Okay, this seemed to be the favorite so far, so here we go: the scene where Carlisle almost went out and killed Charles Evenson (referenced a couple times in the main stories). While this scene was never discussed in canon, there had to be a moment when Carlisle first learned the truth about Charles, and I like to think that this was one time that he truly lost his cool.

Warning: Domestic abuse is obviously a theme here, and though it is not explicitly described, there are some details given. Please, if this is a sensitive topic for you, consider skipping this one.

Disclaimer: The Twilight Saga and its universe at the property of Stephenie Meyer. No profit is made here and no offense intended.

Carlisle POV

It was one of those kisses that makes time lose all meaning.

We had come into my office- which doubled as the family library- to find my copy of Gulliver's Travels. Esme had just had one of her "surprise memories", as she called them. She was just five months old, and while many of her human memories were lost forever, she would occasionally gasp out loud and excitedly tell me something that she had suddenly remembered for the first time. It turned out that she had been reading this particular book on the day she had gone into labor with her son, and had never finished it. I thought it an odd choice for my gentle, sweet-spirited wife- Jonathan Swift wasn't exactly known for his generous views. But in her human life, as now, my Esme had been quite intelligent, and interested in any story which examined human culture.

So when she said that she would like to finish Gulliver's Travels someday, I pulled her here into my office to give her my own copy. But on the way to the built-in bookshelves on the far wall, we had somehow ended up here in the deep leather chair which sat just in front of the shelves. Instead of reaching for the shelves, just twelve inches away, my hands found themselves tangled in her hair, and as soon as my lips met hers, time stopped.

It was a peculiar thing- something humans weren't capable of. We sat there, both frozen mid-kiss, our eyes open and staring, for an entire minute. Three minutes. Even when we heard the front door close quietly- Edward making his discreet escape- we didn't blink. Nine minutes.

Six hours.

Ten…

Somewhere in the middle of the night, we finally closed our eyes and came to life again. But it wasn't until another four hours later that Esme suddenly giggled, breaking my concentration.

"Hmm?" I murmured into her back.

"Weren't you supposed to go to work tonight?" she asked playfully, stretching like a cat as I sat back up.

"Is it evening already?" I asked, blinking at the window.

"It's five in the morning," she laughed, nodding toward the clock on the mantle.

"Oh!" I sat up fully, but relaxed again after a moment. "What's the point? My shift is almost over, anyway," I said lazily, closing my eyes again. I had taken off work for a full month, saying that I was travelling to the wild jungles of Brazil to kickstart a medical clinic. I had my presentation already done, and pictures to boot. Of course, Edward had staged and taken them all the day before the wedding, but they didn't need to know that. I still wished that I could have told my colleagues the truth- that I was getting married- but it was too risky. Esme was still new, and all it would take was one well-wisher stopping by the house to meet the new Mrs. Cullen. Maybe we could get married again, in a couple of years…

"You, Mrs. Cullen, are a bad influence," I growled, tracing her ear. "I've never missed a shift in my life without calling in. What if I get fired?"

She snorted a laugh into my shoulder, but then raised her head, looking around. "What are we doing in this room, anyway?" she asked loudly.

She was a sight. Her voice had a drunken pitch to it, her hair was going all sorts of ways, and her blouse was on inside out. We had been married for exactly three weeks, two days, six hours and thirty-nine minutes. How had I survived before marrying her, again?

"I believe we were looking for a book. Gulliver's Travels?"

She raked both her hands through her hair, her eyes roaming through the top row of the bookshelves. But I knew where every book was in this room, and I realized, hiding my smile, that the book in question was actually on the shelf right behind my head. Fourteenth from the left. I would reach behind my head at vampire speed, and present it to her without either of us getting up.

I raised my hand back toward the shelf, letting a mischievous smile grow on my lips as her sparkling eyes moved back to mine. But that was when it happened. A human would never have seen it, but I did. As my hand flew up beside my head to reach the book, Esme flinched, jerking her face away from me slightly. She had already recovered herself by the time I had the book in my hands, but it clattered uselessly to the floor.

