A/N: My apologies for the delay between uploads, I hope this chapter makes up for it, I would love to hear your thoughts!
Content warnings: Theological discussions (Catholicism) & very brief reference to infant loss.
Carlisle wasn't precisely sure exactly what he had done to land half dressed with Esme's thighs clenched around his waist; but now that he was there, he certainly wasn't going to complain.
How in less than a week's time they had reached a point that logically should have been the end of their friendship to, well he wasn't precisely sure what they were approaching as her bare arms wrapped around his neck but they were certainly approaching something. In order to pinpoint the precise moment everything changed he had to look back days, tracing his steps from the moment they laid on her bed waiting out the storm together, promising to always support the other until the end of time as they had done multiple times before.
To both Esme and Carlisle's surprise they had found their footing quite quickly after that tumultuous Wednesday. It was almost as if the disagreement they had both been dancing around for months made them closer. They were now sharing subtle glances as their company got into antics, fleeting touches as they maneuvered around each other, whispered jokes that only made sense to the two of them. It had always been that way for them, but now it was different in a way neither could quite name.
While the two were temporarily flying high the rest of their company was miserable. In the three days after a raging storm the skies had been positively blue. The eight vampires had been confined to the comforts of four walls by the dazzling sun and after endless days were getting a tad stir crazy.
Which meant when the clouds returned on Saturday all eight were desperate to see the world. Quite quickly this turned into a half hatched plan of spending the weekend in the largest local city, Vancouver. Carlisle had been longing to explore the expansive bookstore, Eleazar was itching to drag Esme to a true service, not Carlisle's casual preaching, and Irina and Carmen were scheming a way to trick Esme into a department store, hoping a small makeover might give her the confidence she so desperately lacked.
So there they stood. In front of a giant cathedral on a Sunday morning. After spending the entire day prior running almost five hundred miles through snowy mountains and coastal towns.
Eleazar had first invited Esme to join him and Carmen for a regular service, she accepted, which meant that Carlisle was attending whether he liked it or not. Irina had tagged along for some unknown reason, while the others spent the morning exploring the city.
"Look at this place," Esme breathed, eyes wide, mouth agape, as she stared up at the intricate details mounted on the cathedral's facade. Above the three grand doors was a grand medallion of stained glass. Even higher above the grand oak doors was a life size sculpture of Mother Mary. Hands clasped against her chest, head angled to watch over the parishioners. On either side of the building were tall spires atop two asymmetrical bell towers, each topped by a cross. It was nothing if not ornate.
"Why is it so ornate?" Esme asked innocently, he smiled to himself as they unknowingly used the same descriptor.
"It's the house of God," Eleazar explained, offering Esme his arm as they approached the stately building. "We build a church in reverence to the Lord; using only the finest materials we have in the physical world."
"Like an architectural prayer?"
"Precisely."
"It's quite beautiful," Esme said, her eyes rarely leaving the thousands of architectural details.
"Seems expensive," Irina shrugged, slinking through the grand front doors.
"Wow!" Esme gasped as she got a peek at the interior. "Look at that," She grabbed Carlisle's arm with her one free hand. "Look."
"I'm looking," he smiled politely, glancing around at the growing congregation. Esme was the most impressed by a long shot.
"I'm embarrassing you by being this excited," she frowned at herself, quickly swallowing her smile and straightening her shoulders, putting on a great ruse that she was not at all impressed. She let her arm slip from Eleazar's as she sank further into Carlisle, hiding herself in his side.
"No, no. Be as excited as you want," he smiled as he led her along the side of the grand room.
"Is that glass or paint?" Esme pointed to the panels of stained glass depicting Christ's life in the apse.
"Each color is a separate individual piece and then they're all soldered together to make the image. It's quite a process." He pulled her to the side of the building so they could look at a panel closer. "You should try it, you'd enjoy it. I took a class back in my experimental academic phase if you'd care to learn."
"You mean it? I'd love that," she beamed and he realized he had made a grand error in offering. He had taken a class that wasn't a lie but he was absolutely no good at the art form. At any art form. In fact, he had been banned from touching any panel of glass in the studio after breaking a half dozen in the first week of lessons. Surely teaching someone would be much easier than actually completing the art form. Right?
As he stewed Esme pulled him into one of the last pews. They were close enough to the cracked front door to receive a smidgen of fresh air, but were removed enough from the pulpit to be able to escape if necessary without drawing undue attention. Nevertheless, he positioned himself between the aisle and Esme, knowing Eleazar or Carmen or Irina would take the seat on her left and there would be a subtle brigade around her if the situation arose.
The quiet hum of congregants mingling rose, like the precursor for the organ. "Charles was Catholic," Esme said quietly. "I don't know why I just remembered that."
"So you've been to mass before?"
"Oh no. He had left the church long before I met him, and as I understood not on good terms. We never celebrated Christmas, or Easter, or any of that."
"You remembered that right now? For the first time?"
"Mhm."
"Fascinating."
"You've never randomly remembered something from your first life?"
"No, I don't believe I have." He didn't think he had ever run into one of their kind who had either. "You never celebrated Christmas?"
