Disclaimer: All rights belong to Stephanie Meyer.
Note: This is an A/U where 1) Esme Cullen was killed by the Volturi and 2) Jacob Black and Leah Clearwater married. Also, since it's the next generation, there are a lot of OC characters.
Carlisle Cullen's POV
Losing Esme had been a shock. I still couldn't believe it. With the incident involving Renesmee, I realized, with much sadness, how deeply afraid of us Aro was and how badly Marcus and Caius wanted us dead. When they saw so many nomads banding together, in a way that they had never been able to do, they marked me as a threat. I was no longer the young vampire living in Volterra to learn from them. In the Volturi's eyes, I had grown to be the head of my "coven". But I wasn't. I never had been. I was the father of a family and so, it had hurt that much more when my wife was ripped away from me.
After Esme's passing, my family and I traveled to South America to spend time with Huilen and Nahuel. Most importantly, I hoped that Nahuel could teach our family about Renesmee. But I also hoped that the new terrain of South America would distract my family from their pain. I knew, however, that I could not be distracted from mine. I did not want to be a further burden to my children, so I asked them for permission to travel for a hundred years or so. They granted it to me instantly, with a flurry of kisses and hugs.
So I traveled to wherever my feet took me. I wandered for many years, but I eventually ended up back in London. I had actively avoided this city for centuries. In my mind's eye, I heard the cries and shrieks of dying innocents, both on the human and vampire side, as the Churches led hunts against supernatural creatures. The irony of my once being the son of an Anglican pastor who hunted vampires with a vengeance hit me hard as I stood in the now modernized streets of London. But being in this city again reminded me that I had, indeed, once lived a life without Esme: a lonely life, but a long one.
I turned again to what I had occupied myself with before then: medicine. I applied and interviewed for a position as a doctor at a hospital. When the director looked at my records and asked me to head a new program on cancer treatment development, I agreed immediately. I hoped the treatment would make a breakthrough. But inside, I wondered how many lives I would have to save before I could even begin to forgive myself for losing hold of Esme's.
Annabelle's POV
Officially, it should say "Taylor" up there, next to Annabelle. But in all honesty, I don't know my last name. I guess I never had a real one, just one assigned to me by the orphanage.
I grew up all my life in an orphanage. I was one of the lucky ones because I was able to go to school. I loved school. It made me feel normal. I was especially enraptured with science and medicine. It seemed so fascinating to me that our bodies required the same attention as our minds. Other people thought that mental states of distraught were profound, but that sick bodies were disgusting. But to me, the fact that sick bodies can get better if they're treated was evidence that love was real. Or, in the absence of love, care, maximized by knowledge, could substitute. That's what doctors and nurses do - they heal people by giving care and attention to those who have struggled on their own for too long.
My dream was to become a doctor, so when the time came, I applied to a number of colleges and I also applied for every scholarship known to mankind, literally. I had finally put together enough money to go, albeit with a loan, when I fell sick myself. At age eighteen, I was diagnosed with lung cancer. But the doctors managed to catch it in the early stages, so "there was hope." They told me that I needed to keep an eye on it, but that it was impossible to make a serious diagnosis at this stage. I refused chemotherapy because I knew that financially, I would have to forfeit college to undergo the treatment.
Four years later, in the middle of my attempt to attend medical school, I became seriously sick. The cancer in my lungs had spread, and quickly. This time, the doctors pushed me to undergo chemotherapy. But I had no money left. It had all been spent on tuition. Then, one of the doctors told me that I could sign up to be a test patient. There were many hospitals that were conducting trials for new possible cancer treatments. They accepted patients for free, although it could be very competitive to get a spot at the hospital. And of course, the flip side was that there was no guarantee that I could get better. But with cancer, that guarantee was always highly uncertain. So I agreed. I sent letters to all the hospitals my doctor recommended. I was accepted at a small hospital in London.
"Hello, my name is Dr. Cullen. I am the doctor in charge of your treatment."
A young man, blonde and tall, and extremely pale, stood in front of me, holding a doctor's coat and clipboard. He was probably good-looking by anyone's standards, but there was something slightly unnerving about him. Perhaps it was his eyes. They were a peculiar color and they were so...
"Ms. Taylor?"
I grimaced slightly. I never could get used to that name.
I nodded and said, "Hello, Dr. Cullen. Thank you for doing this."