It had been centuries since I had been truly warm- having no circulation does that to a man. But for the first time in my long life, I felt cold. I sat unmoving, frozen as she reached behind the chair to pick up the book and began flipping through it, looking a little too studious.

I had been a physician long enough to know what it was that I had just seen. When I finally found my voice, it sounded far away.

"Esme, you thought that I… you couldn't… surely you didn't think I was going to hit you?"

Her eyes flew away from mine, just for a second, as she tensed again. "Of course not," she said quickly, forcing her eyes back up. "You just startled me."

I shook my head slowly, wishing that I could believe her. But I knew-I knew all too well- that people didn't usually flinch like that unless they had been abused before. I was suddenly aware of all the things I didn't know about my wife yet, and it made me feel sick. I immediately thought of her first husband, Charles Evenson. Esme had never told me much about him- in fact, she seemed to avoid the subject. I had always had the general impression that she had never been happy with him, but until this moment, I had never thought to press further.

We sat in frozen silence, the book forgotten on her lap. "Was it Charles?" I whispered. She nodded, her eyes closing. What was she remembering right now? Had I just made her discover new memories, painful ones? I wanted to tear off my right hand and burn it. I was suddenly aware of all the places my body was touching hers, and I was torn between the desire to hold her closer, and the need to move away, to give her space. My hands decided for me, and in an instant, she was crushed against my chest, crying as she dug her fingers into my shirt.

"I was going to tell you. I was going to tell you, eventually," she said between sobs. "I just wanted to forget him. I thought if I didn't ever say any of it out loud, that maybe some of the memories would go away. And we're been so happy, these last couple of months, I didn't want to ruin it. I'm sorry…"

"Sorry? Oh, Esme…" My arms turned to stone as I held her even tighter. How could anyone hurt her? The very idea was beyond blasphemy. Esme was the most precious woman in the whole world! How could anyone even conceive of hurting her? What kind of monster could…

For the first time, I suddenly wished that I knew what Charles looked like. I needed a face, something to picture to match the rage that was quickly building in my chest. Venom began to flow into my mouth. If I hadn't been holding her right now, I would have run out of the house right then. But she was still crying, and I was paralyzed, but for the rumbling snarl that I was desperately trying to keep silent. I had never felt this angry before. Ever.

She finally stopped, wiping her already-dry eyes out of habit. "I want to tell you now," she said flatly. "I want to tell you everything."

"Esme, don't, please," I begged, putting my fingers over her mouth. She was probably right- if she spoke any of it out loud, it would make the memories more real. If I could do anything to erase them, I would.

She pulled my hand away. "No, I need to tell you. I want you to know everything about… me. And once I say it all, tonight, I won't ever have to say any of it again." But then she looked at me in worry. "Unless you don't want to hear it? I didn't think about that."

"No, you're right. I do want to know everything." I had already changed my mind. Psychology was still a piecemeal, fledgling field- it could hardly be called a science yet- but some believed that it was healthy to talk about the trauma that one had endured, rather than keeping it buried. And I did need to know the details, so that I would never again make the horrible mistake I had just made with my hand. I began to wonder if I had missed other signs, before now. Every gesture, every word suddenly took on new meaning as my mind flew through everything Esme had said and done since I had changed her. I forced the thought away, bracing myself for what I was about to hear.

It took her a while to get started. Several times she opened her mouth, and instead of speaking, she would begin to cry again. I finally changed my mind back again, begging her not to tell me anything- I couldn't bear to see her pain stop and start like this. But she clenched her teeth, and took a deep breath, and began to talk, at human speed.

It took two hours.

For two awful, miserable, hellish hours, I listened, immobile and unbreathing, as Esme told me everything that Charles Evenson had ever done to her.

