Carlisle had always meant to return to Volterra.

However, when he was feeling particularly honest with himself, Carlisle would admit that he meant to return to Volterra the way people often meant to travel to Europe, or China, or some far flung corner of the world.

It was an idle thought, a periodic daydream, but no definitive plans were ever made, and the excuses never stopped piling up. Volterra would still be there tomorrow, he'd say, and indeed it always was. It'd just never seemed… pressing enough to do anything about.

Carlisle did mean to go to Volterra, but he'd be the first to admit that it might take him another century and a half to get there.

First, when he'd left, it'd been too fresh. To return, even to visit, was to in some way admit defeat. Admit that Carlisle had searched the world over (or worse grown tired of his search) and that he had failed to find any likeminded just as Aro had predicted.

Of course, eventually he happened to cross paths with Tanya and her sisters, who had discovered the diet on their own terms and dedicated themselves just as wholly to it. However, this was only after Carlisle had turned Edward, and as it was—

Something about using the Denali sisters as evidence of likeminded peers, knowing that the sole reason they pursued the diet initially was to stop murdering their human lovers in bed, made Carlisle disinclined to rub it in Aro's face.

He loved the Denali dearly, the closest thing his coven had to a family, but Carlisle couldn't say he exactly approved of their hobbies.

Regardless, he hadn't known of Tanya, Irina, Kate, Eleazar, and Carmen at the time. For centuries he'd grown first desperate and then despondent, as every vampire he met seemed disinclined to even give Carlisle's diet a try. Returning to Volterra then—Carlisle was afraid he would never be able to leave.

Then, after he'd turned Edward—it'd never been the right time.

First, Edward was a newborn, and deeply struggling with vampirism and suspicious of anyone who did not follow Carlisle's diet. The Volturi, despite their deep history and love for the human arts, had been no exception.

Then, of course, Esme was a newborn and Edward had left for years on end. Then when Edward returned, Rosalie was turned. Then Emmett. Then Alice and Jasper had appeared and the idea of going to Volterra, waving Alice's gift in Aro's face like a red cloth in front of a bull, had seemed like a brilliantly terrible idea.

Perhaps someday, Carlisle would travel back on his own, or with—No, it had to be on his own, he'd admit that much.

Edward had always seemed somewhat resentful of Carlisle's life before his transformation, deeply uncomfortable with it, and seeing Carlisle in Volterra would undoubtedly make him even more uncomfortable. He wouldn't take it well.

As for Esme—well, there were things she was better off not knowing. Actually, that applied to Edward as well, perhaps even more to Edward than it did to Esme. And with Edward's gift and Aro's penchant to be anything but subtle…

It just wasn't a good idea.

And Carlisle hadn't gone anywhere on his own in nearly a hundred years. It was always at least Esme by his side, if not the entire family or a subset of it. This would be the first time he went anywhere alone for any significant amount of time, and that would not sit well with any of them.

His family, at times, even going on a hundred years together still felt terribly new and fragile.

And so, the trip to Volterra simply never happened.

And as the years passed by, as his life became consumed with work, daily life, and keeping one if not all the children out of trouble, his letters to Volterra became less and less frequent. It'd always seemed like there'd be some good time to sit down and write Aro, to really think of what to say, but—It just never happened.

Carlisle believed he'd sent a short Christmas missive two years ago. He'd missed last year—Emmett had burned down the house.

He consoled himself, telling himself that time meant nothing to vampires, that Aro wouldn't even notice if a decade had passed without a word from Carlisle beyond, "Cheers, Happy Holidays," but even he knew this was a lame excuse.

He just couldn't find the energy to do anything about it.

Which, of course, why it was beyond mortifying when Aro called him.

"My Dear Carlisle," Aro's voice rang with mirth on the other end, "You wouldn't believe what I had to do to get this number."

Carlisle stared at his cellphone, his mouth hanging open, eyes bulging out of their sockets, and sitting dumbly in his car in the parking lot at work. He can't say he ever expected to hear Aro's voice coming out of his cell phone's speaker, any phone's speaker, the idea that Aro even existed in this modern world threw Carlisle for a loop.

Especially as Carlisle had never given him this number. To his recollection, the last number Carlisle had given Aro was in the 1960's. When they'd moved every three to four years it'd just never seemed worth it.

(Carlisle felt a pang of concern, wondering if he was that easily traced through the internet. Carlisle had always meant to get better acquainted with growing technology, and felt he was fairly on top of it, but only recently had he realized just how terrifying Google was and how fragile his charade as a human doctor had become.)

"Aro?" Carlisle squawked.

"Indeed," Aro cheerfully replied, as if it were perfectly ordinary for him to call up Carlisle, "Ah, forgive me, it's good to hear your voice. Nearly four-hundred years, Carlisle, and even through cell towers, undersea cables, and a tinny speaker it's relieving to hear it outside of memory."