"As a kid but never with him, I don't think I missed it much when I was with him though," she shrugged, eyes dancing around the powder blue walls.
Their little group of three hadn't celebrated since she joined them. The first year it was too fresh, too close to the one year anniversary marking the worst day of her life. He and Edward exchanged gifts privately, almost silently, as she tucked herself away in her room. The second year they probably could have celebrated but both men had agreed to hold off on the holiday until she broached the subject.
Carmen and Eleazar's return from the church gardens broke Carlisle's holiday daydreams. Eleazar took the empty place next to Esme and made a quiet joke about poisonous plants Carlisle didn't fully hear nor understand. She gave him a polite smile then whispered something else that Carlisle fully did not hear, and they both quietly laughed.
At the very last minute Irina squeezed in next to Carmen. Giving a subtle but pointed wave to the priest donning the pulpit. He smiled discreetly before ducking the gaze, yet another man the succubus was going to take down.
"He's quite handsome is he not?" Irina whispered to the group.
"You are shameless," Carmen laughed.
Irina sighed at the criticism. "Esme, you have to agree with me," she implored.
Esme bit the corner of her lip, before pragmatically whispering, "if that's your cup of tea."
Irina grinned to herself. "I thought of a joke but I'll keep it to myself."
"Good," Esme laughed quietly, her mouth opened to say another hushed joke but a booming "Brothers and Sisters," from the pulpit cut her off. A tenor capturing the congregations' attention, all but one. Carlisle watched the others around him but paid little attention to the well worn phrases he knew all too well, slipping back into daydreams of holiday celebrations, literature checklists, and anything other than the lingering fear of his Father's disdain.
"Why do they wear the scarf thing?" Esme whispered a half hour into the sermon, motioning to her head towards the priest's cream stole with gold embroidered appliques.
"A stole," Carlisle answered. "It represents immortality and distinguishes the clergy from the parish."
"Is that why you have so many scarves?" Esme grinned, lightly pulling at the end of the scarf he was currently wearing.
He tightened the scarf around his neck self-consciously. "No."
"It was a vampire joke not a pastor joke."
His hand fell on her knee, squeezing lightly. A silent apology he hoped she heard. She glanced towards him, a slight smile.
The sermon continued in its mundanity. Esme seemed enthralled. Carlisle did his absolute best to ward off the childhood panic that threatened to creep in while a preacher's condemnation of his congregation reverberated in the cathedral.
Carlisle's attention was gained only when a small group approached the pulpit as the ceremony transitioned to the semi-regular baptisms.
"Is that who I believe it is?" Carlisle whispered as a short, white-haired woman approached the front of the church, behind a young couple holding an infant.
"Golly, I believe it is," Esme gasped. Somehow they had traveled hundreds of miles and still ran into Dolores Micheals.
"Golly?" Carlisle laughed to himself at the eccentric phase.
Esme rolled her eyes at the teasing, "may we say hello afterwards?"
"Of course," Carlisle quietly agreed as the priest began reciting various prayers and blessings. After the children had been blessed and the passages read the quotidian communion was started.
"Is this symbolic?" Esme whispered as parishioners began to gather for their sacrament.
"Sort of," Carlisle nodded. It was difficult to explain what exactly the eucharist stood for. "Sacrament is in the text, but here the priest calls down the Holy Spirit and the bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ."
"How?"
"No one knows."
"Would our eyes turn red if we drank it?" Esme asked without missing a beat. Carlisle valiantly attempted to hide his giggles but the image filtering through his mind was too comedic. He was forced to angle his face away from the now glaring congregation, burying his nose in Esme's shoulder as squeezed his thigh attempting to get him to stop such a display.
"Allergies," he heard Esme mutter to the nearby humans, but the lilt in her voice revealed she was having difficulty suppressing her own laughter. Eventually he was able to stifle the laugh with a half believable cough, wiping at the corners of his eyes to sell the full charade.
"It wasn't that funny," Esme whispered as the service concluded. Their group sat patiently as the humans took their time filtering out.
"So," Eleazar grinned, turning in his seat to angle towards Esme. "What did you think?"
Esme considered the question for a few moments. "You asked me if I was of a specific faith."
"I did, indeed."
"I don't think I'm Catholic."
Eleazar chuckled, a deep laugh that Carlisle had never been jealous of until it triggered Esme's own laugh. "A man can dream," he grinned, wrapping his arm around Esme's shoulders. "I'm sure you'll be a proper Protestant by the time Carlisle's done with you."
Esme turned back to Carlisle slightly, "is that what you are?"
"It's what my father was."
"But you're not?"
"I'm not quite sure what I would call myself, although certainly not Catholic."
"You mean you did not enjoy the service, my friend?" Eleazar asked with a daring grin.
"It was a fine service," Carlisle shrugged, "nothing exceptional, nothing true."
"There it is," Carmen said under her breath, her husband only grinned.
"Precisely what part did you disagree with, Carlisle?" Eleazar teased.
"I will not engage with these childish taunts."
"You are no fun."
"Speaking of fun," Irina grinned, eyes tracking as the young priest made his way through the thinning crowd. "I think I need to go confess."
"You're incorrigible," Carmen sighed as the woman quickly made her way through the church.
