"I can lend you something of mine to sleep in, if that would be more comfortable," Carlisle offers once she is settled in the master suite upstairs.
He has never been a host to a human before and he constantly feels as though he is forgetting something she may need. He has shown her around the entirety of the house, how to operate everything in the bathroom, he's working on nightclothes, and… there must be something else.
"That would be wonderful, thank you," she agrees, following him back up the stairs. It took them an hour to walk through the yard, the garden had called to Esme like a siren song in need of attention and he didn't have the heart to lead her away from it. She assessed the entirety of it, murmuring about the restoration of the plants and rotting garden pieces of outdoor furniture alike. "Which room is yours?"
"At the end of the hall, a short walk from yours," he explains, forcing himself to slow at her pause, the drift of her hand to her stomach. "Esme, please do not allow me to overstep, but perhaps we need to look into a doctor's appointment, to ensure your post-delivery aftercare is going well."
Her sigh is soft, but her head nods. "I believe you are right, unfortunately. Though, I think I'm healing fine. I've likely just been pushing myself a bit too hard since my release this morning."
"If anything bothers you in the night, please do not hesitate to call for me. I'll hear."
"Won't you be sleeping?" she questions, taking the hand he offers her up the final few steps to the landing.
Carlisle shakes his head. "No, I forgot to mention that we do not sleep. We can't."
"Oh," Esme breathes, her fingers still lingering against his palm. "I'm not sure if that sounds dreadful or wonderful."
"For productivity's sake, it can be wonderful. But it can prove dreadful as well. I do often miss the reprieve of sleep," he muses, relinquishing her hand to hold the bedroom door open for her. "My closet is in the corner there, please-"
"Wait, this is your room?" She spins to face him, gentle spots of color suddenly adorning her cheeks.
It's adorable and he wants nothing more than to cradle her face in his hands, appreciate the delicate skin beneath.
"Well, it would be if I needed it, but I don't really use it. My time is often spent in the study I referenced as mine earlier." She doesn't look pleased. "Truly, Esme, it's no trouble. It's a storage space for me, I have no use for a room with a bed in it."
She purses her lips, casting her attention back to the space before them. The upstairs bathroom is conveniently attached, she won't even have to leave the room to have everything she needs. Aside from food, he'll have to run to town in the morning to get something for her to eat.
"Only because it's temporary," she concedes, eliciting an unexpected pang in his chest.
Of course it's only temporary, of course. No matter what happens, that will always be the only option for them.
"As I said," Carlisle states, recovering quickly. "Please call out or come to my office if you need anything at all."
The caramel locks of her hair dance across her back as she turns to look at him over her shoulder. The smile she offers him is small but genuine.
It's quickly becoming his favorite thing in the world.
"I will. Thank you."
With that, he leaves her for the night. That smile imprinted on his mind.
Hours later, he is startled from his medical journal by the sharp intake of her breath, the splintering sound of her muffled sob into a pillow. He's entering her room in a second, appearing at her bedside to find her trembling and still half asleep, crying quietly.
"Esme," he calls, balling his fists at his side. He is too afraid to spook her with his touch. He wishes more than ever that he possessed Edward's ability to read minds, to see what has her so distraught even in slumber. "Esme, please wake up. You're safe, I promise you are safe."
The soft sobs begin to dissipate, her eyes remaining closed, but the race her heart steadying.
It's nearing daybreak, only an hour or two of darkness left. Carlisle takes a seat on the floor beside the bed, delicately leaning his back to rest against the edge of the mattress. The idea of walking down the hall, leaving her to whatever comes for her in her dreams, is unbearable to him. He tells himself he will only stay until the sun breaches the horizon, offering her a kinder world to wake up to.
Carlisle settles in his resolution and listens to her breathe until morning.
"Shouldn't she be awake by now?"
Carlisle lifts his head. He remains seated on the floor at the edge of Esme's bed, but he momentarily left his post hours earlier to retrieve the medical journal he initially abandoned in his haste to check on her.
