'I have a headache,' I murmur guiltily. 'Perhaps another time…'

'Are you pissed about the mattress?'

I shake my head tiredly.

'Okay good… because it's kinda my fault.'

'Dare I ask?' I mutter resignedly.

She pushes the door open, looks guiltily when I flinch from the light and closes it once inside. Her footsteps are silent, not even holding her weight when she skips over to me and leans from above to assess my expression.

'You look like you've had a hard day…'

Comparatively, it had actually been one of my better days.

'It's just a headache,' I remind her. 'It'll be better tomorrow.'

'I could probably source you some drugs if you need them?' she tilts her expression now. I squint to see her, the haze of blue eyeshadow lifting to her eyebrow.

'No. Thank you.'

'Have you eaten?' she asks. I fight not to answer. 'Es wanted me to check…'

'Was it for an art thing?' I ask quietly. 'The mattress? Is it some kind of-'

She paces a little more, shuffles in her jacket. 'I don't think It'll make you feel any better if I explain, will I?'

'Do you know?'

She laughs lightly. 'Not definitively. It's Esme. She's impulsive.'

The weekend would be the best option. I'd have to look for a new mattress then. It was irritating I hadn't spotted the problem with it before when clearly it was having a rather peculiar effect if she felt so strongly as to burn it.

I look back up to Alice now, frown a little. Something seems different. Something seems cooler…

'Are you not drinking?' I ask, surprised when she stops to seat herself on the edge of the corner.

'No, why?'

'It's Friday night?' I say obviously.

Alice shrugs. 'I think what with exams and… matters, we're staying off the sauce for a while. I mean, Bella isn't technically even legal.'

'Neither is Rose,' I remind her. 'And we still managed to get her drunk in a restaurant.'

She winces in her slight shoulders.

'Well yeah, exactly. There's more at stake with Bella though. What with Charlie…'

'How is he?'

It is odd talking to Alice about Officer Swan. We weren't exactly frequently in each other's presence but considering how things had been left, I was eager to keep it as such. Maybe especially now. If King returned, Swan would tighten his eyes on me and I'd be screwed.

'Yeah…. I mean, he doesn't like Edward as much as Bella makes out he does…'

'Oh?'

'Carlisle, he hates his guts. Would sooner see him on the otherside of the planet than anywhere near his daughter- what? What's up?'

I've moved my hand to my eyes, pinch them again.

'I just wish you hadn't said it.'

'Doesn't amuse you?' she presumes, unsure. I scratch my hair against the duvet.

'He's pinning everything on that relationship… If something bad happens… God, if something goes wrong-'

She sighs lightly, nudges me.

'What?' I ask.

'No, nothing. Just didn't think you'd be that quick to see my line of vision.'

The snort happens before I halt it and while I wish to be confronted with the Alice perfume, all I can smell is leftover smoke. Thick. And a little nauseating. She pauses, looks up at me as if waiting for me to shuffle over.

When I don't, she pouts.

'I've just got a headache,' I reassure.

'This time,' she murmurs. 'This time it's a headache, next time it'll be a sprained ankle, work, studying, exams, moving…'

I frown as I listen to the line of her accusation.

'Just don't stay up here too long, Quasimodo. We're starting to miss you.'

'Thank you, Alice.'

She grins. 'You love me really.'

With a kick of her legs, she sulks off to find the others.

I believe they have a nice night. None of them seem too drink much, nor grow excessively loud nor eager to show off. They simply settle around the bonfire, eat, talk, ponder.

Though eager to rest and even more eager to rub the pain from my eyes, I do show my face before they leave that evening. We make polite conversation. I discuss baseball with Jasper but the conversation does not extend beyond necessary. Quasimodo indeed.

A little after midnight, I find Esme rinsing dishes. It has grown quiet enough that I'd thought they had simply moved inside but when I look around the living room, peer into the garden I find it silent. I turn my focus back to the kitchen, watch the outline of her hip swaying to a song I don't recognise.

Her ponytail is slipping, the straighter locks wisping about the band they have fallen from, dangling down her cheek.

'Do you need any help?'

She jumps, grips the sideboard before looking at me over her shoulder. I drop my eyes, squint in the light.

'I thought you were asleep?'

I shake my head.

'If you've got a headache, you should be asleep…'

I lean on the wood of the doorway, blink several times to see how many dishes she has left and then come over pack them in the dishwasher.

'Good evening?'

'Not bad,' she sighs, thanking me with a side smile. I fight acknowledging it, pack the dishwasher quietly. 'Did you get chance to study?'

'Mm.' No, I barely got chance. 'Are you-'

'Can I-'

'You first,' I say, nodding ahead.

She inhales thoughtfully pushes her sleeves to her elbows to continue rinsing glasses and mugs. For safety's sake, I keep my eyes on her hands, the way she tilts the glass under the rush of water, light suds leading up to her wrists.

'I wanted to asks how frequent the headaches are?'

'Mine?' I ask, cautiously. I clear my throat, shrug. 'I mean… not too frequent, how come?'

'You've been squinting a lot, Carlisle…'

Okay, fairly more frequent than I'd let on. In fact, it was only yesterday I'd had to widen my eyes on committing the dosage to chart.

'Oh?' I ask. 'Er… I guess..'

'Is it not worth getting an eye-test?' She asks, still keeping her focus on the glass in her hands.

'Well, I suppose so… but it's-'

'I know you won't believe it's much,' she sighs again, flicks her fringe way from her face. 'But you spend nearly all day either in front of a screen or studying…'

'I'll check it out.' I promise. She smiles weakly.

'Great.'

'But-.' She cringes before I've even completed the sentence. 'Your mattress.' I remind her. 'Did you have a specific request?'

'Is there much point? By the time we move…'

Did she expect me to want her to sleep on a sofa for God knows how many months?

Worse, was she thinking of moving out?

'It could be a while yet, Es.' I say it softly but hate myself for the condemnation. Because if she wanted to go, if she was happy to, I'd be better off sending her up there immediately. But if I did so… and she didn't like it…

There was also another factor.

A factor more to Masen's liking…

If… if studies went well… maybe I wouldn't have to choose Washington. Maybe I could emigrate us all… Maybe I could really keep her safe…

'It's just a mattress,' she sighs. 'Just pick the cheapest one.'

No matter if she planned to have the mattress for less than a week, there was no way in hell I'd be buying the cheapest thing.

'Take my room,' I murmur. She frowns, bows her expression to the water. 'Tonight, I mean. You should take my room.'

'And you?' she asks.

'Well I'll take the sofa-'

'You know that's ridiculous,' she says bitingly. 'I'm the one who's been commandeering it anyway-'

'I'd feel better if you take my room,' I repeat. 'Just until I get the mattress sorted.'

'And you?' she breathes tightly, eyes flickering out the window and staring at the pots of flowers on the outside. 'I don't want to take your room from you.'

'You're not.'

She scoffs, shakes her head.

'I'm giving it to you,' I amend.

'There was once a time we would've shared it…'

The words strike me with a brutality to leave me mute. I thought she wouldn't want those reminders anymore. I thought they were haunting her. Hurting her.

'If Edward is saying at Bella's-'

'Yeah?' She confirms nodding, almost too easily.

'Well, I'll take his room.' I say. 'Like the old old days.'

Her expression falls clear.

'We shared a room in the old, old, old days.' She corrects. 'A bed even…'

I drop my eyes from her cardigan, squint again into the dishes.

'I suppose we did…'

Less than comfortable with Edward out the house, I text him before I head to bed that evening. I also change his sheets, with Esme's help, and though we wish each other goodnight, it's distant. Much like the new distance in rooms.

I'd only moved across the hall. Yet, I felt further than ever from her and even if I could feel some sense of possessive peace knowing she would sleep well in my bed, it is not enough to put me to silence.

With clean sheets, I lie on the edge of Edward's bed, arms folded and wait for the hours to come till I can get up again.

Work starts early for me the next day. I'd had half an epiphany in the night and throwing myself to the dining table, had found what I felt were evidence of my findings. I throw them to Garrett's side during breakfast and though he gruffs, I push the papers closer.

'Did it not strike you as odd-' I ask him, '-just how sure of the procedure the aunt is? Or even how determined she is to push her nephew through it?'

He grunts, chews on his toast.

'Garrett, if his aunt was only found in the last few weeks after his mother's deportation, how could she possibly know, in depth, these procedures that she wasn't present for?'

'There's this new thing,' he says from around the food in his mouth. 'It's called talking. Maybe you should try it?'

'Okay,' I allow him. 'Then how about this. How is it that the aunt and the mother look identical, and I mean identical despite the fact that there should be a what, twelve-year age difference?'

From the folder, I pull out screen grabs of the local news report I felt was referring to the possible death of the mother and father. I point at the pixelated images of the supposed victims, familiar with the translations now having looked over them for hours.

'I haven't got time for this, Carlisle. In three hours, I have to go beg Doctor Reeba not to break my neck and then I have to somehow convince him to let me illegally operate on this kid-'

'You're not listening.' I repeat, pinching my eyes again.

'No, of course I'm not-'

'Garrett look at them. Look at the images.'

'Okay so now, there's these things called genes-'

'Genes don't pass between marriage.' He gives me an amused look and within seconds, I'm losing my grip on peace. 'You asked me to help,' I remind him impatiently. 'You asked for answers and I'm giving them to you. Stop whining and hear me out.'

He rolls his hand to encourage me on.

'Okay so, this 'aunt' has got understandings of procedures that couldn't have even been explained to her. She was only miraculously found once the parents left- if they left at all-'

'What is this ridiculous telenovela you're spinning? What are you saying? -'

'I'm saying it's the same woman.' I emphasise. 'The reason she can't sign anything is because she doesn't exist but if she signs as her real name, the mother's name, they'll escort her right out the lines.'

He pauses, rearranges his features before letting it drop loudly onto the staffroom counter.

