Okay, I'm going to be honest with you all and start by saying this week has been really tough and I doubted I was going to get a chapter up at all. To add to this, I'm running behind with my writing schedule but I'm hoping I can get my ass in gear so to speak.

This chapters a little more gentle :) I hope you all enjoy!

It's a horrible longing. It always is whenever I'm left alone but it's the only thing I can possibly think about. My feet continue to pace along the carpet, waiting impatiently for my time to be up, for me to have to ignore the thoughts, waiting for me to stop thinking so selfishly and forcing myself to be that bigger character.

Sex is all I want. It's all I could think to want and not just because of the self-gratification but because of the joint companionship. I want sex from him. I want to be so imbedded with him that I can completely forget the world.

Putting that into actual words is a different matter.

We need grounding. We need a simple uninterrupted night together. A whole: this is who I am, what I want and this is how it's going to work. I can only answer one: I want sex. But I want it to be unfiltered by the kinks and the desires of trouble. I want it to be as delicate as he is. I want the caressing and the kisses and the trust and honesty and faith- I want sex but I want it to be loving.

My eyes clock the unmade bed, slipping past to ignore the broken window to the bedside table, the slightly open drawer. The slightly open drawer. My steps are silent against the carpet, without sound as they cross to the wooden table despite the house being empty.

Without knowing why, I open the drawer. The same black book is closed beneath a few of the DVDs that he managed to put back without my notice. It's the book I look at. I finger the ink splats from the first few pages, feel the indentations of his cursive, slip my touch down the spine and flick through the paper. Those beautiful diagrams are much the same. But my hand flicks immediately passed them, coming to the midpoint, desperate for newer images- and there's nothing. The last thing he'd written was the same old 'circular movements'.

The words are pointless. The diagrams useless. I begin at the start critiquing his research and flicking past the ink. The inspiration isn't the same and staring at the writing, I struggle to know what I aimed to gain. Was I just looking for aesthetic porn?

I close the book carefully, returning it to its original place without comment. I rock on my heels, thinking hard for a moment about what I want, what he sees, how he draws, what he hides- and how much I need it.

Mrs Walderman is exhausted when I turn up at her doorstep at noon and even though I warn her that Johnathan isn't looking right, she exhaustively urges me to call later and rushes out to her car. Thus leaving me on the door step with a confused eleven year old and a miserable one and a half year old.

The moment she places her son into my arms I know something isn't right.

He's paler than normal apart from his cheeks which are rosy. He's tired and drooling on my shoulder but can't and won't settle down to sleep. He's warm despite the air conditioner being on for a while, grumpy as can be expected and won't eat or drink anything. I've got him on some of the medicine from the cupboard, as recommended, but he's still far quieter than I would like.

Serena does her best. She's sweet and helpful, jumping around my feet with her recommendations of what she wants to do and not acting up when I suggest a film day. I try everything to help her little brother. I try encouraging him to play with toys, put on his favourite films, keep him cool but nothing helps and he ends up snoozing away most of the day on my lap, refusing to eat.

Serena is sat at a space in-between my legs, eyes on the television, motor mouth moving about her friends at school as I braid her hair. Her school ball is on Wednesday and as the days go by, she's getting more and more excited by it.

But as much as I try to share my attention, I can't help but fret over the youngster. He's whingy and where he would usually be jumping around in my lap, or his sister's, showing us his toys, his focus is on the television. Not as if he's paying attention, but as if he's staring right through it.

'I told Mom that all the popular girls will be getting a limo but she doesn't believe me!'

'Oh, Sweet,' I murmur, braiding the front layers of her hair. 'It is just a party? There'll be plenty of others.'

'But I'm going to look really lame!'

An uncomfortable shudder runs through my shoulders. I had to doubt she had much understanding on the definition of poor if she was classing herself under it but still, it was my job to listen.

'Limousines are really expensive?' I try to tell her but she's on a bit of a kid-rant before I can stop her.

'I told her I'm a grown woman now! It won't be long till I'm wearing a bra!'

I'm struggling to see the correlation between grown woman and limousine so I just nod a little, still watching her little brother. He's fiddling about with his bottle of water but rather than drink it, keeps threatening to pour it on the floor. Even when I encourage him to drink a bit, he whinges. Or at his worst, throws it across the room.

'She just never listens to me!'

'Serena, she loves you.' I remind her, tying off the end of her hair and combing it to the side. She turns at this comment, big brown eyes wide into mine.

'If that's true why is she never home?'

'Hon, she works to provide this for you. To make sure you get your holidays to Europe and wherever else.'

'But I don't want the holidays!' She fights, stubbornly. 'I just want a limo!'

'Is this why you're mad at her? Because of a car?'

She avoids answering though eventually nods. I scrub at my forehead with a knuckle.

'All my other friends-'

'Don't know how lucky they are.' I insist, squeezing her shoulder. 'It's a disco, you're meant to be far more excited about the party than the vehicle. You'll be too busy dancing about to be worrying about a silly car.'

She lowers her head, nodding but even from here I can see she's stuck on something.

'Will you show me?'

'Will I show you what, Sweet?' I ask, curious.

'How to dance?'

Not that I want it to but I feel my eyes widen in horror, my stomach dropping into next week and my native language evaporate on my tongue.

'Please, Esme.'

'Err.'

'Please!' She begs, clasping her hands together and throwing herself at me. 'Please?!'

'It's not really- err. You don't need me to teach you?' I try to say but she looks like she's seconds from a big girl tantrum which in this case just means bursting into tears before running off. I swallow the lump in my throat, turning awkwardly to look at the kid and something stops my thinking.

'Please?!'

'Hold on a minute.' I say seriously, finger to my lips.

'Please!'

'I will.' I say quickly, trying not to dismiss her but the youngest is curled up tightly, ghostly pale and sweating buckets. 'If we have time, I'll show you later, I promise. For now, can you pass me the phone?'

I put a hand to the kids forehead, even though I know it's not a trustworthy way of taking the temperature and try to pull him from laying down to sitting up. He's extremely weak and though he whines, his reactions are slow and he's floppy in my arms.

I call Mrs Walderman's office four times. I call Mr Walderman's office three times and I even try to get hold of the kid's grandmother but there's no reply. I try Sarah again, both mobile and office and on the sixth try, I finally get an answer. I tell her I'm worried and she reminds me there's Calpol in the cupboard.

