Hey ! So we're finally done with this installment of Frances' stories. Thank you to all who reviewed, followed and favourited. Cheers !

Montpellier – 2010.

After a warming bath – Frances still shivered at the mere thought of Carlisle sinking into the Channel – , the young woman slipped into her best comfy pants and soft cardigan before sinking on her bed. Ringing the sushi shop for much needed sustenance – how good it felt to get back to the comforts of the 21st century after months of hardships – she fished a calling card from her nightstand. This specific one had moved four times with her furniture as she roamed the world. It was always there, at the top of the pile, awaiting … waiting for the day when she could understand it all.

'Someday, you'll know. And once you do, give me a call.'

Carlisle.

Her lips quirked up slightly, amused rather than irked. Now she knew what the sibylline sentence meant; it didn't spook her anymore. Food would not be ready before an hour, at least. It gave her plenty of time.

The young woman fidgeted slightly with the handset before daring punching the numbers. Her first attempt went awry; she had forgotten to add the +1 that would take her call to the states. As if, deep down, she feared talking to him. What was fresh in her mind was three hundred years old in his.

Shaking herself mentally, Frances started the process anew. +1. Then the whole set of numbers. When the tonality echoed on the line, her heart rate picked up; she tried to settle it immediately. Three months living beside a vampire had taught her not to taunt him with a heavy thud of her heart, nor the scent of her panic. It would take a little time to adjust, but the habit could still prove useful.

Calming herself was now a second nature.

It didn't prevent her from opening eyes bigger than flying saucers when the recipient picked up, and a familiar voice greeted her ears.

— 'Doctor Cullen. How may I help you?'

Always polite and so smooth. It was difficult to differentiate him from the man she'd left on his own, crossing the Channel on foot, barely two hours ago. Yet … he was now three hundred and fifty years older, on the other side of the Altantic, and a father of five children. Sometimes, time travelling was confusing as hell. But it wasn't the thought of the time gap that sent her mind in a fit of panic.

— 'Hey Carlisle'

Her voice wavered as silence fell on the line. Three hundred and forty-seven years … until their 'chance' meeting eight years ago. Would he still want her as a friend? The warmth of his greeting, when he had given the necklace to her, seemed to indicate that he had not forgotten. Still … so many years. Wow. Gathering her courage, she eventually uttered.

— 'Frances here. I know it has been a while…'

His answer came swiftly albeit at human speed for her sake.

— 'I cannot express how glad I am to hear you, Frances.'

Her name still tumbled from his lips like a melody, his British accent acutely repressed but slightly distorted by the joy held in his voice. The memory of his smiling features sent a pang through her heart; it had been too scarce upon the first months of his transformation. But now she could almost hear his emotion, not unlike her own.

— 'As am I. I remember you, now'

Carlisle chuckled on the line, a sound that nearly made her heart stop. He seemed … happy. And she knew he was, for she had witnessed it firsthand when they abducted her to his house. Still … after the struggle they had been through the latest months together, his laughter was music to her ears. It held another dimension, to know he had managed, after all, to gather this family and made a life for his own. A great life!

— 'I can hardly fault you for not remembering me since we had yet to meet.'

A fond smile found its way to her lips.

— 'Yeah. There is that… Am I interrupting anything, by the way? I can call at another time.'

— 'No, your timing is perfect.'

Frances's eyebrows rose on her forehead. It was 9 am on the other side of the Atlantic.

— 'Are you not at the hospital?'

— 'Not today… Alice said I needed the morning off.'

This time, the young woman couldn't refrain from chuckling.

— 'Of course. Sweet Alice. She gave me clues, you know, about our next encounter. I would never have guessed had I not witnessed it firsthand'

— 'So you know, now.'

His voice was serious … relieved.

— 'Yes. And wow. I wonder how you managed to keep your calm after all we've been through. How did you piece two and two together when we met in Forks?'

— 'The colour of your hair gave me a clue. But mostly your face, and posture. The confidence with which you hold yourself now, the awareness of the fighter was absent. And your gaze … your gaze was younger'

Carlisle didn't elaborate, choosing instead to let her draw conclusions but she knew. When he gave her the necklace in 2002, her eyes were devoid of heartaches. Now … now she could only wonder what he would read in them.

— 'There is something I need to tell you now that we can speak freely. This woman you got the necklace from, I think she wasn't human.'

On the other side of the Atlantic, the doctor frowned. It was so weird, to hear her after all this time. To find their easy banter and complicity again, the one that had nurtured him and nursed him back to sanity in the most difficult moments of his life. It felt like a paradox, to hear her on the phone, using a modern device when his memories of her were mostly of renaissance inns and seventeen century caves. The flash of her blade, the strength of her smile, the wariness of her posture and the trust in her eyes. All of it buried for three hundred years as he made a life for himself, striving to stick to her mantra, to elevate himself and fit the title she had given him. Friend. 'You are no monster,' a voice he had heard countless times in his head when difficult times brought him to despair. At the time, Frances had been an impressive woman three years his elder with a depth of experience he could hardly fathom as a time traveller. Today … today he upgraded her by more than three hundred years. And even if she didn't seem so young on the phone, nor exuberant – he knew her wisdom still lay beneath the easy-going manner – the two visions had trouble reconciling.

