Hey, everyone! Thanks for clicking on my fanfic!

As the summary and story tags indicate, this is a Carlise/Bella romance where Bella is older. This being an Alternate Universe scenario, you'll find that many details have been changed. Like the coven's history, for instance, and the ages of the characters (everyone is a bit older in this).

I don't know how many chapters this story will have, but I'm in it for the long haul. So far, I've been pretty consistent with my progress. The story should be updated on a regular basis.

Now for those who cannot stomach the idea of a romance between Dr. Cullen and an older Bella, this story probably isn't for you.

For everyone else, welcome! I hope you'll enjoy the journey.

CygnusRift

Warning: Rated M for language, adult situations, and eventual lemons.

CHAPTER 1

THE CHIEF'S DAUGHTER

Forks, Washington. September 20th, 2017

"I'm gonna sue your ass, you hear me?" The male voice reverberated throughout the corridor, loud enough to reach half the humans on the ground floor. "I'm gonna sue your entire department!"

It was just past eleven thirty, on a Wednesday evening. One of those rare slow nights in the ER. A slow night up until now.

His footfalls echoing against the linoleum, Dr. Carlisle Cullen pushed through the double doors and entered the emergency room where a nurse promptly handed over the newest patient's chart. For the moment, the man in question, thirty-nine year old Jeff Harris, was the only patient in the fast track treatment area.

One of our regulars, Carlisle thought as he swept by the privacy curtain.

A life-long resident of Forks, Mr. Harris was known for brawling in bars and beating his girlfriends. As a result, he was well known to both the staff here at Forks General, and the police officers who were often called to pick him up.

At present, the brown-haired man was sitting on the partially reclined exam table, his legs stretched out before him. One of his boots was on the ground, a sock lying next to it. As was often the case whenever he landed in the ER, his wrists were banded in shiny handcuffs.

"Mr. Harris," Carlisle began as he leafed through the chart. "What seems to be the problem this evening?"

"I'll tell you what the problem is," the man seethed, the tendons of his neck straining as he bugged his eyes at his arresting officers. "Police brutality, that's what! These motherfuckers busted my ankle!"

"You should have thought about that before resisting arrest and assaulting an officer," the younger of the two countered—a sandy-haired fellow Carlisle had never seen before. The name badge on his jacket revealed part of his name. S. Reed. "Accidents happen during takedowns," he told the offender.

"Accident my ass!"

Officer Reed opened his mouth to bite back, but his partner, Charlie Swan, spoke first. "Don't waste your breath, Sean. He can threaten all he wants, he's not gonna get anywhere. His arrest is on the dashcam."

The patient's focus shot to the chief. "You know what? Fuck you!"

"Hey!" Charlie warned the future inmate, having had his fill of the man's vitriolic barbs.

An acquaintance of Carlisle, Charlie Swan was the Chief of Police here in town, a position he had occupied for a number of years now, long before Carlisle had moved—or returned rather—to the Olympic Peninsula, less than a year ago.

During that time, the two had crossed paths on a number of occasions, namely when their respective careers intersected. Although Carlisle could not permit himself to form close friendships with the human residents of this community, he rather liked the police chief. Charlie was a good man, taciturn but fair in how he treated people.

That said, the man's patience had limits. "That's enough," Charlie told Mr. Harris when this one continued to curse under his breath. "You want your ankle fixed? Let the doc do his job."

Rounding the exam table, Carlisle nodded to the police chief. "Charlie."

"Dr. Cullen," he replied without looking away from the irate man.

Approaching his mid-fifties, Charlie sported a salt and pepper mustache. Doubtless due to the roughness of his most recent arrest, his hair was mostly disheveled. Lips pursed in annoyance, he held his patience in check by crossing his arms, the heavy fabric of his jacket swishing with the movement.

By the scent in the air, Carlisle knew he had sustained a cut of some kind. Directing his vampiric gaze to the man's graying hairline, he saw the gash in question. As far as cuts went, it was small and shallow. No stitches, then. A rinse and a butterfly bandage would do. Filing that away for later, Carlisle set the patient's chart aside. Calmly, he said, "Let's have a look at that ankle, shall we?"