"Not at all," he said graciously.
He asked me to take a seat and I did. Then, he began to describe the treatments I would undergo.
I stopped him by saying, "You know you can do whatever you want to with me. I'm a test patient. I'm just lucky to be here. I'm certainly not in a position to refuse."
Dr. Cullen paused and looked up at me. "Won't it ease your mind to understand the process?" he asked me.
"I think I understood the gist when I read the research papers," I replied. "I mean, I wouldn't mind you explaining the science driving it all. That would be interesting. But, what I mean to say is- you don't have to read out disclaimers and all that. I already signed away most of my rights in the legal and financial forms."
Dr. Cullen replied, "Well, between you and me, we can still institute all of the usual patient rights. Perhaps you sit here due to financial reasons, but I don't. I'm here to help you, if I can."
I blinked as the warmth of his words washed over me. Then, I smiled.
"Thanks, doc," I said.
He chuckled slightly. "Now, from what I hear, we should proceed with stage one as soon as we can, to ensure the cancer cells stop multiplying…"
Once the treatment was underway, I felt better and worse at the same time. My body felt like it had more energy, but I also felt nauseous and restless. During the course of the actual treatment itself, I often had to lie still for hours as I received the test therapy. Then, I had to lie still even longer as Dr. Cullen examined the results.
When my treatment had finally ended up for the day, I tried to distract myself from the nausea and restlessness by reading. I'd brought my medical textbooks with me, in some vain hope that I would make it through this and find a way to scrape together enough money to attend medical school after this.
There was a knock on the door. I put the book down on my bedside table as Dr. Cullen walked in.
"How are you feeling?" he asked me as he pulled up the chair besides me.
"Fine," I replied.
"A little restless?" he asked.
"I'm all right," I said. "How are you feeling, doctor?"
"I'm fine, thank you," he said politely. While he waited for the thermometer to take my temperature, his eyes flickered over to the book on my bedside table.
"You're interested in medicine?" he asked.
"Yes, I wanted to go to medical school before… this happened," I explained.
"Well, you may still be able to go to medical school," Dr. Cullen said kindly. "More patients survive cancer nowadays than ever before, even with an initially grim diagnosis."
"I think I'm going to survive, too," I admitted. "Why else would I be reading medical books instead of… I don't know, religious texts?"
Dr. Cullen smiled as he checked my pulse. "I'm glad you think that way," he replied.
"You must have known you wanted to be a doctor from very early on," I guessed. "How else could you be so successful at such a young age?"
"No," Dr. Cullen replied. "I thought I was going to be a pastor when I was young. It took a while for me to find my calling in medicine and even longer to train for it."
So, Dr. Cullen had gone the other way. He had started with religion and ended with medicine. Why? I couldn't ask such a personal question, but I watched him as he scribbled down numbers on his clipboard with perfect handwriting. He spoke like he was much older than he looked. I wanted to ask him how old he was, but I refrained. It wasn't very polite.
Instead, I said, "I think you missed the part of your training where your handwriting turns illegible."
Dr. Cullen's eyes crinkled in a small smile, but he didn't say anything. We were both silent until he finished the tests.
"You can go home now," he told me. "Just keep me updated on how you're feeling."
"Here," he said, handing me a glossy piece of paper. "That has all the numbers of the hospital staff, including mine. If you need anything, call the front desk or if it's after hours, the emergency room."
I nodded. "Thank you," I said, as I neatly folded the paper and inserted it between the pages of my book.
"Have a good night, doctor," I said as I left the room.
The hospital was paying for my apartment just a block away. They said it was cheaper than staying at the hospital, where beds were scarce. They also said that it would help me maintain a normal life for as long as I could. I wasn't entirely sure what they meant by "normal," but I'd just gratefully nodded my head. Like I said, I wasn't exactly in a position to refuse.
It was the day of my next appointment. I waited outside Dr. Cullen's office.
When the door opened, I heard a woman sobbing. She was hugging a small girl in her arms, embracing her quite tightly. A man stepped out after them. "Thank you, Dr. Cullen," he said heavily.
"I'm sorry," Dr. Cullen said sorrowfully. "I wish I had been able to give you better news."
"No," the man responded. "In all honesty, we expected this. Free cancer treatment is a very difficult thing to secure. We knew that all along."