"We wish to say hello to a friend of ours from town, we'll catch up with you," Carlisle told Eleazar and Carmen as he watched Dolly Micheals start to walk down the aisle, her large family in tow.
"We'll meet you at the department store," Carmen said to Esme, a light squeeze of her shoulder as she left.
"Oh joy," Esme muttered to herself as the couple left.
They sat in silence as they waited for Dolly to finish her conversation. Carlisle caught fragments of the conversation, the child on her hip was named Abigail, she was her granddaughter, Dolly was prouder than a show pig. An analogy Carlisle didn't quite understand.
'When my strength faileth, forsake me not,'" Esme read quietly from the gold leaf on the eastern wall. "I don't recognize that one."
Carlisle glanced at the inscription in question. Gold leaf celestial motifs surrounding the quote, "'Cast me not off in the time of old age; forsake me not when my strength faileth.' Psalm 71:9," he explained. "Asaph reckons with his belief in God after doubts, concluding even if we doubt his methods we cannot doubt his existence."
"You're much better at that than he was. The preacher, not Asaph."
"You didn't enjoy the sermon?"
"Not a bit, but don't tell them that," Esme grinned.
"Our secret," Carlisle whispered just as Dolly came close enough to pass them. "Mrs. Micheals," Carlisle said in the best imitation of his father as Dolly passed their pew, standing to greet the woman. Esme followed suit, threading her arm around his, interlocking their fingers.
Dolly looked around comically before her eyes landed on them.
"Dr. Cullen!" She exclaimed. "You scared me half to death. You two are stalking me," she grinned, hand familiarly resting on Carlisle's forearm.
"We could say the same," Esme laughed lightly. The young man beside Dolly seemed to pay close attention to the pleasantries Esme said. Carlisle's gaze must have lingered on the stranger, who he assumed to be Dolly's son because soon she was introducing them.
"This is my son, Peter, and his daughter Abby. This is the brilliant Dr. Cullen."
"I can't take any credit, I simply do what Dolly says," Carlisle smiled politely as Peter offered a hand to shake.
"That's what makes you so brilliant," Dolly beamed.
"This is my wife, Anne," Carlisle said, struck once again by how good 'my wife' tasted.
"It's a pleasure," Esme smiled before Peter got entrapped in a conversation with a passing family member.
"You two better be next up here," Dolly grinned, fidgeting with her granddaughter's lace bonnet. "You'll have to fill that big old house of yours sooner rather than later."
Esme's grasp around his hand tightened, nails digging deep into his impenetrable flesh. He squeezed back lightly and she loosened her grip a tad. Her smile was pained, clearly biting her tongue.
"That's very kind of you," Esme said, in a tone that was nothing but pleasant but somehow maintained a note of finality. "You have a beautiful family, you should consider yourself quite lucky."
Dolly opened her mouth to speak once more but Esme interrupted her with a polite, "not all those who wish get their dream." And for the first time in the many months he knew her he watched Dolores Micheals' mouth close without an if and or but. She attempted to pass off the social faux pas and they quickly said their goodbyes.
Carlisle ushered them out of the cathedral, the summer breeze shockingly chill as it hit their cheeks. "I apologize for her, you would think as a healthcare provider she would know better than to ask."
Esme simply shook her head, her hand still entwined in his. "I had my first four years after I got married, I assure you I'm quite adjusted to the questions. She was fairly nice about it." She added, quietly, "have someone ask you three days after you just lost one, that'll sting."
He frowned a little at that statement, three days after she lost a child. That would be distressing. But that would have been when she awoke in a dilapidated Ashland apartment, he knew they hadn't asked her when she was going to have a child then they knew quite well she had only just lost one - Oh. A different loss. Another child?
"I had no idea, I am so-"
"Don't," she interrupted him, an absolutely monotone voice. "You can ask questions but I don't want your sympathies."
"When?" He asked quietly, for some reason he was curious. He assumed it was the same reason he wanted to know everything about her.
"Back in '17, before he left for the war. It was why he enlisted."
"How far were you?"
"I think four, five months." Not long enough for a name or a chance at survival. "I know it's horrendous of me but I can't remember it all very well." It was horrendous, and her lack of memory was his fault.
All he wanted was to apologize but instead he asked, "how?"
"The stairs." She shrugged, and she was done answering questions or he was done listening either way they fell silent. "I tripped," she muttered to herself, and he knew it was a lie but he had to wonder if it was her husband or her who invented it.
They walked down the sidewalk in silence, her hand was still clenching his and he had no real desire to break the embrace. In truth it was one of the only things keeping him from retreating into a mental sea of questions.
"Sometimes I forget you had a whole life before this. I knew of you for ten years. It feels like I should have known you for ten years," he said quietly as they rounded the corner.
"Tell me about it," she laughed, an airy laugh that had little humor behind it. "I cannot say I ever pictured us spending hours discussing the history of baseball or tracking minor league batting averages."
"We were friends?" Carlisle asked.
"Hm?"
"When you thought of me, were we friends? You thought of me as someone you'd like to spend time with?" They had discussed that first meeting before, he knew she remembered him for some unknown reason. She had never mentioned that she thought of him, the notion was oddly endearing.
