A/N: My awful secret is out! It takes a little longer for me to update this story. Please, don't lose interest! This chapter actually took more rewrites than any other chapter I've written so far. Perhaps I'm trying too hard to make it good?

A number of my regular reviewers stopped utilizing PMs between my posting of chapters 5 and 6. To those, whose privacy I respect, please know that even though I can't reply to your reviews, they are very much appreciated. :)

~*~ Chapter Seven ~*~

Carlisle's evening shift began just after the sky became clouded. It was interesting how often he had to rely on such luck. Having a precognitive psychic in his family certainly helped such things along. Truthfully, Carlisle never fully understood how Alice's visions, which were based on the ever-changing decisions people made, could predict the weather. Perhaps it was tied into Lorenz's butterfly effect theory. Or it was simply a case of the weather being the same in each scenario that Alice saw.

Dismissing the pondering from his mind, Carlisle made his way into the hospital through the front doors and passed a patient on her way out. She stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Hello, Dr. Cullen."

"Miss Paulsen, hello." The possession of perfect memory made it easy for Carlisle to match a name with a face. Jennifer Paulsen had been in the emergency room once before, almost a month earlier. Carlisle remembered that her condition had been transitory, dysmenorrhea, and he had prescribed a small dosage of Vicodin to help her through.

"Are you just coming on shift?" she asked him, smiling and not removing her hand from his upper arm. Jennifer was a rather plain-featured woman, with mousy brown-hair and excessively applied cosmetics that did little to improve her features. "Or do you have a few minutes? I actually have a question or two that didn't get answered, if you don't mind."

"Of course." Carlisle smiled. The woman's obviousness was not lost on him, but he would never refuse such a small request as to answer a few questions.

"You see, I just can't make these dizzy spells go away." Her hand left his arm to touch lightly against her head. "They come on me all of a sudden, and sometimes last for far too long. I'm worried it might be something worse than just poor diet."

"Dr. Snow is very thorough," Carlisle responded, referring to the physician whom he was relieving. "It couldn't hurt to at least start by following his advice and eating more balanced meals."

"Oh, I didn't see Dr. Snow, just the nurse. That's why I'm glad to see you." Jennifer gave him a slow smile, the cherry-red color of her lips stretching wide. Placing her manicured hand back on his upper arm almost negligently, she spoke again. "It's good to have a doctor around. It's easier for patients like me, people like me, to be reassured, when there's a doctor to help. Don't you agree?" She trailed her fingers slowly down his arm, pure artifice and not hiding it. At thirty-two, her biological clock was ticking, sending her into sexual overdrive. She was a woman on the prowl. "What made you become a doctor, Carlisle?"

Carlisle stepped backward, moving himself out of arm's reach. "I am sure the nurse's advice is sound, Miss Paulsen. Now, do excuse me. I prefer to be on time for the beginning of my shift." He turned and walked away from her.

It was an old game, and a wearying one, to deal with the advances of women, and occasionally men, in each location that he lived in. Yet it was something that he had to put up with, for remaining aloof from human society when he was so capable of assisting them was not an option for him. The tiresomeness began anew, each time his family had to relocate. A new town generated a new intensity of romantic interest, which would peter down after the first year. Yet, Carlisle found it to be a little more tedious when they continued after he'd decidedly refused one and all.

It was an unfortunate liability that his vampirism made him more physically attractive to the human race. A good percentage of humans could feel a subliminal layer of disquiet despite the enticements of his vampire-enhanced allurement. Yet, the pursuit of love was strong enough in humans that they would overcome their discomfort in order to get closer to their goal. Loneliness, and the belief that someone out there could ease it, understand you to your core and accept you, created a strong need indeed. A need that was not lost if one became a vampire.

After over three hundred years, Carlisle was still without a mate. He didn't hide his lack of an attachment when moving on to a new town and creating a new identity, and that opened the floodgates to all those looking for love, or even just physical satisfaction. Carlisle had found neither in the humans he coexisted with. Oh, he might find an opportunity for physical satisfaction with another vampire once in a rare while, but neither vampires nor humans had given him love.