'But I think he's worse than yesterday? He can't even sit up.' He's resting on my hip now, head tilted on my shoulder as I try to encourage him to drink something again but he just groggily refuses.

'If not his teeth, it's probably hay fever.' She dismisses quickly and in the background I can hear a number of people calling her attention.

'But it doesn't feel like hay fever?' For hay fever, you usually have the energy to cough or cry or both, he doesn't seem to want to do either of that. 'Do you think I should get him looked at?'

'It's probably just something he's picked up at nursery, Esme. Please don't fret.'

'I know.' I deliberately shift the phone to the opposite ear in the hopes she'll be able to hear him call for her. If she is hearing it, she's doing her best to ignore it. 'He really doesn't seem well?'

'Well Mark'll be home at six. If you're really worried give him something a little stronger and try to get him to sleep it off.'

'I'm sorry to worry you, I know you're busy. I've just never seen him so…aloof?'

'It's fine, Honey. Think nothing of-'

'If he doesn't feel better in the next hour or two…?' I pose, quickly interrupting her further reassurances because I don't believe them.

'It'll probably be gone by then.' She replies and I'm fighting the urge to mention that he wasn't exactly in character yesterday either.

'Do I phone someone? The doctors? Hospital? Carlisle?'

'If you really don't think you're coping?' She murmurs, not unkindly but the words have crawled under my skin. I get it's inconvenient for her children to be ill, I don't get how she's not even slightly bothered by it.

'It's not that.' I say thickly, clenching my teeth together. I'm coping fine, I'm just worried.

'Seriously, Hun. Don't panic, he'll be fine.' And muttering a few closing statements she encourages me to phone later if there's a change in him.

I look blankly to Serena who, despite her age, is giving me an 'I told you so' look. Part of me is wishing I hadn't braided her hair because now she's got it pulled to the side as she taps her leg, looking like some snotty know-it-all.

'Why don't you go choose another film?' I suggest, passing her brother to her and pointing to the sofa.

She does as she did earlier, trying to get him to show a bit of interest but he just curls away from the television, a toy squeezed in his hand as I watch from the kitchen. Without hesitation, I dial again.

'All okay?' he answers quickly, unable to barely get out a 'hello' when he realises it's me who's calling.

'I'm really sorry. Are you busy?' I ask, wedging myself between the baby gates, while keeping an eye on the living room.

It's the second film this evening, a cartoon one that Serena both chose and is ignoring. She's fiddling with the braid in her hair, listening out for my conversation even though she knows what I'm going to say.

'Not if you need me?' he promises and it just reinforces how reliable he really is. Even at work.

'It's just that I'm a little worried about Johnathan?' I comb away my fringe, forcing it out of my way as I listen to his suggestions.

'Is everything okay?'

'Well I've phoned Mrs Walderman and she's insisting he'll be fine and I know she's right but- I just don't know. Mr Walderman is meant to be home at six but he's not replying.'

Its past five now and yet I've already spent half the time pacing about. I know Sarah is right but I also know she's stressed and probably doesn't have time for her kids to be ill. Which is exactly what her youngest is.

'What seems to be the matter?'

'He's got a bit of a temperature which isn't cooling down, he won't eat or drink anything and he's really pale.'

'Is he drooling?' He asks and for just a moment I can imagine him with a pen and paper: writing things down to get his thoughts in check.

'I don't think its teething though because I've seen him when he's in pain and this isn't it. He's too quiet.'

'What about his stools?'

'Astronomical. I swear to God, I'm not cut out to deal with half of them.' I say, listening to his amused hum. 'But in all seriousness, diarrhoea galore.'

I'm briefly grateful that it is Carlisle on the phone and not some immature dumbass who would freak all because I'm talking about faeces. Specifically meaning Edward here.

'Have you given him anything?'

'He had paracetamol at half two but he can't have another dose for at least another two hours.'

'And you phoned Sarah?'

'She says Mark'll be home soon and he'll be able to sort it out.'

'Did you tell her you were worried?'

'Three times, she keeps sayings its normal- I've just got this feeling?' I exhale thoroughly, leaning against the refrigerator and resting my head on it exhaustively.

'Poor lad. Well don't panic, okay?'

'I know.' I sigh, apologetic.

'Make sure he's cool, try and get him to drink something and keep an eye on him. Encourage sleep if you can? I'd give him half a dose of ibuprofen if you're concerned but try hold off from using it unless necessary. If you're really worried, you can always bring him in.'

It doesn't matter he's saying the exact same thing that Sarah said, because he's a lot more gentle about it. He's soft, he's helpful and he's easing my concerns without patronising my ass.

'Okay. Do I just stick to water or do I try dairy products. He might try some yoghurt?'

'For now just stick to water, don't make him eat if he doesn't want to. I'll swing by after work and see if he's okay if you'd like?'

'Thank you, Carlisle. I really appreciate it.'

'Don't mention it. What about Serena? Is she okay?' Once more I'm grateful or his thoughtfulness.

'Yeah, absolutely fine. She's been wonderful actually.'

'And you?'

'I'm okay,' I say softly.

'Not feeling ill or anything?'

'Not at all.' I shake my head, momentarily forgetting that he's not in the room.

'Okay. Well I'll give you a call when I'm on my way- do you need me to pick up anything?'

'Dinner would be great actually?'

'Of course.'

'I really am grateful, Carlisle.'

'I know, My Love.' He promises soothingly and it almost feels like he's home again. 'I've got to go but I'll see you soon?'

'Okay, Hon.'

'Okay.' He agrees. 'Keep me updated.'

'I will do.'

What is planned and what actually happens are two different things. Johnathan is tired but he's drinking now and so after half an hour of making sure he has had as many fluids as I know he's going to willingly drink, I settle him upstairs and let him sleep for a while. Mr Walderman phones, apologising for missing my call and apologising again for the fact he's going to be late home.

'You don't mind staying an extra hour, do you? I'll be home before Sarah.' He says, politely and I have to stop from rolling my eyes. Too bloody right he'll be home before his wife, she doesn't finish till ten!

'That's fine, Sir.'

'Thanks, Esme. You're a star.' I feel like it's obligatory to remind him too that I'm worried about his youngest but he does the same as his wife and shrugs me off which only irritates me further.