'Are you insane-.'

'I'm right,' I insist. 'Look at the paperwork, think about the things she said. If you did a DNA test, it'd come back in seconds, I swear to you.-'

'We don't have time for a lab test-' he reminds me. 'We don't even have time for this. We've missed it. Shot gone.'

'We could operate on the kid if we-' I point to the paper. 'If we have her sign these.'

He flicks through them, seemingly unbothered by the almost perfect replica of in his hands. In fact, he doesn't even pick up on it. He just waves the sheets as me, shakes his head.

'You know we can't do that, if they suspect she is still in the country-'

'Look at the dates,' I mutter under my breath.

He rearranged his features, looks back to the paperwork, smirks.

'Backdating papers is illegal, too.' He hushes, cautious of the silent room around him.

'Yes but typos aren't.' I point down the page where the correct date is, correspond it with the back dated numbers a few lines above.

'At worst it could mean a fine for bad penmanship but-'

'Cullen,' Garrett groans, rubs his hair before taking a fierce clasp on my shoulder. He's rising from his chair, letting to confidence erect his stature. 'I've been coming onto you a lot and it's been entirely unintentional but let me just say this, if I was into men, yours would be the first cock I would suck.-'

I rearrange my smile, frown distantly.

He is busying reading back through the papers.

'Smart, really fucking smart. I'm going to get these to the patient's guardian. See if she can sign now-'

'You don't want me to be the authorising doctor on it?' I ask, perhaps a little let down. Garrett shakes his head.

'Nah. You've done the hard work and it's to be admired… but what with your fans, it's just too risky. It won't end my career for a typo-.'

It made sense though I couldn't help but be disappointed.

'You did a good job, Carlisle. A real good job.'

'But I can't..?' I sigh. 'Can't even-?'

He rearranges his beard but ultimate sticks to his refusal.

'Really, I am sorry, but I don't even think I want you near the operating theatre..'

He might as well have told me he considered me the grim reaper. Guiltily, I suspect, he leans closer and tries to justify himself a bit better.

'They're going to be on you like hawks. Your name alone brings a tidal wave-'

'A tidal wave you were depending on to… what… find you the answer? Provide the advertisement you might need. The relevant names in big places. For example?'

His expression flickers and difficultly, I rearrange my jaw.

He is looking very hard at me when he answers.

'Are you criticising me for it?' he asks, perhaps a little sourly. 'You can't be bitter with me for something you already know, Carlisle. Everything you do is watched by them.'

'I know that!' I snap rather defensively. It engages the shutters of his own defence systems. When he comes to retort, his hooded eyes are darker in thought.

'You know that everything you do they get wind of. They surround you, Cullen. They follow you- you might never have a normal life again-'

My tongue clicks in accusation.

'I suppose this must be why you've been so eager to teach me, then?' I growl, my voice lowering in realisation. 'Why you've been so keen to know the story of the matter-'

For a moment, the expression that crosses Garrett's face reminds me of Emmett. It reminds me of Emmett when Rosalie had screamed for him to not touch her. It reminds me of Emmett shattering as he backed away.

Garrett does not back away.

Garrett bears his teeth.

'You can really fault me for that?' he demands incredulously. 'I would've thought Alistair had taught you by now, Cullen. As surgeons, it's our duty to use what's best.'

'You know what it's a surgeon's duty to do?' I correct. 'Make the cut.'

Despite my success then, ours really… Garrett and I leave matters on such cliffs of animosity, that it takes a while till we are willing to speak again.

Unusually, I don't throw myself at his mercy. I don't apologise even when I know he's right. The taint of it all has me rocking like a sail boat in the pacific. Because after all, all I was trying to do… it still came down to my tormenters.

The mattress arrives Monday evening and with her scent still on my bedding, I fool myself into thinking I can grip the pillows and slip into sleep.

Clutching the fabric comes easily. The sleep does not. Most nights I find I'm holding the material so tight that I'm staining it with myself. Erasing her with my presence.

Though that doesn't mean I can part with it.

Quite like a child, I turn my tired eyes to the wall and with the promise of her perfume leaving subtle remnants on the fabric, I put my cheek to the pillow and think of her.

Up till the scent wears off of course. Then the sleepiness nights become endless, the headaches worsen and within a week, I find myself at the opticians, purchasing spectacles as a point of necessity. They're simple horn-rimmed-frames, square, meant more for reading, screen-time and driving…

Naturally, they become a permeant addition to my set up. Frustrating when you consider how easily they fog up, how quickly they smudge or require cleaning and how simply just rubbing my face becomes a task in itself.

Then the exhaustion, the studying, the sickness, the exams coming like a cycle. Insomnia, headaches, frustration, fury, guilt. Insomnia, headaches, fury, frustration, guilt. Insomnia, headaches, frustration, fury, guilt.

Over the following days, I suspect the only familiarity I once bore to myself was that we occasionally shared T-shirts. Mr Hyde had apparently taken his fill and had decided, much to my irritation, he was here to stay.

She doesn't sleep on the sofa anymore and so my long routine of at least holding her for 30 seconds a night leaves me.

I have no excuse to touch her again and I suppose, I hadn't yet had to come to terms with the loss it would amount to.

As it turns out, 30 seconds a night is enough to delude yourself into peace.

Without it, therefore, my delicacy slips from me. My caution. With nothing vulnerable to keep my monstrous grip under control, I am just that. A monster.

Brutality came from me without instruction.

As exampled by Edward's rather brash entry one sunny afternoon. I had been studying. I was always studying. When I wasn't studying, I am pretending to study. Every unconscious thought is poised upon medical texts and exhaustion does not take my ability to read.

He comes hurtling through the door much like a football player, nearly knocking it backwards off its hinges as he races to launch himself across my papers about an inch from my nose.

'Oh man, you are going to be pissed-'

'Huh?'

'Carlisle, you're going to lose it!'

Despite the threats, the mane of reddish brown hair splayed out in shards, both his hands slap so violently on the table it's as though he is a youngster again, dragging me up and outside to go and play. Distractedly, a leg comes to do just that, push me into a standing position.

'You're going to go nuts-'

'Why? What is it?!'

His grin is taking up the entire lower half of his face, his hands now frazzling out to clutch my shirt arm with a grip rivalling a spring. He snags tightly, surprised by the gap in the fabric as he brings me closer to his hushing.

'You are going to scream-'

'Edward-!'

'Shh!'

Just as he silences me, Esme reaches the front door. With her long hair in a tangle behind her, her eyes pulled low, she enters her own home as though crossing a crime scene. She catches the questionable expressions between Edward and I, the guilty stance as we stand too tall and too close in the light of the room. She pauses, lowers her hip as she tries to quickly workout the confusion between us.

I hadn't faced her in such a long time that doing so now only makes me seem as though I am awaiting punishment from the headmaster.

'Er… Good Afternoon?' She greets, awkwardly. She rapidly takes in the room, pinching keys between her thumbs.

'Afternoon,' we greet.

Edward is beaming at her and though she frowns at first, the blend of her eyebrows, tired and worn they soon slip from confusion to boredom. She pouts at him. In Irritation.

'How are you doing?' He beams, joyously.

Twisting my hands together, I feel her open gaze fall expectantly to me. We already sound as though we were gossiping, our stance is merely sealing to the image.

'Fine,' she mutters curtly, brushing a wayward curl over her ear, preparing almost to fold her arms over her chest and tap her foot in rhythm.

There is an uncomfortable lump in my throat before I even prepare myself to lift my eyes.

'Good…'

I frown again. She glares at the stairs, raising another eyebrow to the amused teen.

'I'm going to go upstairs now… if you'd mind holding your conversation till I've left?'

I wince and then likewise glare at Edward's shoes.

'Don't know what you're talking 'bout,' he grins. I roll my jaw irritably.

'Emmett is a bad influence on you,' she complains, though those warm eyes come coldly to me to gift a lasting sting. 'But I'd expect better from you, Carlisle.'

With a flick of her shaking head, she half storms up the stairs to her room.

Following a wince, I narrow my eyes to Edward.

'Now why in the sane heck-'

'She got a tattoo!' he interrupts excitedly.

It's as though he had thrown me to the back wall and pinned the heels of his hands into my shoulders with an automatic drill.

My jaw falls open.

Not just slightly open either. It unhinges as the concern breaks it clean off. A tattoo… She got a tattoo?!

The glasses are all but snapping as they fidget on the snarl of my nose.

'She what?!' I hiss.

Brilliant. That's exactly what we need. We needed her to have an infection from some God-Awful lousy bar on a- what day is it? Tuesday?- Yes, some shady cocktail bar on a Tuesday afternoon from some unemployed Kid who drew cars on the back of his textbooks-

Edward's joy bursts realms as he seizes me once again.

'Well it's either a tattoo or a piercing-'

'A piercing?!' I seethe, my voice gravitating to the dungeons of hell. 'Edward- what is going on-?!'

'She went to that shop of Fourth. You know, with the big flowers on the window?'

'The one with the skull?' I demand, struggling to keep my voice calm. The New-age skull and the gravestones and the dark, stark roses designed to ward off your average passer-by. 'By that motorcyclist joint-?!'

Round the corner from half the shady clubs in this Godforsaken city?!

He whistles, eyes widening as he takes in the sudden harrowing posture.

'Why on Earth-?!' I swallow the sentence, force a more balanced one to attack him. 'Do you know how many infection rates I deal with from dirty needles?! Do you realise-'

Tilting his jaw, he raises two open palms at me as if pleading innocence. Edward Masen, innocence? I hadn't known Edward be innocent since he was eight years old and had been caught with his hand in a candy jar.

'Hey- I'm not the one who got the design-'

What design- what thought- why did no one question it?!

'Why?!' I repeat, furiously.

He shrugs, acting out his part as though he is a token lead in a high-school play.