As Mr. Harris finally settled down, the medical examination began with the usual questions. "Can you walk me through what happened?"

As expected, the man ranted some more, complaining that the cops had roughed him up.

"Did your ankle turn in or out?" Carlisle inquired at length.

"In." The patient hissed a breath through gritted teeth, the following exhalation reeking of stale alcohol. Hard liquor to be sure. A combination of whiskey and tequila.

"Did you hear a crack or a pop?"

"How the hell should I know? These two assholes were barking and yelling when they dragged me to the ground." Though Carlisle detested violence of any kind, he understood that these things happened. And his patient was a known offender, a belligerent man with a short fuse and violent tendencies. Cuffing him wouldn't be the easiest job in the world—not for two human cops. Thankfully, the man was restrained now.

Following the examination, where he looked for swelling, deformities, and other such things, Carlisle took out a pen and scribbled his observations on the chart. "I suspect your ankle might be broken." Actually, he didn't just suspect it, he knew. The grinding sound of his ankle bones gave it away. "I'll order an X-ray to be sure. Kathy?" A nod to his head nurse, and this one went to fetch a wheelchair.

Since Mr. Harris only needed one officer to escort him to the radiology department, Carlisle asked Charlie to stick around. "Do you mind if I look at that cut for you?"

Charlie waved a hand. "It's just a scratch."

"Even scratches get infected."

Charlie deliberated for a moment. Relenting with a nod, he moved to one of the empty beds in the ER, and perched himself on the edge as Carlisle fetched the appropriate supplies from a nearby cabinet.

Once he had flushed the dirt from the wound, and cleaned the surrounding area, he applied a dab of antibiotic ointment, saying it would speed up the healing process and prevent infection. Careful not to press too hard, Carlisle then used his gloved fingers to align the edges. "Rumor has it that you're retiring," he said as he affixed the bandage.

"Retiring?" Charlie's surprise quickly gave way to amusement. "Who told you that?"

"Just something I overheard while working the other day."

"Hospitals and gossip are like a package deal, huh?"

Carlisle smiled. "Unfortunately. You plan on sticking around, then?"

"I'm not a young buck anymore, but I still have a few good years left in me yet. Hell no, I'm not retiring."

The two shared a chuckle.

Then Carlisle ventured a question. "So, any new developments on that disappearance case you were working on?" The disappearance of a seventy year old man, a little over a month ago. A lifelong outdoorsman, Jim Mitchell had last been seen by his truck, on a dirt road not far from the Calawah River. When news of his disappearance had hit the town, many of the locals had volunteered to search for him.

Carlisle, himself, had joined in the search. But heavy winds had destroyed the scent trail. As for the man's footprints, the authorities had tracked them to a rocky riverbank. But after that, nothing. The guy had simply vanished.

Charlie sighed, his weariness showing in his dark brown eyes. "No. Sadly, we're still at it. My hunch is that he fell into the river. Unfortunately, the recovery divers haven't found anything. And as for other leads, nothing else has turned up. It's a shame."

"Indeed." With the butterfly bandage now in place, Carlisle rolled his chair away to survey his work. "There. I believe we're all done here."

"Thanks, doc."

"Don't mention it, Charlie. It was no troub—" A standard ringtone sounded just then, the sound issuing from the chief's coat pocket.

Reaching for his cell phone, Charlie dragged a finger across the screen. When he saw who was calling, a lopsided smile found its way to his mouth. "Hey, Bells," he said as he and Carlisle gained their feet.

"Hey, Charlie," a woman said, "is this a bad time?"

"Not at all. Haven't heard from you in a few days. Whatcha been up to?"

Carlisle didn't mean to eavesdrop, but his keen sense of hearing made it impossible not to. As he removed his latex gloves, tossing them in the appropriate disposal bin, he averted his gaze, but overheard their ongoing conversation nonetheless.