The family turned away and left. I couldn't stop staring after the little girl.
"Ms. Taylor?" Dr. Cullen called my name. "Please, come inside."
I did, shutting the door behind me. I sat down in the patient's chair.
Dr. Cullen sighed as he pulled his chair up next to me.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly.
Dr. Cullen acknowledged my words. "It's always difficult. It never gets easier, especially for the young ones."
"The young ones with families," I corrected gently.
Dr. Cullen's eyes flashed up to mine for a brief second, but I was looking down, watching him take my blood pressure.
"Were you an orphan?" Dr. Cullen asked.
"Yep, all the way up to eighteen," I said, smiling. "Nobody wanted me as a kid. They said I had an unnerving maturity." I threw back my head and laughed. "First impressions are wrong. I'm as immature as they come."
The corner of Dr. Cullen's mouth pulled up. He had such a nuanced smile.
"What do most people think of you at first impression, doctor?" I asked him.
"Hm…" the doctor mused. "Well, what do I appear to be?" he inquired. His voice was light. He sounded slightly amused.
"I think you have an unnerving maturity," I said, only half joking. I studied his face carefully, but nothing in his expression changed.
"You're also such an accomplished doctor," I said, and the wistfulness in my voice was impossible to miss. "You've saved so many people. The nurse told me. Your records… they're almost perfect."
Dr. Cullen kept his eyes down, but he replied, "I love the work that I do. I'm very grateful to have been given the opportunity to study and practice medicine. But it wasn't always smooth sailing. I have also had my fair share of… difficulties."
"But," he said, standing up and carefully noting down my numbers. "As for saving lives… Well, on that count, I hope I am what I appear to be."
We continued with the treatment. Dr. Cullen told me that I would have to lie still for eleven hours this time.
"Can I hold up a book?" I asked him. He shook his head.
So, I opted to sleep. If there's one defining trait about me, it's that I love sleep. Well, more accurately, I love to dream. I think I developed this fanciful imagination growing up as a child without toys and with playmates who were competitive rather than playful. As the years passed and I sank more and more time into dreams - both daydreams and night dreams, I independently became a lucid dreamer. That means that I'm aware that I'm dreaming and I can control and explore my own dreams. It was, and is, the most wonderful escape from reality.
There's something I want to make clear to you, reader. I love my life- so long as I remain absorbed in it. I knew my pathway growing up. I had no background, no identity that was mine, let alone money or connections or anything that might be considered a shortcut to succeed. I wasn't deterred by this at all, though, nor did I particularly mourn it. I simply realized I would have to front load my life: focus really hard for the first thirty or forty years of my life to get to a place here I could relax. But plenty of people - in fact, most everyone - live this way. I was more than willing to do this. I was happy to.
But spending my days lying perfectly still in a hospital bed, I realized how much I had been relying on my future to live a fulfilling life. I was willing to do the work, but I had hoped that I would not come up empty-handed. Suddenly, I looked back on my life without grasping at some mystical future for meaning and I saw my life as it was: a life spent looking through windows- the windows of the orphanage or the windows that books and dreams offer. I had never lived. Windows, not wings, was the misbegotten mantra of my half-lived life.
I thought that I was being smart about my life, that I thought that way because I was so determined not to lose the one golden opportunity given to my life through education- but now that it had fallen through, it was hard to justify the way I had chosen to spend my life. I had been so driven because I had taken for granted the existence of tomorrow. That was wrong. I should have lived for today.
In dreams, I was free from all notion of time. I had found a space of eternity in the depths of my mind.
A clatter of a clipboard meeting the ground woke me up. I opened my eyes to see a blushing nurse hurriedly picking up the clipboard and handing it to Dr. Cullen.
The nurse hastily left the room. I blinked slowly, rising from my world of dreams.
"Doctor, you need to stop distracting the nurses," I said accusingly.
He smiled as he walked over to me. His left hand, which was holding the clipboard, had a ring on the fourth finger.
"After all, you're married," I pointed out.
"Widowed, actually," he said. His voice was as calm as ever, but he said it so quietly and with such gravity.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," I said, horrified at my mistake.
"Don't be," he replied graciously. "You couldn't have known."
How could I, of all people, assume that he had a family?
But before I could further my apology, Dr. Cullen said to me, "I came to prescribe you some sleeping aid, but it seems you don't need it."