She had casually mentioned a tattoo years ago but she'd said it in the same manner she'd discussed building an animal sanctuary- as though it was a suggestion a long way off. Not so immediately within my vicinity. Not at such an outrageous time in the point of our-

'Well where?'

'Where what?'

He is pulling my patience as though it is string to a spinning top, he is spinning it and watching me cycle faltering to a gravitational fall-

'What is it? Is it a tattoo? Is it a piercing? Where did she get it? How long did it take? Is she in pain? Was the artist qualified-?!'

'How should I know?!' he squeals, pointing upwards to the room in question. 'I only know because Bella, who knows because Alice wormed it out of Emmett….'

Emmett.

Trust Emmett.

As if he didn't hate me enough recently, he was clearly finding new obscure ways to punish me.

But Alice. If Alice…. Why would Alice really encourage something as recklessly insane as a tattoo?

Worse- A piercing?!

After all those months, after that very incident- my stomach lurches.

'Where is it?' I ask dizzily.

'Carlisle,' he repeats, concealing the chuckle. 'I don't know. Alice just saw her coming out the shop. Es didn't say anything to anybody. Not even the Girls… but you know she's wanted one- '

'I know she wouldn't have done it without some encouragement!'

He raises an eyebrow at me. I fold my lip under. Fine, she might have done it on her own volition but still… a tattoo?! A tattoo? A piercing?! To have metal in her skin causing all kinds of unnecessary, insane complications…

'I knew you'd lose your rag.'

'Lose my rag?!' I repeat 'I'll-'

He grins joyously.

'I'm going to-'

'Going to?' he asks, taunting me like the devil on my shoulder. 'Go on… say it… You're going to what?'

I put my fist to my head, lessen the grip of my hand on the wooden table. And with tight, aggravating retreat, I sigh difficultly.

'Nothing,' I mutter.

His face falls, the expression of his boy humour lost.

'What?'

'I'm not going to do anything…' I decide, still looking at one small spot on the carpet and nothing else.

'But-but…' he starts to stammer. 'Carlisle, needles. Unprecedented, risky needles. Dirty needles-'

'It's not for me to comment on,' I groan, swallowing the large accumulation of saliva from my throat.

'But you hate tattoos. You hate tattoos, you hate piercings, you hate-'

'Alcohol?' I answer him. 'Nightclubs? Smoking? I've had to get used to it before-'

'Well, not smoking.'

I sigh. No, not smoking. I wouldn't relent on that one. I shake my chin in disbelief, desperately trying to not let the worry eat into me. How big was it? Was it correctly placed? Was the artist experienced? Was a first-aider present? Had she agreed to the design? Had she considered the cost of laser removal surgery? Would she not….

'Oh man, you are so pissed!'

I lift an unamusing expression to the kid.

'It's not funny, Edward. It's…'

'It's what?'

I pull his shoulder back, drag him further from the threat of the stairs in case she's listening.

'It's inconceivably wrong of you to be finding humour at a time when she is-'

'When she's what?'

'Vulnerable,' I growl. 'You're taking advantage when you should be-'

He tilts his head away, temper now flaring in rise to my accusations.

'I should've known you'd make it about that-'

'Don't pretend to be blind, Edward.'

'Don't pretend to have cause for your anger,' he complains, tutting at me as though disinterested with my very existence. 'She's not this fragile piece of glass, Carlisle. She is still her, she is still Esme. Nothing has changed-'

I do not care to consider the horror in my expression at this remark, irritated, Edward bites his lip.

'You know I didn't mean it like that, I simply meant nothing has changed in her-'

Before I can even consider my actions I quite literally dismiss him with a flick of my hand, jaw tightening as I bite to restrain myself.

'Fine,' he snaps. 'Sit here and sulk, see if I care.'

'It's called holding your tongue, maybe you should try it some time.'

He flips me off on his stomp upstairs and we do not discuss the matter again.

Despite the distractions of home, the clinical trial goes very well. Of course it goes well. Because I'm there to contaminate it. The clinical trial goes so well in fact that the authorities even plan to deport the kid a week earlier than any of his doctors recommend. And his aunt… we are 'surprised' to discover, isn't his aunt at all…

When I am home that Morning, I find Es opening a letter from the bursary department.

We haven't made much conversation in a while, particularly not after I suspected she overheard my petulant whining about a body that was not mine to comment on-. I'd tried to talk but every time I parted my lips, I was conscious of my new frames camouflaging what she had once known of me and opposing this, how beautiful she was… and how endangered she must be.

Edward had told me that she wanted to take on a labour job but Masen had forbidden it. Not because of her sex, as she had accused, but because he wasn't familiar enough with the company to comfortably trust them.

Theoretically that would suggest she'd likely be tight on money, depending on whatever form of art she was taking up in her bedroom but given that it is impertinent to ask and worse to presume, I do my best to refrain from obsessing. Besides, if she really had been in contact with Eleazar, it was likely she was doing so on the need for privacy.

Given this, however, I do suggest she could put in for compensation.

She snorts, throws the paper in the trash.

So I wait until she's out the room to retrieve it.

The majority of my days' trickle as miserably as the wet weather ought to. The few days off I have I spend, not surprisingly, in an exam at the hospital. Till come the afternoon, my boss turfs me out. The week had been sodden with rain, consistently wet yet now leaving the vicinity, the clear spells take the forecast and by the time I return to my car from hours of penmanship, sun streams through the windows.

The drive itself is a silent one though I'm relieved to find Edward is home. As badly as we were getting along, it is always a relief to know he's home. My consistent hours of exhaustion are wearing on me and taking the porch steps as a hike, it takes me longer than necessary to reach the front.

When I'm greeted by music.

Too often had I arrived home unsure of what to find, be it fire or bickering or an eerie silence, that now listening to the tune drift through the wood pushes my anxiety further.

It's even louder by the time I put my key in the lock, and stepping through the doorway, I realise Elvis is lamenting loud enough to cover my entry. Swept by the swell of the music, I part with my things on the table.

The entire lounge is immaculate. Not a book out of place, not a fork nor a pencil and the smell of lavender is so pungent that it washes the walls with a serene cleanliness. Hesitating, as I often did when coming home to them, I follow my quiet steps to the kitchen.

This is sparkling, too. The only disruption being the washing pouring out the machine as if forgotten.

I suppose it's little in my focus.

Because she's in his arms.

At first, the scene startles me enough to knock me hiding behind the door. Then realising that they are dancing, my expression washes from my face.

Much like my early days, the contraction of my heart stretches and at the rise of emotion in me, the pride, the adoration of seeing the two people I love more than anything in the world… in each other's arms…

I falter.

While the baritone croons, Esme's small figure suits perfectly into Edward's arms. She has her cheek pressed to his shirt, her eyelashes wet and resting on her lower eyelid as he sways her peacefully to the song.

She could almost be sleeping except her hand is clasping trustingly to his shoulder.

Both are shoeless, Edward in socks with a button down, his chin resting on the crown of her hair, her smooth ponytail drooping over her shoulder. He has his eyes closed too.

He holds her in a way that I cannot.

He comforts her in a way that I cannot.

At its pinnacle, he is free to love her in a way I never can. In a familial way. In a safe way. An… uncomplicated way.

They find unrelenting peace in one another and not… what I was doing to them.

His eyes startle open. Drowns of green catching me in the light despite my posture behind view. I fear he might disturb her at first, but he simply parts his lips, mouths hello and continues to move the both of them in slow turns on the kitchen tiles.

'Did'ya wanna-' he starts to whisper, indicting her curled within him.

A shoot of pain runs up my chest. I shake my head hastily, start to retreat.

'You don't want to cut in?' he asks, loudly.

He's disturbed Esme now. Slowly, she tilts up to look at him, stops dancing and starts to turn to me except I've already bolted up the stairs.

Edward waits till after dinner to comment on it. He knocks not on my door, but on the wall and doesn't wait for my greeting. In a fright, I throw the psychology book from me, flinch when he follows its movements with his eyes, picks it up and returns it.

'Dropped this,' he comments, clearly humoured at the activity of my throw. Guiltily, I take the anthology from him push it to the bedside where he cannot see the title. 'No work tonight?' he muses.

'No.'

'Right…' He takes a deep breath in, likely imitates his father as he shuffles his hands in his pockets. 'You're not… avoiding me, are you?'

I sigh, rub the eyes beneath the spectacles.

'No, just-'

'Another headache?' he guesses.

'Sorry.'

It was the last consistent thing about me recently. The constancy of an aching head. He sucks his cheeks in thoughtfully, agrees, looks about the cold room.

'I wanted to ask you something…'

'Of course,' I say, granting him a seat on the corner of the bed. I shift my weight up, rest my arms over my knees.

'I wondered if I could give Bella a key?' he asks, carefully sounding out the words. 'A… house key?'

Unthinkingly, my focus comes to the doorway. No, she isn't here yet. I didn't think I'd heard her enter but it still felt important to check. I breathe in slowly.

'So it's… getting serious, then?'

He rolls his green eyes, tousles his hair.

'You sound like Esme.'

'Did you ask her?' Because ultimately I would go with her decision. Whatever to keep her safe.

'She said to ask you,' he smirks. ''Yes,' but that I needed to ask you.'

'Well there's your answer,' I respond, trying to likewise smile. He frowns, looks over to my coffee. 'Do you need me to get a key cut?'

'Nah,' He shakes his head again, nudges the hair from his eyes. 'Es gave me the ones from the Walderman's…'

Oh… yes, of course…I'd forgot all about them. I didn't even think to ask her either… That must have been a while ago now… At least a week or two…

She must have been-. Or maybe she…

How could I predict? I wouldn't let myself get to know her anymore. I couldn't possibly understand yet another loss, both financial and social.

'I think she's had it for a while,' he explains while he watches me fight within myself. 'She said providing you said yes I could go ahead and give it to Bella.'