Her human memory was imperfect, of course. These were only the memories that she could recall. And it still took two hours. Instead of going chronologically- her memory was too cloudy for that- she started at the top of her head, and went down to her feet, telling me each and every injury that he had inflicted. Every bruise, every cut, even the burns and the two broken bones- no, she remembered a third by the time she was done. She told me about all the times that she had to stay home, for days at a time, waiting for the injuries on her face and arms to heal. This got less, as the years went on, and Charles got better at knowing which parts of her body would be covered by her clothing. She had gone to her parents in the beginning, and told them- not everything, but enough that they should have done something.

They told her to go home to her husband. They told her that she keep quiet, and maybe try a little harder.

And then there were the times that he had taken her body without her consent. She didn't even try to guess at a number, because it was nearly every time. But despite my effort against it, my mind easily calculated a guess, considering how many years they had been together, minus his year and a half in the Great War, and considering what she had whispered about his appetite. I wished that I could bleach my mind of the number I came up with. It was somewhere in the neighborhood of seven hundred. He had raped her seven hundred times.

And that was only the first of the two hours. The rest of the time, she told me everything that he had said to her. Her human memory was painfully clear on this count, as well as on the physical abuse. I had known, from my own experience, that the most vivid memories were the most likely to be kept. How I desperately wished that it wasn't true, right now. I just sat, dumbfounded, as she repeated the vile lies that he had fed her. How stupid she was, how ugly. How incompetent, how useless, how disappointing. How he had been glad, in his years away, to get away from her, and to have the chance to be with some real women, who knew what they were doing. How he hoped they would never have a child, because she would probably be a lousy mother, anyway.

I couldn't stand to hear any more after that. She seemed to be done, anyway- as soon as the word "mother" crossed her lips she fell silent, staring at her hands. I gently kissed her on the forehead and we eased out of the chair together, into standing. I ran my fingers gently through her hair, promising her that everything that Charles had ever told her about herself was a lie, and that I would spend the rest of eternity making sure that she believed me.

She nodded, and I held her in silence for a while longer. When she finally drew a deep, cleansing breath, I drew back enough to look in her eyes.

"Esme, love, I'm going to ask you something. You might not know the answer, but be honest with me, if you do?"

"Anything," she said tiredly.

I kissed her forehead again, speaking as calmly as I could. "Where is Charles now?"

She frowned. "I don't know. Why?"

"I mean, the last you knew, was he still living in Columbus? I'm just curious."

"I guess so. I mean, I didn't really try to… what?"

Now that I had a destination, I couldn't stand to wait any longer. I would try to find Edward in the woods, and send him back to the house to stay with her. But there was no doubt about it. If I could find him, Charles Evenson was going to die, and he was going to die tonight. I didn't even feel angry anymore. I was way, way past that.

I kissed her on her forehead a third time, giving her a serene smile. "I'm going out for a bit, love. I'll send Edward back in to stay with you." I was already on the stairs. I knew it was terribly wrong to leave her like this, but I was afraid. I was afraid that if I waited another minute, I was going to lose control, right here in the house. And then she would be afraid of me.

Esme's steps echoed right behind mine. "You're leaving, right now?" she asked incredulously. "But we just-"

"I'm sorry," I choked out as I threw open the door. I couldn't look back at her, or she would know. But I was already losing control, apparently. The knob broke off in my hand, and the door shattered into splinters as it hit the wall.

Esme followed me out. "You're going to kill him," she observed in a trembling voice. "You can't. Carlisle, you can't! Edward! Edward!" She screamed for our son as she latched onto my arm, pulling me back. She was strong, but she wasn't brand new anymore. I peeled her hands away as gently as I could.

"I'll be back soon," I promised her through my teeth. My vision was tainted with red as the rage burned through me. Esme was crying again, shaking her head and grabbing for my arm. I started backing away from her, toward the woods. I knew that I was being awful, that of all the times she might need me, this was the one- but I couldn't stay. I had to go kill him, more than I had ever had to do anything before. I had to tear him apart with my own hands. I turned to run, but there was a white streak in the forest ahead of me and Edward appeared in my face, blocking my path and looking between the two of us in a panic.