Plunging into his memories of the day the magical necklace was dumped upon him, Carlisle frowned. What could Frances possibly mean by 'not human?', he had felt the life drain out of the woman's body as she died, sprawled upon of her wounded lover. But he couldn't possibly pronounce the 'vampire' name on the line. Too dangerous.

— 'I am positive she was … her heart was beating…', he started.

— 'No, I mean, not this kind of non-human. Do you remember the stories I told you about Arda? The elves. A people of great beauty with an inner glow.'

His blond eyebrows shot up. How had he not thought of it! Of course! It all made sense now!

— 'Oh! The light! It seemed to radiate from her skin.'

— 'Yes. That would be it'

Stunned by the realisation that she came from another planet – another planet! —Carlisle's mind started running full speed. This meant that the woman … er, elf was not a singularity.

— 'So you've met her people.'

— 'They are immortal, Carlisle. Like someone I know…'

She was being careful with her words. Good, with this modern technology, you never knew who could be listening. Obviously, Frances was trying to convey information without saying suspicious words that could call the attention of the NSA.

— 'An entire civilisation created by higher beings that also appointed the Keeper of Time in the first place.'

— 'Do you think she was the first one?'

Silence. He could nearly hear Frances shuffle the blankets around before she answered.

— 'I have no idea, and we'll never know. I wish I had met her.'

— 'You're a little young for that, but I regretted as well that we couldn't talk some more before she appointed me the next chooser. Will you tell me more about them?'

A little snort echoed in the handset, and the vampire could only lament, once more, about the poor quality of landline communications. So many frequencies didn't pass through, distorting voices so much that they were barely recognisable. He wondered how outdated Frances was, using a landline rather than a Skype conference. His children would surely give her an earful about getting a smartphone.

— 'It would take forever, Carlisle.'

The vampire smirked.

— 'Not a problem to me'

— 'Aha. Well, I need to eat someday. And sleep in an actual bed, with a mattress and a puff wow! This is great. "

Carlisle smiled on the other side, amused by her antics.

— 'How long have you been back from your travel?'

— 'Give or take, two hours.'

This revelation touched him more than he would ever admit. Frances had not even started living anew before she reached for him. To her, they had parted ways less than three hours before. Her ramblings, though, didn't give him the leisure to linger on those thoughts.

— 'Honestly, though, I'd be glad to tell you more. But since it is a rather long story, I can probably give you my writing for a starter. Just keep it to yourself and Alice, I wouldn't want any kind of organisation to stumble upon … you know'

Carlisle reclined in the leather seat of his library, his golden eyes roaming across the heavy bindings of volumes so rare they were probably worth millions now. Original edition of Pride and Prejudice, or Romeo and Juliet. There was nothing he enjoyed more than reading; Frances knew it for she shared the same passion about books. It was unsettling sometimes how much they resembled each other, yet there never was any ambiguity about their relationship. Nor him, nor she had ever wondered about being more than friends. It just wasn't meant to be. And now that Esme had walked into his life … he could only hope Frances would find the man that would make her vibrate body and soul.

— 'You wrote of your travels?'

— 'Yeah. Some sort of therapy. It helped. I know what the next story will be about…'

Immediately, the doctor in him rose to the surface; he wasn't speaking to a friend anymore, but a patient.

— 'How traumatising have those experiences been?' came his worried voice.

There was a slight hesitation on the line before she opened up to him.

— 'Do you remember the day we stumbled into those bandits?'

How could he ever forget? He had never witnessed such a battle at the time. Young and fresh, at twenty-three years of age, Carlisle had seen death at the hands of his father more often than not. Witches and innocent burnt or tortured, disorganised scuffles and peasants defending their own. But never methodical slaughter. That day, Frances had dealt death like a vengeful angel, trying to protect him from the harsh truth. Trying to preserve the little innocence he had left, to prevent him from killing another human being. The sight of her blade slicing through bandits, dripping with crimson blood, was embedded in his memory. Yet, she had barely flinched.

— 'Yes, I do'

— 'This was easy compared to what I faced. This unofficial job, it's been difficult.'

Her voice was even now, almost detached. Clear signs of dissociation. Carlisle frowned. He had been the one give her the necklace, didn't she resent him for it? Had he known beforehand, would he have done the same? Three hundred years roaming the world had done wonders for his sanity of mind, giving him time to process changes and be an actor in the course of history. A doctor, to care and protect, and make the world better. But Frances … how did she cope with it all? Her 21st-century spirit had probably been rattled to the bone during her travels to the past. Has she seen war? Torture? Misery?