Though, he's found himself with a pen and a blank sheet of paper instead, indulging in an old habit. She makes the words of poetry come so effortlessly, he couldn't resist.
"She's suffered a great trauma, Edward," Carlisle murmurs the reminder, the two of them speaking in a tone too quiet for a human to distinguish. "Both physically and emotionally. I believe it is encouraging that her mind is allowing her body to finally find some rest."
"You just enjoy the notion that she feels safe here," Edward smirks.
The fact that Edward is inspired to tease him about this when he wanted to strangle him nearly twenty-four hours ago is encouraging, too.
The grin dissipates from Edwards's lips and he rolls his eyes instead.
"She's fluctuated between dreams of you and nightmares," Edward discloses, his gaze leaving Carlisle to rest on Esme's sleeping form. "How much has she told you of her past?"
Carlisle sighs, folding the paper with his scribbled words, using it to mark his place, and easing the book closed. "Not much."
He lets Edward witness their conversation from the night before, the few details Esme revealed to him.
"Charles Evenson, her husband. He'll find her." Edward's fists clench at his side. "I swear, Carlisle, if I see that man's face, I'll take his life myself."
"Son-"
"You don't know what he's done. I barely caught a glimpse, seconds of the memories portraying what she endured for years," Edward growls, the disgust tightening his jaw. Without the proper exposure, Carlisle sometimes manages to forget the moral compass embedded within his son, the need for justice, vengeance. "No one deserves that."
"I know," Carlisle concedes, ignoring his own foreign flare of rage threatening to simmer within him. Not often is he tempted to pander to such emotions, but Esme has proven to elicit feelings he never knew could exist. "He won't find her. I'll make sure of it."
"She's awake," Edward notes, drifting back into the shadows of the house. The late morning sun is painting the bed, reaching for the floorboards. He catches Edward release the softest of snorts. "It's taken her a second to remember where she is, what's happened, but she's enjoying the smell of your clothes."
"Stop reading my mind," Esme mumbles, the mattress creaking quietly as she shifts, turning onto her side, towards Carlisle.
He glances to her over his shoulder. The quilt of the bed is pulled to her chin, her hair mused but her gaze growing alert, trained on him.
For a moment, their eyes meet, so close that he can feel the wisp of her warm breath on his cold skin. The phantom skip of his heart has his medical journal slipping from his grasp and falling into his lap.
"Has Edward told you my life story?" she whispers.
It takes everything he has not to reach forward, brush the stray curls from the hollow of her cheek, touch the tips of his fingers to the swatches of purpling skin beneath her eyes.
"No, he does his best to respect the privacy of those around him. Most of the time," he assures her. "He did warn me of a couple of events he witnessed, that your husband is quite persistent in his determination to locate you."
Her eyes flutter closed. "He is."
"I won't allow it to happen," Carlisle promises her. "Edward and I will protect you."
She opens her eyes and slowly begins to sit up in the bed. It's then that he notices her choice of sleepwear, the way his cotton blue button-down engulfs her. It makes his mouth pool with venom.
He has to look away, silencing the foolish desire and swallowing past the piercing clench of his throat. He feels just as ashamed as he did ten years ago, when a sixteen-year-old girl made his dead heart stumble to a stop all over again.
Although, it was easy to chastise himself then. He blamed the age difference as the catalyst for his self-loathing, but it was never anything more than the sheer draw to her then. A young Esme Platt sparked an intrigue inside of him for the few moments he spent in her presence. Humans have become so temporary in this life; there's never a reason to get close to them, to make friendships or connections. It would only hurt to lose them later.
So why did it pain him to walk away from her even then? Why did it feel as though he was missing out on something important?
The sensation is different now. Where once, he saw a girl with a bright future he simply wanted to witness bloom, he now sees a woman he wants to exist in that future with. After he treated her in Ohio, he felt as if he was leaving something so vulnerable unprotected, but he was able to walk away nonetheless. But now? Whatever threat that may come her way would have to get through him.