Four hundred years, Carlisle blanched. Had it really been so long? Well, no, closer to three hundred, perhaps… beginning to edge three-hundred-fifty, but not four hundred. Regardless, Carlisle thought with chagrin, three hundred years was a long time to go without hearing the sound of a friend's voice.

Lord, suddenly centuries of excuses sounded so very trite and pathetic.

"Sorry, Aro, I would have visited, I swear, but Emmett pretended to be the Chupacabra for a month and a half and ate all the neighbors' goats. It was a disaster."

Yes, he would… not be telling Aro that.

"Yes, it has been some time," Carlisle acknowledged awkwardly, "It just—slips away from us sometime."

"Does it?" Aro asked, "I suppose I hadn't noticed."

Carlisle winced.

"How is Volterra?" he decided to ask, hoping to break through to some other topic of conversation that wasn't Carlisle not visiting.

"Volterra is as it always is," Aro said with a sigh, "The world keeps turning, we keep working, little has changed since you left us. Except, of course, the moon landing. I tried calling, you know, but you never answered—"

"Ah," Carlisle said, "I believe I had moved by that point."

He had, if he was remembering correctly, they had just settled in a new town.

"I had figured, or rather, it seemed a bit passive aggressive and rude had you intentionally sent me the number of a middle-aged man and his mistress."

Oh, oh no.

"Beautiful house, he had believed it was architected by Frank Lloyd Wright. Of course, I told him that it was in fact your wife's work, but he refused to believe it."

This was just going to get worse and worse, wasn't it?

"Aro," Carlisle decided to interject, "Not that I don't appreciate your calling, I do, and I have been meaning to visit for ages, but—Why exactly are you calling?"

Surely, had Aro gone through the trouble of finding Carlisle's cellphone number, it couldn't have been purely on a whim. Something had to prompt this in the first place. Of course, what Aro could possibly need from Carlisle was beyond him.

There was a very long, very damning, pause on the other end.

Carlisle began to feel a hint of nervousness. If the Volturi, if Aro, was reaching out for help—that meant something very bad had happened. Something which Carlisle could scarcely even begin to imagine.

"Ah, my apologies," Aro hastily said, as if he had sensed Carlisle's tension on the other end, "Nothing is out of sorts, not truly, just—something very strange has happened that happens to be in your realm of expertise."

In Carlisle's realm of expertise?

That could only mean something medical but—Carlisle supposed, in the vampire world, he would be considered an expert on anatomy. He knew far more about human physiology, of course, but so far as he knew he was one of the few who had ever even tried to piece together the biological functions of the vampire body.

Except, Aro certainly knew just as much as Carlisle in that area if not more.

But why would Aro be dabbling in human medicine? And why the need to call Carlisle rather than simply send the human to a hospital?

"You see, Marcus has a human art student."

Carlisle nodded to himself and then processed the words.

"Marcus?"

Carlisle had never been sure what to make of Marcus, the third brother, not even after twenty years of living in Volterra. The man was—unnerving, to put it lightly. It always felt as if he had one foot out the door of this world and into the next, only just glancing over his shoulder to see if he had missed anything important.

Carlisle had had very few conversations with him, the conversations he'd had felt like speaking with a brick wall. He could count on his hand the number of times Marcus said a word in his presence let alone to him.

Aro had said, once, that Marcus had not always been like this. However—Carlisle had never been able to picture it, nor had he ever felt as if he understood Marcus on any level. When he left Volterra, Carlisle had always imagined him sitting right where Carlisle had left him.

The idea of Marcus doing anything, let alone somehow having a human student, was utterly baffling.

"Believe me, I know," Aro said with humor, undoubtedly knowing exactly what Carlisle was thinking, "However, stranger things have happened, I suppose."

Carlisle wasn't sure what to say to that. After a long pause, he asked, "Forgive me, Aro, but what does—"

"Ah, yes, right," Aro said, "The girl is—she's very odd but more than that she's very gifted. This is—unfortunate."

"Unfortunate?" Carlisle couldn't help but balk. He'd never heard Aro declare anyone having a gift as being unfortunate.

"I cannot read her thoughts," Aro explained, "Demetri cannot find her. I am afraid Chelsea may have no effect and, you see, my dear Carlisle, she must join the Volturi."

Aro's next words came out in a fast rush, "Not solely for her gift, though, of course, that is very tempting. No, it's—I've never seen Marcus like this, not in two-thousand years, Carlisle. He's—well, it's a long road to recovery, to be sure, but already he is leagues beyond he has ever been. You would hardly recognize him—"

"Aro," Carlisle hastily interjected, "Wait, what are—what are you asking me to do here?"

"I need a favor, old friend," Aro said after a pause, his voice somber, losing all of its earlier mirth and brightness, "I know you have your own life, your mate and a coven you're responsible for, but—I would ask this one thing of you, for our friendship's sake."