'That'll be nice…' I agree, distractedly. Shaking my head, I come to wake myself up a little more. Now I move towards my drawers and pull out a small ring box. I take the jewellery out of it, put it into the pocket of a blazer and throw him the satin.

He stares at me wide-eyed.

'Something nice to put it in.'

He seems to want to ask me how I amassed a collection but the answer is too embarrassing to provide. He turns it over several times, fits in his hand, weighs it his palm.

The blush is leading up my neck the more he examines it.

'Uh, Carlisle… I'm not…'

'Not what?' I ask, returning to my angle on the bed.

He laughs nervously, puts the box to his thigh. 'I'm not asking her to move in. I just want her to feel welcome.'

'Oh…' Ridiculously I had forgotten to even question that. I suppose it had been only a few months. And she was still so young… and living with her father… who would understandably flip his lid dare Edward ask. 'Sorry, Kid. I just assumed- wait, welcome? Why wouldn't she be welcome?'

'Scuse the deadlocks you mean? The security cameras?'

Perhaps he is teasing me and even though I roll my eyes, I don't find my attitude too warm in response. 'I'm not taking them down.'

'I'm wasn't asking you, too. I was joking.'

Yes, of course. Hilarious. He looks to box from the edge of his eye and waits for me to elaborate. When I don't he actively nods to it.

'You don't wanna…?'

No, I didn't want to explain. But I do it. Of course I do it because it'd Edward. Because we've been fighting. Because in the dark tunnel of my searing loneliness, my self-created isolation, he was my true figure of consistency.

He is my brother.

'I suppose over the years I collected one or two…'

'Big on women's jewellery, huh?' he mocks. 'You have kept your secrets, Carlisle…'

'It's not that,' I rub my hand down my cheeks, nudging the frames accidentally as I intake from my chest. 'I suppose over the years, I'd just… found them…'

'Ring boxes?'

They weren't all ring boxes. For example, I once bought a pair of earrings for her birthday only for her to drop conversationally, quite unaware, that gifts of jewellery gave her hives- she'd only lose them. I'd ignored that comment a year later when I found a necklace I could all but envision her wearing.

And then felt too embarrassed to return it.

Now I just had bits' of odd jewellery I'd spontaneously bought with little place to direct them. Alice tended to be the main recipient.

We didn't make conversation on it.

'They make for good use…' I take a breath. 'You know, for when she paid her car off…'

'You have ring boxes left from when Es was paying off her car?' he asks. I nod shyly. 'Carlisle that was years ago?'

'Yes and car keys can be surprisingly bulky. I'd needed options…'

He opens his mouth to provide a snarky reply, considers the exhaustion in my posture and lets it evaporate from his tongue. He takes a long moment to sit there, eyes furrowed, thoughts elsewhere…

'You know I didn't mean to startle you earlier…'

I'd been looking at my sheets, staring at them in prayer for sleep I knew I wouldn't get.

'Hm?'

'With Es,' he goes on to say. 'She was… well she was crying and couldn't seem to stop-'

My features screw up uncomfortably,

'Is she okay?'

'Fine,' he answers sighing and I know he won't elaborate even though it's clear he knows. 'She's fine.'

'I'm glad you are here, Edward.'

Now he screws his face up, the bend of his shoulders leering over himself as he considers my comment. Apparently fighting the urge to apparently throttle me.

'Well to be honest you looked devastated…'

I scoff, tug my hair up and away as I look towards another corner of the room.

'Really, Carlisle, you looked in pain…'

'Why would I be in pain?' I mutter.

Edward sighs, shakes his head. Oh right, the headache…

'I could answer that in a lot of ways.'

My jaw turns hard, my teeth biting down again as he makes another ridiculous reference to… well to whatever.

'You should've cut in,' he criticises in a sigh. I fumble with a defence for several moments but even when the excuses find my lip, he shakes his hair in dismay. Before I can come to defend myself, to even acknowledges that I'm trying to defend myself in utterings and grunts he moves away from the bed and stats to leave. He's at the door when he flits his green eyes back to me, his lip pulling down almost.

'You'd-?'

'Hm?' I ask, lifting my head again.

He looks to his feet, shuffles them as he fidgets a hand on the door way too.

'You'd really let Bella move in with us?'

'If,-' I start to correct, he nods exasperatedly.

'Yes, if it was agreed. But you would let her stay? In spite of…' He lowers his eyes again, sighs slowly.

'Of course, Edward.'

'No hesitations?' he queries, surprised. With a tired hand, I remove my glasses, stare at his youthful disbelief when I shake my head.

'No,' I promise. 'No hesitations.'

He smiles, slightly, thanking me with an incline of his forehead.

'Carlisle?'

'Mm?'

'You should have cut in.'

On the twenty third, I receive a letter.

It'd been a quiet end but bitter end to May and looked less likely to get better in the coming days. Studies had taken me enough that one moment, I was looking at Es with slight colour in her cheeks, for it to come to a fighting stop. She'd been working out, excessively I felt, and while she lost some weight at first, she had 'plateaued' this last week.

To me she looked healthy and though I'd catch her staring glumly at her figure, the volume in her curves or her breasts, in all honesty I was struggling to withhold the abhorrence I felt for myself. And what with the frames sticky on my expression, I couldn't so much as look at her without fogging up. She'd only have to swing by, my focus would be taken and reminiscing, thinking to the countless books upstairs reminding me of the assault of my gaze, I'd slip off to my room and condemn myself.

Maybe she had expected my errant libido had returned.

She'd be wrong. But considering she didn't ask, I didn't explain.

The envelope then.

It comes to the front office at work rather than home. Accompanies seven words.

I would like to meet with you- E. Cullen.

He hadn't signed it with his usual signature.

Nevertheless, I ignore it.

So after another day or two, he follows up with another letter addressed Urgent. While I ignore that one too I do warn Masen.

He'd now managed to set Esme up with her own bank account again. Assist her with an interview she did not wish to discuss with me. And in the meantime, had been keeping tabs on King, as well. Despite the rumours, the rumours that kept me up at night and added more locks to the door, he hadn't yet appeared.

Reporters warned me. They spent hours of their time repeatedly asking if I would be endorsing him, when could I hope to see him, what were my comments on the public negotiations taking place between Father Cullen and King…

And so another letter comes.

You will only escape me in death, do not think you can ignore me forever.

He'd said similar things to me as a child. Matter of the blood and such bullshit and though it had been easy to ignore then, it seemed even easier to ignore now.

If not foolish.

The exams were going. That was one thing.

Edward's twenty-first was coming up and Es was delightfully busying herself on that. So much so that she seemed to be gradually settling herself into a more sustainable sleep pattern.

Alistair hated me sufficiently enough that he wasn't satisfied unless I got everything perfect when under his nose. Garrett wouldn't let me leave from my shift unless I did so exhausted.

And I was further from sleep than I'd ever been in the darkest of my nightmares.

I'd lay on my mattress at night and think of the money. It was officially all in my name now. Under my signature and while Masen swore his life to my protection, I actually felt quite at ease about it.

Because with the money under my name, it could only come to me. Be it through prison, embezzlement, threats, whichever…

At the very least I was the point of focus.

'Doctor Cullen-,' a nurse approaches me, a file in her hand, blonde hair in a clip at the back of her head. 'Someone to see you.'

I automatically come to take the sheets from her but she pulls her hand back, points not to a cubicle, but to end of the ward. Thanking her, I sign a few of her pages, come round the back with a frown on my features.

Exhaustion is making me stupid.

Because seeing him I don't recognise any of it. In every rendition he had towered above me, his milky blue eyes piercing, his dark hair littered with greying streaks. I didn't recognise an inch. Not the skin of wax, not the dog collar or the mass blackness of the suit, not even his aging expression.

Though that does not prevent me from planting my feet into a defensive stance.

'You have three minutes to leave the vicinity before I call security.'

He raises both hands towards me, as if celebrating my very acknowledgment.

The frames are already slipping from my nose, the smoke twisting in my stomach like a blade. When he smiles, the stubble on his chin darker than any hair follicle I owned, I feel myself startle forward and seizing him by the shoulders of his jacket I throw him in the nearest wall.

'Get out,' I yell.

Three members of staff come rushing to hear the discord.

'Won't even let your Father talk-'

'You can talk to your persecutors-,' I shout, shovelling handfuls of him against the door. People grab my arms, pull me away from him.

I feel as though I am no more than ten years old, grasping cloth the consistency of tissue and using it, fruitlessly, to strangle stone.

'Too stubborn to let me help-'

'I don't want your help!' I declare, using my posture to ban him from coming past me.

It wasn't help he would be offering. It was a bargaining tool. It was a lie-. He comes towards me again and while I grunt and leer towards him, someone else rushes up and pulling me back, urgently requests he takes immediate leave.

'You owe me everything, Carlisle. What I am doing for you-'

'What you're doing?' I yell. 'You think God will absolve you for what you did-'

I thrash violently against the grips on my arm.

'I am not talking of the Lord,' he sneers, looking down his razor nose, gritting his teeth till his mouth pulls down.

'I'll kill you- If you go near them, if you-'

'Cullen!'

It's not Maddison swinging to my rescue now.

Alistair is stepping to my side, barely meeting my shoulder when his glare turns to the decrepit man opposite. He looks between us, my snarling, the fight of my arms-.

'You've been asked to leave,' he repeats, looking hard at my father. My father snorts, gestures around.

'This is a hospital, is it not? You are required to treat me-'

We look down at him. There isn't a speck of concern about him that would make you consider he'd need treatment. Not yet anyway. If he stepped towards me, I'd kill him. He'd only have to reference my address and I'd kill him.

I should kill him for what he already did.

Besides, Masen had already supplied my shitting address to him. They could've already been-

'We can refuse to treat anyone we want,' Alistair corrects. 'He's not treating you. I sure aint. There's a private hospital down the road, why don't you spend your millions there?'

