This was a request from a reader - the prompt was for something that actually happened to Peter Facinelli, and I chose this situation. It's a bit cracky and unlikely to happen since Carlisle could tell who was on the other side of a door, but just pretend with me here.

I do take requests for moments you'd like to see, so feel free to message me with them. And again, thank you for all your wonderful reviews! They make my day!

Look for an update on Guns & Roses tomorrow or Monday.

2003

The knock on the door at 5am startled him.

He looked up from his book, frowning slightly. He was in a hotel room, having flown to New York for a medical conference that started at 8am that morning. Not that he would really sleep any, he just enjoyed having a completely silent hotel room. He had been comfortably relaxing after checking in at home and with his wife a few hours ago. That was the only problem about these conferences - he was away from his family for sometimes a week at a time. But the hotel room would be his home for the next few days - he wasn't going to complain any since the people hosting the conference had paid to him and the other doctors up in rather expensive and elegant rooms.

But the knock on the door intrigued him.

For a moment, he figured it was probably some inebriated man who had gotten the wrong room. There were too many humans in the hotel for him to get the exact scent of whoever was outside his door, but he detected a hint of vanilla - so either it was a very feminine man, or there was a drunken female standing outside his door. Interesting. Then again, this was New York City, so it wasn't completely surprising. He'd been to New York several times, and each time he came home with a new odd experience to tell his family about.

So Carlisle decided to ignore it, returning to the medical text he was flipping through, soaking up the words on the page like his brain was a sponge, determined to get any and all information he could about his current subject. He needed the information for tomorrow, when he was speaking to a group on neurosurgery and the techniques he used during it. The book offered a few insights about it that he hadn't thought of before. That was the good thing about books - you could always soak up more information from them. Even Carlisle didn't know everything.

The knock came again.

Frowning again, Carlisle went toward the door and attempted to peer out the peephole, but it was nothing but blackness. Someone was covering it up. Now he began to worry. The police? Or was someone playing a joke? He tried again, but it was still black and he had no hope of seeing who was on the other side. Something was wrong either way.

He didn't have time to ponder it as his cell phone on the table let out a shrill ring. He crossed to it and answered, still glancing back at the door.

"Hello?"

The voice that came back was crackling - interference from something - and nothing above a whisper.

"Open the door."

He hung up.

Carlisle had never really been afraid before, but whatever was happening now was disturbing him a bit. Just what was going on? The situation was indeed odd, and unnerved him just a bit. He thought about calling downstairs, but that wouldn't do any good. There would be no one at the front desk, and even if there was, whoever was outside his door would have time to get away. Maybe he was imagining things.

The phone rang again. No, definately not imaging that.

He hesitated, but answered.

"Hello?"

"Open the door!" Again, it was a whisper, but this time a bit more rushed.

"Who is this?" He inquired, but the phone disconnected itself. He was definitely going to listen to Alice the next time she suggested he upgrade his phone.

For the third time, his phone rang.

Mentally preparing himself, he answered again.

"Hello?"

"It's your wife, open the door!"

He began to do math in his head. He had just talked to Esme a few hours ago, and there wasn't any way she could possibly be standing outside of his hotel room door at that very moment. Was there? They had flights that could make it cross country quicker than commercial airlines. Perhaps she had come on one of those. But why? It wouldn't make sense for her to fly all the way out here.

Again, his mind went to someone playing a joke on him. But how would they know he was married? It was possible they had seen him in the lobby of the hotel, and had seen his wedding ring, but the circumstances of that happening were slim. Was someone trying to kill him? Had he done anything to offend anyone to that point? He didn't think so.

He wasn't sure what to do.

So he did the only logical thing he could think of.

Going to the small kitchenette, he grabbed a butter knife. He knew full and well that he could easily tear someone apart with his hands, but if it were someone trying to attack him - a human - then it would be easier to explain to the police why whoever was outside his door had a butter knife in his chest rather than chunks of flesh missing. Self defense, he would claim, and the situation would be resolved.

He went to the door, counted to three, and jerked it open.

Esme jumped back with a surprised yelp.

"Carlisle! Why in the name of God are you holding a butter knife?"

He glanced at her, then the knife in his hand. He gave a sheepish smile and tossed it back into his room. Esme stepped back toward him with an arched eyebrow.

"What are you doing here?"

"What? No 'Oh, it's so good to see you!" or even a 'Hello Esme!'?"

"I thought you were a drunken man. Or woman."

Esme stared at him a long moment, and then broke into a fit of giggles. He rolled his eyes, knowing full and well that he would now never live this down.

"I called you. Three times. I even said who I was."

"My phone cut out. I couldn't understand." He gave a small smile. "But I'm glad you're here now."

"Mhm." Esme smiled, but shook her head as she brushed past her husband into the hotel room. "Maybe next time I won't come and surprise you with my gift."

"What gift?"

She gave a mischievous smirk.

"I'm wearing it."