"We were friends," she said after a moment of thought, directing her gaze anywhere but his face. "Perhaps it was foolish but I needed one," she said quietly.
"I'm honored I could be there," Carlisle said earnestly, leaning slightly into her arm as they walked. "Who do you fancy more? Real me or dream me?" He grinned, hoping she would relinquish the unexplainable bashfulness of her confession.
"Real you, without a doubt."
"What sort of things did you imagine?"
"I thought you would be a much bigger fan of storms for some reason. I suppose because I liked them when I was young I gave that to you."
"I know."
"You know?"
"You used to love thunderstorms because of the lighting, you climbed a tree that day to get a better look at the sky. You don't care for them anymore but you love the day after when the rain lets up and the clouds part and the sun peeks through. I believe you've described it as a glimpse of heaven." He glanced over to see her staring back at him, jaw slightly slack. "What?" He frowned. Had he said something wrong? It was clear as day she didn't like thunder but loved the sky. Was he not supposed to observe that?
"Nothing," she said, still in somewhat of a daze. "Nothing," she shook her head. He smiled politely, making a mental note to either ask Edward or never broach the subject again.
As they took another corner Carmen and Irina were gathered in front of a department store. The two women waved as they approached.
"I think we have to split now," Carlisle said quietly, stopping at the corner to give her a chance to catch her composure.
"Bye," she smiled, unlacing their arms and stepping away.
"Bye," he smiled back.
"You're not leaving," she laughed after they stood there for a few moments.
"You're not leaving," he laughed, taking a reluctant step backwards.
"I'll see you soon," she promised as he left her.
"I need to confess," Carlisle whispered amidst the rows and rows of used books. The bookstore was fairly appealing to two men who used to live in the world's largest library. Eleazar and Carlisle were approaching hour two amidst the dusty shelves and inked phrases, the rest of their company had grown bored long ago and were now scattered among the city.
"I'm not a priest."
"I love her, Eleazar," Carlisle blurted out. "Esme. I'm in love with Esme."
"No!" Eleazar gasped theatrically, pushing aside a row of books to peek at Carlisle through the shelf. "I would have never guessed! You and Esme? Say it isn't so. This is a complete shock. This is going to shake the nation. "
"Are you done?" Carlisle sighed, making his way into the cookbook aisle Eleazar was performing the play of a century in.
"Not yet. You and Esme? You've been so discreet. You love her? Are you sure? I couldn't tell you were even fond of her. It's not like you pay her any attention. You've been quite convincing. Love? "
"You think you're quite humorous, don't you?"
"You forget I know you like my own hand," Eleazar smiled, a reminder he had given Carlisle more than once over the years.
"I know. I know," Carlisle sighed, taking a seat on a library stool.
"Why her?" Eleazar asked as he thumbed through a guide on French cuisine.
"Why does the sun rise?" Carlisle huffed.
"No, I'm curious why after all these years, why her?"
"She makes me feel present. When I'm with her I feel like I'm there."
"I don't understand."
"For years, I've been surrounded by people who didn't know me. I was Dr. Cullen at work, I met patients, I worked with other doctors and that was it. I'd leave the hospital and it was like I ceased to exist. With the others of our kind I've met I've always been the weird guy who eats animals. We're friends, yes but I've never been understood. I've always been something. When I'm with her I feel like I'm Carlisle, and… I… she makes me feel like that's perfect. When I look at her I know she doesn't see me as a doctor, or a leader, or some preacher she sees me as Carlisle, and the thousands of iterations of me I could be."
"That sounds like love, my friend," Eleazar smiled, reaching for another French cookbook.
"I know I love her."
"I was not talking about you."
"No, Eleazar. I cannot let myself believe in such delusions."
"This again," he sighed. Foolishly Eleazar had hoped their 'discussion' in the woods with Tanya would knock a semblance of sense into his friend. "Why do you consider them delusions?"
"She is the most wonderful person I have ever met but even heaven has its limits."
"Why won't you allow yourself love?"
"I am. I love her. I admit it. I love her endlessly. I would scream it from the rooftops if I could. But I accept she could never love me. I come with too much damage, who could accept this?"
"Why do you think it's your choice?" Eleazar asked.
"It's hers."
"There are some decisions, some choices that are not left to us, my friend. I think a plan has been set into motion by a force much bigger than you. God is acting. Who are you to resist him?"
"This is not fate."
"You are a fool!"
"She has been through hell, I can not believe that was all destined so I would have some happy ending of my own. I refuse. I refuse to accept that as a possibility. I refuse to even think of that as God's plan. And if it is, he is no God that I want."
"Perhaps this wasn't his intention all along then. Perhaps this is a new plan. But it is a plan nonetheless," Eleazar shrugged as he made his way into the next aisle. "A plan you are a fool to doubt, and helpless to try to stop. But you know that."
"I feel ridiculous when I talk to him sometimes," Esme sighed, sifting through the pile of garments the sisters had gathered. She was unsure if she was more distressed over the fashion show or the constant questions about her foolish interest in her roommate. "What do I know about philosophy, medicine, and God? I know corn and pigs."