"I don't want to be a burden."
The words crash through his reverie and Carlisle immediately shakes his head.
"That is not something you could ever be," he assures her.
When Carlisle arises from his place on the floor, he's greeted with a soft intake of her breath.
"Wow." Her hand tentatively reaches for him, fingers landing to dust over his exposed forearm, the sunlight shining on his skin.
"Oh," he chuckles, a flicker of embarrassment alight in his stomach. "I suppose I forgot to warn you about this."
Her head tilts as her gaze roams his upper body. He's wearing a thin long sleeve shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, displaying more of his skin than he often allows. Her eyes follow the glimmering skin of his arms to rest upon his face, the crystallized sparkle of his flesh causing her eyes to glow hazel.
"It's like diamonds," Esme realizes, the tips of her fingers drifting to flirt with the upturned bed of his palm.
"Hard as rock," he confirms, lowering his arms back to his sides.
"I meant in the way of beauty," she smiles softly, staring up at him as if it isn't the greatest anomaly. As if it is perfectly normal that his flesh is like marble shimmering back at her.
"The skin of a killer is how my kind describes it," he elaborates, but she doesn't flinch or avert her eyes. "None of this seems to unnerve you the way I expected it to. Does it not bother you… being so close to a monster?"
"Carlisle, I have known monsters." The smile remains laced across her lips, small but gentle, welcoming. "You are not one of them."
In the days that follow, Esme remains with Carlisle and Edward, inhabiting the upstairs bedroom. Carlisle makes multiple runs to town, returning with foods he has no idea what to do with.
"It failed to occur to me that I do not know how to cook."
She's found herself smiling more times in the week she remains in Carlisle's home than she has in the last four years. Part of her feels guilty for it, for even allowing her lips to lift after the loss of her son. Yet she can't help indulge in the reprieve, the brief moments of joy in the darkness.
"I'll teach you," she would always end up saying, stealing a carton of eggs or a package of meat from his proffering hands. He would follow her into the kitchen and she would verbally walk him through the steps of making a simple meal.
She's beginning to enjoy cooking far more than she ever has before.
"We have a surprise for you," Edward tells her one morning.
She's been awake and outdoors most mornings, finding contentment amidst the weeds and dead flowers of the backyard. Winter is coming to a close and she has made it an unconscious goal to bring the flowers back to life for spring.
Esme withdraws her gardening tool from the earth and sits back on her heels in the grass. Carlisle returned to work on her second evening here and was able to retrieve her bags from the hospital; tears spilled onto her cheeks at the sight of her son's meager belongings, the baby blanket he was wrapped in prior to his death.
Carlisle gently touched her arm after handing it over, giving her the softest look of empathy and offering his company if she happened to need it.
She did, she always does.
He has listened to her talk about the baby boy she barely knew for 48 hours for days on end now, his eyes always trained on her, no inclination of boredom ever present. She apologized to him the first time, curled up on the velvet sofa in his office with him three feet away on the other end.
"I'm sorry, you must be worn from my constant rambles."
"Esme, never," he answered, shaking his head at her adamantly. "Can I tell you something?"
She nodded, the baby blanket snug against her sternum.
"I have been alive for over two centuries, I have been present for many conversations, but now… I cannot consider any of them as pleasant as ours have been."
He looked shy as he said it, his amber eyes lowering to the hands in his lap. She sometimes finds it so easy to forget that beneath the wise exterior, the marble skin, he is still a man, an immortal man with a loving heart and a desire to help.
"Well, I have only been alive for twenty-six years," she countered, earning the return of his gaze, the tug of a grin. "And I can say it's mutual."
She was grateful to him, grateful for the anchor he has so quickly become in her life.
She was also quite grateful to have a pair of shoes to wear again.
