CHAPTER NINE

HONESTY


Ariel feels exhausted, to the point where she feels like she should just ask to see if she can go ahead and leave for the day - it's a slow day with not many patients after all. Her will to interact with humans - people - has dramatically decreased. Her conversation with Amenadiel, paired with the lingering frustration at Carlisle, is leaving her tired, emotionally drained.

Amenadiel's embrace lasts too long for her comfort and she almost teases him about having to let her go at some point, but it seems like all she does is blink before he's down the hall and already heading back to his family.

When she turns, ready to make her case to the head nurse about leaving for the day, she's met with soft bronze eyes, staring at her in understanding. She meets his gaze with sharp eyes, eyes that let him know that she hasn't forgotten how angry that she is with him. But that he is safe from her wrath - for now.

She plans on leaving it for today - let her get a chance to rest, gather her thoughts and then she comes at him full-force tomorrow with the wrath of a banshee. So she ignores him - ignores the almost pleading look in his eyes, the one begging to talk to get answers, to get peace. But as she passses by him, brushes against him, his hand grabs her wrist in a tight hold.

His eyes go to the thin lines of blood along her palm. Each line is thin, the exact size of each of her fingernails, but the cuts are deep. Deep enough to be concerning and deep enough that the blood is pooling in her palm. He's surprised, he admits, that she is hurt in the first place, but he supposes that he doesn't know enough of the specifics of what she is to know what can hurt her.

Her blood smells different - he didn't notice it before, not beneath the layers of pine and wood that surround her like it's her natural scent. But with her blood hitting the air around them, he wonders how he didn't notice it before. It smells - pure. It lacks the metallic undertones of human blood. It smells... untainted. Too good to taste. It's like when you walk in on something that you're not supposed to know about it or when you cross over an unmarked grave. It smells like something that he's never supposed to touch. The idea of it feels - oddly wrong, like he's not allowed to.

"You're bleeding," Carlisle speaks and she can see the darker shadows in his eyes, "I can't have any of the nurses walk around hurt in my hospital."

He almost reacts when she breaks free from her grip - an unspoken show of just how strong she is. He gets the feeling that yes - if it comes down to it and someone does loose control, she would be capable of handling it.

She almost tells him that she can take care of it herself - it's right on her tongue, the idea of refusing his help.

"Let me help you take care of it."

She accepts.


Carlisle walks her to his office, something that she doesn't oppose only because if she were to go in as a typical patient, it would draw too much attention. Too much paperwork. Father-forbid they pay too much attention to her skin, her blood, the inhumanness of her. So Carlisle's office offers a vague sense of security, the promise that nothing will leave the office's walls, that anything that happens in the room stays within the room.

She is not sure about if the Board would be thrilled about a nurse, technically, getting injured on duty nor the attending doctor taking her to his office to 'patch her up.' But as Lucifer once told her - sometimes it's good to go the unofficial, sometimes slightly illegal route. It's not advice that she takes too often, granted, but like all advice given, it has its time and its place.

It's quiet. Deafening so. They don't say a word to each other. Carlisle tries a few times, but she can see very clearly that he doesn't even know what to say and Ariel's lack of response eventually makes him sigh and stay quiet. Carlisle waves for her to take a seat and she opts to sit on the empty spot on his desk as he pulls out a medical kit.

He kneels on the ground, a medical kit beside him, and she lays her hands palm-up on her knees for him to clean the wounds. She lets him, not bothering much to say that it will heal up fast on its own. She tries to avoid looking down at him, avoiding his eyes and the curls of blonde that brush against his cheekbone.

He can feel the questions bumbling in his throat, but it doesn't feel right to ask her about a conversation that he wasn't supposed to hear. He swallows the curiosity down as much as he can.

"Does this hurt," Carlisle asks softly, his fingertips barely brushing against the skin of her palm and she sucks in air through her teeth at the electric, gentle caress.

She lets out a small huff at the flush that dusts her cheeks and he has the nerve to look at her in amusement with a cocked brow.

"Not particularly," Ariel states simply, "I shouldn't have let my emotions get so ahead of me…."

Carlisle doesn't offer any comment, nodding along as he sprays her palms down with a disinfectant. He looks to her for the okay before he does, knowing that it will sting, but she just nods nonchalantly and gives no reaction to the light burning sensation that it shoots through her hands. She eventually gathers the energy to look at him, watch him as he cleans the cuts and bandages it effectively. Wordlessly.

He doesn't try to make small talk, nor does he offer any apology - it should make her rage boil again in her blood, but instead it only makes her mildly annoyed. More so when she looks too closely at the skin of his cheeks as if she would be able to catch some evidence that he's as flustered about this as she is beginning to be.

This is silly, she tries to convince herself. There's no reason for her to get a bit flustered just because he touched her hand - she is not some young virgin or school girl. Even so, there is no reason for her to expect him to feel flustered. She's still in her slightly off-fitted scrubs and is fairly sure that she doesn't look her best after being so drained.

