*toes the carpet* So, uhmm... sorry this is a bit late. *ducks and covers*. Next chapter being written at the moment, I promise. I am also working on the next chapter of Let the Rain Come Down. I have recently posted a new one shot, 'At Second Glance', to my AO3 account under the same user name. It is M/M/M (Carlisle and Jasper) - please heed the warning at the start. The subject matter isnt for everyone.

Thanks to my lovely beta mxpi1970.

Much love to you all for your patience.

~o.O.o~

All I Want to Hear

Chapter 12

"I'm so proud of you."

Edward pauses outside the café. He reaches for Carlisle's hand and clasps it in both of his own. Pulling him close, they exchange what an onlooker would misinterpret as a manly embrace between old friends, before walking down towards the water. The air is colder now, worse weather is on the way, and their breath plumes before them. Together they watch the choppy water in silence until Edward feels Carlisle reach out. Warm fingers, tentative at first, intertwine with his, and heat courses through his body from that much needed contact, a thrill of joy that shrugs off the cold and envelops them both. Carlisle is shaking, taking measured breaths. He makes no move to pull away, and Edward looks into stormy blue eyes, full of determination, and mouths I love you.

Back home, they set about unpacking Carlisle's bags and making room in the closet for his clothes and shoes. Seeing the mixed rack of clothes makes both smile. Edward then leads the way downstairs and explains his plans for new shelving to accommodate their book collections. Carlisle nods and adds that they should wait until they know how much space they need. Edward laughs – both know they will have no problem filling the shelves so why worry?

All too soon it is time for Edward to sleep, his first shift back at work imminent. Carlisle accompanies him upstairs and to overcome his reticence there are too many kisses in their warm bed, soft, lingering and deep, that leave Edward drugged and relaxed, finally succumbing to the warm embrace of dreams.

Carlisle makes coffee and sets about distracting himself. He has only just begun to work when a knock at the door brings the delivery men with his boxes. The afternoon is spent unpacking and sorting, before stacking the majority of his books against the bare wall where the new shelves will go. Straightening up and rubbing his hands on his jeans, he admires his work. Everything that matters to him is now in one place and, even stacked as they are, in tall wobbly towers, for Carlisle it is the last perfect piece in the puzzle, completing the picture of home in a way he could not have foreseen.

A small pile of books sit in an untidy pile by his feet. Most of these are of no further use to his writing and a couple, to his surprise, are duplicates of those already on Edward's shelves. Sipping his coffee, he decides to take them to Monroe's and trade them in for fresh material. At the thought of outside, the events of that morning run through his mind. He can scarcely believe that he touched another man in public, and allowed himself to be touched.

Not just any man though. I don't regret it – how strange to be able to say that. How freeing to hold my Edward's hand outside where people can see… and judge.

He takes a calming breath to steady his nerves at the recollection. The memory feels surreal and he wonders if he will wake to find it all a dream.

Turning to check the last all-but-empty box, he pulls out the one remaining item and stares at it until his coffee is all gone.

~o.O.o~

When Edward wakes he instinctively reaches for Carlisle, but finds only a cold pillow before remembering that he has to work today. Dressing with speed, he runs down the stairs to find Carlisle sitting at his laptop, his breakfast prepared and waiting. Beaming with joy, he wraps his arms around his lover, kissing him long and slow.

"I love that you're here. Did you get much done today?"

He nods at the computer before stuffing his mouth full of buttered toast.

"I did. I have some new ideas to pursue which is always exciting. I need to visit Monroe. Oh – my boxes came."

Edward looks over at the living room.

"That was quick. How did you get on?"

"Oh, all unpacked. We just need the shelves now and we're sorted." His smile is wide and happy.

"Fantastic. We'll look into that at the weekend." He chases the toast with a few mouthfuls of juice. "I better run - they're forecasting heavy rain tonight and tomorrow. Really bad weather can mean a busy night. I best be early."

Standing, he finishes his juice and heads to fetch his coat, scarf & umbrella. Carlisle straightens and fastens his scarf, tucking in the ends so it can't be whipped away by the wind. Smoothing his collar, he grins.

"Stay warm, and get a cab if the weather turns. I don't want you getting sick."

"I will. I hate leaving you when I've only just got you here. I promise to make it up to you at the weekend. We can spend the day in bed." His eyes are soft and filled with longing.

Carlisle leans in until he is a heartbeat away, warm breath caressing Edward's lips before he claims them, slow and soft. Edward's heart stutters and falters. When they break his head is hazy and he forces himself back to the present with some degree of difficulty.

"Get some sleep – promise? Have an early night - I'll be home before you know it." He smiles, biting his lip. "If you go now the sheets might still be warm."