"Stop daydreaming about Carlisle," Edward groans, dragging her back to the present. She knows he's witnessed the little moments between her and his father far too many times, but she's slowly growing used to Edward's constant access to her head, learning not to flush with embarrassment or bristle with irritation at the intrusion.
"I'm not daydreaming, I'm reflecting," she replies calmly, receiving what is becoming a signature roll of his eyes.
"As I was saying…"
"A surprise?" she murmurs suspiciously.
Edward shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants, rocking back on his heels.
"We'll take you to it as soon as Carlisle returns from work."
She arches her brow at the ambiguity. It isn't like Edward to flaunt a secret.
"It's not a secret," he corrects with that infuriating smirk of his. "It's a surprise, Esme. There is a big difference."
"Maybe I dislike both," she challenges, pushing up from her knees to her feet.
"I hate to break this to you, but I know when you are lying," Edward grins, sprinting away from her before the small shovel she throws can hit home.
Mere seconds later, she can hear the purposely orchestrated footsteps of Carlisle approaching.
"I take it Edward has been harassing you," Carlisle teases, bending to snag her shovel from the ground.
"Only in the kindest way possible," Esme chuckles, brushing the dirt from her knees. "He tells me you two have a surprise of some sort planned."
Carlisle shrugs, those amber eyes glittering gold for her. "Perhaps."
"You too?" Esme groans, tilting her head to stare up at him as he closes the distance between them.
She has grown more comfortable around Carlisle Cullen, his presence setting her at ease instead of on edge. Though, as Edward enjoys pointing out, her heart has yet to learn how to keep a steady rhythm around him.
"Does it ease the agony if I assure you that it won't be a surprise for much longer?" he grins, reaching for her bare arms. "Also, where is your jacket? The temperature is not agreeable enough for-"
"Carlisle," she huffs, tempted to shrug him off, but that would mean dislodging his hands from her skin. Something she's come to savor, something she never imagined she would want. Not after Charles. "I was busy and it got a little too warm."
"Let me take you inside?" he coaxes, fingers trailing down her arms to encircle her wrists.
She maneuvers her hands into his, letting their fingers twine for a moment.
"I'm not going to get sick," she promises, following the gentle tug of his hands as he begins to walk backwards to the house. "Though, I do have the best doctor in town to take care of me."
His fingers tighten around hers. "No testing theories tonight."
Esme sighs and allows him to guide her back into the house, releasing her hands as they enter. Her skin mourns the loss, her body becoming accustomed to the coolness of his touch.
"So, Edward said you had to take me to this surprise," Esme picks up.
Carlisle nods. "Yes, I believe Edward has already arrived, so I'll be escorting you."
She chuckles. "Do I need to change into more appropriate attire?"
The quick assessment of his gaze along her body has her pulse speeding. She curses herself for it, knowing he can hear it, knowing it's why he hides the barely discernible hint of a smirk from her.
"No, I think you're dressed fine," he assures her, but she still self-consciously pulls at the sleeve of her dress, fingering the worn fabric. "Esme?"
She meets his eyes, taken off guard for a moment by the intensity there.
"Do you trust me?"
She hesitates for a moment, somewhat surprised to find that she actually does. She always has.
"Yes," she states resolutely.
"And you're feeling okay physically?"
Esme blinks, momentarily taken aback by the question. But he asks at least once daily how she is healing, if there is any discomfort from her delivery still lingering. There isn't, not anymore.
"I think I've healed rather well," she admits, brushing a subconscious hand over her stomach.
Carlisle nods. "Then promise to hold on."
"Hold on?"
But before he can answer in words, Carlisle is swooping her up, swinging her onto his back. Her arms automatically tighten around his neck, her legs at his waist, all before she even has a chance to release the gasp at her lips.
It's all so fast - the way he leaves the house in a flash, zooming through the woods like a hummingbird with buzzing speed, the forest a blur of green all around her. Her heart is in her throat, her eyes watering with the pace and the cool air biting at her cheeks, but she feels like she's flying.