All the while Johnathan is sleeping, Serena and I cope well and because she has a lot of homework to do, I sit down at the table to try and help her with it while finishing my own reading for lectures tomorrow.

We get about an hour of peace. An hour of parents being right, an hour of the poor kid resting before he loses his shit. He screams himself awake, making the two of us leap out of our skin and even when I've pulled him in for a cuddle, he continues to belt out his lungs, tearless and stressed as he cries. He's still warm and after half an hour of trying to settle him upstairs, I give in and try to settle him downstairs.

He's worse this time. I offer him a cold drink and he throws it so viciously that nearly hits Serena whose staring at me with her hands over her ears. I keep trying, swaying a little with him on my hip but it's not helping and even when he's settled from screaming, he's still whinging.

'Your phone's ringing.' Serena says, tugging on my shirt. I've been making the same soothing sounds for a while now, kept going, half bouncing though it's making my legs ache and at this, I nod.

'Should I answer it?'

I nod, still gently shhing him though it's not really helping.

'It's Carlisle.' She mouths fairly obviously. I roll my eyes and continue to try and calm him. Johnathan is still warm on my shoulder, still bothered, far not pleased.

'He said he's on his way. Is there anything in particular you want from the shops?'

I shrug awkwardly, still repeating those same sounds because it's the only thing that's keeping him from screaming. It's making my head want to burst.

'Esme's waving her hand at me.' She says into the receiver, smartly and I have to turn from her to allow me the right to glare.

'Okay.' She hangs up the phone and hands it to me but I've just managed to crack a slight smile from her brother and at that achievement, I try my best to resource his amusement.

'He said to stop stressing.' She tells me, grinning at my side.

'Did he now?' Typical Doctor Cullen, everybody.

Though I'm lucky enough that in conjunction of a sway and a bounce, I've settled Johnathan to not quite a sleep but a gentle doze to the point I can feel his drool slipping down my back. This only lasts until Carlisle knocks on the door, of course. Then we're all for screaming again.

Serena is jumping about the place, weirdly excited though I'm not sure why. She makes conversation, eager to tell him about our boring day and from the corner of my eye I see him hold out two closed fists towards her. She hesitates, leaning on her hip as he shakes both hands. She picks his right hand and he opens it to show its empty then he opens his left hand and proves that's empty, too before pulling out a coin from 'behind her ear' and gifting it to her.

Of course. Of course he knew fucking magic tricks. Only natural, right? Jesus, my heart. But he spots me watching, sighs sympathetically and steps over the baby gate towards me.

'How are you doing?'

I don't think he had much time to change considering he's still wearing his suit but his tie is loose and his perfect hair has been pushed out the way. His cologne is still as strong as ever but right now that's the only blessing I have left because it means I don't have to suffer the smell that someone's explosives have traumatised me with.

I'm still swaying as he comes towards me but my body is so tired that when he affectionately puts his lips to the top of my cheek, I don't remember to flinch. I just lean closer to him.

'I'm okay…'

'Sure?' He asks, tilting his nod towards the child in question. I have to keep reminding myself to be grateful for the crying and not the screaming but it's somewhat embarrassing having someone like Carlisle waltz in here while I upset the youngest.

'I don't know what I'm doing wrong? He was fine for a while, slept a bit but he's been crying now for an hour.'

'Have you tried putting him down?' He asks and he does better than the parents did at making a condescending sentence sound gentle.

I nod. 'He screamed every time I tried and asked to be held again.'

He nods, silent as he thinks, watching over him for just a moment before stepping from my shoulder.

'Have you taken his temperature?'

'Not since an hour ago. You can do so if you like?'

Serena is suddenly fascinated in the exchange and while we're fussing about the youngest, she makes every effort to distract Carlisle and ramble in his ear about her party. That doesn't shock me, what shocks me is that he somehow manages to hold up the conversation while washing his hands in the kitchen sink.

'It sounds like a lot of fun!' He commends excitedly, asking her where the first aid kit is. She throws herself into helping him out. So much so that he affectionately starts to refer to her as his 'poca nurse' and it physically pains me because it's gorgeously cute.

'Are you okay holding him?' He asks me, coming closer with an ear thermometer in his hand. I nod tiredly, leaning out my hip to help push him up. I should really start expecting the unexpected because he turns to the eleven year old and raises his eyebrow.

'It's the nurses job to help settle the patient so while I take his temperature, I need you to try and distract him.'

She nods enthusiastically, picking up one of the kids toys and, amazingly, succeeding in capturing his attention while Doctor Cullen fusses about with the thermometer. My jaw wants to fall open. The sweetness on this whole interaction and how bitterly it's destroyed by his fate. There could be no better father figure.

'It's okay, a mild fever but nothing too bad. Is he complaining of a stomach ache?'

I shrug before shaking my head. 'He's barely had the energy to do anything until about an hour ago. He's just wants his Mother.'

The kid's face is still red and though he's not full on crying anymore, he is still grizzling, his own hair coming up in shock where he's gripped onto it. From my shoulder, Carlisle's reading the ingredients on the paracetamol bottle but on my nod, empties a dose into one of the measured syringes and puts it to the kid's mouth. To my surprise, he doesn't fight it, he swallows it down, dribbling a bit which I wipe away while Carlisle ruffles his hair.

'What do you think?' I ask, softly, desperate to just lean into him for a support because he's far more comforting than the wall and I'm exhausted. 'Do I try a little bit of dinner?'

'Try it.' He agrees nodding. 'You might not get far but try then maybe get him ready for bed.'

I nod, patiently, still swaying a little but stroking the kid's cheek affectionately. He drops his head to my shoulder, staring at the silly faces Carlisle keeps making. Serena is still stood behind me, rubbing the kid's back like a 'real nurse' but because it seems to be helping, I don't say much.

'You know what's next?' He asks her, smiling when she fails to come up with an answer. His wiggles his fingers and points towards the sink. 'We wash our hands again.'

'Again?' She complains, frowning. He nods, running the tap and pouring the soap into her hands as he shows her the 'correct' way, in-between the knuckles, around the thumb and perhaps if I wasn't so tired, I would be falling even further down a spiral of insanity. The kids are a great clitoris prohibitus. Now I feel sick.