"Stop him," Esme pleaded, trying to drag me back toward the house. "Help me stop him, Edward! He can't do this." Edward laid his hand on my arm, but he looked undecided as he stared at Esme, listening intently to her thoughts.

"You knew," I accused coldly, shrugging his hand off. I was losing my calm by the second now, and Edward's eyes grew wide as a small portion of my uncharacteristic rage redirected towards him. "You had to have known! You knew and you didn't tell me!" I tried to dart around him, but he saw my thought and blocked me again, using his full strength this time to push against me.

I knew that it was wrong to do, but I did it anyway. I opened my mind to Edward, and let him see just a fraction of the things that Esme had told me. He frowned, but he didn't look surprised. Yes, he had known. He had known, this whole time! He let go of me and raised his hands defensively, stammering his apology as my teeth ground together in fury.

"I asked him not to," Esme said quickly, as I struggled to get past him again. "It's not his fault! Don't hurt him, please!"

That stopped me. My anger sank down a notch as I forced myself to turn to her. She flinched again, seeing my face. "Hurt him?" I whispered. "Like Charles, you mean? No, Esme. I don't hurt those I love. I am not like that… that… Edward, stand aside. I need you to stay with her…"

My voice trailed off as I started to run. I couldn't stay here another second. If I did, I really was going to hurt Edward, if he didn't get out of my way. But he wasn't running to follow me- did I have his blessing, then? Or was he refusing to leave Esme alone?

"I don't want you to do it! Carlisle!" Esme screamed from behind me. I stopped on a dime, breathing heavily and staring ahead, but unable to take another step. I felt torn in half between the momentary need for violence and the deeper need to be what Esme wanted me to be... what she needed me to be. I finally found the strength to turn around and go back to where my wife and son were waiting on the porch. Edward drew aside, giving me a straight path to Esme. She threw her arms around me, locking her fingers behind my back.

"Thank you," she sighed.

"Esme," I moaned into her hair. "Why on earth are you protecting him?"

Edward awkwardly cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his head as he backed away. "Think I'll… go hunting again," he mumbled. Then he met my eyes. "But I won't be far," he promised, the warning obvious in his tone.

Ah. He had sided with her, then.

"I meant what I said before," Esme sighed, pulling me back around to face her. "I want to forget him. And I really haven't thought of him, very often, in this new life. Honestly. If you do this, it's just going to make it worse. For me."

I sighed in defeat, unable to break away from her. As badly as I needed to kill Charles, I needed Esme's happiness more. If there was even a possibility that I could make it worse, then I really couldn't do it.

"But it's more than that," she continued, reaching up to touch my cheek. "You were right when you said you aren't like Charles. You're the opposite of him, Carlisle. In every way. And that's why I can't let you do this."

"Esme," I sighed. "I'm a vampire, and you're my wife… my mate. I have every right to avenge the despicable things he did to you. I need to." If you will just let me!

"You may be right," she said sadly. "But you still shouldn't do it. You're more human than you know, Carlisle Cullen. You're the most gentle, peaceable, kind man I've ever known, human or otherwise. If you do this, it's going to follow you for the rest of eternity. It's going to haunt you forever."

"I don't care," I said stubbornly. But she was right. Even now, as she calmed me down, I was quickly losing the desire to kill. Not that Charles didn't deserve to die- he did. But as my rage began to fade in the warmth of my wife's love, I was losing the desire to be the one that dealt him that death.

"Please, Carlisle, promise me you won't."

I took a deep breath, releasing my right to vengeance as I felt my anger dissolve into grief. "I promise."

She relaxed fully, easing her grip and laying her face on my shoulder. "He's already dead, anyway," she said in a faraway voice. "That was another life, and it's behind me now. You are my future."