~o.O.o~

Looking up from the staff rosters, Edward checks his watch. The hotel is quiet tonight and his workload is light. While this would usually mean a relaxing shift, it now only exacerbates his yearning to be with Carlisle. He needs to make changes in his life that will sit better with his new relationship status. Whilst they enjoy their mornings together, and Carlisle is happy to write whilst Edward sleeps, it means that they both sleep alone, and Edward hasn't admitted to Carlisle how difficult he now finds it to fall asleep in their bed when he knows his lover is awake downstairs. He also worries about Carlisle too, knowing his history of insomnia; the last thing he wants is his lover falling into old habits: pacing the empty house at night, drinking too much coffee and staring at a computer screen until he falls into a fitful sleep.

He shakes his head.

I need to change shifts. Not such an easy ask, but I have to try.

He has no idea how this can be accomplished. Peter, the day manager, is a long serving employee with a great deal more experience. He sighs. He will do what he has to do. When Charlotte, the owner, is next in, he plans to have a quiet word about his future at the Dragonfly.

~o.O.o~

Carlisle heads to bed at a reasonable hour, sinking into sheets that bear the comforting scent of his lover. His sleep is patchy at best, but he perseveres, resisting the urge to get up and walk around. He replays happy thoughts in his mind to ease him back into sleep: green eyes in an intimate hotel room… the soft cadence of a low voice uttering the words I'm yours.

In the morning he is up early, making a start on the laundry, wanting to make sure that Edward at least comes home to clean clothes and bedding. He is on his second cup of coffee in the lounge room when he hears the door.

"Good morning, love. How was work?"

Edward slumps into an armchair.

"Slow, and slower. It always surprises me how tired I can get from just being unstimulated." His smile invites Carlisle into his space. "Do I get my kiss?"

Carlisle straddles his knees, leaning in to deliver a very thorough good morning welcome. The soft moan of appreciation is music to his ears, lips lingering through warm, heightened breath. Hands find Carlisle's neck, pulling him closer still, the tip of his tongue just breaching his defences, seeking its mate. Both sigh then, falling into the wondrous haze of desire and longing. Their dance of love starts out so tender and warm, heating until it blazes into lust's own inferno – undeniable and insatiable. Taking Carlisle's hand, he places it where it is most needed, whispering the words in little more than a pained groan.

"See what you do to me?"

It is the work of a moment to free Edward from his pants, revealing him in all his splendour. Fingers wrap around the stiff flesh, teasing him with small movements. What Carlisle wants to hear are the words that he knows will drop from Edward's lips, the begging that goes in tandem with the divine darkened-green depths of his heated gaze. He does not have to wait long.

"Carlisle please…" The words have a rough throaty edge that sends shivers of desire across his skin. "Please… I need your mouth. You're so amazing. Make me see stars."

Sinking to his knees, Carlisle worships his lover with his lips and tongue, eliciting the wondrous noises that fuel his lonely, fevered dreams. The experience is heightened by the sound of his own name gasped with increasing passion until Edward is overcome with pleasure, slumped, silenced and spent. His fingers release Carlisle's hair and smooth it back into place, the gesture absent minded, yet full of love. When his eyes refocus, he hums and smiles.

"I bet every guy in America would love to be welcomed home just like that. That was just… incredible."

Carlisle pushes himself back up onto his feet, a smile that just won't quit spreading across his face.

"Stay there – I'll fetch you coffee and something to eat. Let me satisfy your every need." He returns with coffee on a tray, proffering it to his lover. "What would Sir like to eat? The kitchen is open and taking orders."

"Do we have chicken? I could go for fajitas."

Carlisle grins. "Done."

A short time later, the smell of sizzling chicken fills the room, and Edward is once again thankful to have such an attentive partner. Looking around at the piles of books, he grins, seeing their life together taking shape. His eyes fall on a heavy book on the chair, but a closer inspection reveals it to be a photo album. Unwilling to snoop, he waits for the time in which Carlisle will invite him to look. He has no idea what lies within, no idea which parts of Carlisle's broken past will be revealed in those pages. He just has to trust that Carlisle will share it with him when the time is right.

They eat their meal together, the book unmentioned and unopened, yet not hidden away. Carlisle does not wish to hide any part of himself from Edward and takes his time to find the words to bring up this new chapter. He senses Edward's concern, but feels no pressure; there is plenty of time. It is a surprise therefore when he finds himself picking up the album, feeling its physical and metaphorical weight. Taking a breath, he sits on the sofa, the book on his knees. Edward waits in silence, the unspoken invitation hanging in the air - a sheet of blank paper anticipating the scratch of a pen.

Carlisle clears his throat.