When he's finished, she flexes her palms and notes that, as almost everything he does, the bandaging fits perfectly.

"This doesn't make me forgive you," Ariel states simply, watching as he gets his things together, making no move to remove herself from the counter of his desk. Her voice lacks its usual candace, falling flat with its tired tone.

"If we are friends, or at the very least decent coworkers, then maybe you should let me know if I shouldn't expect your company at lunch before I take my lunch late and find all the food missing. If I had known that you weren't joining me, I would have least brought my own lunch today."

Her words make him flinch, making him guilty for his avoidance of her. With a deep sigh, he turns to her and matches her gaze. She doesn't falter, looking at him in a way that makes him feel like she is staring right into his soul. It's a steady, even, unblinking gaze from tired eyes.

"I haven't been a very decent friend, have I," Carlisle's voice is a thoughtful hum, before he continues sincerely, "I'm sorry, it wasn't very right of me to avoid you."

He stands a bit too close for comfort - close enough that if someone were to see them, it would seem indecent. Especially with her sitting on his desk. He tries to swallow down that train of thought, keep his mind friendly.

But the flush on Ariels cheeks is visible. The direct forward was of his apology taking her off guard, the emotional openness being unfamiliar and unexpected. Different.

"I have to admit that I thought it was the best course of action," Carlisle continues, "As I wasn't certain of your knowledge of us, I didn't think it was fair to continue a friendship unless you knew."

It's a subtle way of confirming what she already knew - that he overheard her conversation with Amenadiel. She already knew, but she's glad that Carlisle is acknowledging it some way. That he's not trying to hide that he knows what she's said, but still giving her the space to tell him what she wants him to know.

Carlisle continues, a shadow forming in his eyes.

"I thought that unless you knew, that you may regret it otherwise. You have to know that this may not be safe."

There's a sincerity to his voice, a pleading forgiveness look in his eyes. It makes Ariel pause. She knows that look in his eyes, she's seen in Lucy's eyes when he's cried in her arms about being a monster - the devil that takes all the blame. She's seen in the mirror on the low days when people feel like too much to handle or when she wonders if she's doing the right thing. That self-loathing that you feel so deep in your gut that makes you want to confess your sins and repent. Just so it gets easier.

She hopes that the rest of his coven don't have that look in their eyes. It hits close to home, reminds her of when she would whisper to Lucy that they're not monsters, they just didn't have a choice to become what they are. But they can make a choice to better themselves, if anything to spite their father.

Ariel snorts and Carlisle looks to her, a bit startled.

"There are a few things that I hold very close to my core beliefs - I don't waste anything, whether it's food, supplies or my time. If I thought I would regret something, I simply wouldn't do it. If I thought that I would regret a friendship with you or your family, I wouldn't have been spending my breaks with you."

Ariel gives him a soft, fleeting smile that reaches her eyes in a way that makes her beam. Carlisle feels the weight off his shoulders lifting as he returns the smile and offers her a hand to help her down from the desk.

She takes the hand and her soft hop off is graceful, her feet not even making a sound as she lands.

"The best things in life are usually not the safest," Ariel's grim is almost cheeky, teasing. "And I can take care of myself, I can assure you that a friendship with you isn't going to be the end of me."

The inference that a friendship with him is one of the best things in her life - that inference that she enjoys their friendship, enjoys him, makes him swallow hard with a flutter. He watches the way that her eyes gain their spark, twinkling in the low light of the office.

"Then at least let me make it up to you," Carlisle offers and Ariel looks at him with curiosity, cocking a brow suggestively.

He hesitates, correcting himself as he realized the way that his proposition was beginning to sound.

"- the staff is having a get together tomorrow night at the local bar. Not normally the type of event I attend, but if you join me, I'd be happy to pick up your tab."

Ariel's eyes gleam with amusement, a part of her not being able to picture Carlisle in any sort of bar or pub, especially not with the rest of the nurses over a football game eating wings and beer. The idea is almost hilarious, seeing him 'cracking open a cold one with the boys.' She imagines that yes, it most definitely isn't the type of event he'd attend, but the fact that he would so he could simply pick up her tab is appealing. Free alcohol always has its appeal.

"I can create a fairly hefty-sized tab, very easily," Ariel lightly warns, "And I'm sure you know that if we both attend that the rumors are only going to spread even more. Several already think we're having some sort of love affair."

Carlisle pointedly ignores the rumors about them together, serving as a reminder of Alice's visions.

"No matter what we decide to do, that the rumor mill will always be spinning," Carlisle points out, "We may as well choose to do what we wish."

Ariel hums, "I suppose that is true - think you're really up for the challenge?"

Carlisle offers her an arm and she takes it. Carlisle's eyes gleam in amusement as they share the moment of a shared, silent joke. "I believe I can handle myself. I can pick you up at seven, if you'd prefer."

Ariel's laugh is dazzling, "Dr. Cullen you are going to break many hearts. I'll see you at seven."