Though there was a time when he had come close. Carlisle had hoped, once, that Esme's presence in his life might stave off the unwanted advances. That she might learn to love him as he had felt he was beginning to love her. Carlisle had actually been in the early stages of courting her when they'd made their trip to Ireland. There, she had met Maggie. He had introduced them, and the moment the two women's eyes had locked, they all knew it was a love match. Maggie had found her soul mate in Esme. The subsequent conversation between himself and Esme had been short and understanding. Standing in the way of true love was not something Carlisle would ever do, and he had genuinely given them both his blessing, learning to love both women as sisters and companions. That he felt some disappointment at an opportunity being lost, an opportunity which might have never truly existed, he kept to himself.

There were no patients to be seen at the start of his shift. As per his usual routine at mimicking human behavior, Carlisle entered the break room. He smiled at its only other occupant, Grace Lloyd-Jenkins. The doughy woman sipped at a mug of hot coffee that she held to her mouth with both her hands. She was a short woman, with salt and pepper hair that nicely complemented her kind eyes. She nodded back at Carlisle in greeting.

"Hello, Grace." Carlisle moved to the coffee pot and poured himself a cupful. He didn't have to sip it to keep up appearances; it would make a good prop. "How are Beth and Duncan doing?"

Beth Lloyd-Jenkins was Grace's only child, and a widowed mother. She had lost her husband to a car accident while in her first trimester. The grief and pain of it had been felt throughout the hospital. Carlisle lamented not knowing whether he would have been able to save Alan Cockburn had he been on duty that day. So he had made sure to be an ear for Grace, offering help and support to the daughter with advice to the mother. Working nights while her daughter worked days, Grace did often speak with Carlisle about her daughter's emotional progress. In one of those private moments, Grace confessed that her daughter bitterly regretted not having taken her husband's name. When the boy had been born, a healthy 8 lbs 10oz, neither Grace nor Carlisle had been surprised when Beth chose the thoroughly Scottish name Duncan Cockburn.

In the nineteen months since that day Beth had habitually brought her infant son in. The woman was nervous about protecting her son, and Carlisle didn't blame her. Single-motherhood had made the typically high-strung woman need soothing more often when it came to the care of her son.

"No more worse for wear," Grace answered Carlisle cheerily. "She says to tell you hello. You just missed them as a matter of fact."

"Did I?" Carlisle leaned against the counter, careful not to apply too much pressure, and affected a casual stance as he held his steaming mug of black coffee. Esme's influence had taught him not to waste excessively, even for the sake of appearance, so the break room's cream and sugar went untouched by him.

Grace nodded. "Duncan fell off the kitchen table. Somehow that kid managed to use his potty as a stepping stool to climb onto the chair and then the table while Beth's back was turned. He's a quick one."

"I trust he wasn't hurt?"

"Not a scratch on him. You can imagine the state Beth was in, though."

Carlisle nodded. "I can. It is good that Duncan is especially hardy."

"I've never seen a more solid kid. Thirty-six pounds at nineteen months!" Grace's exasperation was full of grandmotherly pride.

Carlisle heard the approaching heartbeat and footsteps before the door to the break room opened, and Diana leaned her head inside. "Dr. Cullen? Miss Swan has come in."

Carlisle set his cup of coffee back down on the counter and followed Diana back to the emergency room. "We seem to have a new regular," Diana said by way of conversation as she accompanied him. Carlisle merely smiled, and Diana continued. "Isabella Swan twisted her ankle stepping out of a friend's vehicle. That same friend brought her in. I made him stay in the waiting room. The Chief has already been called."

The thought of a Black in the waiting room after over a year of avoidance intrigued Carlisle, but he restrained himself from asking the identity of the friend. It would seem peculiar to ask such a thing when he had not yet asked about Miss Swan's injuries. He would find out from Bella when he examined her without causing himself attention. Accepting the necessary paperwork, Carlisle nodded at Diana in thanks and dismissal before entering the ER.

Bella was sitting in a wheelchair, her right leg extended, shoe already off. A large part of her was hoping that Dr. Cullen would not be the one on duty right then. Yet, when he appeared, her heart came up in her throat, and she knew that she had actually been hoping it would be him. She wanted to see the vampire, to look at him and know what he was.