'Excuse me-' my father demands, curling almost upon the smaller man. Alistair snorts. 'Do you know who I am?!'

'You heard me. Security's been called, I suggest you make your exit quickly.'

My father glares at us, frowns again at Alistair and with a curt shake of his head, pushes past staff towards the exit.

The anger is still flaring in my palms, the terror. I don't look at Alistair, not even when he demands people stop hauling me up like a doll. They drop me, reluctantly slipping from view when he glares at them.

Gasping from the fog in my lungs, I drop my weight heavily into the wall, pinch my eyes.

'I can't wait for Maddison to chew your ass on this,' He grins, nods towards the shadow of the man already gone. I swipe my nose, push the glasses back on my sweaty face.

'I need to go home.'

He snorts.

'Look, I know it's not ideal but I need-'

'You're not going anywhere,' he scoffs and while there's no fight about it, there's no sway either. 'You've got a shift and by hell, you're finishing it.'

'You don't understand-'

'I don't care, Cullen. I already warned you. You walk out. You're done. You have people depending on you. You have patients depending on you. Make arrangements, fine, but you are not running off. Got it?'

'Alistair!'

'Take it or leave but it's the only Godforsaken choice you're getting.'

I push past him on my route to the staffroom, but he only laughs, humourlessly. Tells me he'll see me in cubicles.

Masen picks up on the second ring.

'I need you down here. I need you to get on a plane-'

'Woah, woaah, woah, Carlisle breathe. Breathe, Son. What's happened?'

'They're coming back. I don't know what they've got planned but-'

'Slow it down. Slow down….' he pauses, stretching his own breath. 'Okay, what is it. What's happened?'

'They're here,' I have to push the sniffle from my nose, rub my chest exhaustively. 'They won't leave Sir, I know they won't. Edward's just got this job and Es, I think Es is-'

'Carlisle!' he yells. 'Son, before you pass out. Calm!'

I thump my head against a locker, take a stronger, deeper breath as I knead my chest and pant.

'My father's in town.'

There's an intake of breath.

'We knew this was a possibility. We knew it was going to happen.'

'That means King is… I can't leave. Alistair is threatening to sack me if I try-'

'You don't need to leave,' he murmurs. 'We've been through this, Carlisle. You're not leaving the hospital.'

'They're at home, they're… he's gunna… he's… I can't protect them.'

The panic is trying to evolve into hysterics. Frantic tears are caught in my throat when I consider… when I think of them at home. Oh God, at home, alone. His voice turns softer but I can already hear him packing things up as if preparing.

'Listen to me, King isn't back till Friday. The soonest I can get there is Sunday Morning and even then-'

This couldn't be happening.

'That's too late. My father's already here. We don't know-'

'Son, it's going to be fine. You're going to be okay. Don't change anything, okay? Keep everything running as it should.'

'They're going to get hurt-' I bleat thickly. I pull my arm across my stomach now, squeeze.

'They're not. Carlisle I promise you, we're going to be fine. Don't stress on it, okay? He won't do anything nearly as stupid when he knows I'm watching him.'

'That doesn't mean anything,' I growl. 'Your presence didn't stop him before- '

'On the contrary, it's prevented him countless amounts of times. Don't do this. Don't spiral, Son. He won't come near the house-'

'How can you even be telling me this? What are you expecting me to do, play sitting ducks?'

'Yes!' he yells. 'That's exactly what I'm telling you to do. I'll phone Charlie. You let Maddison know…'

'The Neo-natal unit.' I mutter. 'I can't be in two places at once. I can't have eyes here and at home-'

'You won't need to,' he promises, weakly. 'We'll handle this.'

We aren't handling anything.

'I'll phone you back.-'

Hanging up, I do not accompany him with a goodbye, I drop the glasses to the floor push my hands into my eyes and try to get a grasp of my breathing. It's coming so haphazardly, so brokenly the room is starting to spin.

'Carlisle?'

With an intake, I pull up my posture, gasp a little.

'Oh bless you, what are you doing on the floor?'

It's Doctor Newton and tucking strands of her long hair behind her ear she comes to settle on the floor by the knees. Peering around at me as I hold my forehead.

'Is Maddison putting too much on you?' She asks weakly.

I hear her shuffle as I fight my voice to return to normal. More shuffling and then she pushes a cup of water into my hand. I sip it slowly, the shake making water dribble it over my hand.

'Don't let these exams get the better of you,' she whispers encouragingly. 'Carlisle you are one of the best doctors any hospital could have. And you will make a great surgeon too.'

'Thanks,' I mutter weakly but it comes out with even less shape than I had meant. I breathe stiffy again, tiredly.

'You can always take it again.' She reminds me. 'In a year's time, in six months' time-'

Six months.

If I'd failed a single exam we could be looking at six more months here. I wanted us out by Summer.

'There now,' she murmurs, recognising the regulatory breath. 'Don't let it get on top of you okay? One exam does not maketh man.'

I force myself to nod in gratitude, in false agreement.

'What are you doing down here?' I ask, catching sight of my watch. 'Shouldn't you be at home?'

'I wasn't far from leaving when someone mentioned your father was here. It's a bit embarrassing really. Off I went to go introduce myself and he left before I got there.' She rolls her eyes as if blaming her sense of timing. 'Tell me, does he always do that or-?'

'Yeah,' I mutter. 'Always.'

'You know I've been meaning to ask you to set up that interview. But what with all your lessons-'

'We're not on good terms,' I say reluctantly. She nods with her pointed chin, presses her lips together.

'You know the papers did mention something about that. Not that I've been reading them, of course…'

I rub my eyes again.

'Come on,' she encourages, standing up in front of me. 'Up you get. Dust yourself off.'

I do just that, readjust the glasses on my neck, swipe my scrubs clear.

She offers to walk me towards Maddison's office and though I plan to discourage her initially, she talks about her Kids on the way and it provides enough distraction to at least take the reactions off my face.

Maddison is waiting for me when I get there.

'Alistair's filled me in,' he says by way of acknowledgment. He rubs his chin through the beard, closes his eyes. 'I agree with him, Son. Won't do you any good to sit at home and worry.'

'You've got to give me leeway,' I say, miserably. 'Yes, for someone of my junior to 'abandon' matters… deplorable. I understand that but-'

'You do a lot for this hospital, Carlisle. You're more than an asset and beneath that, you're a good man. However-' he sighs deeply and shake his head. 'If I keep letting you go you are getting further and further from passing. You have four exams left. Four. And if you fail them because of the distraction that is being provide to you, you will never get as far as you should go-'

'You're not being fair,' I utter, rubbing my forehead again.

'I know I'm not. I'm sorry. But Alistair's right. And frankly, all your father needs to do is come in here and reference them and you've jumped the gun. I know there's unfinished business but if you keep letting this kind of thing happen…' he breathes in. 'You're playing into his hands.'

If only he knew…

'And my family?' I demand, relying on the tie to give me the advantage I need. 'You expect me to just sit and wait for him to hurt them, to do the same thing to them?'

'Have you told them?' he asks, mutely.

'And so they can become this?' I gesture to myself, the odd shake I haven't been able to loosen for the past ten minutes. 'This festering knot of anxiety?'

'We can negotiate,' he murmurs toughly. 'We can keep you in surgical during peak time, again. Maybe bring you back during the quieter hours.'

'What difference will that make?!' I splutter. 'What good is that doing-?!'

'No good,' he agrees. 'It's probably doing fuck all but if it helps you feel safe-'

'It's not me that I'm concerned for.'

He exhales again, slips into the desk chair and squeaks it to the side. 'I agree with Alistair. You need to stay. Once the exams are done, then fine… but you need to stay.'

It's not them that convince me.

It's my own desperation for atonement. Conveniently supplied in Garrett's love of subverting rules of authority.

'I'm willing to make a deal with you,' he says, lowering his voice in fear for being caught. I shake my head, continue emptying out my locker

'Cullen, listen to me.'

I roll my eyes, watch him fold his arms and lounge against the door with a straight expression on his face.

'It requires you finishing your shift.'

'I'm not going for a drink with you Garrett, I need to get back-'

'Carlisle-' he comes over to my arm, slams the locker door shut so that I flinch. Consciously I drag my long hair from my eyes, hold in my criticisms.

'If you stay, I'll let you do your exams early.'

'W-what?' I ask, turning to him in confusion. He is very still, arms still folded across a loud tie, staring me down. 'You can't do that, my next is not scheduled till later this month. Wednesday is a mock-'

'Yes, but if you leave now, you certainly won't be invited back for Wednesday let alone end of June.'

I rest my head forward on the cooling metal, shut my eyes in thought.

'I can't.'

'You can,' he corrects. 'Look, nothing is going to happen to your Lancelot. Or your Misses. If you want, I'll even go check on them.'

The inopportune laugh comes out less bitterly than I expected. I turn weakly to him. He's keeping his posture stiff, but he's staring at me in complete earnest.

In spite of our rather tense confrontation with each other.

'You'd do that?' I ask weakly.

'Sure.' He shrugs easily. 'If that's what was needed to get you to stay.'

'You don't know them,' I remind him. 'You don't even know half of what it is I'm trying to get back to. You're going off of gossip-'

'Cullen,' he laughs, coming forward. 'I don't care. If it helps. If it gets you through these exams-'

'If it gets you a date,' I quib. He grins.

'And if it gets me a date due to some insider knowledge, sure. You can do your exam and I'll go babysit.'

I pull the neutrality from face, look down to my shoes. The thing is, I might have smiled, I might be trying to smile but it isn't funny. It couldn't be funny. Even if King wasn't here now… he would be soon… and if my father… he could do anything…

'What about the exam board?' I mutter.

'Screw the exam board. We got a dying kid on a clinical trial through a typo, they're not going to blink about some smartass acing their questions.'