"This is my family." The roughness of his throat betrays his emotion. Edward has never seen anything of the family his love has left behind; there were no pictures in the stark New York apartment, no memories or keepsakes. "I'd like you to see… if you'd like to."

Edward rises and moves to the seat next to his lover. He captures one of Carlisle's anxious, white-knuckled hands in silent reassurance, gentle rays of early morning sunlight brightening the quiet room.

"I'd be honoured to see your family."

The book opens with the satisfying creak of age. The front page depicts a studio portrait of a baby Carlisle, the eyes and smile unmistakable.

"You were adorable." Edward's cheeks widen in a helpless grin, his head falling onto Carlisle's shoulder and, for a moment, they both gaze at this perfect moment in time. The rustling page turns and now there are smiling people with the happy baby in their arms, all wide eyes and grabby hands reaching to the unseen photographer. Edward waits.

"My parents."

Edward gazes at the faces that raised and betrayed this beautiful man. They look so happy and proud with no trace of the expectations they would later heap on those helpless young shoulders.

"They were good parents. When I was little I spent lots of time with my father out in the vineyard. When he wasn't working we would throw a ball around, just the two of us and our dog. It was father/son time then. My mama, she called me her baby boy when we were alone. My father overheard and didn't like that. "He needs to be a man!" he'd growl. "He can't be tied to his mother's apron strings. He has a future to learn; don't turn him into a soft little mama's boy." Mama, she'd smile and agree, but I knew she would always see me as her baby boy, and I liked it. I could be different people – it was a relief. I guess that separation of self helped me when I began writing."

"You were happy back then though? Knowing your future was mapped out?"

"At first. I was young and the future was so far away. My writing was an escape into my own head, no threat to my everyday life."

He turns the page to show pictures of his father working outdoors, a young Carlisle at his heels, watching his father and taking in his every word, while a black and white, rough-coated Collie dog frolics around them. Another shows the family together at Christmas, a small boy with a bright smile amid a pile of presents and a riotous, vibrant mess of abandoned wrapping paper, holding up a toy truck while an older girl looks on. Carlisle points to her.

"That's my sister. She moved out and married when she was 19. She lives in London now, her husband is from there. I haven't seen her in years. I think she was happy to leave home; my father paid me all the attention; the son and heir to the family business. I assume she's okay – she doesn't have my address, nor I hers. We are strangers."

Another page turns and now there is a beautiful blonde girl smiling into the camera, a school logo evident on her sweater.

Edward nudges him.

"She's a looker, like you."

The answering smile is wistful.

"I wonder if we could have been close under different circumstances. Rosalie resented me, and meeting Alistair gave her the out she so desperately wanted. He is quite a bit older than her, a barrister, but they seemed happy enough at the wedding. I hope they still are."

"Do you ever wonder if you're an uncle?"

He looks surprised. "I didn't think of that. Huh. I guess I probably am." His face falls. "So much unhappiness."

The wedding photo on the next page shows Rosalie and Alistair smiling into the camera, the bride radiant, the handsome groom proud. Carlisle stands, an awkward young teenager, uncomfortable in his first suit, trying to smile. To Edward's eyes, their mother looks sad at the prospect of losing her only daughter to both a husband and a new life overseas.

More pages. The happy blond boy in the pictures is growing up, and to Edward it appears that he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. The pictures of his mother show a tall woman, grey flecks in her hair and a smile of pride for her only son – a son who looks more and more trapped as the pictures move on.

"How old were you there?"

"Eighteen. I knew I wanted to be a writer, one way or another, but I feared asking my parents if I could go to college." He sighs. "Shortly after that was taken I spoke to them for the first time about it. My father hit the roof. The rest you know."

He closes the book, his hand on the cover. Edward chooses his words with care.

"Would you like to add new pictures to the album if you could?"

Silence. Nothing but a tremor of the hand on the heavy book, the tightening of eyes and forehead.

"Carlisle?"

"Impossible."

"Is it?"

"They won't forgive me."

"Do you know that for sure?"

Silence.

"Will you ever consider contacting them again? Or at least your mother? It's been a long time since you last tried, and you're not alone in this. If it were something you wanted to do you know you have my support." A squeeze of the hand for reassurance. "I do understand that it's your choice, love."

"I can't face more rejection – I can't see my mother's face, see the disappointment. My father would never want to see me. I can say that for sure."

He is collapsing inward, pain flaring anew from a wound ripped open. Edward pulls him into his arms, holding him close, murmuring into his ear.

"Then you and I will be all the family we need."

~o.O.o~

Their morning is spent snuggled together on the sofa, talking and watching a movie. No more is said about Carlisle's past, or the contacting of his family.

