Thanks to the wonderful mxpi1970 for the beta. As always, I own nothing. Stephenie Meyer owns all.
The next chapter is underway.
And to any Mainers out there: I apologise in advance - I tried with the accent, I really did.
All I Want to Hear
Chapter 6
Four days.
Four days was a lifetime to the old Carlisle, to be away from the security of home for so long, to be in a world out of his own control. Now that he has assimilated into this new existence, this shared life, so warm and right, for the first time the thought of returning to reality holds its own fears.
The fear of loneliness.
He has yet to unburden himself to Edward, he has yet to find the right time, but that moment is surely approaching – a freight train of honesty bearing down at full speed upon their future time together.
~o.O.o~
The day after their breakfast at Kate's they take a walk to Monroe's bookstore.
There is a bell over the door, that little touch old fashioned and so fitting. The store is lined with shelving, floor to ceiling, a small library stepladder parked at the far wall for the use of the patrons. Edward takes pleasure in watching Carlisle's face, the smile that spreads across it as he takes in the shabby magnificence all around him. The air is filled with the smell of old books, the light musty scent that is the perfume of all literature repositories. The main room leads through to a small ante room, the sign about the entrance proclaiming 'Biographies and History'. The light streaming through the dusty, rain-spotted front window does not reach this small room and a bare overhead bulb lights the space. Beyond it, Carlisle sees an office, the door ajar, a brass plated 'Private' sign screwed into the wood.
Edward smiles and turns to the fiction section, looking to see what new titles have hit the racks, whilst Carlisle heads to the back room, a man on a mission.
It is some time later that Edward resurfaces, a selection of new material in his hands. He hears Carlisle and Monroe talking in low tones and against his better judgement he listens, eager to learn more about his lover, to see deeper within the enigma.
"This heeah is the one I think – it best outlines the erah you are lookin' for..."
"Good generahl background history in this one but have you read..."
"Good choice – what about this for witness testimony..."
Edward hears Carlisle's responses.
"I have that one, but perhaps this..."
"I cannot believe you have this one... been looking for some time..."
"This is amazing... I'll take all of these..."
Edward smiles to himself, not wanting to interrupt them just yet.
"So, I seeah you came with Edward. He's one of my best customahs."
"So I hear. He recommended this place to me."
"I've not seenah you before, although I'll beah the first to admit I don't get out a great deal. Are you new to the arear?"
"I'm staying with Edward for a few days to catch up and do a little research for my next book."
His heart hurts at the throwaway statement. He hears Monroe's exclamation.
"You write? That's wonderful! Would I have a copy of your work heeah?"
Edward can almost hear Carlisle's blush, his response somewhat embarrassed.
"Err... yes, I did see a copy."
"Show me, young man, show me."
There is the sound of a book sliding from its home, the crackling of a dust jacket as it is opened.
"Ah - I've read this. I can see now from the flyleaf photo that you're Mistah Cullen! I rarely get any authors in heeah – they prefah to ordah their books in from suppliahs. May I ask why you don't? Not that I'm at all ungrateful for your custom of course!"
His laugh is dry and rattling, the evidence of a long history of smoking despite the fact he hasn't lit up for some years. His speech is heavily accented, a true Mainer.
Carlisle chats to Monroe, explaining his love for old books and the thrill of discovery in small, independent stores like this one. Edward chooses this moment to reappear, clutching his books; both men smile when they see him. There is a telling light in Carlisle's eyes that he himself is perhaps unaware of, a brightening that is visible to those who know to look for it. Edward's happy smile also speaks volumes and he catches the subtle glance that Monroe gives them, the small nod of understanding, eyes twinkling, his kind, age wrinkled face seeing what stands before him, but passing no comment or judgement.
When they leave, he calls out to them:
"You boys come back soon now!"
~o.O.o~
Their last full day together dawns and Edward suggests a trip to Portland to visit the Museum of Art. He doesn't expect Carlisle to agree, but it plants the idea for another time, for another visit.
They take a walk along the water's edge, talking and laughing, and Carlisle feels freer than he has in years. His heart races whenever he looks at Edward, his hair tousled by the wind, his cheeks pink, and he wishes he were brave enough to pull him in for a kiss. Instead, he reaches out with a question.
"So how did you end up here? You don't have the accent so I know you don't originate from Maine."
Edward is quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Carlisle waits, their footfalls marking time.
"You remember I told you that my mom died when I was young? I was five and it was a car accident. My father couldn't find a way to explain it so he told me that the angels needed her to go with them. I didn't understand and thought she was coming back to get me. I waited each night, expecting her to come or the angels to come collect me too." He sighs, the memory bringing pain despite the time that has passed. "I didn't dare ask my father until a couple of years later. I asked him why the angels hadn't come for me yet to take me to my momma. Only then did he explain that she wasn't ever coming back to me. I never knew the details of what happened – my father never spoke of it. All I know is she's buried back in Washington."