'Next?' She asks, showing her clean hands. He looks towards me.

'We ask the fellow nurse if she needs help.'

'Fellow nurse?' I quote, my eyebrows coming up. He grins, perfect teeth on perfect display as more drool soaks through my T-shirt. I'm not sure this time if it's the baby's or mine.

'What can I do?!' Serena asks, jumping at my feet again and because it's easier for them to play I lower my shoulder and carefully help her brother to the floor. He's just about to start crying again, he's literally at my feet, breathing heavily because he doesn't like the fact he's now been left to stand on his feet.

'Distract him?' I suggest, smiling in gratitude as she takes the task at hand. I can feel Carlisle watching me as I rifle through the cupboards. It's not a horrible stare but it is a thoughtful one and I don't think I'm going to like what's on his mind. 'Thanks for your help. You can go if you like, you don't have to stay.'

'Would you like me to stay?' He asks hopefully and I deliberately don't answer immediately because I want to be selfish.

'You should be studying, Carlisle. What with all your exams-'

'Okay.' He interrupts nodding.

I take it back. I want to say that because my back hurts a little, I need him to stay exactly where he is and not go anywhere. Especially when it means Serena stays distracted for just a moment, too. He climbs over the baby rail in the kitchen, not even offering a goodbye as he walks to the end of the living room- and stops at the table before sitting down in my seat and pulling his laptop from his bag.

'What are you doing?' I question, my hand coming to rest on my hip as I watch him from the other side of the room. He grins, folding my book away, briefly watching the kids play in the corner before pointing to his computer.

'Me? I'm studying.'

My heart swells again.

There's not much in the cupboard and by not much I mean there's literally just soup but I'm hoping that because it's more liquid based, Johnathan might give it a go. Being the sweetheart he is, Carlisle hasn't just brought some cheap ready meal, he's brought the ingredients for bolognaise and not the crap stuff either. For now I gently heat up the soup, wait for it to be a good temperature and set up the high chair.

I'm really not flavour of the month today and after crying because I put him down for just a moment, Johnathan cries again when I pick him up. He doesn't want to settle into the highchair, even when I face him towards the television.

'All okay?' Carlisle calls and I know he's still focusing on his work as he directs his thoughts towards me.

I smile towards the kid, blowing on a spoonful and offering it towards him. He's reluctant at first, glaring at me though his face soon softens and tiredly he gives in and tries a spoonful.

'There's a clever, man!' I cheer, grinning excitedly in encouragement as he takes down another spoonful and then another- and then stops. My exhale is thick, my eyes sore and my patience running low as I start pleading with the poor kid but he's shaking his head, pushing away the spoon and half tipping the bowl on him before I grab it.

'Another spoonful?' I try but he's adamant.

'One more and I'll give you a bit of ice cream?'

'Can I have ice cream?!' Serena cheers, running to the alcove of the door towards me.

'After dinner.' I reply automatically but her brother is stubborn and keeps his mouth tightly closed until losing it and smacking both bowl and spoon out of my hand.

'You so did not do that!' I laugh disbelievingly, red soup splatters not just across my chest but in my lap, down my jeans and even worse, on the floor.

'Are you-oh?' Carlisle coughs to hide his laugh as he and the eleven year old make some hilarious joke behind my head. Johnathan is suddenly interested in the television again. 'Do you need some help?'

'Can I try him on yoghurt?' I beg, tiredly. 'We've got a chance with that.'

'Are you sure?' He asks, gently and suddenly Serena is passing me a towel as she wipes the floor. 'Thanks, Sweet.'

'Just being a good nurse, hey, Carlisle?'

'The best.' Cullen commends and I turn just in time to catch his famous smile but his famous smile kicks up several notches as his grin breaks into laughter at my expense.

'Hilarious- I'm sure!' I mock, gesturing down my outfit and wiping off my chest too. A smile has suddenly appeared on the kid's face. One that I bet is only being enforced because half the room is already laughing and before long, I have to join in or I'm going to be left out.

Serena hands me a small pot of strawberry yoghurt and stands away as I try to feed the kid that. He doesn't even bother trying. My grip is clearly not tight enough and as he smacks and kicks me away, he also manages to throw more food stuffs at me until I'm soaked in a horrible mix of pink and red.

He's not laughing this time. He's whining. Even when he finishes his drink, he whinges then that turns to crying and a tantrum is being thrown before I have a chance to wipe myself off.

'I guess you were right.' I mutter irritably but I'm grateful my failures aren't being rammed down my throat.

'Tell me what I can do to help?'

'Nothing.' I insist, trying to rub my headache away as I hoist the kid on my hip again and try to soothe him. He's squirming and crying for his mom and at this moment, though I'm mad, I don't blame Sarah for refusing to come home.

I don't mean that.

'Sure?'

I nod, rubbing Johnathan's back as he continues to drool down my shoulder but he's stiffened and I'm not sure why.

'Es, I think-'

Before Carlisle even has a chance to warn me, drool soaking into my skin in a way that's making me desperate for a shower, the kid burps. Or at least I think he burps, until I feel the flow of thick fluid coat my back and shoulder.

Then the smell hits me.

My eyes close and I make an effort to breathe through my mouth and not my nose because if I breathe through my nose, we're all in danger.

'Please tell me that didn't just happen?' I whisper, focusing on the blue in Carlisle's gaze rather than his sympathetic expression. It's the eleven year old who confirms my horrors as she leaps back, squealing.

The crying has stopped, as has the liquid along my shoulder and I rub his back to ensure he's alright. He coughs a bit, lifting his hands to rub his eyes.

'Better?' I ask, rubbing his back and I'm surprised by his dull nod.

'He looks tired, Es.'

I momentarily put him back in his highchair and turn on the spot to see where the vomit has gone. Great, fantastic. It's all still on my back. Warm and gross and smelling vile.

'Can you do me a favour?' I ask, eyebrows furrowed. He's already guessed what I'm going to say and is unbuttoning his shirt. I guess this would be a lot sexier if it was the only shirt he wore to work. And I didn't have vomit on my back. And there weren't any children under my responsibility. I'm very grateful for his thoughtfulness as he strips down to his everyday T-shirt and lays his buttoned one on the gate by the kitchen. He's got his hand out to Serena, encouraging her from the kitchen.

'Any homework that needs doing?'