"He seems quite entertained by the corn and pigs," Carmen said from the other side of the wall. "You made him cackle in church."
Esme tied the waistband of the olive green dress Irina had chosen. She cracked the dressing room door open. It was a treat to be in the company of women for the first time in what seemed like a decade but the constant attention was a touch unsettling.
"There's no mirrors in there, but I feel foolish. It's quite tight."
"Where have you been hiding this?" Irina exclaimed, pivoting Esme toward the mirror at the end of the hall. "You have hips, and a waist!"
"It's the years of corsets," Esme sighed, smoothing the fabric at her stomach self consciously. "Only to have them go out of fashion the moment I die."
"So that's what the problem is," Irina muttered to herself.
"Who is that?" Kate whistled as she ducked into the dressing rooms, a few garments strewn over her arm.
"You're biased," Esme rolled her eyes.
"You don't like this?" Carmen asked objectively.
"No, it's fine. You all like it. It's fine."
"No," Irina laughed, slinging her arm around Esme's shoulder. "We're here for you. So you don't like this one, what do you like?"
"I…" No one had asked Esme that before, and if they had it had been years. Edward asked occasionally when he first started picking clothes up for her but eventually he started inputting his own tastes. Her mother had always been controlling of her wardrobe growing up, insisting on skirts that were utterly impractical for climbing trees. Even Charles had controlled her armoire, often buying garments in a size, or two, smaller than her current. 'Encouragement,' he called it.
"I don't know," Esme muttered.
"But not this," Carmen surmised. "That's a start."
"This is going to be so much fun," Irina grinned, lightly pushing Esme back into the dressing room.
Esme stepped out of the dressing room for the twentieth time. It was a nice ensemble but it was missing the dropped waist and loose cut that seemed to be the rage of the humans. "Won't this seem a little outdated?"
"Did you like what Kate's wearing?" Irina asked, futzing with the lay of the dress. Esme nodded.
"Does she look severely unfashionable?"
"Quite the opposite," Esme argued. "The dress is quite becoming."
"Got it off a dead woman in 1710," Kate smiled, peeking her head back into the changing area. "And it was used then."
"No one cares what you wear, it's how you wear it," Irina said.
"And when you like how you're wearing, we like it," Carmen added.
"I don't like this," Esme frowned at the fushia garment.
"Oh thank God," Irina laughed, pushing Esme back into the dressing room yet again.
"It's all about confidence," Kate coached from the other side of the wall. "You have to mean it."
Esme smiled to herself, before opening the door yet again, this time determined to get the foolish exercise right this time. She opened the door, shoulders high, ready to make a fool of herself with the script they'd give her.
"Esme, and you are?"
"Yes!" Carmen exclaimed.
"Marry me," Kate grinned.
"I saw her first," Irina argued.
"That's enough," Esme sighed, turning to look at the mirror. "Who is that?" She pointed at the woman staring back at her, wearing an evening gown fancier than anything she had ever owned but looking great doing it.
"Esme, and you are," Irina parroted back their practice pick up line with a smile.
"That's not me," Esme frowned at the reflection that she liked very much.
"That's you baby," Kate beamed as Esme examined herself.
"You're good at this," Esme finally admitted when she found no flaws with the outfit.
"We know," the three women said in unison.
They arranged for the packages to be shipped back to Prince Rupert. Esme hated the expense but rationalized it fulfilled her boys' gift quota for the rest of the year.
"You think Father Allyson would like this?" Irina asked, pointing at a lacey garment as they passed the intimates section.
"The man has taken a vow of chastity you know," Carmen laughed.
"Still a man."
"Priests take a vow of chastity?" Esme asked in a tone she prayed was casual. Did that rule apply to all religious officials? For example the son of an Anglican pastor from 1640, not that she had anyone in mind.
"Just ours, no need to fret," Carmen laughed.
Esme ignored the implication, instead focusing on Irina's interest. "And you're still interested in him? Why? He's taken vows. Even if he did break them it could never be anything."
"To me it wouldn't be anything, you're right. To him, however, I'd be the most important person he ever met. The one who took him from his one true purpose. That's the fun in men like that, priests, doctors, sailors. They will always believe they love something more than they love you, they only realize their mistakes when it's too late. When they're already dead." Irina described this all with a haunting nonchalance, she was talking about murder with the tone of a town gossip.
"You use them?"
"The same as they use me," Irina shrugged.
"You make them violate their ethics and then kill them. They sleep with you, there seems to be a difference," Esme noted.
"I have never made a man do anything he was not dying to. Some of them simply need to be shown what they want."
"That's horrible," Esme said to herself. "I can't ever imagine attempting to wield that much power."
"That's the difference between us. I don't attempt. It would be worlds easier for you if you would just try to embrace what you are."
"You mean kill an unassuming human in bed? To play God for my own pleasure?"
"You've never wanted to feel like God?"
"No."
"You should, it's quite fun. It'd probably help you relax a bit too, you're so uptight," Irina laughed as if it was the most casual suggestion in the world.
Esme bit back her refutation but before she knew it they were standing in front of a group of men who had stopped them on the street, objectively attractive, and seemingly interested in every word Esme said despite not saying anything of interest.