"No," I agreed. "I think I'll be all right without medication."
"Do you usually sleep well or is the treatment making you more tired than normal?" Dr. Cullen probed.
"I've always liked sleeping," I said honestly, realizing how childish the words sounded only when they had already left my mouth.
Dr. Cullen smiled slightly.
I tried to explain. "I'm capable of lucid dreaming, I think."
"What is that like?" Dr. Cullen asked.
"Oh, it's wonderful," I told him. "You can run on the horizon in the sky or swim in a sea of silver-flame stars. In more familiar dreams, you can find a quiet garden and just sit and let the sun warm your face."
"That sounds phenomenal," Dr. Cullen replied, smiling gently. "I can see why you like to sleep."
"Do you get enough sleep?" I asked him. "I hear you take graveyard shifts in the emergency room often."
Dr. Cullen sighed a little. "Did Nurse Evelyn tell you that as well?"
I laughed at his expense. "Nurse Evelyn never stops talking about you," I teased the doctor. But not wanting to embarrass Nurse Evelyn, I was quick to say, "But she's wonderful. I think she just does it to make me laugh, honestly."
"Does her talking about me make you laugh?"
"Oh yes," I admitted without any shame. "It's absolutely Nurse Evelyn at her best."
Dr. Cullen gave an odd expression, like a grimace tripped up in a smile.
I burst out laughing.
I felt myself growing weaker as the days went on. Dr. Cullen warned me that phase two of the treatment would make me feel fatigued. The hospital offered me a room to sleep in when treatments and examinations ran too long, but I tried not to stay overnight there. The bareness of the room made me feel like I was back in the orphanage.
About a month into my treatment, Dr. Cullen surprised me. He held something out to me. I put down my medical school entrance exams study guide and took it.
"What is this?" I asked.
"A book," he replied straightforwardly.
I thumbed through the book. It was incredibly advanced biochemistry. I loved this stuff.
"Yours?" I asked, still scanning the pages.
"Yours," he answered.
I looked up at him, surprised.
"Something all doctors should know," Dr. Cullen said with a gentle smile.
Almost unconsciously, I found myself responding to that gentle smile with my own.
The next time I went in for an appointment, I found all the ladies at the hospital abuzz, from the receptionists to the nurses to the doctors. The male staff all looked thoroughly annoyed.
"What's going on?" I asked Nurse Evelyn.
"It's Dr. Cullen's birthday," she informed me.
"Oh." I frowned. I hadn't known. I didn't want to add to the unnecessary attention he was getting, but he was my doctor and I did want to thank him. I was never going to be able to pay him back, so this was my opportunity to show my gratitude. The only problem was that I couldn't exactly go out and buy him something nice...
"Ms. Taylor. May I ask what you're doing?"
I whipped up and around at the sound of his voice.
I'd been leaning over the flower bed at the hospital, trying to pick one that most closely resembled a "thank you". I'd gone around the block and picked a few flowers. I hadn't picked very many. It made me sad that flowers died when picked. Evelyn had told me that he had the graveyard shift and was coming in late tonight, so I decided I had time to pick a few flowers and leave a note before I left.
He'd arrived earlier than expected.
"Well..." Caught off guard, I told him the truth, "I couldn't really afford to buy you a real present, so I stole flowers off of several different properties…"
"Um…" I felt a blush rise in my face as I realized I'd admitted that I was broke and a thief all in one go.
But Dr. Cullen laughed. "You didn't have to go through all that trouble," he said.
"You don't want these," I told him honestly. "They have some real presents for you inside."
"I prefer the simple things," he said, and scooped up the flowers from me. "I appreciate the thought. Thank you."
Wait, I thought, as he entered the hospital. That's my line. Thank you.
But he was already gone.
As my treatment continued, I continued to study for medical school and tried to finish out my semester at school through online communications. But I was distracted.
If this was really going to be the last of my time in this world, then I was going to leave this life without ever having a meaningful relationship: no parents, no partners, and no best friends. I'd never even been held, except maybe the occasional hug from a friend. But I wondered what intimacy felt like. No, I told myself sternly. You're not going to inflict pain on yourself or anyone else. I won't get too close with anyone and I won't tell anybody that I'm ill. I didn't realize the irony of this self-promise at the time. I wasn't aware that I'd already broken both promises to myself before I'd even made them.