A/N: Okay, this took me a loooooong time to post; I thought I'd lost the file. (Oops.) I've just realized though, that I've been a member for 4 years (& I've been posting irregularly the whole time ).

Anyway, this is the last bit in this series, & it's from Carlisle's POV. Enjoy!

Beginning

"Hello, Dr. Cullen," a nurse trilled as I entered the brightly lit hospital, leaving the twilight outside me. "Good evening, Mary," I replied, trying to avoid eye contact. Edward would mock me, I knew, but I could wait until he'd endured almost four hundred years of sidelong glances from women he could never touch, then make him understand. I had the time.

I slid behind the desk to look at my schedule for the night. Emergency room. I got assigned there more often than anyone else; it was a way of proving myself, of balancing out the rest of my kind. Where another vampire would steal the life someone was barely hanging onto, I could save them. No other doctor quite understood my devotion to the E.R. – it rather mystified them – but I didn't need them to understand, just to tolerate it.

The hospital was quiet. Ashland was that kind of town… smaller than most places I'd lived before. The most important thing that had happened here recently was the opening of the high school, sixteen years ago.

I liked it here, while Edward did not. After the bustle of Chicago, he found tiny Ashland boring. Still, I believed it was a good place for him to get used to his new self. A safe place.

I smiled at the other doctor assigned to the E.R. with me. "Have a good day?" I asked him, and he launched into a description of his day, complete with a rant on how much he hated the night shift. We chatted for a while, until the first case of the night burst through the doors.

"Your turn, Cullen," the other doctor told me. "I'm going to rest a little longer." I stood up and hurried to the stretcher.

"What happened?" I asked the assistant, before I even looked at my patient.

"Someone found her by the cliffs – think she jumped," he told me, and I glanced down.

I stopped breathing.

Her body was was broken and bloody, but I knew her face – it was a face I could never forget.

Esme Platt.

My mind raced, sending thoughts a thousand different directions as I wheeled her to a room. What had happened to the Esme I remembered? Why was she here? Why had she jumped?

Most importantly, could I let her die?

I knew, just by looking at her, hearing her pulse, that she wouldn't survive this. There was nothing I could do to keep her heart beating; she was nearly dead already.

But I could save her. Save her and condemn her to a life in the shadows.

"Dr. Cullen?" the nurse asked. "Are you alright?"

I realized I still wasn't breathing, and inhaled. I couldn't let her die like this. I wouldn't.

So I put my hand on her neck and felt for her heartbeat. "She's dead," I lied, staring straight at the nurse. Now I that I had decided what to do, I wouldn't let anything stop me. "Get me the paperwork, and I'll take her down to the morgue."

I filled out the death certificate hurriedly, slowing only when I noticed the name: Esme Anne Evenson. I gave myself a moment to hate the man who had done this to her – or let it happen to her, at least – and signed it, handing it backed to the somewhat stunned nurse.

"You sure you're okay, Dr. Cullen?" For a moment, I hesitated, weighing my options. Then I told her, "No, I'm not feeling well. I'm going to go home once I get her to the morgue."

"I'll let them know," she answered, and backed out of the room.

I began to wheel her stretcher to the morgue. I was nearly there when I realized the mortician would never let me leave with a corpse. Sighing deeply, I looked down at her once more: she had been sweet and good-looking the first time I met her. She was beautiful now, age and experience enhancing her features.

With that thought, I realized what I needed to do. I turned and took Esme out a back door instead. After all, I never had to go back. Edward didn't like Ashland, and Esme probably wouldn't want to stay in a place where she'd tried to kill herself. We could start over.

I lifted her in my arms and ran.

Our house was on the outskirts of town, near the woods, but I got there in seconds. Edward was surprised to see me, carrying a broken woman, but he said nothing. For once, I was grateful for his ability; I wasn't sure I could speak coherently, explain myself. I could hardly understand what I was doing. I had never done anything this reckless, never.

We had no beds in our home, no place soft to lay her… Edward helped me to stretch her out on the sofa in the front room; I felt sorry she couldn't be more comfortable. I knew it was pointless, she would be in so much pain she wouldn't notice where was. Still, it bothered me.

"She'll be fine," Edward told me, "stop fretting."

I almost smiled at the role reversal – usually it was I who told Edward not to worry – but Esme's fading heartbeat snapped me back into action.

I wasn't entirely sure how to do this. It could be simpler, less painful, than it had been for Edward and myself, I knew that much, no more – I was paralyzed for a moment.

But I was out of time to think. Instinctively, I bit her wrists, her neck, her arms, the accessible veins nearest her heart.

Nothing happened for an instant. I glanced at Edward, can you tell what's happening?

He flinched and Esme screamed. "It's working," he whispered unnecessarily.

For three days she drifted in and out of consciousness. I sat with her, watched her change, and tried to explain what was happening. The first time she woke, she smiled slightly; I was awed that she could when she was in so much pain.

"I knew you were my guardian angel," Esme said, faintly, then asked: "Am I dead?"

Her frankness took me by surprise – I paused a second before I answered, wanting to be considerate but suspecting she probably would like a simple, honest answer. "Yes and no. You're undead… you're a vampire now, like I am."

Comprehension slid across her expression before it was replaced, once again, by pain. We had several other short conversations… I explained how I lived, how she could live if she wanted, the laws that governed our kind. Never once did she seem sorry that I'd changed her. I hoped that she'd want to stay with us; I wasn't sure how I would be able to handle knowing I'd created a killer.

At the end of the three days, when she was fully a vampire, I did offer her the choice: I wouldn't stop her if she wanted to live by herself.

"Of course I'll stay with you," Esme informed me, with a half-laugh. "How could I leave my guardian angel? Besides, I'd love it if Edward would let me be his second mother."

Something clicked as she said those words out loud. I smiled – she smiled – we realized what we should have known ten years ago – we needed each other. I needed Esme in my life just as much, maybe more then, maybe because I had needed Edward: someone cheerful, someone happy, to brighten every day. She needed someone to catch her when she fell – or jumped.

We embraced, and for the first time in a very long time, I was totally, completely happy.