That uneasiness Carlisle had felt earlier came back in full force. Somehow, he had an inkling just what it was Aro wanted of him.

"Circumstances being what they are," Aro continued as Carlisle remained silent, "We must woo the girl to Volterra. This requires both time and—a certain pretense. Carlisle, you are further ingrained in human society than any vampire I know. The false courtiers, the demonic con men, you surpass them all—"

"Aro," Carlisle interrupted, his own voice now firm, "Are you asking me to help you—gaslight this girl? To make her believe you're human and—"

"Yes, I know," Aro said, "But sometimes, Carlisle, we do not have choices. Sometimes we have a destiny, and for better or worse, this is the girl's. It's a sorry business, yes, but that is simply the way things are."

Of course, Aro, who enforced his law with an iron fist, would see it that way. It was unfortunate, but nothing to be done, the fates themselves had conspired against you. It would be no different had the girl happened upon the secret, or even if she'd been merely gifted and not connected in any way to Marcus.

The only reason Aro had bothered to call at all was because the girl confounded his trump cards. Had he been sure Chelsea would work, the girl would have been turned already.

He was not asking Carlisle's opinion.

Carlisle let out a long, exhausted, sigh.

He could state his case, of course, but it wouldn't work. No, if Carlisle refused, then the only thing that changed would be that Carlisle had no part of this. And then—what protection could he offer that poor girl then?

What protection could he offer if he went along with it?

For better or worse, Aro did essentially rule the vampire world. For the most part, Carlisle believed him uncorrupt, but he was—pragmatic. Even if the girl was miserable, even if she wanted no part of this, there was very little Carlisle could do to save her. She would join the Volturi, Aro would see to nothing less.

But in person, in the loop—perhaps Carlisle's words might mean something. Perhaps, somehow, he could accomplish something. And even if that wasn't why Aro called, what he was really after, surely, he wouldn't say no to Carlisle coming to Volterra now. To seeing this girl for himself…

It was about time to move anyway.

The family would survive without him for a few months while he was in Italy. He'd certainly call and be in contact, they'd barely notice he was gone. Perhaps they could take it as a chance to tour the world, he could phrase it like it was a vacation, for himself as well as them.

No high school for several months, Rose would be delighted.

"What is it you want me to do?" Carlisle asked dully, resigning himself to whatever it was Aro had planned.

"Come back to Volterra," Aro said with barely contained giddiness, "We've—we're extending her curriculum abroad over the summer, offering her further lessons as well as free housing in the castle, and we're going to need all the help we can get."

Oh, he certainly had that right.

How exactly was he going to convince this girl—

No, no, Carlisle wasn't asking questions. Besides, maybe if the girl had a hint that something was wrong, she'd be—better prepared for what was facing her. Maybe it was better to let Aro go through with whatever ridiculous scheme he had in mind.

"And I will be doing what?"

"Well, I'm sure I don't know," Aro confessed far too easily, "But I'm sure we'll come up with something."

Oh, dear god, it was that bad.

"Of course, your coven is invited as well," Aro said smoothly, perhaps thinking that was Carlisle's hang up.

Carlisle almost laughed. No, no they were not invited.

As it was, he was sure Alice and Jasper would adamantly say no and disappear for over a year if not a decade. Carlisle didn't have Alice's gift, but he just knew he was going to spend the next week and a half explaining why he had to do this, even if it meant letting Aro know about her gift.

Regardless, Alice had no desire to become a member of the Volturi and would be stepping nowhere near Italy. Jasper, of course, would go with her.

As for the others—he didn't even want to imagine.

No, somehow, Carlisle would convince them to let him go alone. He didn't know how he would, but somehow, he'd convince them.

"I don't approve," Carlisle said before anything else, "I hope you know that."

Aro was silent for a beat, let out a small sigh, and admitted, "I suspected you wouldn't."

"However—I'll do it," Carlisle said, squeezing his eyes and forcing the words out, "Whatever help you need, I'll do it. And in return, Aro, you have to promise me that nothing happens to this girl. Yes, I know, her fate is sealed, but—she is a human being, Aro, treat her like one."

"If it eases your mind any," Aro said softly, "Then I am already quite fond of the girl. I am well aware of the respect she deserves."

And yet, he was still asking for this, for a gift he didn't have and—perhaps—for Marcus. Whatever that meant.

Marcus—Carlisle tried to picture, the man being anything other than the statue he'd been when Carlisle was in Volterra years ago. Just as it had been then, picturing Marcus as anything else, as having any other expression on his face—Carlisle just couldn't do it. Something in his mind balked at the very idea of it.

Different, Aro had said.

Carlisle supposed there was no use wondering, he'd see soon enough for himself, and the rest of it—that he'd figure out when he arrived.

Author's Note: Carlisle, you miserable fool.

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