I raise an eyebrow, he shrugs.

Someone had apparently changed their tune rather abruptly.

'Not likely anyway.'

I let my eyes slip to my watch. My shift was technically over in six hours … Six hours… Charlie could watch them for six hours. Just until I did the exam, finished my shift…

'How many exams do you reckon I could do early?' I ask, somewhat eagerly. Garrett smiles.

'One for today. How many you got left after that, three?'

I nod.

'Who knows, you could be done by Wednesday…'

'Really?' I ask breathlessly. 'You'd really move them all forward?'

'if it keeps you on site then yes.'

I feel myself nod in submission except I pause, take a hard look at him.

'Why are you helping me, Garrett?'

Or what if it's not help? What if he is keeping them vulnerable, what if-

'Huh?'

'All this effort to keep me here… why?'

'Honestly?' he asks, pouting somewhat. I feel myself nod again. 'Honestly, I wanna see your scores blow Alistair's out the water. He was such a know-it-all when we did these damn exams…'

He sees my expression, smirks.

'Sorry, I mean you're a great Kid. Deserve to go far, yadda, yadda, yadda…'

'It's not enough.'

He waits patiently but I don't give in.

'I'm sorry but it's not good enough. I need to get home-'

'Right,' he sighs, head shaking slightly. 'You wanna hear the better reason you should stay? Or at least from what I got from the papers anyway...'

Sceptically I nod.

'Carlisle, if you're here, your shadow will follow. I've told you before, your fans follow you. If it's publicity he's after, thanks to your lawyer, he isn't getting it by following you home.'

Masen had of course managed to find a sweet nectar pool of law that forbade reporters from being within five feet of the house. It wasn't perfect. It didn't stop them emailing and it didn't stop them from hanging a few blocks from us.

But it stopped them knocking.

I hold my lips closed for a moment, think about what he's saying. My father usually operated on a spectacle. Hence why he'd shown up to the hospital I suppose.

And yet…

Was it enough?

Could I trust Charlie and Maddison and Masen and Garrett and Alistair when they all had their own investments in mind….

Would I risk all their lives just for a qualification?

A qualification that would undoubtedly assist in helping our escape to safety. But it couldn't guarantee it.

'Now he's returned, there are gunna be so many reporters in his face that he won't even wanna follow you home…'

'And them?' I mutter. 'What am I meant to say to them? Stay inside. Hide for as long as possible?'

'You tell your family the truth Carlisle. Honestly, I get there's frustration but can he really be that dangerous? Really?'

'Stop trusting in the headlines.' I mutter. 'If I'm telling you I'm worried, it's not because I fucking feel like joking-.'

'Right. You're worried because you love them. I get that. But if they knew what you were throwing away, they'd far from thank you for it. And I doubt they'd much forgive you.'

I stutter. Mostly because it is true, I suppose. But could I really compare Esme claiming that she refused to 'hide away' when she'd been painfully, awfully hurt following it. If she found out I'd given up at the last hurdle, she'd be angry.

But she'd understand.

I hope she'd understand why…

Why I couldn't do it anymore. Why I couldn't fight for a title that I existed in opposition for. All I do is hurt. Consistently cause pain and suffering through every step of life.

How the fuck was I meant to justify that life for a title…

'No,' I murmur.

He's noticeably growing impatient now, moves from me with his chin moving from side to side in anger.

'Fine, you wanna know why you should stay here? Why you shouldn't go home?'

'Why?' I demand.

'Because he is following you, Carlisle. Not them. He follows you.'

The cat and mouse act between my father and I needn't be remembered. Garett was right. Perhaps if I could keep the attention on me… I would actually protect them more than I felt capable.

I call Edward before I resign myself to tests. At first he doesn't answer. Then he quickly rings me back.

'Y-ello?'

'You're at home right?'

'Er.. no, no I'm not. Why what's up?'

'Can you go home?'

He laughs.

'No, really.' I insist. 'Can you head home? Bella is welcome to stay…'

'What's happened?'

'Nothing,' I lie weakly. 'It's just, I'd just feel better if you were both at home…'

'Is this a joke? Are you punking me?'

'I'm sorry, I know it's a pain in the ass-'

'We were gunna head home anyway, can't I just do it later?'

I don't say anything for a few minutes and then he sighs.

'Okay, fine but dinner's on you.'

'That's fine.'

'And we're buying a movie with your account card.'

I titter, tiredly. 'That's fine, Edward.'

'Paranoid Old man.'

'Just, lock up properly, okay? I'll see you in the Morning…'

'You're crazy,' He sings, signing off.

After speaking with him, I am mildly better and once I hear from Swan and Alice, I seem prepared enough to at least sit through the exam, surprisingly focused to let myself slip to panics and concerns.

It's not until I retire home that the bubbling fear starts to gnaw at my insides.

They eek out first by way of my foot on the accelerator. I speed 12 kilometres over what I should be doing. Which isn't too bad if you think what I could be speeding at. Though it is bad when you consider a few stops along my route required me to be not travelling at all.

I get in a little before six that Morning.

As promised, there's takeaway boxes on the side, a few DVD cases. I lock up from the inside, check the backdoors, check the windows, check on them. Both are snoozing in their bedding. Two figures in Edward's room. Fine. Didn't need to know any more than that.

Then just Esme, fidgeting on her new mattress, hair tossed into knots.

I shower for a while. Have it hotter than I would usually. My hair is long enough now that when wet, I can pull it into a surfer's stubby ponytail. The steam is good. It clears the start of my migraine, replaces it with dizziness.

Though the dizziness is soon replaced with pain. Panic. Breathlessness. Agony.

The money. If it was the money then my co-workers were right and I needed to keep a definite distinguishing line between them. Though all the while I was working, I wouldn't be able to know for sure who would be watching them…

Because reporters could come by the swarm. They could visit the gym any of them attended. March onto school grounds. Visit my friends at work. Show up on their doorstep…

They needed the threat of me and the absence of me.

They needed the safety of my reputation, my name alone. Nothing else.

Not even the money. Because that money would never be clean now. Only in death would it be cleansed.

And how easy was that to pull off?

When Es meets Alice for a coffee the next afternoon, I don't open my mouth to warn her. I consider it. And then I consider her response. The shrug of her shoulders as she nods obviously. And then I consider how she may feel even more trapped.

I don't warn her. I warn Alice.

I resign myself to a two-hour long nap. It doesn't feel like a nap. It doesn't even feel like I sleep. I just lay on the mattress, tossing the Washington house key over and over in my hand.

It's in a jewellery box designed for an engagement ring.

I didn't think she noticed and so I didn't elaborate. I wouldn't have had the words to say either.

What would I have done? Waited for her reaction on the key, if it had been enthusiastic enough, exchanged it?

I wouldn't have been able to ask. She would never say yes.

And thank God for it, because I couldn't trap her. Not in this. This toxic state.

Till death do us part…

I couldn't do that to her.

Not when the finality of death was far too easily craved by the mortal world. We wanted death for its extension. We wanted death for what it laid to rest of our past. If only it was as easy as Doctor Reeba's Tunisian family.

If only… if only…

Garrett sticks honestly to his promises.

That evening, he lets me do two more exams. We have to wait for my rounds to be done first. And I have to play suck up to Alistair but by Wednesday, I am contented in the view that regardless of what happens now, the exams are done and I can leave the hospital without owing them anything other than decency.

However, I have come full circle in my beliefs.

Perhaps impressed with the speed in which I had raced through my exams, or rather perhaps needing to keep me alongside, once my tasks are done, Maddison lets me leave a few hours earlier on Thursday Morning.

It's still dark outside as I come to collect my things, emptying my locker with enough speed these days for those colleagues of mine to question the drugs in my system. Still caffeine.

Just caffeine.

And little else.

Given the light drizzle of the Morning weather, several splatters of rain fall to the glass of my spectacles. Tugging them off, and now blind without their aid, I rub the edges dry on the edge of my scrub's shirt….

When the force of a truck knocks me into the side of the building.

The scrape of the clay tearing down my skin, I presume for a blinding moment that Emmett has chosen to win favour with me in an awfully timed prank. Likely Edward's design. I try to pull myself up from the wet pavement, squint to the figure dragging me up.

I certainly recognise him. The smell of cigarettes and … no, a specific brand of cigarette's…

'Ciao, Amico.'

Though I distantly recognise the voice, the horror of it bleeding here on American soil forces my hands out in a desperate shove. His school-boy chortle doesn't leave him and though he is smaller than me in height, the grip of his arms as he shoves me towards a vehicle is domineering without restraint.

The shock of my father's reinforcements leaves me without much room to thrash and with him channelling an arm's worth of strength, I feel my former friend throw me back into a car door.

'Sali subito in macchina..'

'No,' I hiss, trying to shove the figure off of me.

His youthful eyeroll takes his face and barely exerting an ounce of strength, he bundles my awkward limbs into the seat and slams the door shut. He doesn't relent the weight on my arm, pushing his entire body into my twisted limb as though he considers I might vault from the car in desperation.

I might hate the lot of them but killing myself so stupidly would only incite further troubles when I am not around to abate them.

Foolishly, I aim to shove him off again but the figure remains at one with my father's commands. I glare towards the driver, start to curse his very existence when he interrupts me with a pointed finger:

'Malo latine loqui?' My father muses, his foot now levelling with the accelerator. I shove his guard dog off of me and though I hit out at the door, I know all too well the stupid child locks will be on. When I know his watery eyes will be looking at me in the rear-view mirror, I hit my arm at the window and furiously try to open the back door.

He shakes his head.

'Cant te fugerint, filius.'

'English will do fine,' I command him, the snort of air now leaving my lungs as I petulantly fold my arms across myself in restraint. 'I might have known… I might have known.'

With a curled fist, I come to hit the glass again but it simply plays an almost comical punt as it juts my fist away.