'Only French.' She complains. 'But it's really difficult and I don't understand it.'

'I'll help you.' He promises.

While free, apart from the baby of course, I strip off my soiled shirt, ensuring that my skin hasn't been scorched by the projectile and button on Carlisle's shirt. It's almost weird to be in his clothes when I'm wearing a bra and not deliberately flirting. Though it's still comforting. Johnathan is snivelling at me, heavy-lidded and looking groggy and even though I try and soothe him, it's obvious that Carlisle's right.

'I think I'm going to bath him and put him to bed…' I call, fixing a drink in a clean bottle as I carry him about.

'Do you need me to do anything?'

I shake my head, grabbing a bear off the living room floor as we walk through it and nodding to Serena.

'Are you okay down here with Carlisle?'

She's sat up at the table facing the window with her school book open In front of her. Carlisle's pushed his laptop to the side to read her writing from upside down and although he offers me a gentle smile, it's almost like he's focused in holding the girls attention. She nods absently without really listening, pen balanced on a particular sentence she's struggling to translate.

'Look for the verbs.' He reminds her softly and she circles a few of them and repeats them back to him.

I gently touch his shoulder in a 'thank-you' as I pass him and carry the sleepy infant upstairs but everything about his manner reinforces how sleepy tired Johnathan is. He can't even enjoy the toys in the bath no matter how much I encourage splashing and soon enough, we collectively agree that putting him into the cot is a good idea.

He stands about for a moment, sits with his pyjama legs in a 'v' towards me and slowly lets himself lie down without much complaint. The complaint comes when he looks like he's asleep and I go to leave the room. From there; screams.

It makes me jump. The shrill sound of his cry in such a warm and silent room. He struggles to calm, angry tears flowing down his cheeks as he suddenly reaches his little hands out towards me desperate for me to stay. It pulls at my heartstrings so I brush back his hair but stay standing. He's still crying. So I eventually give in and pull him for a cuddle. He's better when he's hugging someone. He buries his face in the shirt, calming down and listening at my heart while I rock him back to sleep

It's about thrn that I notice Carlisle is calling me from below the stairs.

'Mmm?' I reply, leaning past the doorway to watch his reply.

'Souhaitez-vous que je commence à dîner?'

What?!

'What?' I repeat, my jaw dropping.

French?! French, too? Is it all languages now? He actually just spoke French at me?! His blush reveals his embarrassment, his smile crumbling beneath my gaze of shock. He's trying to correct himself, falling over the sounds in confusion and looking, for a solid three minutes, like he has no clue what language to speak.

'Did you just French at me?' I demand, shaking my head.

'Urm?'

'You just Frenched me?'

'I don't think-'

'French? French as well? Jesus, Carlisle, give up the day job and become a tour guide for the love of God.'

He's looking shyly at me, his cheeks lightly dusted pink. He's tempted to climb the stairs but refusing for the sake of dignity. It's as I'm turning back into the kid's room that I tell him to come up and though he's reluctant, I soon hear the soft sound of his footsteps on the stairs. The kid is quiet enough that I take the risk to put him back in the cot and weirdly enough he doesn't flinch but he does stay awake, eyes on me. Carlisle hesitates at the door, waiting for me to permit him to enter with his hands clasped behind his back.

'Are you okay?' He murmurs and I let my chin nod as I smooth the fallen strands of the kid's hair. 'Sure?' He adds in a whisper.

I look over at him, smile and beckon him in. He's quiet, standing behind me, offering support without the words. The kid's eyes are getting heavier, his cheek leaning into my palm as his strength wavers.

'Would you like for me to start dinner?'

'You're very sweet, Carlisle.'

He grins, settling by my side to watch over my responsibility for tonight. When I look up, he's nodding which confirms my suggestion so I help the little one to lie down and then eventually step away.

Johnathan looks like he's going to cry. After a moment, he stops and let's himself lie down sleepily. He hasn't got the energy to fight anymore let alone feel sorry for himself so once he's down, I let myself sigh.

'I think it's just a bug. Sleep will help.' He says softly in my ear.

'Thank you.'

'What for?' He questions, raising an eyebrow. I turn my face, tilting it upwards so that my eyes are staring into the hidden freckles at his nose.

'For being here. I appreciate how much you're sacrificing.'

He doesn't like this comment as proved by the return of his expression but he settles it with a smile and kisses me fully and (beautifully) on the mouth.

'Carlisle!' I hiss when he's pulled away.

I look over to the cot, my heart beating away and see the sleepy child still staring at the two of us.

'What?' He questions, a mischievous smile biting at his lips. I tilt my head towards the child and frown but I'm being looked at with such delicate eyes, such a charming smile, my favourite cologne shimmering over me. I'm so tired. 'He's just a child, Hon?'

And to prove his confidence he kisses me again. The fault shouldn't lie on him, it should lie on me because even though I can see his face coming towards me, I'm far too weak to pull away. I kiss him back because that's what I want in every aspect of my body. At least I'm frowning though.

'Don't say that!' I complain. He kisses me again. It's not suggestive. He's not making it suggestive but I just want it so much that a tiny little sound leaves my mouth.

'Sorry…' He mutters guiltily.

'Have you not seen Home Alone?! Never dismiss the power of a child or we could be walking along a death trap in a year's time and if we do, I blame you completely.'

'I can accept that.'

Johnathan still has his eyes on Carlisle and I. He doesn't look like he wants to make much sound but at the same time, I'm not sure if he really wants to sleep, too. But Carlisle gets the hint and squeezes my arm before taking the steps downstairs.

Hilariously, an over display of affection is what leads to the poor child's second and third rounds of vomiting and exhausted, I spend an extra 20 minutes up here clearing him all up, changing the bedding and settling him to sleep.

It's nearly half seven, I haven't heard from Mark since he phoned and even though I've managed to survive a reluctant sleep from the baby, the only thing keeping me awake is the smell of cooking. I've got the monitor in my hands, eyes locked on it in panic as I enter the living room automatically. The sight ahead of me changes that though.

Carlisle's close to the hob, his back turned from me as he continues to make the little girl giggle. The radio is on but it's gentle and their voices are louder.

'Like this?' She asks, worriedly trying to copy what I presume is his actions. He nods encouragingly and points to the back pan, passing her the spoon.