"Hello again, Miss Swan." Dr. Cullen smiled at her. For some inexplicable reason, it was his hair that she noticed first: sun-kissed blond, even under the fluorescent lights. His skin was as pale as she'd ever seen it, paler even than her own. There wasn't a blemish on it, anywhere, unless you accounted for the slight shadow under his eyes. As her gaze took in that last detail, she noticed something about his appearance that held an even greater significance, making her pulse beat a little faster. Dr. Cullen's eyes were black.

Smiling at her, he did what she now recognized as one of his typical motions: he sat on the wheeled stool and rolled over to her, stopping just short of her extended leg. "I understand you fell," he stated, smiling at her. Bella nodded. "I understand also," Dr. Cullen continued, smile widening slightly and a twinkle coming into his eyes, "that this once again involves a vehicle and a male friend."

Bella couldn't help but grin back, nodding. As she had thought once before, his bedside manner was excellent, and she felt her slight nerves at being around him ease. "Different vehicle, different friend."

"It's not Jacob Black out in the waiting room, then?" Carlisle asked, leaning over to look at her ankle.

"No, Mike Newton. I hear that you shop at his Dad's store." Shit, Bella thought. Why did I say that? It sounds like I've been checking up on him – which I have, actually. "Mike happened to mention it," she covered lamely.

"Newton's Outfitters," Carlisle confirmed agreeably. If her comment had caught his attention as being unusual, he gave no sign of it. "My family and I do a lot of camping, and it's good to support locally owned stores." He had slid the ankle of her jeans up carefully as he talked, before allowing his fingers to gently probe her ankle. Bella's ankle was swollen and tender to the touch. She'd winced when he'd applied a slight pressure.

The coolness of his fingers had registered. Though he had stopped to put gloves on, it was still very noticeable. Bella remembered that Jacob's story had mentioned the cold ones having hard skin, though she didn't notice Dr. Cullen's to be especially hard. It was rather pleasant, actually, the feel of those cool fingers on her swollen ankle, cautiously twisting her foot.

Her gaze remained on him the entire time he touched her. How hard could he press her skin? How much strength lay in those fingers? Jacob had said that the cold ones were fast as well as strong. She'd seen Dr. Cullen move quickly once, even though she hadn't registered it immediately for what it was. How fast was he? If he had seen her falling out of the Suburban would he have been able to catch her? What happened to him when the sun was out? He and his family could all obviously walk about during the day, yet they avoided sunlight.

Why did they bother at all? Wouldn't it be more prudent for a family of vampires to stay out of sight, rather than bring attention to themselves by attending high school, shopping at a store, administering to the sick? This man, this creature before her, relaxing her with his smile and light conversation, lightly teasing her about Jacob and Mike and testing her foot for broken bones, sucked blood to stay alive. What was he doing here - again? How old was he?

Feeling her scrutiny, Carlisle looked at Isabella Swan again. Unable to help himself, he had sent her a few covert looks. It had been almost two weeks since he'd last hunted, and unexpectedly, her smell was unusually pungent today. It was not unappealing, almost floral and another trace scent that somehow reminded him of waterfalls. His hands lingered on her ankle slightly more than they should have, and it disconcerted him. Each time he had glanced at Bella, her eyes had been intent upon him. His curiosity was piqued as to why, even as a suspicion made its way through to him. She was still watching him. He noticed her realize his gaze had met hers, and she reflexively swallowed before speaking. Her earth brown eyes held his as she asked, "What made you want to be a doctor?"

Uh-oh, Carlisle thought setting her ankle down as he shifted the stool away from her, his suspicion unfortunately confirmed. Poor Mike Newton. Yet, unlike with Jennifer Paulsen, he found himself answering her. "I like to do what I can to help people."

It was a good answer. Bella found her mind stretching around the idea. A vampire who didn't feed off of people, who wanted to help them. A family around him. A vampire family who cared. Bella's expression softened, and her heart beat with pride. Billy was wrong to fear the Cullens.

"Your ankle is sprained, Miss Swan, and not broken."

"Thankfully." Bella grinned at Carlisle Cullen, vampire doctor. "Actually a rare bit of good luck for me, that."