There was one in particular She knew the look in his eye was not devotion as Irina believed, she had seen it time and time and time again, she had sobbed under that look too many times to count. As expected he made a clumsy pass about catching a drink together. She refused as politely as she could but he persisted.
"You're quite kind but I'm married," she half-lied, pulling her hand from the man's sweaty touch.
"He doesn't have to know," he said quietly.
"Yes, he would," she stammered. He finally accepted the refusal and left them as his friend attempted to make a dinner reservation with Kate, who only laughed him off.
"Married?" Kate asked when the men were out of ear shot. "Don't tell me you still consider yourself in debt to him."
"Oh no, no, I consider that dissolved. But technically I am married, or at least as far as humans are concerned."
"To whom may I ask?" Carmen asked, still unaware of the Charles debacle.
"Carlisle," Esme shrugged. They were still in public and if they had seen Dolly in church they could run into other acquaintances who believed the Cullens to be a happily married couple.
"Carlisle!" Kate sputtered.
"Our Carlisle?" Carmen asked.
"Carlisle, Carlisle?"
"We pretend…" Esme sighed, beginning to explain the elaborate ruse.
It was late in the evening by the time the group of eight rejoined on the sand of the beach. A beach tucked away from the sleeping human town, shielded by shadows and boulders. The girls had bought swimming costumes and were eager to force Esme into trying seafood. They had changed into the ridiculous human garments in the privacy of the forest before finding the small alcove, and boy were they ridiculous garments. Edward and Eleazar were good sports about their tight striped knit tubes, shorts that were bordering on indecent. Luckily Carlisle had been gifted a pair that went down to just above his knees, he had insisted on wearing an overshirt over the garment though. The girls had donned a range of similar knit tubes, some with impractical belts, Carmen was wearing knee socks for some reason. It was truly ridiculous how fashion had changed over the years, although Esme's wasn't entirely ridiculous.
"I consider us good friends!" Kate exclaimed as she zapped Carlisle's arm.
"I did too until you started hitting me."
"I like weddings. I would have liked to be invited to the one of my closest friends," she said, slapping the spot she had just electrocuted.
"What's this about?" Tanya frowned.
"Carlisle and Esme are married!" Kate exclaimed.
"Oh that," Carlisle sighed.
"You're what now?" Eleazar stammered.
"Married?" Tanya frowned.
"Married," Carmen smiled as if it was the most unbelievable concept.
"Not truly. We pretend to be for appearances. " Esme explained, tying her hair into a quick braid.
"How do you pass off Edward?" Tanya asked.
"He's Esme's brother," Carlisle said.
"Why aren't you Esme's brother?" Tanya asked.
"Uhm…" Esme and Carlisle glanced at each other.
"The height difference," Carlisle said with false confidence. "I'm taller than her."
"You and Edward are the same height," Eleazar pointed out.
"Uhm," Carlisle hummed.
"Two eligible attractive people would bring more attention than it's worth so we married them off, that's all," Edward shrugged,
"How'd this come up?" Carlisle asked Esme quietly.
"A man offered to take her home and she said she was married," Kate laughed as she shed her coverup and headed for the waves.
"I figured since we're not that far away from home you want me to stick to our story," Esme explained as the others split off.
"I appreciate you sticking to the story," he smiled. "I apologize you had to miss a date on my behalf," he lied.
"Don't be."
"Esme, let's go!" Carmen beckoned from the waves.
Carlisle watched as the two disappeared into the surf. He almost jumped when Irina and Kate appeared suddenly on either side of him.
"Doesn't Esme look nice?" Irina asked quietly.
"She always does, yes," Carlisle smiled. "She appears to have had fun, you two did a swell job. I thank you for doing this for her."
"Not just for her, we figured you'd appreciate something a little more… form fitting," Kate grinned.
"Why would I appreciate that?" He frowned. What on earth were they implying? "Why would I care how form fitting a garment is? I don't… Why'd you assume I would care? I've never looked at that. They're her clothes, I don't pay them any mind."
"I like this look much better. Shows off her chest."
"Don't forget the hips," Irina added.
"Her hips. Her waist. Her chest truly looks great," Kate grinned. "Don't you think your wife looks nice, Carlisle?"
"No. I mean yes, but no. She's not my wife. I don't know, I've never looked. Does she have a chest? I never paid it any attention. Not that I ever looked to even start to consider it or not consider it, I've never paid any mind to her body or what it may or may not look like," Carlisle babbled. "Why am I having this conversation with you two? I am highly uncomfortable with this conversation. I'm going to leave this conversation now." He practically ran away from the conversation, shooting awkward glances back at the two women who were now collapsed on each other in laughter.
He found a spot along the rocky sand and watched as the waves crashed, the tide slowly rising. Eleazar and Carmen had disappeared into the expansive sea,
Esme was scavenging the shore break for natural treasures, the moonlight subtly reflecting off her skin. An oddly enchanting glow.
She truly did look nice. Of course, he was desperately attempting to not pay any mind to the fact the knit garment was showcasing curves he didn't realize a body could have, and more importantly curves he apparently appreciated a body having. God, she looked great. Again, a fact he needed to stop thinking about.