She's always wanted to fly.
In a matter of minutes, it's over and he's depositing her delicately to her feet.
She stumbles a little, gripping the arms he holds out to her as the world slowly steadies around her again.
"Are you all right?" he questions, touching his fingers to her chin and tilting her face up to see him. "Please tell me if that was too much."
"No, no, not at all," she grins, feeling the giddy rush of her adrenaline slowly starting to recede. "I mean, it was terrifying, but wonderful, too."
His eyes marvel at her. "Really?"
"Yes, can we go again?"
Even though she is a little dizzy, the world still spinning around her.
Carlisle laughs and lets his hand rest boldly against her cheek, a new sensation that merely feeds the excitement buzzing in her chest.
For a split second, the grief recedes, the darkness softens, and all she wishes is for him to kiss her.
Edward appears then, clearing his throat loudly but wearing a smile when her eyes find him. "Esme Platt loves to travel vampire style. Why am I not surprised?"
Her cheeks are warm and Carlisle hastily lowers his hand.
"Where are we?" she wonders aloud, glancing around to see them encompassed by the same kinds of trees and brush that surround the house they reside in now.
"Ten miles outside of town," Edwards replies, rocking back and forth on his heels again. "We just traveled through the woods instead of the road."
"It's obviously not a great distance for Edward and me to travel," Carlisle elaborates. "And as long as you don't mind the way of transportation, it wouldn't be hard for us to take you to and from this place and the home you're more familiar with."
Esme's brow furrows. "And what is this place?"
Edward grins, that little boy with a secret look having returned, and Carlisle offers his open hand to her.
She grips his fingers instinctively, allows the men to guide her a little deeper into the trees until suddenly, they are walking into a clearing, a meadow. With a small wooden house, a tiny cottage sitting in a circle of grass.
"Edward and I have been taking turns working on it while you've slept," Carlisle explains, squeezing her hand gently. "We thought, well, while you're here, you should have a place of your own. Away from Ashland and anyone who knows you there, so you don't always have to hide."
"You're a short walk from Washburn, the nearby town. There's a market, a school, everything you may need," Edward adds.
Her eyes burn as she gazes upon the little house in the woods, the gorgeous wood, the abundance of windows, the stone chimney. They created this for her, so she could have something of her own for the first time in her life.
"This…" She swipes at the moisture on her cheeks. "This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me."
"It's nothing," Edward shrugs. "It was fun for us. Though, I'm sure you could have designed something better."
"Yes, we did keep it rather simple for our own sakes," Carlisle agrees. "But if there's anything you want to change, we can-"
"No," she interrupts, squeezing his hand fiercely. "I love it, just like this. It's perfect."
"Esme," Edward scoffs with a shake of his head, but she releases Carlisle's hand, crosses the short distance to throw her arms around the boy.
"Thank you," she whispers, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
She pulls away to see his look of childlike bashfulness, the nod of acceptance he offers her in lieu of words.
"But I will miss the two of you," she sighs, drifting back to Carlisle's side like a magnet. Her arm loops through his as if it is only the most natural thing in the world. "I've grown used to living among you."
"We planned the distance this way for a reason," Carlisle informs her. "If you need us, we'll hear you. You need only call out."
"There's also a telephone," Edward chuckles, his gaze flicking between her and Carlisle. "You know our schedules quite well by now, so I'm sure you're aware that someone will always answer if you call. Whether by phone or otherwise."
Esme nods, her throat thick with too many emotions to speak. Edward can hear them, is probably battling the onslaught of them now, but Carlisle can't. He merely understands with one meaningful look down to her.
"Give you the tour?" he inquires softly, his arm straightening under hers, causing her hand to slide down his forearm to collide with his.
She doesn't hesitate in twining their fingers now, savoring the contrast of his cold palm against her warm one. She lets him and Edward guide her along the path made to her new home.