"Ah, nothing much. Same old, same old. But Audrey and I went to a museum last night. With all the goings-on at work, it was fun. A nice change of pace." The sound of rustling paper could be heard over the phone. "You still okay with me driving up this weekend?"

"Absolutely. You know you're welcome anytime, right? When are you leaving?"

"I get off work at six on Friday. I was thinking of hitting the road then."

Charlie's smile faded into a look of worry. Whoever she was, this woman was clearly dear to him. A girlfriend maybe? Or his daughter. She did sound younger than Charlie.

"That highway doesn't have streetlights, and there are a lot of animals in that area. Bears and deer. They're hard to see when it's dark, especially when you're going at sixty miles an hour." He dragged a tired hand over his mustache. "Lord knows I see it often enough. Wouldn't you rather leave in the morning? Less chance of hitting something."

The woman breathed a small laugh—a beautiful laugh. "You know, you worry too much."

"Comes with the job I guess." His words were light, but his frown remained.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine. So, I'll see you this weekend?"

"You betcha. Good night, kid."

Kid. That answered it, then.

"You have a daughter, Charlie?" Carlisle found himself asking once the police chief had ended the call. "Forgive me. I couldn't help but overhear."

But Charlie didn't seem to mind the intrusion. "A daughter, yeah. Her name's Bella. About your age, I'd say. She lives in Seattle. She drives in every now and again to visit."

Family being important to him, Carlisle was happy for the middle-aged man. "Well, I hope you have a good weekend."

"Likewise, Dr. Cullen. Thanks for patching me up." With that, Charlie extended his hand, and Carlisle took it, returning his handshake with the appropriate amount of pressure.

"Anytime, chief."

Saturday came around. Like the day prior, the clouds were thick this morning, but this time they promised actual rain. What started as a drizzle soon turned into a downpour. As fat rain battered the large windows in the entryway, distorting the view outside, Carlisle reached for, then donned his jacket—a force of habit rather than an actual need.

Having just come off a thirty hour shift, he had traded his slacks and shirt for more casual attire.

As he peered beyond the window, into the surrounding forest, a metal clang drifted in from the attached garage—the sound of a wrench clattering on the concrete floor. Turning in that general direction, Carlisle zipped his jacket. His voice no louder than a murmur, he said, "I'm going for a hunt. Care to join me?"

With vampiric hearing being what it was, there was no need to raise his voice. He could have been whispering and still Rosalie would have heard him.

"I'm good, thanks." Dry words, accompanied by a metal ping as she worked on one of their cars.

Unsurprised by her refusal, Carlisle surveyed the interior of the large empty house, and resigned himself to yet another solitary hunt. Grabbing a scarf, he threw it around his neck before fetching his phone from the bench by the door. "I'll see you later, then." Receiving no reply, he heaved a quiet sigh, pocketed his cell, and was on his way.

Though he would have enjoyed some company, Carlisle took to the woods with growing enthusiasm. Wilderness and open air. Even in the rain, the surroundings were majestic, freeing.

Given the remoteness of his home, there was no need to hide when he was out here. With the flora and fauna as his only witnesses, Carlisle could unleash his true nature, running and moving at full strength and speed between the towering evergreens. His hiking boots scarcely disturbing the ground, he breathed in deep, catching the many scents around him—that of damp earth, fir sap, and pine needles. Even the scent of the many animals that called this forest home. Squirrels, foxes, and birds, just to name a few.

Ceding to his hunting instincts, he allowed his nose and ears to guide his feet. Heading east, he ran.

To human senses, Carlisle's passing form would appear as a mere shadow, a blur followed by a fleeting gust of wind—such was his speed. Presently, there were no humans in the area, a fact for which he was glad.

Being nature's apex predator, a vampire's senses were very different from the average human's. Even at a full run, Carlisle's awareness was unparalleled. His eyes missed little, from the fibers in the lichen to the tiny insects that sheltered in small nooks and crevices in the textured bark of trees.