"I'd appreciate that," Edward grumbled as he collapsed next to Carlisle
'My apologies.'
Edward gave a quick nod and the two watched the shoreline where Esme crouched along the waveline, sifting through the sand for shells. She picked one up and immediately dropped it, a wince on her face as she inspected her finger.
"A little sand crab can't hurt you," Edward bellowed. She looked up from the offending crab and scrunched her nose at Edward, quickly returning to her shell search.
Carlisle smiled at the scene, the domesticity of their dynamic was overwhelming at times, the contentment, the joy. How easy Edward and Esme got along, how easy he, himself, got along with Esme. How utterly whole she made their group.
"You know the reason," Edward muttered under his breath, low enough no one but Carlisle would hear.
"What?"
"You know the reason she treats us differently. It's the same reason you treat us differently," Edward whispered as Esme skipped back to them.
Carlisle hadn't even realized he was thinking about that precise element of their dynamic. The same reason you treat us differently? Why did he treat them differently? How did he treat them differently? He considered Edward a son in many ways. A student. His charge. His friend. He damned him for eternity he was responsible for him until the end of time. But he damned Esme too? She wasn't his daughter. She was rarely his student. How did he think of her? As a partner. A love. A wife. That's why he treated them differently.
Wait.
"Look!" Esme said as she collapsed to her knees in front of Carlisle, holding out her hand so he could see the collection of shells in her hand. "Aren't they wonderful?" She breathed, picking up a tiny spotted shell to show him closer. She looked up at him with awe in her wide golden eyes and for a second he felt the awe was for more than just the shell.
The same reason you treat us differently. The same reason you treat us differently. The same reason you treat us differently. She couldn't? Right? The same reason.
'Edward!' Carlisle mentally screamed. 'Edward! Tell me I'm wrong. You have to tell me I'm wrong. You're not telling me I'm wrong. You'd tell me if I was wrong, right?'
Edward gave a discreet nod as Esme prattled on about her shells.
The same reason…
"I'm going to go sit on the bottom of the floor for a while," Edward said suddenly.
"Have fun," Esme grinned as Edward quickly disappeared into the water, leaving only Carlisle and Esme on the beach.
"I wish I could live here," Esme sighed, running her fingers through the pebbly sand.
"Vancouver?" Carlisle frowned, they could move. It would take a few logistics and he didn't see what made it any grander than their current town but if she wished they could move.
"The sea," Esme laughed. "I only wish I could see it in the sun."
He was still desperately trying to figure out the logistics behind that dream. He glanced over at her not to find the typical sea induced awe on her face but instead a slight frown.
"Penny for your thoughts," he offered, handing over a small pebble.
She smiled and accepted the trinket. "I'm thinking, Irina and I had a little disagreement. I asked why she insisted on sleeping with men she shouldn't and she made a snide suggestion that if I tried it all my problems would be solved. That I'd be less stressed. Which there are so many problems with. First, I can barely stand to be in a room with a human let alone do that. Although I suppose I could settle for someone like us. Where would I even find one?" Esme laughed bitterly, as if the whole idea was preposterous.
"I suppose I could sleep with you?" She laughed, turning to face him, brow raised as if she was sincerely asking.
Did she truly just say that? Was she offering? Yes, she said it, she offered. It made sense he was a single immortal man but what if she didn't mean it? What if he responded too enthusiastically and she had made the proposition in jest? But what if he responded humorously and damaged the prospects?
"If you think it'd help," Carlisle stammered in a voice two and a half octaves higher than his own.
"You're the worst," Esme laughed with a friendly slap of the arm. Carlisle simply smiled, his hand hovering over where her's had just been. The faintest warmth lingered.
"Is that a no?"
"I don't ever see myself opening up to that again to be honest," she said quietly, in a tone that bordered defeat. She suddenly frowned at herself, sitting up straight, "this is so impolite of me, I apologize. I'm not supposed to talk to you about this."
"You can talk to me about anything," he assured her. "For what it's worth I can't imagine a single man who would stand a chance against you. It's much kinder to keep their hearts intact." He wished she would have given the same courtesy.
"Do you want to swim?" She asked, ignoring the compliment as always.
"I'd love to," he grinned as she quickly pulled him down the beach.
He followed her lead, watching cautiously as she swam out to where the water reached her neck, her legs treading water as if she didn't realize she couldn't be harmed by slipping under. Her hair was weighed down by the water but the curls were activated by the salt water so damp little waves fell onto her forehead. Her eyes, a soft gold accentuated by the dark caramel. She wasn't paying him an ounce of attention, instead hyper focused on the world on the ocean floor. That was fine, he preferred observing.
"Ah!" Esme shrieked, her arms latching around Carlisle's neck.
"What?" He asked, his hands instinctively catching her by the underside of her thighs. The bare underside of her thighs. Her legs wrapped around his waist as she held onto him tighter. She leaned back slightly, to examine the water, but still their chests were only inches apart.
"Something touched my foot." She said, glaring down at the water. "I think it was a whale. Like Moby Dick."
He laughed at the irrational fear, he knew she wouldn't like that book. "I'm fairly confident sperm whales don't live in this shallow of water."