He takes a deep breath and blows it out. Carlisle's heart clenches for the small boy who lost so much.
"I can't imagine how hard that must have been; you were so young. Did your father remarry? Did you have a stepmother?"
He shakes his head.
"No. My father threw himself into his work. I was raised by a succession of nannies. As a teenager, I was closest to our housekeeper, Maria. She was brusque, very strict in fact. She kept me in check, cleaned my clothes and cooked my meals. She scolded me too – a lot." The corner of his mouth twitches in a crooked smile. "We were fond of each other in our way."
"Did you see much of your father?"
"No; he came home late and ate after I had gone to bed. Weekends we sat down together for dinner, but by then it was awkward between us; we had no common ground. I studied hard, Maria saw to that, and did well in school. I didn't have any plans for my future, I was waiting to see what life brought my way, I guess." He eyes remain fixed on the sandy ground and Carlisle knows he isn't done.
"My father was always tired, not sleeping much, his stress levels through the roof as he tried to support us. I asked him what was wrong and he brushed it off. Too busy, he said, no time to rest and eat right. I had no option but to believe him. A couple of days after I had turned 18, Maria caught me in the kitchen after school and told me my father was in the hospital, taken ill suddenly. It turned out his heart..." he stops abruptly before stumbling on. "His heart wasn't working right and he needed surgery. I waited with Maria and when it was over they told us he was critical. It wasn't long afterward that alarms started to go off in his room and they closed the blinds so we couldn't see. A short time later it all fell quiet and the doctor came to see us." He looks to Carlisle then, so much pain on his face at the memory. "They explained everything, their trite words of sympathy sounding hollow, but all I understood was that the angels had taken him to momma and left me all alone. After that, I gathered my things and ran away as far as I could."
Tears glimmer in his eyes and Carlisle reaches for him, folding him into his arms for protection. He marvels that somehow the roles have reversed, and now he must be strong for Edward. Holding him tight, feeling him shudder at the painful recollections, he can't imagine ever letting go.
That night when they make love it is a desperate act of passion. Hands and lips meld together as they both run from their own demons, finding the safety and salvation they have sought for so long in each other's arms. They sleep very little, neither wanting to waste these last hours. This night feels like they are back in The Dragonfly as they lay waiting for dawn, unable to stop touching, stroking, loving each other.
~o.O.o~
And so their brief time together draws to a close.
While he packs, Edward sits on the bed watching and trying to read his thoughts. For Edward, four days have passed in the blink of an eye, his world changed beyond recognition by the presence of this one person in his life. There are issues to address, he knows that, but he knows that he wants to be there when Carlisle is set free from his fears and lays his ghosts to rest.
A tentative part of his mind sees a future with this man, hopes that he may one day feel the same.
His bag packed, Carlisle straightens. Neither speaks; words unable to convey how this parting makes them feel. It is Edward who reaches for him, pulling him in tightly, moulding their bodies into a whole. Arms wrap around waists and shoulders, heat blends into heat as they stand and just listen to the other breathe, drowning men clinging to the rocks lest they get sucked under the waves.
Four days.
How so much has changed for both men in so few hours.
The kiss is possessive and deep, lingering until their lips break apart and their foreheads rest together. They walk downstairs, feet leaden.
All too soon it is time to leave, the taxi waiting. Before opening the door, Carlisle pulls Edward close for one last dizzying farewell kiss. Edward's brief holiday is over and he must return to work the following evening. It does not cross his mind to suggest Carlisle stay longer, that perhaps some time in this welcoming little town might help him deal with his past. He doesn't know that Carlisle would rather stay here, spending his days writing while Edward sleeps, rather than return to his austere existence.
How can he know? Carlisle has not admitted as much to himself, much less vocalised it.
They find themselves in the airport waiting for his flight to be called. The same edgy feelings fill the air around them, neither sure how to say goodbye, adieu, until we meet again. The urge to kiss him in front of everyone is so strong for Edward that every breath hurts his chest. Their last kiss at his front door seems too long ago. When the time comes to part, the air between them is brittle, the cracks showing in Edward's restraint. After one last painful goodbye, Carlisle turns to leave and it is then that Edward breaks. Reaching out, he catches his hand, squeezing it tight, the wordless exchange speaking volumes when their eyes catch and hold. There is no reprimand, only a lingering look back before their hands slide free and they are again two entities in separate worlds.
Alone.