Time had no meaning when he ran. A second could stretch into infinity, allowing him to absorb everything down to the last detail. To his senses, everything was magnified. The colours were deeper, richer. The details he could discern were so minute, even the falling rain could be admired as individual droplets, round and clear and reflective, until they hit the ground.

Onward he ran, the ferns parting or breaking as he cut a path through them. As the wind brought a distant but mouth-watering scent to his nose, his hunger intensified. With a burning thirst scratching at his throat, Carlisle leapt into the air. His hands sliding around the bole of a tree, he swung his body in a southerly direction, using his momentum to bounce off of another tree.

Going from pine to towering pine, he followed the scent until he caught sight of the herd. The soles of his boots coming to rest on the bark, his left hand clamped on a sturdy branch, Carlisle curled his lip in satisfaction. Deer, four of them, in a large clearing at the bottom of a distant slope. Perched in the upper reaches of the tree, Carlisle observed them for a moment longer, his golden irises darkening in hunger. His mouth watered, his tongue darting over his lower lip. Once again, he breathed in deep, filling his lungs until he could practically taste his prey.

He was moving again, vaulting through the air until his black boots finally met the mossy ground. In silence, he ran, closing the distance in mere seconds.

When he finally fell upon his chosen prey, Carlisle wrapped his arms around the startled animal, scaring the others away. His mouth now fastened to its neck, he drank until the buck was completely drained. The carcass had scarcely touched the ground when he caught up with one of the escapees, sinking his teeth in and draining it in turn.

Sated at last, Carlisle wiped his mouth, dropped the lifeless doe, and allowed the others to get away.

Later, when he was heading home, he became aware of a distinctive scent upon the air. Stopping in his tracks, Carlisle looked in the direction from which it issued.

Wait… is that?

He frowned.

Human blood.

In his three hundred and seventy-seven years on this Earth, Carlisle had long grown accustomed to the iron rich liquid that sustained his kind. Unlike other vampires, however, he could easily ignore the lure of human blood. Even when he was at work, surrounded by cuts and scrapes and gaping wounds, injuries he had to mend every day.

But this blood—he sniffed the air again—this blood was different. Potent and distinctive, it floated on the wind and called to him in a manner he had not experienced since the earliest days of his transformation.

Though his stomach was filled to bursting, the burning in his throat returned with a vengeance. Shaking his head in a futile attempt at suppressing the sensation, Carlisle wondered at his reaction before gathering himself enough to shift into doctor mode.

If he smelled human blood, that could only mean one thing: somebody was hurt. And vampire or not, he was a physician first and foremost. He had to do something. Returning to himself, Carlisle set his puzzlement aside and sprang into action, using his vampiric speed to, hopefully, reach the victim in time.

When he finally saw the vehicle, at the bottom of a wooded slope next to the highway, he forced himself to assume a more human pace, lest the victim—or victims—see him.

Surveying the scene, he looked for the driver and spotted her immediately. A woman, hunched over the steering wheel. Her features were hidden by a brown head of hair, shoulder length and wavy. Though she wasn't moving, Carlisle discerned the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders. She was breathing, then. And her heart was beating, too. He could hear it.

Not knowing if this woman had a spinal injury or not, Carlisle took a page from the first responder's handbook and approached the vehicle from the front. That way—should she note his approach—it lessened the likelihood of her turning her neck.

Since the mind of a vampire could focus on multiple things at once, he noted several things about the scene. One of the headlights was busted, the dent in the bumper indicating a collision. Judging by the reddish stain on the gray paint job, and the familiar scent it carried, the vehicle had collided with a bear before careening down here, rolling over at least once before settling on its tires. The dented, uneven roof was clear evidence of that. In addition, the driver's side window was completely shattered.

"Hey," he said as he neared, the scent of her blood intensifying with every step. "Are you okay in there?"

Groaning in answer, the woman slowly lifted her head from the steering wheel. Hands reaching to steady her, Carlisle said, "Try not to move, miss."