"Yes they do," she nodded adamantly. He laughed as her grip around his neck got tighter.
"Look it was a tiny piece of kelp," Carlisle pointed to the suspect in the water with his free hand, one arm still holding Esme against him. "It can't hurt you."
She watched the piece of kelp float through the glassy water with such a sense of awe he grieved, not for the first time, he would never truly see the world through her eyes. To see the world as an artist, not a methodical scientist always looking for the next logical explanation. To see a thousand reasons to relish living in shades of vermillion and chartreuse. To see the beauty in even the unlovable. It was no wonder he fell for her, the puzzling part was how to get back up.
She turned back to look at him with the slightest furrow of her brow. She brushed the wet hair off his forehead, the faintest of touch lingering on his temple. "Carlisle."
"Yes, Esme?" He asked when she didn't continue.
She paused before she spoke. He could tell by the way she slightly bit her cheek she was calculating every word before she spoke, always terrified of a misstep. Didn't she know that no matter what she said he was grateful she wasted breath on him? Was it not obvious?
"Do you ever feel as if somehow… in this huge world someone might…" she trailed off, her hand had moved down his face and was now cradling his jaw. When he met her eyes she tore her hand back to her body, her legs untwined themselves from around him. He physically felt grief as she left the closest embrace they'd ever had, an irrational grief he reminded himself. Her feet still unable to comfortably reach the sandy bottom, his hand under her elbow, the only thing keeping her majorly afloat. An embrace that still felt entirely too intimate but one he would kill to stay in forever.
"Might what, Esme?" He asked, his free hand lifted her chin so she'd look at him once more.
"Might value you?" She frowned at the very idea, as if expressing this thought was horrifying. "That you might just matter to someone?"
"You matter to me." If only she knew how much. If only he was brave enough. If only he was half the man he needed to be. She'd know. She'd never question. She'd always know. She mattered in a way no one had mattered before. She had changed a man who was supposed to be frozen. She made him believe there had never been an adoration so true.
"That's not what I meant. I mean in a revolutionary way, that one day someone might think of you without prompting, that you might matter to someone, truly matter. I know that's probably foolish, especially after everything. My parents didn't like me. My husband didn't like me. I was a nuisance to them. But I hear these stories, like the one today, and I still hold that hope for some reason that one day something might change. Maybe I'll change. Maybe I'll get something right and I'll finally matter. Do you ever feel like that?"
"You matter to me," he repeated with utter sincerity.
"I don't think you understand my question." She shook her head with a sad smile, frowning at her own question but looking at him with nothing but kindness. Did she not realize how painful it was when she looked at him like that? A look that he knew she didn't ever give another soul. Admiration, reverence, devotion swimming in her irises, a look of appreciation worthy of someone who hung the stars every night, not him. Did she not realize how painful it was to watch her look at him like that, and treat herself with nothing but disdain?
"I understand perfectly, and my answer stands."
"You speak carelessly," she sighed, pulling softly away from the embrace, he didn't let her go.
"Esme, the good you see in the world, the beauty in every corner of this great gift from God as you call it, you're it. I know life has given you many arguments to prove otherwise but I have never doubted, for a second, that you are one of the best things on this planet. You matter to me more than I will ever be able to say and the fact you doubt that for a single second is one of my greatest failures."
"You can't possibly mean what I think you do," she muttered, so quiet it was almost drowned out by the calm waves.
"I do," he confessed. It was the closest he would ever get. It was closer than he ever told himself he would get. If he had to bare his soul so she would understand just how monumental she was, if he had to make himself a fool, he would. He would a thousand times over, knowing full and well he could never take back the affections once they met the salty air. "You know my mind better than I do most days, it seems better than Edward, and he can read it. Whatever you are imagining I'm meaning, I am. I can't say it any plainer, Esme."
"That's foolish."
"I don't consider myself a fool."
She finally met his gaze. "You're making me imagine your meaning."
"I think you know precisely what I mean."
There is a concept often discussed by romantics that Carlisle never quite understood until that moment. Somehow, when two people, who mean an awful lot to each other, look at the other as they have a million times before in an instant that meaningless gesture can mean everything. History flips back thousands of years and suddenly you're in the Garden of Eden, the only two people on the planet and nothing else matters and in the middle of one of the grandest oceans there he was. Not a single other soul had ever walked the earth. It was a dangerous thing the way her hands had come to hold his jaw, delicately, cold fingers timidly running over marble skin. Her eyes were fixed on his, intently, filled with an emotion he couldn't quite place but saw from the reflection in her irises it was the exact same in his own. Her chest was heaving slightly, breathing ever so altered, rise fall rise fall, against his own, as if their unbeating hearts were one of a whole. He convinced himself she pulled him by the jaw closer to her, or perhaps he pushed but it didn't matter at that moment because her head was tilting slowly and his was mirroring it out of instinct, one he never knew he possessed, his eyes slipped close, his neck went slack as she tilted his head for him. Her breath was warm, less than an inch from his face, like a bask of sun he hadn't felt in centuries. It was terrifying and the most natural thing in the world. Her breath got closer, and closer, and he didn't realize there was so much room between them until there was no room between them and the space was growing smaller -