Once Edward has left he lights a fire in the hearth. He thinks it might bring her comfort. But even as he coaxes the logs to catch, Carlisle shakes his head. What will she care for a fire now, when all she does is burn?
He rubs a hand over his face. He cannot be exhausted, it is not in their nature, but he feels a drain, something tapping his mental energy, but more than that he feels a profound magnetic pull. It brings him back to Esme.
He kneels by her side, looking upon her silken face. Already the venom is changing her. Not so much in the way she looks, but in ways that will last forever. Her skin glows with the subtle strength of their marble features, with the powerful grace, and nearly impenetrable firmness.
Her cheeks have lost their rosy glow, but he yearns to stroke them even more now, and allows himself the pleasure, knowing that he is alone at the present. His fingertips brush gently against her, trailing along her jaw.
Her lips are a lovely, pale pink, like new roses, plucked before their prime, when they're sweetest and most delicate.
He hesitates a moment, pulling away before his curious fingers can linger any longer. Surely he can restrain himself better than this. Perhaps he can distract himself from her. There are new medical journals in his office, ones he picked up only yesterday from the post office, though he knows he'd be lying to think he could leave her side, even for an instant.
Perhaps he can read them to her. Yes, Edward did say to talk to her. Yet that feels rather impersonal—reading some thick medical jargon.
What does he say then?
Where to begin?
He starts with the obvious, by introducing himself. He reminds her of their meeting, many years ago, holding her hand as she writhes. As the hours wane she becomes more violent in her movements, telling Carlisle that the venom has healed her spinal column. She kicks and flails, her chest heaving until he can see her ribs protrude under the thin cotton of her dress.
Regardless of this, he holds her hand, tucking it between both of his; he traces his thumbs across her knuckles, flipping it to trace the lines upon her palms as he memorizes the dips and valleys of her hand. Never in his time on this earth has he wanted to know someone in such detail and the realization confuses him, though he finds himself reluctant to stop. When he finishes studying her hands, he moves back to her face, until such a time as he grows tired of this, though it never comes.
As the time bleeds on, he finds that sometimes he speaks. But sometimes he just listens, imagining the kinds of things she would say in return. Remembering the vibrant child of her youth. Her darling smile. The dimples that drove deep on either side of her face as she told him excitedly of the birds she found nesting in her tree. Even though she had fallen, she could not bring herself to despise her tree or her birds.
He'd found her simply enthralling.
He does still.
He wonders suddenly if she will have changed much. Surely, he thinks, for he found her in a most desperate circumstance. Surely the loss of her son is a blow unlike anything he can imagine. And she will suffer this loss still, even as an immortal. But human memories do have a tendency to fade with time. And he will be here, to help her transition. To help her understand.
Or simply to help send her on her way.
Perhaps she will not wish to stay.
Perhaps she will not wish to live under the same roof as the one who changed her. Who pulled her human soul into the world of the undying.
He certainly hopes not, for he plans to work very hard to earn her trust.
He'd very much like her to stay. To join him, as Edward has.
He sighs heavily, feeling the gentle rush of her breath as she whimpers. I'm sorry, he thinks again.
"You're having quite the internal debate."
Carlisle turns, not surprised to see Edward. He'd heard the soft tread of his feet crossing the lawn on the eastern edge of the property. He must have just come from town. "I'm wrestling with my conscience," he admits. "It was an impulsive decision. I don't know why I did it."
"Those thoughts will drive you mad, Carlisle. Especially when present circumstances are impossible to change." Edward sighs. "She will be one of us now, whether or not you still wish it."
Carlisle cannot bring himself to say it aloud, but even now he wishes it. He cannot reason why, but the desire to know Esme, once again, as an immortal has been gnawing at him for days. So even as he reasons that he should be ashamed and guilty, he does not feel it. Not yet, anyhow. He is sorry for the pain, oh yes. Sorry for the suffering he has put her through. But he is not sorry that she will be one of them.
Anxious though. Oh, yes, he is that. Terrified really, of what she'll think of him. Of her new life.
"The burning is fading," Edward says, breaking up Carlisle's thoughts. "She'll wake soon."
For the first time Carlisle turns to really look at him, opening his mouth to thank him aloud, when he notices the brown packages tied neatly, under his arm.
"Women's clothes," Edward says. "I thought she might like to change once she awakes, so I stopped in at one of the shops in town. Made quite the stir, I did. There's that Cullen boy, they were thinking. Nice boy. Kind boy. Oh, his father is just the most darling man. A doctor, too. I bet he'll be just like his father." Edward grins. "Then I inquired about ladies underthings. Their thoughts about me have shifted some."
Carlisle can't help himself. He laughs, loud and clear, and the sound shocks him. It's only been a few days, but he's missed Edward terribly.
"I am rather good company," he says. "Despite the fact you have yet to best me in chess." He lays the parcels at the edge of the sofa. "I wonder if Esme plays. I daresay she'll be a much better match for you. Unless she too can read minds."
Carlisle turns suddenly, considering. And his nerves return.
Edward places a hand on his shoulder. "You did say my gift was rare; that only Aro had anything remotely similar."
"I did."
"Well, then I think the odds are pretty good that Esme will not be able to read your thoughts." He laughs, falling down into the armchair by the hearth. "Can you imagine. Both of us being able to read your mind. What a nightmare for you, really."
"Yes, quite," Carlisle murmurs.
"It's almost over," Edward says suddenly, sitting up in the chair. "Her mind is much clearer." He gives Carlisle a cheeky grin. "Though she wonders where her angel has gone."
"I'm here," Carlisle whispers to her, squeezing her fingertips between his. Her fingers curl inside his and with one more dragging thump, her heart stops.
"It's finished," Edward says and he rises from the armchair to stand next to Carlisle. "She's about to open her eyes."