At present, her heavy-lidded eyes lacked focus, her pale features streaked with blood. Her hair and face were dampened by rain, her skin alarmingly cool to the touch. How long had she been out here?

Dazed and confused, the woman blinked a few times, revealing chocolate brown eyes.

Though he could hear her pulse, Carlisle concealed the keenness of his senses by using standard medical techniques. His fingers rising to the pulse-point of her neck, he prayed she hadn't been out here too long.

"Cold…" was all she said at first, her voice oddly familiar. The woman took in her surroundings as one who has just awoken from a long and confusing dream. When her gaze landed on his face, her lips fell open, her voice low when she marvelled, weakly, "Whoa… Gabriel…" No sooner had she spoken than her eyelids dropped, obscuring her irises. "Didn't expect to die today." Weak laughter followed her words. "Well, shit…"

"I assure you, you're very much alive. My name's Carlisle. I'm a doctor. I'm here to help you. Try not to move your head."

At first, her mumbles were incoherent, but then he discerned one word. "…okay."

So far, this woman seemed pretty out of it. To further evaluate her level of consciousness, Carlisle asked her what her name was.

For the first time since arriving on the scene, he thought he saw rising clarity in her eyes.

"Bella," she answered tiredly. "Bella Swan." Her lashes lowered once more.

Bella Swan. The chief's daughter. I knew her voice sounded familiar. Normally, Carlisle would have made the connection immediately, but her blood—the alluring and mouth-watering aroma—proved quite the distraction. Get a grip! Focus!

"Well Bella, can you tell me the date?"

"The date?" Her eyes opened again, only to narrow in drowsy concentration. "Friday? No wait. It's light out… Saturday." She was correct. At least one good sign.

"September…" She searched her mind. "September... I don't know."

"That's alright, Bella. Do you know where you are?" As he spoke, Carlisle scanned her body for injuries. Except for a minor laceration on her brow and a contusion on her temple, she appeared relatively well on the surface—though appearances could be deceiving. Head trauma was a distinct possibility, as was internal bleeding.

"Um… I'm by the highway?" she answered.

"That's right."

"Forks. That's where I was headed… I think."

Heartened by her answer, Carlisle reached for his phone and made the call.

Although Bella appeared to be the sole occupant of the vehicle, he checked the interior of the car anyway. Seeing no one, he was scanning the immediate area to check for possible ejected passengers when the dispatcher answered, "911, what's your emergency?"

"I'm calling to report an accident just off the 101." Glancing up the wooded slope, he saw part of a highway sign. The one that indicated that Forks was only ten miles away. Relaying their exact location, he went on, "Single vehicle accident. One victim, conscious and semi-coherent, hypothermic with possible injuries."

"Cold," Bella said again, her teeth chattering behind plump lips. At present, they were a disquieting shade of purplish blue, lending credence to his belief that she had been out here for a while.

Setting the phone to speaker mode, Carlisle removed his jacket and draped it over her.

"Help is on its way, sir." As the dispatcher asked him the first of a standard set of questions, Carlisle explained the nature of her suspected injuries, adding that he was a doctor at Forks General.

The victim was stirring again.

To Bella, he said, "Try not to move. Stay absolutely still." Climbing in the back seat, he sat forward and stabilized her spine by holding her head and neck on either side.

Watching her face via the rear-view mirror, he saw that her eyelids were drooping again. Suspecting a concussion, Carlisle told her to stay awake. "Talk to me, Bella. Can you tell me where it hurts?"

The enticing scent of her blood permeated the cramped interior of the vehicle, making it hard to concentrate. Why now? What is wrong with me? To ease the incessant burning in his throat, Carlisle stopped breathing altogether. An endless second passed, then two.

Better. Until he'd have to speak again.

"Um… head mostly," Bella mumbled at last, her voice barely carrying over the pounding rain. "My neck, too. Everywhere actually."