'Sei davvero sorpreso?' My capture asks doubtfully, relaxing in his own seat now as my father continues to drive us further from the edge of the city.

'I said English will be fine,' I mutter to the black-haired man, his brown eyes sprinkling in delight with his posture slacking. Even as he pretends to sleep, his fingertips playing on the edge of a leather jacket, the smile on his face does not relent.

'Hai dimenticato la tua lingua madre?'

'This is my mother tongue.'

He smirks, rolls his shoulders in an off-hand manner. Like a child, I kick the back of my father's seat, hoping he might just fall into the wheel and spin out into the highway. He doesn't commit my wishes. He will never commit to my wishes. With an impatient sigh, he mutters to his associate.

'Afton, don't humour the boy.'

'Digli di parlare correttamente.'

'What are you expecting? You think I'll just jump on a plane with you? Is that really what you think?' Before I can control myself, my foot tries launching into the back of his seat again, kicking the padding will a pathetic thump. 'You think I would ever do anything for you-'

'Son!'

'I'd rather see you dead!' I yell, elbowing the back of my seat. 'I would rather have the souls of all three of us lay at my hands than spare a second of my free will to give you anything-'

A fake, phlegm filled snort echoes in the back of his throat.

'If I were you I'd hold that-'

'Even in hell I won't spare a passing regret for you-' I warn, my nose scrunching up like the back of a threatened feline. I'd scratch and I'd yowl and I'd hiss and-

'Adfatim!' he yells, the sounds echoing in the car.

I flinch. Afton looks sheepishly at me.

'Listen, I know you don't wish a passing thought to me.. Your own caregiver-' he withholds the desire to spit and rearranges a crippled hand on the steering wheel. 'You're my son. You will listen to me even if I have to make you.'

He turns over his shoulder now to pass me a blinding look. He could have put glass to my throat, it would have better sold the deal.

'And we have ways to make you, My Son. Do not make me remind you of that-'

Before I get chance to hurtle back into his seat, he turns the car into an abrupt left just before the highway signs up into the airport.

A breathless air of relief pains my head and swallowing difficultly, I try to not let the gratitude take my expression.

He isn't taking me to the airport.

At the very least… he wasn't escorting me across country.

He meets my eyes in the mirror again, tears them furiously back to the woodland road ahead, apparently losing his route in a desire for what I presume is a request for privacy. How rare of him.

'Where are you taking me?'

'Silentium.'

'No,' I refute. 'Where are you trying to take me! Are you taking me to the same place you took her? Some edge of a highway? The sacristy? Is that where you locked her up-'?!'

He makes the foolish mistake of rolling his eyes and knowing I see him; he can't expect anything less than me lunging over the seat towards him. Afton seizes me by the shoulders, tearing me harshly back into the seat in a crumble till he has bound my arms around myself.

I bear my teeth threateningly, try to thrash him into the window.

But it is nothing

Like a dream, I can keep hitting and hitting, and relaying force into him. It's no use. My grip is weak, my power; imaginary.

'Hai finito?' Afton chuckles, I try to wrench my shoulder into his jaw. He sees it coming and shifts, looking at me with a pointed eyebrow in the same tease Esme would once give me.

Esme.

Oh, Esme.

And if I was angry before, all I wish to do now is sob. Five years. Five years of her charming loyalty. Her trust and her wit as she grew and evolved and changed…. All of it leading to this.

To the actions of that one sycophant.

'For Godness Sake Child, stop snivelling.'

'Pull over, then.'

He is not as I remember him when he does so. Almost as if he is giving in to my requests, he takes a sharp left into a dark edge of the clifftop over growth and silences the engine. Maybe he was giving me the power to drown us both.

I could end this…

No… King..

Oh God, King.

'Where is he?'

'Hm?' My father asks, fiddling with the neck of his tie as though preparing for an interview.

'Where is he?!' I demand. 'King?! Where is King?'

Despite his boredom at the octaves of my wailing, his expression turns oddly sombre. Frowning in thought, he speaks not with an air of condescension, not with possession but with neutrality.

'He is not here.'

'You know that's not-'

Turning, facing me with an old age face I do not remember, he tilts his chin to silence me. My words dry up even if the angry fall of tears does not.

'He is not in Oregon. His advisors say he's returning tomorrow but- ah,' he shrugs, dismissively and then comes expertly back, predicting my lunge though looking as if he cannot work out the cause.

'I meant what I said.' I swear to him. 'I kill you both- if you even-'

'Really, child. There is no use making promises you are unable- '

'Do you even realise what you have done?!'

The horror shrieks out into the expensive car, ricocheting on tinted windows till I am far from recognisable to any of us. Afton stays silent, bounding my arms with a wire grip though pretending, for this moment, as if he cannot understand the words.

'You think I don't know how this feels?!' My father shrieks. Both hands claw the seats as though he is prowling from a jungled overgrowth, threatening to climb over, I pull myself back tightly. 'You think I don't know what it feels like to be cuckolded?! To have my own lover stolen-'

'Do you even hear yourself?!' I whimper, abhorrently. 'Can you dare consider the murder you have committed-'

There's a veil of black as I fight my arms to reach his throat again but Afton just pulls me back against the wall of his grip. Those memories of his cigarettes are burning in my nose now. The secret exchanges he'd partway with at school. The sales he'd make to the sons of richer parents.

'Listen to me!' he yells. 'I said listen to me, are you here? Are you ready?!'

I tilt my jaw away in a pathetic need to deny him.

'I didn't know that was going to happen-' he swears.

Thrashing does little to interrupt his flow.

'You employed him, you Sick Fool. Tell me you didn't employ him-'

'Yes, I employed him!' He confesses, his volume taken the vehicle now. 'I employed him to distract her- to create distance. I didn't employ him to-'

'Don't fucking lie to me!'

'Son!' He throws an aging hand into my shoulder and just like Edward a few days ago, it pins me back. The magnitude of that hand striking on my flesh holds me to the cushion, the withering bone shaking with tension. Afton shifts uncomfortable but reaches out a prepared arm to restrain me.

'You have been infatuated with that serf for-' he expects the violent vaulting of my arms, the desperation as I fight so pathetically to protect the last shred of honour. 'I have known from the moment you first denied me that you wouldn't return home all while she held you in her clutches-'

'That wasn't her.'

'I'm not a fool, Carlisle. You swore yourself to that Magdalene quicker than you swore yourself to your precious Masen's-'

'All this time,' I realise, the fleck of dribble clogging my conclusions. 'Revenge. After all these years, you did this… because I chose the Masen's?!'

'You didn't choose the Masen's, you Stupid Child. They took you. If it wasn't for me, you would have no idea of your true calling, your heritage-'

'God doesn't forgive you.'

'You don't speak for Him!' My father roars.

In a car hidden amongst trees on a wet and windy coastline, the figure of my nightmares continues to haunt me in the promise of daylight. As I recalled from childhood, his scream still held the sting of his backhand. I can still feel the pain of his disappointment welt my skin, I still whimper in sight of it.

'I do not punish you for falling victim to their lies. After all these years, I am still willing to offer you retribution for what you did-'

'What I-' I turn to Afton and feel my body convulse.

'Charmain?' I gasp with horror. 'You are doing this because I exposed your abuse on Charmain?!'

This time, he lunges for me. He lunges for me and Afton does not move. The decaying man, the milky eyes throw me violently against my own restraint, push on the collar of my chest as if promising to break me one rib at a time.

'You broke my-.' I can't. I just can't hold the words, the tune, the tone, the image. I can't even say flatmate. 'You did this because I exposed you?!'

'Is that as little as you consider it?' he demands, panting as though struggling to contain his fire. 'Do not ignore that you broke a commitment, Carlisle-'

The disgust waters my face like the drizzling rain

'You didn't want me marrying her anyway-'

'No!' he yells. 'You broke her commitment to me. You know what you did. Aro wouldn't… Won't…'

'I told you all those years ago I wouldn't vouch for you,' I snort angrily into my hands. 'Ever since you asked me to lie and plead my commitment to her five years ago- you have always known-'

'I do not expect you to vouch for her…' he murmurs, difficultly. He looks up to me, quickly. 'She is engaged.'

I don't say a word. I do not need to, his anger screams for him.

'Did you not hear me, Carlisle?! I said she's engaged.'

'For as long as she's out of your hands, she's in the right place-'

He slams me back into the chair again and though they are just sponge and fabric, he might as well have been throwing my joints into marble.

The dark smile on his expression twists a deeper blade into my gut.

'Don't you believe in the free will of a woman, My Son?'

'Don't you dare- don't you dare insinuate- don't you use what you did against me- do not lay your blackened soul at my hands-'

'Shh, shh-'

I jump back, startled and somewhat frightened. Perhaps he made the sound in mockery. But I had never heard him make such sounds before. Not to my ears. Whether in jest or in deliberation.

He snorts.

'Aro is trying to marry her off. He won't even consider her wishes for the matter-'

My instinct is to grunt, but instead I prepare myself to shunt the blade of his own fate in him.

'Who is she set to marry?'

The arms at my sides tighten. My father's eyes slipping to them.

'Y-you?' I demand.

Afton nods sheepishly.

'So you see Carlisle, the match doesn't equate. You need to-'

'Firstly, I won't be doing anything for you. Not for a second. Nothing you do can atone, nothing you do will make me forgive and if it means I get to screw over your selfish, corrupt obscure obsession with timeless fantasy, I will watch the hopes of your entanglement crumble and I will bear it the good riddance it was due a decade ago-'

His snort of disbelief comes out hastily but though he wishes to pain me, punish me, perhaps draw the last of my breath from my lungs, he settles for a deliberate shunt of his hand cutting painfully into the joint of my shoulder.

The strike of pain dizzies my focus, bruises each aspect of my flesh.