'I was also taught to try the pasta before serving it.'

'Did you really live in Italy?' She asks, amazed as she follows his instructions. Nodding, he passes her a spoon with a bit on and reminds her to blow on it. She does so and then picks it off to try it, suitably impressed.

'We used to walk along the market to buy fresh vegetables and cook them at home.'

He manages to keep up his narrative as he instructs her on what to do which allows me to take the few steps to the hallway door. They still haven't noticed. They're backs are turned as they fuss around, the rich smell of dinner making my stomach growl.

'Our chef used to tell me off for stealing grapes.' He tells her with a grin. I take this opportunity to announce myself.

'Now isn't that a surprise?'

As expected, Cullen jumps up before returning my smile.

'We're just dishing up.' He promises, nodding towards the table, the back of his neck reddening.

'You or Serena?' I tease. A crumbly smile forms on his lips and shrugs shyly because Serena is excited to take the credit for her work and jumps up at me, waving around a spoon at me.

'Carlisle was telling me all about-!'

'Was he now?' I confirm, rolling my shoulders in an attempt to relax.

'Is he okay?' Carlisle asks instead and he puts out a few plates to help her out. I feel my eyes engorge. I'm starving but the look of dinner in conjunction with the heavenly smell of rich, fresh food served by the God of all things amazing while being the sweetest freaking babysitter- oh Jesus.

I nod again, heading towards the two and gratefully grabbing a plate off them with so much appreciation, I could almost ball my eyes out into my food. Dinner reminds me how great everything about life can be and holy shit, can the man cook. The sweetest thing is that he knows how tired I am, he can appreciate it and offers further help.

Serena is a star while this is going on and to make matters worse, her dad isn't just late by an hour or two, he's pushing three and a half hours when I finally call it quits.

While we've been waiting for Mark to get home, the tone, and the sun outside, has settled even further into hiding. Johnathan continues to be sick so many times that I give in and have him settled downstairs because it's easier for him. Serena has put on another film and though I did promise a dance or two, I'm finding it hard to do anything with this blinding headache I've got going on. So she just watches television while Carlisle sits on the sofa with his computer on his lap. My head is melting. The baby is finally asleep, without heaving, as is Serena when finally the door goes.

Out of instinct, I look to Carlisle and together we head towards the door but I regret it freaking instantaneously.

With a hand on the latch, Carlisle wrenches the door open to reveal Mark Walderman late, his suit deranged with a goofy smile on his face and offering the stench of the cheapest whiskey that has ever offended my nose. He barely gets a word out before stumbling into my flatmates arms.

'Carlisle! Good t'see you, buddy! How y'doin?'

His face is hazy as he grips onto Carlisle for support and with less than a groan I turn angrily towards him, the Doctor is question is trying to conceal a laugh. Both of the men are. Though one is completely oblivious.

'You're joking?'

'I'm hooome?' Mr Walderman sings and I think he's going to stumble into the living room when he actually walks into the wall.

'Sir?' Carlisle probes, looking at me briefly before pulling his eyes away

'Guess. Guess who got-' He interrupts himself with a hiccup, gripping a hand on Cullen's collar to keep him standing. 'Promotiooon!' He sings.

'Congratulations.' I say stiffly. 'But Johnathan-'

'Perhaps you need a drink?' Carlisle offers, steadying the man by the wall. It's easier for him to be the calm one. By all means, he's tired. But he hasn't been clearing up vomit for the last three hours and even though Serena is trying to help, it's the act of trying to help which stresses me out to the max. To make matters worse, if my head even so much as seems slightly worse, I think I'm going to faint.

It's so freaking cold in this house and I'm sweating buckets.

'Ey! There's a goo'lad! Go on, my son!'

'Speaking of your son-' I try to intervene again.

He ignores me, falls past me and dizzily stomps into the living room, slipping on a toy and falling dramatically to the floor. My flatmate rushes to help him but the sudden crash of drunken man-to-floor causes the baby to wake up and when the baby is awake so is Serena and all at once, my evening has gone to pot.

I have like eight hours of class tomorrow, how am I meant to cope?!

'Dad?' Serena questions, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

'Hey Baby.' He cheers, grinning, eyes heavy and diluted.

She looks to me, mildly concerned but not enough that I know she hasn't seen him in such a state before. It's just freaking typical he chooses this night of all nights to do so.

'Why don't you go to bed, Sweet? It's getting late.'

The look she gives tells me everything I already knew. There's no chance of sleep with this racket.

'But you were going to teach me to dance?'

I sweetly remind her it's late, and though I will dance with her soon, at this moment she should wash her face. The excitement, and noise, makes that act harder. She reluctantly does as asked while Carlisle settles the 'adult' in a chair, my head imploding as I try to calm down the screaming infant- when he's sick not down himself, but because I'm holding him, down me as well.

Mr Walderman watches the scene, thoroughly repulsed, paused in his intangible conversation with Carlisle until he too is sick on the floor. Two portions of vomit and one so much worse than the other.

Though disgruntled, I'm still concerned. Carlisle tries again to offer a glass of water to the adult but he's making things difficult by still trying to be independent in his intoxication. He wanders over to the kitchen sink and douses himself in the water from the cold tap. He's more trouble than both of the kids combined.

Blue eyes look sympathetically up to me.

'You take the bathroom, I've got it covered down here.'

'Are you sure?' I ask, my gratitude leaking out in the form of slumped shoulders. He nods, the charm of a smile of his lip while I take the kid upstairs and do my best to wash the both of us.

Johnathan is tired again and after a cup of water and me washing his face thoroughly, I'm surprised he's ready to settle down to sleep. It's only fair though, his diapers are making my eyes water and I think if I see another body fluid hurtle out of anyone, I'll vomit myself.

I don't know what is worse at this point, my head or my churning stomach but at least my sense of worth builds when I find Carlisle scrubbing at the floor on his knees. Mr Walderman is sat on the couch, trying to keep conversation with my Saint but it's full of only one person talking. Mainly because Carlisle can't get a word in edges ways.

'Need any help?' I offer, tilting my head. A smirk falls on his mouth and though he's tired, too, he's also got a great sense of humour.

'Go babysit?' He begs and it's a good reminder to keep an eye on Mark, and the rest of the living room while he fixes the domestics. Once that's done, with great difficulty do we haul the six-foot man to bed, carrying his limp body and ignoring the comments that falls out of his mouth.