As he kept a watch on her through the mirror, Carlisle was startled by his own reflection, by the utter blackness of his eyes.

Though he had never consumed human blood, and never would, to say that he was unaffected would have been a lie. Bloodlust, the likes of which he had not felt in three hundred and fifty years, had taken a hold of him, making him ever thankful for the deer blood in his stomach.

On the heels of this thought came an unsettling question; if he had come upon the scene prior to hunting, how hard would it have been to rein himself in?

For a split second, his mind supplied a vision of himself, nostrils flaring as his parted lips ghosted over her jugular, teeth grazing, not biting, but definitely yearning to. Carlisle brought the vision to a screeching halt. He wouldn't have crossed that line. Ever. His self-control—that he had mastered centuries ago—would not allow it. The pull, however, would have been there. Even now, it bothered him. She smelled so incredibly good!

Concentrate, he chastised himself. This woman needs your help.

Then it occurred to him. The reason why her blood might be affecting him in the manner that it was. He had first heard of the phenomenon centuries ago, during his time with the Volturi, a powerful vampire coven in Volterra, Italy.

La tua cantante.

This woman—Bella—was his singer. She had to be.

According to what he had been told, a singer was a human whose blood called to a specific vampire. To encounter one's singer usually meant one thing: a frenzied feast for the vampire, and death to the human.

For most of his kind, stumbling upon such irresistible prey would be considered a great find, an experience to be remembered. But for a "vegetarian" such as Carlisle, it was problematic.

Out of all the people in the world, why her? Why here? Why now? Come on, Cullen! Her life is in your hands. Get your head back in the game.

"How are you doing, Bella? Still with me?"

"…tired… wanna sleep."

"I'm sorry, you have to stay awake."

By the distant sirens, the ambulance wouldn't be here for at least six minutes or so. Seconds later, another siren joined in, then another, telling him that the cops and firefighters were also on their way.

"You said your name is Bella Swan. Are you Charlie's daughter?" By her voice, he already knew that she was. But talking would help keep her awake.

"You know my dad?"

"I know him, yes."

Bella smiled tiredly at that, but then she groaned in pain, her next words so low, human ears would have strained to hear them. "Stomach hurts."

This newest revelation, combined with the shortness of her breathing, troubled him greatly. Listening carefully, he thought he heard her blood, leaking and pooling somewhere in her abdomen. Internal bleeding. Damn it.

"Hang in there. The ambulance is almost here. Can you tell me how long you've been out here?"

"I don't… I don't know… was dark." Another heavy blink.

Stay with me.

"How old are you, Bella?"

"Th… thirty."

"Paramedics are almost at the scene," the dispatcher assured them over the phone. "Estimated time of arrival, five minutes."

"See? You'll be out of here in no time."

For the next five and a half minutes, Carlisle kept her awake and talking. Finally, the paramedics arrived, with the fire truck following on their heels. Vehicle doors opened then slammed shut, then the police cruiser pulled up. As the firefighters took to the slope, carrying ropes, a spine board, and a rescue basket, Carlisle overheard one of the cops. "Two-forty-nine to dispatch. Ten-twenty-three on scene."

When the cruiser first arrived, Carlisle had thought it might be Charlie Swan. It wasn't, though—and maybe that was a good thing. After all, arriving on scene unprepared would be a horrible way to learn of his daughter's accident.

The firefighters were nearly at the vehicle. As they approached, Carlisle relayed the appropriate information, and only released Bella's neck once a brace had been put in place.

"Christ, that's Charlie's daughter," one of them whispered to another.

When the cop arrived to survey the scene, the same recognition dawned in his eyes.

Leaving the actual extrication to the firefighters, Carlisle kept a careful watch over Bella. Her blood still bothered him but by sheer strength of will, his focus held. As the rain fell in sheets around them, the team worked in concert to haul her up the steep slope, where the paramedics were waiting to take over.

"Dr. Cullen," one of them said, with clear surprise on his features. Realising how odd it looked—him being way out here without his car—Carlisle gave a brisk nod, and repeated what he knew of Bella's condition.