Once Edward is asleep, Carlisle sits with a mug of coffee and spends considerable time gazing at a picture of his family all together, one of the last taken before his sister left home. He traces their faces with a gentle finger, trying to ignore the yearning deep inside. Back in New York he admitted to missing his family; the pain caused by their rebuffs is a dark mark on his soul that has never faded.

Facing that pain head-on would take greater strength that he fears he possesses. His head tries to circumvent the anticipated pain of rejection by looking beyond it: he would tell his family that he has succeeded in his career, that he has found real, fulfilling love, that he is happy.

The subconscious voice in his head is that of his father, the curl of his lip punctuating his anger and disdain.

You let us down.

But I've moved on! My self-belief was right!

You shamed us. And to top it off, you have taken another man as your lover, even after what you put us through.

Carlisle's head is in his hands. He can't undo the past, but is it possible to forge a new relationship with his family based on honesty and success? Based on love, pure and simple? He gazes at his mother's face, sees the love therein, and wonders how that love could have been snuffed out.

Are you sure it was?

The voice in his head now is that of his beloved Edward. The calm tones of reason soak into his brain, Edward's voice a healing balm to his senses. He thinks back, back to that day when his father had made his decision known. His mother was strong - she had to be to stay in a relationship with his hot-tempered father – but she could stand up to him when needed. She had let him rant, venting his anger and disgust at Carlisle's behaviour. At the time it had seemed to the teenaged boy that he had brought this all upon himself. His choices were bad choices, his father knew better - he had told him he would fail, that he was a fool.

Until a few days ago, Carlisle had believed him, blaming himself for a situation way beyond his control.

Until that final day in New York.

Now he knows better. Edward has opened his eyes at long last, his love and understanding have shown him the way. His mother had not argued on his behalf when he was disowned. She had looked defeated, overruled, he realises now. The letters he had sent were returned – his father's writing on them, his definitive penmanship crossing out the address with firm, deep strokes of the pen, his former life extinguished, all ties severed.

He thinks hard, forcing himself to lock away the familiar pain of rejection for just a brief moment to think with a rational mind.

Mama did not return any of them.

Every one of them had been returned. His thoughts churn, a startling revelation crashing in to disorient him further.

Did she see them, read them?

Did his darling mama ever know he had written? Did she think he had just forgotten her? Or had his father waved the letters at her in anger before mailing them back? Taunting her, denying her? Would she have responded if she could? If his father had rid the house of his letters, she would have had no way of contacting him once he fled California. His mind is reeling with the mere possibility.

She might agree to see me if I can get a letter to her. But how can I do that when Father monitors the incoming mail? How can I be sure she will see it? Father may have eased up – I haven't written for years. Maybe an official looking envelope with the address typed on a label might get by him?

Pain lances his soul afresh.

I love you, Mama.

Then the answer is there, a blinding flare of light exploding behind his eyes, illuminating his world for a brief moment. The answer is simple.

Edward.

He will ask Edward to write to her.

~o.O.o~

Edward's night is busier as predicted, and he is glad of the distraction for when his hands are idle his mind returns to their conversation from that morning, and Carlisle's sadness about his family. He can't imagine the pain of having his family alive and well, yet out of reach. Even now, after so many years, Edward still misses his own parents so much. Loneliness is an emotion with which he has become well acquainted since arriving in Maine. He has learned not to dwell on it, but it is ever-present, a nagging feeling of emptiness that he has tried to fill with work, sleep and books.

Until Carlisle came into his life. He hopes they would have accepted Carlisle into the family, had they been given the opportunity.

He swallows hard. His own pain cannot be disregarded or suppressed if he wants to help Carlisle. Breaking down in Carlisle's arms that day by the river had been a crucial turning point for him, allowing someone in who could actually understand. Now is it is his turn to support his love through his own loss in any possible way he can, his pain tangible.

When the hotel quiets during the early hours, his curiosity wins. Reaching for the keyboard, he calls up their wine inventory and supplier list, his finger tracing down the screen until he sees it – Benefici Vineyard. The contact number is listed alongside their regular order. Closing the record, he calls up the vineyard's website, acquainting himself with the layout. Skimming the basics, he reads up on the history of the vineyard, noticing that there are no photos of the owners. The place looks idyllic, and Edward can see Carlisle's pictures in his mind's eye, a beautiful place to grow up, so very far removed from where Carlisle has spent the last few years cloistered away.

His eye notices that the website has a 'contact us' tab for enquiries and his heart urges him to reach out. His head reminds him that it is not his choice. He and Carlisle will be all the family they both need from now on.

With a sigh, he closes the screen and erases his search history.

So near yet so far.

~o.O.o~