— 'I am saddened to hear it.'

— 'I do not regret any of it, Carlisle. I have met amazing people. I've lost a few as well…'

Her voice lingered at that, and the doctor stored the information for later. Perhaps in this admission lay the answers to the sadness she always stowed away. Perhaps, someday, she would allow him to assist her in getting rid of the Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Yes, it had a name, now. And when first Carlisle stumbled upon it in the seventies, he had made a point to specialise in the domain. Over the years after Vietnam, many other techniques had arisen. EMDR, hypnosis, cognitive behavioural therapy as well as phytotherapy… Carlisle knew them all. For he had not forgotten his promise, to give a tribute to Frances and help her overcome the nightmares that plagued her mind. Not only because she had been his first vampire friend, but also because he had been the one to make her 'the Keeper of Time'.

The proposal would have to wait, though. They needed to rebuild this bond beforehand; she needed to learn who he was, now, rather than whom she remembered. Absolute trust. And first, he had to ensure his family's safety.

— 'You know' her voice trailed. 'You being there, alive and a happy father of five teenagers … that is worth the world to me.'

Yes, she was right. Her job had been to show him the way; she had succeeded with brio.

— 'I can never thank you enough for what you did for me.'

— 'This is what friends are for…', she smiled, her voice wavering.

— 'You know that should you need help, you only have to call'

And there was nothing more serious than his promise. Time, protection or money, Carlisle would give it all to help her if she so needed. For she was the very reason he was here in the first place. He could nearly see the fond smile blooming on her face as she answered.

— 'I know. But anyway … how is life treating you? How's ageing?'

There was humour in her voice.

— 'You would be pleased to see my control has much improved.'

Blood lust, attractiveness, temper and strength. Given the strain of their first encounter in the woods on the outskirts of London, Carlisle doubted she would recognise him at all. There was nothing more he would like than to give her a long hug and a kiss, just to see the surprise on her face.

— 'You mean you won't call me daft anymore?'

A laugh escaped him, true and genuine. The memory of ancient times where he thought her too crazy for her own good.

— 'I have improved my level of politeness now, I don't use this adjective anymore. Americans have many other choice words in case of emergency.'

— 'Like you'd call Esme that.'

They both laughed, sharing mirth over his beautiful wife. The woman who had turned his eternal night to day.

— 'No, I wouldn't, just as I have learnt that you are a very stubborn woman, but not daft at all.'

— 'You always were a bright one,' she quipped.

— 'As for the passing of time, a lot happened while you were away. Edward got married, and we had some scuffles with a clan.'

— 'Scuffles?'

Carlisle bit his tongue, wondering how much he should tell over the phone about the Volturi. Instead, he settled for a warning.

— 'They can never know you know, Frances.'

— 'All right. Dangerous much? I've got friends now that could maybe help with that.'

Her tone was business like, but the underlying threat still conveyed her message clearly. And even if Carlisle didn't doubt she might have the means to help, involving officials – FBI or whomever she had ears from – could only result in a bloody war. The Volturi had capitulated, for now.

— 'You know how dangerous our people can be Frances. Keep a low profile, and never speak of us. You're too close to them for my own comfort.'

— 'Is your line secure?" she retorted.

— 'As secure as can be.'

— 'How close?'

Carlisle sighed; she was always one to ask direct questions.

— 'Rome'

— 'Threatened your family?'

The vampire bit his lip; perhaps he ought to have occulted their recent dealings with the Volturi, but Frances needed to know. She had no knowledge of their coven and must, at all cost, be kept out of their radar lest they assaulted her to get the necklace and eradicate her. Her tone, though, told him she was already planning the war. Pulling up wards should they discover her existence, considering escape routes and contingency plans.

— 'My granddaughter.'

— 'Granddaughter?'

Surprise laced her voice. And just like that, the Keeper of Time reverted to a bouncy, carefree woman.

— 'You have a granddaughter? Wow'

— 'Yes. She is lovely.'

— 'I bet she is… All right, so I want pictures, and the long story.'

Carlisle chuckled on the phone, feeling a little devious.

— 'What happened to eating?'

— 'I'm a woman, I can do both. As for you…'

— 'I've got all the time in the world, thanks to you,' he answered.

And it was true. Carlisle Cullen, now, owned a life with no end, and a he owed it partly to the Keeper of Time.

So, that's is for now. In the span of Frances' stories, they will met again at the very end. The only issue is that I cannot write and post it now because I have to make it consistent with "The lone knight" which I have not finished yet. When it is done, I'll post the last chapter here. In the meantime, I encourage you to roam my other stories that will explain Frances' numerous travels through space and time. Cheers ! d'elfe.