Sorry about the lack of accent on Rene. My inner French geek is crying, but I was too lazy.

He had survived. He had survived the wedding (which was beautiful) and the reception (which was not). The only thing left to do was see the bride and groom off on their honeymoon. Rice was thrown (with unnecessary force by Emmett), people laughed and cried and shouted congratulations, and happiness permeated the air as strongly as perfume does at those make-up counters in Nordstrom.

Except in Charlie's little corner of the world. After offering his congratulations and well wishes to his son, Carlisle sneeked back to see Charlie, who had just finished talking to Bella. His face was hidden partially by the brick wall into which he was trying to get absorbed (or so it appeared), and he didn't see Carlisle approach, didn't take any notice of the world at all until he felt a hand on his shoulder. The man stifled a cry as he jumped away from the human contact, thinking it was Rene, thinking that he didn't want her pity, but it was only Carlisle.

And then he was about to relax back into Carlisle's grasp when he remembered.

That was right. He was mad at Carlisle. It didn't matter how happy Bella was, he still thought it was a stupid idea getting married so early, and he would miss her so much after having just gotten her back. It felt a little like the doctor was stealing her away. Then again... Carlisle would also lose his son. But he had more to make up for it. And anyway, they had had a lifetime together while Charlie had only gotten a few years; not even most of her childhood.

So instead, he leaned further away from Carlisle and asked, gruffly, "What do you want?"

"I just- I just wanted to see if you were okay."

"Well you've seen, so you can go now," Charlie snapped. There may have been regret blooming deep in his chest, but he quashed it.

"I'm worried about you, that's all," Carlisle mumbled, looking at his feet. Damn the human for making him feel nervous for the first time in three hundred years. For making him feel like a teenager again. Although it was kind of thrilling, like getting a taste of the hormonal years of a different century.

Charlie, on his part, damned the vampire, because every word that Carlisle uttered fell from his lips and struck out at his defences. His resolve crumbled further when he looked over at Carlisle and saw him staring intensely with an amber puppy-dog-eyed look that he would have found disturbing if he didn't find it so adorable.

"I'm mad at you," Charlie said obviously and unnecessarily, and Carlisle felt like Ford Prefect having to deal with humans and their way of saying obvious and unnecessary things.

"I know. But I don't want you to be," he said quietly.

"Maybe you should have thought of that before the wedding."

Now was the time, Carlisle thought, to jump him and ask for forgiveness, but then Charlie turned away and was absorbed into the crowd.

xXxXx

Over the course of several days, Carlisle tried everything, including sending Charlie dinners from his favourite diners and restaurants to ease the pain of Bella leaving. He had checked--they were all eaten, but still Charlie stood firm. He tried writing a letter, like so many of Austen's heroes, in explanation of his erratic behaviour, but once he'd finally gotten the wording right after working two days straight, he left it on Charlie's doorstep and watched a dog carry it away.

Once he had recovered from indignant shock, Carlisle had raced after it, but by then it had entered a well populated area of Forks, so he couldn't use his vampire speed and had to trot after the silly little terrier until he caught it. Which was not for an hour and a great number of miles later. By then, it was mangled beyond legibility and it was the only copy Carlisle had made. He had, you see, not anticipated its being stolen by a dog. Next time he would be prepared. If there was a next time, because as soon as he had retrieved the letter, Carlisle had decided against ever writing letters again.

xXxXx

He wondered how one human could have such will power to abstain from sex on behalf of mere punishment. He figured that that was where Bella had gotten her stubbornness from.

Carlisle, in the space of a week, had gone from confident-about-winning-Charlie-back to totally-hopeless-and-willing-to-try-voodoo-at-this-point. But before he could hunt for a potato sack that would serve as the body (he had some curly shoelaces purloined from Alice for the hair and black beans for the eyes) he ran into Charlie at the hospital.

There had been an accident on the slippery bend to the north of Forks, and Charlie had come in after the ambulance. His curls were damp and flattened, dripping drops of water onto his skin in a most distracting way.

Carlisle could barely get the damage report, having to ask for repetitions over and over again because his mind kept wandering all over the place. Or rather, all over Charlie. Finally the man gave him the oddest look and asked, "Are you okay, Doctor?"

"Fine. Fine, thanks. What were you saying?"

"I wasn't."

At Carlisle's puzzled look, Charlie said, "I finished. I was waiting for you. To go do your job."

"Right, sorry. See you later?"

Charlie sighed, and Carlisle swore the man was about to give in, but instead, he said, "Don't let your personal life affect your work, Doctor."

With horror, Carlisle watched him go. Never in his life had he had to be told not to let his personal life interfere with his work. Never had it, except in the cases where he had turned dying humans into vampires, but that was for their benefit and therefore didn't count.

He couldn't decide whether the longing to have Charlie back was stronger than his irritation just then.

xXxXx

But finally, he couldn't take it anymore. It had been two weeks, and if Carlisle could cry, he would be curled up in the corner weeping. It wasn't just the sex. It may have seemed that way, but it wasn't. He missed Charlie's company; the human connexion was such a precious thing, so curious, so entertaining. He doubted flames or being torn to shreds would kill him now. Only this feeling of something missing being prolonged would kill him. In just a few more days, he was sure, because he had never wanted someone so badly, had never had an object of his desire held out of reach. It was horrifying.

So finally, it was time to do something productive.

xXxXx

Perhaps looking like a wet, helpless, hopeless kitten and standing on Charlie's doorstep would not be productive, but he ought to give it a try at least.

Very cautiously, he knocked on the door and held his breath, although it didn't make much of a difference to him. But it was a human trait. One he had picked up from Charlie. He felt a twisting in his gut; the fear that this wouldn't work writhed in his innards.

"What is it?" Charlie asked. Carlisle was momentarily struck dumb by seeing him out of uniform after so long (he counted the tuxedo as a uniform; a marital uniform). The words died on his parted lips and his mind was overwhelmed by the desire to knock Charlie over, slide his hands up under the flannel shirt, feeling as much of the burning skin as possible, and kiss him senseless before--

"What do you want, Carlise?"

His mind, with Herculean effort, launched itself out of the gutter and back onto the doorstep with Carlisle. He had prepared a speech explaining himself and begging for forgiveness, complete with genuflection. He opened his mouth further to accommodate his words, took a deep breath, and went for it:

"I miss you." Wait. That wasn't what he had intended to say. It wasn't what Charlie was expecting to hear, apparently, because he began to do a marvelous impression of a fish.

Carlisle tried again:

"I miss you a lot." Well, fuck it, then. "I hate being without you, Charlie, and I'm so sorry I've made you angry, but I had my son's and your daughter's happiness in mind.

"I tried to make it up to you, but it's been blunder after blunder so that I feel like Inspector Clouseau. But now I just have to tell you: I want you, not just for sex, but because you're you, and I need you, because I've been going mad these past few days, and I miss you even though it's only been two weeks. Please, Charlie I-"

And Charlie, who was still being a fish, abruptly snapped out of it and stepped into the rain that was coming down harder now and dragged Carlisle into a kiss. On the doorstep. In front of the whole neighbourhood and the world, and, immensely thankful to have been cut off mid-rant, Carlisle held on to Charlie tightly, not willing to let him escape again.

End of arc. Now I go back to one-chapter deals. I hope you enjoyed that little side trip as much as I did.