Climbing in the back of the ambulance, he monitored her vitals, keeping her awake as the emergency vehicle headed for the hospital with sirens blaring.

"You're doing great, Bella."

"Were you in the accident with her?" the paramedic—a guy named Trevor—asked at length, his narrowed gaze lingering on his eyes, doubtless noting the blackness in them.

"No," Carlisle answered, and busied himself by checking Bella's blood pressure. "I was hiking in the area when I stumbled on the scene." His explanation, though partly true, would sound strange, he knew.

For here he was, dressed in jeans and a light jacket, with no rain gear, no backpack, nothing. As if that wasn't odd enough, the accident scene was far from the more scenic hiking trails in the area. Who hikes by the highway anyway? In the middle of a rain storm no less.

Whether Trevor bought the explanation, Carlisle hadn't the faintest, and couldn't bring himself to care—at least not as much as he should. This woman needed immediate medical attention: X-rays, a full body scan, definitely surgery.

Sealed in the confines of the ambulance, her scent continued to affect him. Like a damned siren's call. Dragging a hand through the wet mop that was his hair, Carlisle glanced out the back window, and could have sighed in relief. They were nearly there.

As soon as they wheeled Bella out of the ambulance, Carlisle issued instructions to the awaiting staff. The on-duty doctor was none other than Luke Coleman, one of the senior doctors at the hospital. Once he had been brought up to speed, the middle-aged man leaned over the gurney to flash a light into Bella's eyes, one at a time. "So, you think she's bleeding internally."

"Seems like it." Though it was more than a suspicion, he knew she was bleeding.

"Prep OR two!" Dr. Coleman called at once. "I want x-rays and a full body scan STAT!"

The emergency room was now thrumming with activity—nurses running around, doing as ordered with practiced speed and efficiency.

As Carlisle started toward the room where clean scrubs were kept, a hand landed heavily on his shoulder.

"I've got this, Carlisle." It was Dr. Coleman.

"Sir, if I may, I—"

"Look, I know you're great at what you do, but you just came off a thirty-hour shift, and you assisted in two back-to-back surgeries. I'm sorry but you're sitting this one out."

Carlisle opened his mouth to protest but shut it just as soon. Though he never got tired and hadn't slept since he'd been twenty-seven, his co-workers didn't know that. And though he was more experienced—by far—than anyone here, Carlisle could not betray his cover story. To the people who worked here, he was fairly young, fresh out of residency. Definitely not the highest on the totem pole.

Though it was against his liking, Carlisle yielded with a nod. He would sit this one out. But I'm not leaving this hospital.

Why he felt compelled to stay instead of waiting at home then calling for news, Carlisle couldn't really say, except it felt like the right thing to do.

With nothing left to do but wait, he exited the treatment area and made for the ER's general waiting room.

Ignoring some of the curious stares that were thrown his way, Carlisle had just sat down when the screech of tires reached him from the outside. Moments later, the automatic doors opened to reveal a very worried, very pale-looking, Chief of Police.

"I'm here for Bella Swan," he said as his hands found purchase on the edge of the medical secretary's desk. "I'm her father. She was in an accident today." No sooner had he spoken, than his partner, Officer Reed, hurried through the doors.

As the woman informed him that Dr. Coleman would be with him shortly, Carlisle gained his feet. "Charlie." Approaching the officers, he saw the puzzlement on Charlie's features. No doubt the man was wondering what he was doing in the waiting room, looking like a wet dog.

"Dr. Cullen."

"I was the one who found your daughter. From what I could tell, she hit an animal sometime last night and lost control of her car."

"Was she okay? Was she…" A tremor went through him. He couldn't even finish his sentence.

"She was alive and conscious when we brought her in."

Charlie loosed a long, tremulous breath, his hand rising to rub the back of his neck.

"Dr. Coleman will be able to tell you more." Carlisle motioned to a heavy door. "Come. There's a private waiting room just through here."