"I'll have to agree." Charlie chimed in, having just entered. He looked from his daughter, to the doctor who had been smiling at her humor.

"Good evening, Chief Swan."

"Doctor," Charlie nodded. Turning to Bella, he said, "I sent your friend Mike home. He said to tell you good night and that he'd call tomorrow."

"Was he waiting?" Bella asked, surprised and a little appalled. She had no idea that Mike hadn't just gone home after bringing her in.

"Uh-huh."

"You're just about free to go home yourself," Carlisle added, writing on Bella's paperwork. "You'll want to stay off your ankle, keeping it elevated, for at least a couple of days, so it is a good thing that you have the next two days off from school. I will have the nurse get you some crutches before you leave. You will also want to apply a cold compress several times a day, for twenty minutes at a time. You can use an icepack or a bag of frozen vegetables, or even some ice cubes wrapped in a towel." Dr. Cullen gave Bella a small smile as he set down his clipboard and began unraveling a bandage.

Or you could just leave your hand wrapped around it; that'd work to, Bella thought to herself as the doctor lifted her leg, balancing the foot against his torso and began winding the bandage around her ankle, snug but not too tight.

Carlisle's own thoughts were a little preoccupied. He found himself genuinely fond of the girl, but felt caution was now best under the circumstances. His approaching need to feed, her crush on him, and the presence of her father- the chief of the local police no less- made him want to distance himself. He would have to hunt after this shift was over.

Charlie looked from Bella to Dr. Cullen, observing and saying nothing.

(~*~)

On the drive home Bella thought about her promise to Charlie to tell him if she found out from Jacob what the issue was between Billy and the Cullens. Now that she knew, in exactly the way Charlie had predicted, she felt doubt about whether she should say that she had found out anything at all. Yet, she had given her word, and Bella hated to make a promise and not keep it. So she started rationalizing to herself how to tell her father. Just because she herself believed it, didn't mean that Charlie would. She could easily tell her father that the Cullens reminded Billy of an old Quileute legend. That way she could keep her promise and tell the truth.

Arriving home and migrating into the kitchen with Charlie, Bella determined that this was the best way to go. Yet, the fact that she shared Billy's belief made her tremble just a little bit as she opened her mouth. "Dad," she began, balancing her weight on her left foot and securing the crutches in her armpits as she opened the cupboard, "about Billy and the Cullens…" She paused to figure out exactly the right words to open with, thumb running over the label of the box of pasta she'd obtained.

Charlie, coat still on and hands in his back pockets, spoke after a beat. "I think we'd best not talk about that, Bells. I'll cook the pasta."

Bella looked over her shoulder at Charlie, and saw him walk over to the refrigerator. Without looking at her, he opened the door and bent over to fish out a can of Rainier beer, and a jar of Newman's Own Marinara. Bella said nothing more. Her father had to leave the topic behind him in order to maintain his friendship with Billy; she had surmised that already. It had cost him to ask her to share information, and now he was backtracking. If Charlie was more comfortable not knowing the source of Billy's discontent and keeping the peace with his closest friend, she wasn't going to change his mind.

"Can you cook pasta?" Bella asked, deliberately lightening the mood.

Charlie set his can down on the table, carried the pasta sauce to the counter and fetched a pot out from under the stove, muttering all the while. "Grown man, own my house, chief of police. Respected. Yet my own daughter doesn't think I can boil water."

"Well, can you?"

Charlie pointed one finger. "Out."

"Going, going!" Bella hobbled out of the kitchen, her grin matching her Dad's perfectly.

A/N: "Moonlit" now has a banner! Made by the incomparable December(dot)Eclipse, who has been awesome support for ideas and flow, just what I needed. I hope you like the final version!

I'm afraid I went against her advice (and my original plan) by delaying Bella hooking up with the Cullens until the next chapter. In part because the second half of what would have been a loooong chapter seven is what still requires a lot of kinks to be worked out. Also, in part because I really prefer not to have long chapters. The good news is that this means I have a lot of chapter eight already written!

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Next Chapter... Bella reveals to Carlisle that she knows the truth.