Staying until his lover disappears from sight, Edward heads for home, his step heavier than before. The taxi drops him off and he pays the driver, distracted, his smile a muted imitation of the genuine article. Once inside, he heads for the kitchen. Emptying his pockets, he finds his cell and, smiling like a fool, sends a message for Carlisle to find when he lands.
*Let's do this again soon?*
~o.O.o~
He heads back out, bound for the grocery store, but instead his feet find their way to Kate's. Finding an empty table, he orders a coffee and waits for his friend.
The lunch rush is over, patrons finishing up leaving a few folks sipping lattes and munching cake, shopping bags at their feet. When Kate appears with his coffee, she spots him and heads over, beaming.
"Hello, sweetheart; on your own today?"
"Yeah; back to work tomorrow night. This was a short first visit to see how things went, you know?"
He sighs, an unintentional gesture, but one not missed by Kate. She pulls out the empty chair and perches on the edge, her hand, warm and comforting, covering his empty one.
"What is it? You seem troubled."
He shakes his head, more to clear it than to deny the statement.
"These last few days have been amazing. I just wish..."
"What? What do you wish?" Her face is anxious; concerned for the boy of whom she is so fond.
Edward's voice is low, confidential, and he feels traitorous even uttering the words, but the truth is he trusts Kate. She alone has been there for him, offering friendship and asking nothing in return.
"He isn't out and I don't know why yet. There's something holding him back, something in his past. I don't want it to come between us."
Kate looks on with a steady, non-judgemental gaze.
"I guessed something was up. New relationships usually mean smiles and hand holding, little touches that speak louder than words. He seemed reserved to me, a little distant. Is he always that way?"
"Not when we're alone." He flushes a little, despite his concerns.
"Say no more." She pats his hand. "Is he worth the wait until he decides to go public, that's if he ever feels ready?"
Edward flinches, the idea having not occurred to him.
"You think he might never be ready? He asked me to be patient."
"Are you seeing him again? Any firm plans?" He can hear the concern in her tone and in the gentle squeeze of her fingers.
"Nothing concrete, but yeah, I hope soon. I have his address and cell number which is a big step forward for him." He looks up, begging her to understand. "He's gotten under my skin, Kate. I'd do anything to keep him in my life."
"Then I guess you have the answer right there. I hope it works out how you want, Edward; I hope he doesn't disappoint you."
The echoing of Carlisle's words causes his shoulders to straighten.
"He won't."
~o.O.o~
The plane lands and Carlisle makes his way through the crowds and outside into the afternoon air. Hailing a cab, he watches the traffic, heavy and slow at this hour, and compares it to the quieter pace of the sleepy Maine town by the sea. For him, the visit has been at times wonderful, awkward, tense and loving.
He has learned much about himself.
In the cab his phone bleeps and he checks his messages. The only one that matters is from Edward and re reads the brief message over and over, feeling the hope in the words. Letting himself inside his apartment, the cold, clinical space feels alien after spending time in Edward's warm, cluttered home, so welcoming to him. He is wrong footed, this safe space no longer offering the comfort and security he is used to. Dropping his bags, he stands for a moment trying to imagine Edward here, his belongings on the shelves, his jacket on the chair, and finds the images do not mesh in his mind. Try as he might, he cannot see Edward in these austere surroundings and his life here seems so very bleak. Gazing out of the tall window, New York seems colder, more impersonal than ever. He chose to live here for that very reason, the ability to hide here in plain sight surrounded by thousands of blank faces. But now – now he finds it a lost world and feels more alone than he thought possible.
With a sigh, he sets to unpacking.
~o.O.o~
Despite his cold, formal surroundings, the trip has energised Carlisle and he is inspired, writing a large portion of his new book, his mind open and unencumbered. His sleep has improved, but this only reminds him when he wakes that Edward is not there sleeping alongside him. He wonders how it is possible to miss someone so much after only four days together, his life irrevocably changed by the warmth and affection that Edward exudes. He is so comfortable in his own skin, in his world and Carlisle is envious of that – that freedom of spirit. Edward is at peace with himself, something that Carlisle longs to be.
He smiles to himself.
Perhaps the answer is prolonged exposure to Edward.
He likes that idea very much.
They establish a routine, talking on the phone most days, usually around midday before Edward sleeps. If it's Edward's turn to call and exhaustion claims him before he can dial, then Carlisle has an anxious wait until he receives an apologetic text later that evening. It is only then he can relax, knowing everything is okay and his lover is safe and well.
The inspiration deteriorates as the high of spending time with Edward wanes, reality bleeding back, his fantasies no longer sufficient to maintain his writing equilibrium. Need grows within him, gnawing at his stomach. Edward's eyes, those mesmerising pools of green, haunt his dreams, promising so much that he wakes anticipating a warm body lying over him, alert and readied. The shock of pain he feels each time reality denies him drives him back to his workaholic ways, sleeping in short bursts to avoid deep sleep. He runs from his dreams and desires, hiding from what he craves.