"And you are mine," I vowed. "But if you will allow me one thing?"

She waited, unwilling to promise until I spoke.

"I want to move farther away. Because he isn't dead, Esme. And just the thought of being anywhere near him, even this close…"

She smiled. "I'd like that. Yes."

I reached behind my back and gently untangled her arms. "Will you give me a moment? I need to apologize to Edward. Don't go anywhere, all right?"

Her eyes sparkled. "Never."

.

.

.

I found Edward a mile into the woods, waiting for me. He was lounging up in a tree, his legs dangling as he tossed a pine cone to himself over and over. When I was close enough, he tossed it down to me, and I caught it, examining every detail of the pine cone as I worked up the courage to apologize.

"I wanted to tell you," he said, before I could say it. "I knew on the very first day, after she woke up. I mean, I never saw much… she really doesn't think about him, hardly ever. But she didn't want me to say anything, and I figured it should be her choice."

"And you were right," I replied, tossing the pine cone back up to him. He caught it and rolled off the branch, landing on his feet in front of me. "I'm sorry about earlier. You did the right thing."

"So… you're not going, then?" he asked.

"No. And I never will, unless she changes her mind. I gave her my word."

Edward considered this for a few moments. "Okay… but… he's still alive."

I turned away, fighting against the rage that was rising in my throat again. In a blink, I lashed out at a boulder than was standing nearby, sending the fragments flying in five different directions. Edward raised his eyebrows, but didn't speak.

"Yes," I ground out in defeat. "He's still alive."

"So, what do we do?"

"Do? We're leaving. We're moving to Montana, next week. I want to get her farther away from him."

Edward nodded slowly. He seemed to be chewing on something in his mind, but I didn't have the energy to get into it, whatever it was.

"How is she? I mean, how is she really?" When he didn't answer right away, I began to panic again, and I grabbed his arm. "Edward, tell me! I have to know!"

He shrugged away, giving me a sidelong glance as he headed deeper into the woods. "Then ask her," he said simply.

.

.

.

Five minutes later, Esme and I were back in the leather chair in my office, and I was begging for her forgiveness. Now that my rage had cooled, I was horrified at what I had almost done... what I had almost allowed that despicable man to turn me into. I was even more appalled at how I had been ready to leave Esme alone, moments after she had poured out her heart and her deepest secrets to me.

She finally laughed at me, telling me to stop. I just closed my eyes and laid my forehead on hers, letting the beautiful sound wash over me. "How, Esme? How can you love me after all that?"

"I said stop," she growled playfully. "I wasn't even mad at you."

"No," I said, opening my eyes. "I mean, how you can you love… at all? After him? How can you even stand to have me touch you?" I reached up, laying my fingers on the left side her face. How could she even stand this, when I knew now how often he had struck her, right where I was touching? But she leaned into my touch, turning into my hand and burying a kiss on my palm.

"Because that was another life," she said, repeating the kiss several times. "Besides, I never loved him. And I loved you before I even met him, remember?"

"I remember."

She took my hand away, staring down at it for a while. "I suppose this- being married again- might be more difficult if I was still human. I'm not. But this was what I wanted all along, Carlisle- you. I hardly ever think about Charles when we're together, because being with you doesn't remind me of him, at all. You're not even the same species as him- and I'm referring to his inhumanity, not yours."

I lifted my hand back up and began combing through her hair, memorizing every feature anew. I could easily continue in my anger and grief, seeing all the invisible scars on her body, and on her soul. I suppose another man might even view her as damaged goods. But my love for her was simply too strong for that. She was my whole world, and knowing that another man had had a destructive foray into that world was sobering, but not limiting. I could only see Esme, when I looked at her. If she could be with me, and forget the monster who had ruined her human life, how could I offer her any less?

I drew closer, so that our lips were almost touching. She closed the distance, and time faded away.