Carlisle drops him as gently as possible on the bed but he keeps pulling himself up, fisting Cullen's shirt to stop him from wandering far. I don't know whether to be jealous or pleased.

'Sarah's gunna be pissed at me, right?'

'I'm not sure, Sir.' Cullen diffuses carefully, his mouth fighting his refreshing smile.

'Married life, Kid. It's hell.'

Cullen and I both stare at each other for what feels like a long time. His gaze is soft but the concern behind them is not and after a few panicked seconds I realise that this is not a sentence which befits his wishes. He's devastated by the comment as if it's burned every shred of hope he had left.

'Nag, nag, nag, it's so irritating.' He continues to blurt. 'I miss it.'

'Being single?' Cullen asks and I realise his tone is hard. He's not impressed. The look he receives is of similar offence.

'Of course not, lad. I'm talking about marriage. The bills, the endless fucking bills.'

In a matter of milliseconds, the relief that curls through both our stances is rich enough to send him into giggles as I quite literally, wipe the sweat from my forehead.

'You'll understand, one day.' He murmurs, still resisting the need to lay down completely though Carlisle still urges him. I'm not sure if we're being parental, authorial or medical at our insistences but it matters little when our neighbour refuses to settle down. 'Sarah and I.' He stops himself to laugh. 'Sarah and I have been convinced it'll be you two.'

'It'll be us two?' I question, leaning around Carlisle.

A noise goes behind me. I don't know what, perhaps the sound of fidgeting and I need to see who it is to make sure the kids are okay. Despite not taking a step away from the baby monitor, it's still making me nervous.

'What I mean is-'

'Please Mr Walderman, you're only going to feel worse if you keep getting up. Settle down?' This sounds like his natural speaking voice to me but Mark obeys it without question and touching Carlisle lightly on the arm, I sign that I'm going to check on the kids.

I'm in the hallway upstairs when I realise the sound is the unlocking of the front door. Without hesitation, I stand at the top step and breathe as luxuriously as I can.

'Hey Hun.' She whispers and from here I can see that she's tired, her arms weighted with paperwork and her hair slipping out of a knot. But I know I look and smell worse so as for the shit day contest, I'm going to go ahead and take the winning prize.

'Is everyone asleep?' She questions and then dropping her smile as her eyes scan the living room. 'Where's Mark?'

I make my way towards her and nod behind but I'm grateful enough that she not only feels my wrath, but will undoubtedly relive it. I don't hear the footsteps behind me but I do feel the soft breaths on my neck and though it keeps making me shiver, I'm utterly grateful it's there.

'All okay?' She asks turning to the man in question.

'I suspect it's just Norovirus but it means the rest of you may get it.'

'Oh? Should I be worried?'

I assume that he shakes his head because I see Sarah sigh gently, her shoulders lowering as I offer to take her bag and books for her. They talk briefly, Carlisle offering the same advice he did for me but thankfully adding:

'The worst is probably over for Johnathan.'

And for that I could lose my shit. Obviously I don't because despite my best efforts to keep them all sane, I feel strangely guilty that the poor soul has suffered this weekend and even though it meant running around and smelling rancid, I'd do anything to make him feel better.

'How about Serena-'

'Serena's been amazing.' He commends and he looks to me to A; confirm him and B; take over.

'She's been so helpful, bless her. Wouldn't leave his side.' And I affectionately elbow Carlisle. 'But speaking of Serena, her party on Wednesday-'

'Oh Lord! I nearly forgot all about that!' Sarah exclaims and hastily she pulls out her diary from her bag to note down the date.

'It's just that- she's rather upset about…transport. She's worried that she'll be judged on what she arrives in.'

'Arrives in?' She retorts, confused. 'We were simply thinking of walking here over, it's not far is it?'

It's a fair suggestion that morally I agree with. Though for some reason, the thought makes me feel even guiltier and I rush out the words before I get chance to stop them.

'Carlisle's car is rather flashy? I was wondering if I might be able to drop her off in that? Boost her confidence a little?'

At first, she looks so stunned that I'm convinced she's offended. I haven't even thought about mentioning it to Carlisle. It's careless of me but I think he knows how much I'll appreciate it. And besides, after last night he kind of owes me.

No he doesn't but if he did, then I know this is one of the ways he would do it. By giving me what I want.

'Oh, Esme.' She murmurs, pouting her lip. 'That is so generous of you. Are you sure about this Carlisle?'

'More than anything.' He promises and it makes my tired shoulders shiver.

'Both of you are so kind. This weekend has just been hell but I'm so grateful for your help.'

As Carlisle grabs our stuff, she pulls me into a tight hug, completely ignorant to the stench of watered stomach acid on one of my favourite shirts as she hugs me dearly.

'Who's luckier than us?' She questions.

It would seem that person is me. She pays me nearly double than what she usually does and though I try to fight it, she insists for the sake of two soiled shirts. Though that's not the least of it. Once in our familiar living room, the smell of warm vanilla tickling my nose, several more thousand matters of appreciation fumbles over my every being.

Edward has cleaned. The living room is literally sparkling and ontop of the piano is a little box with my name on. I attempt to frown at Carlisle but he's already scooting past me to make a hot drink, a hand threading through his hair to make it even sexier than it is normally. I don't even have the energy to want to ravish him. I just want a cuddle.

'What's this?' I ask aloud but I'm not looking at him, I'm looking at the black satin box. It's small in my palm but bulky and it reminds me of when I finally finished paying off my car and Carlisle placed the car keys in a jewellery box.

'I'm not sure? Why don't you open it?'

He's standing opposite me now, taller almost with his eyes on the box in my hand. My gaze hardens, the confusion running through my head but assuming I want time alone, he presses his lips to the top of my head and sighs.

'Let me run you a bath?'

'Oh Carlisle.' It's literally exactly what I need and what I want and the moment he's said it, the more I realise I need it. Hold on. 'Wait- are you saying that because I-?'

'Because it's been a busy day. You must be exhausted.'

'I am.' I confirm. 'A bath would be great.'

Why the fuck am I not blowing him right now?!

My attention falls back to the box and lifting the lid, I hear both of us gasp slightly. Holy shit. The earrings are beautiful. They glitter and shine like the one tiny stone hidden in the mass of diamonds.