Carlisle's fear of the truth is causing his confidence to atrophy, tarnishing any hope he has for a happy, contented future. He wants Edward, so very much; indeed his desire for him borders on the insatiable. He cannot see a way forward to balance his life and keep his ugly secret away from the light of day. The shame he felt then would surely return if the story were retold, and he fears seeing the light of desire fade to nothingness in Edward's eyes, replaced by judgement and disgust. His heart is in turmoil; he believes that the relationship should be based on truth, but fears losing all he has found because of it. It feels so much harder now that Edward has opened his heart to him.
Does he risk what he has in order to gain everything he has dreamed of? For Carlisle, the idea of having something to lose is a foreign concept.
~o.O.o~
Edward's days are unchanging, work and sleep his usual pattern, the only light in his days provided by the emails and calls he exchanges with Carlisle. When they don't speak for a day his waking hours are a bland grey, no bright beacon to eclipse the shadows of daily routine. The phone calls are his secret pleasure, what every day leads up to, the chance to have Carlisle say goodnight to him. It doesn't warm the bed, but his heart is light after they talk, their conversations intimate, trusting, their connection deepening.
A month passes, and to each man it feels like six, time dragging its heels yet passing in the blink of an eye on the calendar. Neither has yet spoken of the next visit, each afraid of seeming over eager and clinging, but the reality is that four short days have made such a difference to two ordered, structured lives which can never be undone.
For Carlisle, the walls of his safe haven, his private place, are closing in and he paces at night, chest tight, at times on the edge of panic. One dark night he wakes, rain hammering on the windows, the clock telling him he has slept for a mere two hours despite the relaxation his hand had provided earlier; the fantasy dancing across his mind of a willing Edward had fuelled a climax of some considerable force. He sighs, his feet landing on the rug before stepping through into the shower cubicle to rinse away the evidence of his earlier pleasure. His body is unrepentant, hardening when soapy fingers graze his nipples, his mind hearing Edward's moans of joy. With an agonised sob, his hand grasps his hardened flesh, swiftly finding his release, his knees buckling at the mental picture of Edward lying before him, eyes darkened, his knees raised.
The craving is so strong, the draw to him undeniable, irrefutable.
He knows what he has to do. He towels himself dry and heads for his laptop.
~o.O.o~
That same night Edward checks his cell during his break – no emails. He doesn't expect any during the night, indeed he would rather Carlisle sleep, but he checks for reassurance. He has their phone call to look forward to when he gets home, the sound of his voice washing away the stresses of his shift, his problems backing away until shrouded in shadow, running in fear from the happiness their contact brings. He smiles, sips his coffee and makes plans that have no grounding in reality, at least not yet, but which vie for his attention when he dreams.
It is crazy to want so much and to expect another person to want it too, but he is sure that at some point in the future, let the cards fall where they may, that he and Carlisle will be together. He can wait. He is used to waiting for things to come his way, making plans. This is the first time that those plans have involved a person, a person so perfect for him that it must be written somewhere that a young boy all alone in the world would grow up to meet another. He trusts his belief in fate; it hasn't led him wrong yet. Checking his watch, he drains his cooling coffee and heads back to the desk, an irrepressible smile tugging at his lips. One day those two lonely boys-to-men would be happy together.
One day.
~o.O.o~
Arriving home that morning, he heads to the kitchen to make his supper. The weather is miserable, the rain having tailed off to a dull drizzle, and the kitchen is dark despite the hour. He heats up his pre prepared meal and eats it in front of the TV, catching a rerun of a favourite comedy show. When the credits roll he takes his plate to the sink and rinses it off, running a mental list of the chores he needs to complete in the short hours ahead.
By the time the laundry is done, dried and folded, the linen changed on the bed and the entire place vacuumed, midday is approaching and he is ready for bed, to wait for Carlisle to call to wish him goodnight and maybe torment him in delicious ways, ensuring some very sweet dreams.
When the phone stays silent he is both worried and disappointed. Checking the clock, he resolves to give him another 30 minutes before getting some sleep.
The doorbell is loud and he drags himself from the warm bed and heads downstairs, knotting his robe. Opening the door he is expecting a deliveryman or some other door to door annoyance and is not at all prepared for the sight before him. Carlisle's hair is wet from the rain; he stands hunched, his bag over his shoulder. He looks nervous.
"Is this okay?"
Edward is both stunned and overjoyed. All thoughts of sleep forgotten, he brings him inside before kissing him long and hot, his exuberant greeting betraying his happiness. Breathless, he pulls back just a fraction, choking out the words.
"This is very, very okay."
~o.O.o~