'Beautiful words, my Son. Truly-'

'Did he pay you off?!' I demand my school-acquaintance. 'He threw countless notes at you? Because don't let him convince you. Chelsea is a proud woman but loving. Rather your match -'

Afton interrupts my desperate appeal to his ego with a dismissive pull of his head.

'Ai,' he mutters in complaint, the tone impatient with an added eye-roll 'Lei non mi ama.'

His brown eyes clock me again, shifting their focus down as he shrugs against the line of my aching spine.

'Piuttosto, io non la amo…'

'He's put you up to this… you've paid him off-' I continue the hurtle of accusations before my father interrupts me with a swift growl.

'Afton here will be too busy redeeming in hell for the unprincipled desires he has failed to restrain-'

I glare at Eustace with a demonstrative look, highlighting the hypocrisy in his words. The tanned gentleman at my arms swallows, narrows his eye as if settling a focus on the view by the passenger window.

'I will not allow her to be bound to that in the afterlife-'

'And free will?' I demand, scrupulously. 'She chooses hell?'

Afton shifts uncomfortably, my father snorts. 'She chooses me, Son. As she did when tied to you, she chooses me again and again and again-'

There I something about the hit of his words that don't feel as simple as a correction. Almost a taunt. Almost a challenge.

'You murdered her erasure when you naively hurtled your accusations to the court-'

I try shifting my head back, fighting the lesser restraint of the man on my left. It's no secret that my father's resolve on his lifestyle has caught him off guard in this instance. He's less jovial than energised to contain me.

He does it now out of default.

'As I have been grappling for you to do for the last several years, you need to return and you need to speak with Aro-'

'And why would I help you?' More importantly, why would I dare entertain the thought when he can do as he planned two years ago and elope- I consider asking this but I already know the answer. Two of the answers.

The first likely being the ties of power. Neither would wish to lose the influence of her family.

The most important, neither would wish to lose the financial influence of her family….

My father's dark hair catches the minimal lights on the display. The grey in his whiskers matches the grey on his scalp. His jaw rolls, almost as if he's chuckling to himself.

'Carlisle, I employed King to distract your foolish entertainments-'

I swallow hard.

'I paid him to employ her, to watch her, to find people to keep tabs on her over the city-'

Just as my breaths start to expand into panic, he cuts himself short.

'The man was not to be trusted,' he admits absently. A Growl slips from the constraint of his lip, the crinkles of skin darkening when he glares. 'The Fool has but pennies from going bankrupt himself, last I heard he's poured the last of his favours into stocks. He is a foolish, despicable creature…. One whose actions will haunt me….'

The tiny beacon of disbelief burns too hot in our vicinity…

To believe him.

It is a lie to believe him. To get me alongside. It's a lie. It's a lie-

'You're lying!' I scream.

'I never lie!' he growls. 'I might not tell you everything, Carlisle, but unlike your precious lawyer, I have never lied to you. Not really. Every ounce of truth you own, you own because it is my gift to give to you-'

'Shut up, shut up, shut up-'

'You will do as I say, Carlisle-'

'I would sooner die-'

Why could he could see it? Why did he not let me escape him? Why could he see that in my heart of hearts, to the end of it all I would easily lay my life down to be rid of him. To no longer bear the weight of him on my torturous soul.

'You will do as I say, Son.-'

'You think I would ever trust you- You think I would dare to even…' I look about myself in horror- '…form some sort of alliance with you after what you did-'

'I didn't command for him to act on his own gratification- Carlisle I didn't even know-'

'I don't believe you-'

'Listen!' he demands. 'You will do as I say… You will convince Aro-'

'Why? Why would I ever-'

'Why?' he snorts. 'Because if you do, you'll get what you always wanted. You can swear allegiance to your amoral guardians, I won't demand your ties anymore, Carlisle. And to top it off, I'll ensure King never returns-'

'Just like that?' I ask, sickened to the pit of my stomach. 'You have her bullied, brutalised, you commit the most indecent act on God's green Earth all in an attempt to recruit me and now you decide you're sated? You're done with me?!'

There's a swirl of emotions in me now. Not just disbelief but disgust and anger and misery and shock and nausea….

'I don't even consider you pure enough to speak His word-'

'E-excuse me?'

'You're tainted, Son. You reek of your capitulation-'

The tension in my jaw slackens with dire exhaustion, with incredulous confusion. He considered me… tainted? No I was no longer a virgin… he was done with me?

That wasn't tainted, that was blessed. The mark of my so called fall from grace was and remains my… salvation.

Or it would.

It should….

Had he not condemned her suffrage-

'Do this one thing for me, Son. And your favours are yours, even your little pastime-'

'The-' I hold my tongue to prevent the stammer. 'The Neo-natal unit? You'll revoke your influence?'

'Your pastime, your friends….' It is no secret he is disdaining the very image of the Masen's behind his ice-blue eyes. 'Your whore-'

My hand clenches tight.

'You cannot redeem the depths of your sin,' I spit at him. 'I told you, I would rather see you dead than offer you any chance of forgiveness-'

'Carlisle, you will do this for me. Not only because of the benefits to your… ties…Not only because I am the only one who will prevent King from doing anything Rash…But because if you don't… I will continue to haunt your every living move for the remains of our lives.'

He smiles as he threatens me, the words passing over my smaller face. He is so close to me now I can feel the thickness of his nose stand in stark contrast to mine.

'Only in death can you escape me, my Son. And should you choose not to act in accordance to your faith then only in death will I let you….'

It is not till I am out of their presence that I let myself cave. Stumbling, wielding the ache of my shoulder with a reluctant adjustment, I use my shaking hand to balance myself on the window. The pale blue hue has turned ghostly and kneading the shake from my skin, I fumble about with my spectacles and readjust them over my tired eyes.

Edward frowns at me on my late return, parts his lips to say something when I remove myself to shower.

He locks the door tightly, flicking over a many locks as I would do before trundling down the driveway to his car.

Barely two days ago I had been howling for Masen to jump on a plane and get down here. Instead, when reporters came to push for a story, when patients wanted to talk about things irrelevant to their condition, when I should have been sleeping, I find myself replaying that game of chess with Edward. The surrender of the bishop.

If I were to take his words as truths… If I were to accept them… then I couldn't deny that one's greatest defence was offence, of course.

I don't decide on it that easily. The suggestion comes to me at odd times. What it would take to fool them. What I would need to convince them. How I would separate myself from Edward and Esme and whether I was right to at all…

But if it bought their time.

I'd have to be brutal of course.

I would have to either upset them sufficiently that they wouldn't wish to see me, which was happening rather per accidens recently. That or I would have to explain my thought process and suffer the consequences of Edward calling me insane and putting his father on speed dial.

Furthermore, I would have to go back on my word.

I'd already lied inconsistently to Esme over the last few months if not years. Things that didn't even need lies, I found myself lying about it. With hope, that meant she would be expecting me to fail her.

It would mean that if she were hurt, it could be likely that she wouldn't want me to be true to my word.

No, she'd want me gone.

On top of that, the emotional brutality.

She had already suffered the extents of the world and back again. Edward likewise had been bullied incomparitively as I sought to understand my grief.

To resign myself to their pain. To follow through in full acceptance of the pain I would be inflicting.

Well as they say, may God forgive me.

Because they certainly wouldn't.

On that same Thursday evening, Maddison comments upon my resignation with suspicion. He pulls me aside, asks how things are. I don't say the words but I nod simple enough.

'I was thinking,' he murmurs. 'If you really need some time…'

He pours an added amount of emphasises onto the line. More emphasis than I am due. I shake my head uncomfortably.

'To give you a head start,' he murmurs, likely referencing the battlegrounds he suspects I would be falling victim to.

I inhale guiltily, move my glasses to my neck.

'I'm not going,' I correct him. He frowns at first then leads me further down the corridor away from any listening ears.

'You see, I've been talking to Doctor Newton and-'

'Sir, I'm not planning to travel anywhere…'

Or rather… I wouldn't be travelling very far and not at a time convenient to them. Besides, if I wanted them to sell the point, I'd need to position vulnerabilities as so. Openly discuss the neo-natal unit, I realise, cringing. I'd be letting the hospital down significantly.

'But… but what about your father?'

I tilt my chin, nod. Maddison's face expands in horror.

'You're staying? Just like that? You're staying?'

'Is that a problem?' I ask weakly.

He does not resemble himself in the slightest when he seizes my arm, half throws me even further down the corridor and demands to know what I'm thinking.

'Two days ago you wanted out. You were clearing out your locker. And since then, that's all forgotten? What could he have possibly done for you to change your mind in two days?!'

I comb the heavier locks from my eye, try my best to look at him without wavering. His expression is brittle, confused maybe, angry. A mixture of things and most of them, I was too tired to name.

'Is it them?' he asks weakly. 'Are they not willing to go with you?'

'I am not going.' I repeat. 'Me.'

'And what about all those names?!'he growls. 'What about all this with Garrett and Alistair? All that just to end up working here?'

'Am I really that bad?' I mutter snarkily.

He slams his palm on the wall to the left of a display picture. He watches me jump, tightens his mouth to another hard line.

'You are more than, Carlisle. More than. And this is what you're settling for. This.'

'This,' I repeat softly.

He is too angry to with to speak to me for the rest of my shift.

Alistair is pissed I'm late.

He's pissed at everything I do so I don't dare tell him it was for an interview. He'd find out soon enough. And likely try to sue the remains of my estate because it.

So I do not give much thought to the words I said, I just hide in my work and pretend to be eager for the oncoming day.

I have the weekend off. It's as I'm leaving I spot Garrett and Maddison. They're talking to each other, conversing about some case though when Garrett spots me, he raises his arm in greeting,

'Jesus, Kid. That purple complexion is making me suffer. Go home-'

'On my way,' I murmur.

Maddison nods his head in my direction, maybe tiredly and there I leave them to their gossip.