'They're beautiful.' I say, holding one up to the light. A series of rainbows slip through the glass, raining on my hand in a beautiful array of colour from such a blindingly white piece. They're semi long and dangle slightly with the small coloured stone expected to sit at the space of my ear lobe.

'How remarkable. Emeralds have always been my favourite.' He agrees, a light touch under the diamonds. This surprises me, if anything, I always assumed he would have a thing for sapphires. Personally, I can't think of preferring one stone over the other. But diamonds. They were effortlessly beautiful.

'They are?'

'Mm hmm.' He nods and takes the piece from my hand to hold it against my ear. 'It's going to look great.'

'Why are emeralds your favourite?'

I think he was expecting this question because he doesn't hesitate when answering me. He keeps his gaze on my neck, his lips curved.

'Because they remind me of home.'

'England is very green.' I say though admittedly, this is a bit of a guess. I haven't been, I'm judging from High school geography classes. He smirks. 'And they're the colour of Edward's eyes.'

He nods. 'And Elizabeth's.'

Should I be jealous of this? Probably not but my stomach is feeling really uncomfortable and I can't settle it.

'And-' He stops, waiting for me to look at him before grinning. 'Yours in the light.'

'Only in the light.' I complain.

'I think you underestimate how much you like the light, Esme.'

He has me there.

'Anything to stop them being brown.'

Without warning, the sudden horror of Tuesday makes my stomach lurch again and before I can say anything or turn away, Carlisle is already heading upstairs. Gifts? More gifts. What about if that's it? What about if it's some sort of attempt to remind me I have to go back? What about if this is a step up for the pay rise?!

'Anyway, let me go run you a bath.'

The side of his cheek softens by his smile and he quietly takes the stairs as if it's much later than it is and we have sleeping children in the house. So I take the time to open the note on the piano. The first line settles my fear.

They're from Alice. Her pretty handwriting circles the page and though she doesn't sign it, she does manage to make it explicitly clear who it's from, especially with her choice of pen colour and looped heart at the end.

I'm far better than you think I am. You'll forgive me eventually.

I have no idea what she's on about. Unless she means because the earrings are expensive and I'll be indebted to her indefinitely but I don't think about that right now. Who would want to with three day old food on your body? Yuck.

When I knock on the bathroom door, Carlisle is fiddling with the taps. His t-shirt is still looking pristine despite the cooking that took up most of the day and though he stoops a little, I know he's not ready for bed. I wish I could share the feeling. The bubbles are rising up over the side of the tub and out of panic, I assume, he's thrown every Godforsaken soap into the potion of water. But it smells good and at least he's made the water as hot as I would like.

'I hope its okay?'

My grin is pathetic and because I can't be bothered, I just nod and release the tangles of my hair. He's staring. He can't lie because I know he's rooted to the spot. My wink is a wicked one.

'You're welcome to join me, Carlisle?'

'Huh?'

I point between us. 'A little water play perhaps?' And I thumb the highest button on my shirt without undoing it. He closes his eyes, frowning before shaking his head, blonde locks shifting from the position granted by a hand.

'N-no.' He chuckles at himself and reasserts his calm. 'No thank you, Hon.'

To prove his interest, he makes sure to kiss the top of my cheekbone as he leaves, closing the door behind him and granting me the peace I've been needing all day. My head is killing me but the water is at its best temperature, the heat cleansing my skin as the perfume soaks into it.

To think I nearly thought my boss had-. God, my boss. Jesus Christ. What was I meant to do about that? I couldn't just up and leave. It's not allowed. On the other hand- I couldn't stay. I can't stay. I won't stay. How the fuck am I meant to financially afford leaving? How am I even meant to last another week there?!

It takes for Edward to knock on the door demanding the bathroom for me to realise I've been too long. At least, I feel good. I feel clean. I feel tired. I feel like I don't even have the energy to get out the bathtub. Fuck.

Edward's cursing at me when I open the door but he stops when he takes one look at me which is more than concerning.

'You alright?'

'I'm fine, why?' I reply, confused. He points to his face and makes an expression which on a better day would make me hit him. Tonight, I barely have the energy to grunt at him.

Annoyingly, Carlisle has the same concern on his face when I close the door of his bedroom but I'm hoping that's done on the fact I've walked in here in a towel and not because I'm worth worrying about.

'Are you-'

'I need sleep.' I interrupt him.

He's got his laptop on his knees but places it to the floor to open space on the bed for me. It doesn't even matter that I'm mostly naked, it doesn't matter that he could be having a heart attack boner. I literally just need to cuddle up somewhere warm and bury my head from the light. As I do so, I feel a soft hand tenderly scratch at my wet hair. This man. God, this Man.

'Have you got work tomorrow?'

'No. But I've got a few things to do.' His voice is soft but not sultry like I was expecting after yesterday. Or even this morning. Why the heck am I not throwing myself on him? 'If you can, I would take something before you sleep.'

'Huh?'

'You're looking pale.'

'Oh.' My words are muffled by the pillow.

To be in bed after three days, knowing that I can finally sleep- it's already soothing the pain in my back. I think I must drift off within seconds because one minute there's a hand in my hair as I stay sprawled on the sheets in fabric and next Carlisle is by my side, offering a glass of fizzy water with the soluble tablets. Yuck. My sore eyes don't want to open, my hand doesn't want to grip and gently, Carlisle has to warn me that the towel is slipping.

Neither of us seem to have the energy to laugh. And worse than that, I can't even be bothered to flash him.

I don't know which shirt of his I wear this time. Just a casual soft thing that overhangs and some shorts to match. Perhaps I should be irritated he hasn't found this as sexy as I want him too. Or maybe I should be grateful. Either way, he pulls open the cover on my side and lets me warm myself despite the damp hair turning frizzy. He settles down, turning off the light and lowering the brightness on his laptop until it no longer pains me and when he feels me fidget, he curls an arm around me and strokes my back.

For no reason at all, it's making me feel better. It's lulling the storm of my body and keeping me warm while not letting me over sweat. My left hand goes to his abdomen and I wrench myself towards him to curl further into his cuddle.

'Thank you for today.' I murmur and I'm not even worried I didn't get a chance to suck his dick. The best part being that neither is he.