'Kind regards, Doctor Carlisle Cullen.'
Carlisle hated writing emails. There was nothing more tedious than wasting time writing out whole patient reports on the computer to send to his colleagues when he could just as easily go around to their offices and explain it himself. What happened to the old fashioned way of actually talking to people?
He sighed. Just another thing that had been ruined since technology began to rule everybody's lives.
'God, I may not look three hundred and sixty, but I certainly sound it.'
Shutting down his computer, Carlisle began gathering his things together to head home for the night. As he gathered up his patient reports and carried them back over to the filing cabinet, he thought of what he still needed to do. Before he could leave, he was going to speak to Harry again to check on him before he was left to the nurses working that evening, and Carlisle had no idea what to say to him.
He decided that he would try one last time to get Harry to talk before he gave it up for a while. The boy had every right to keep things to himself and Carlisle had no authority to force it out of him, but that didn't mean he didn't wish he could. At first when Harry had refused to say anything about what happened to him or where he came from Carlisle had been frustrated, but now that frustration was turning into concern. Why was he refusing to tell him anything? Was Edward right in saying Harry thought his doctor was an untrustworthy vampire?
Closing the filing cabinet drawer and leaning back against it, Carlisle swept his gaze over his small office. He had cleaned up the damage from Edward's attack on the desk chair, so now there was almost no sign of anything having happened. True, it had taken him some time to get the ruined chair out to the dumpster and bring in the new one he had found in a store room without being seen, but it was worth it considering the alternative was being questioned about the smashed furniture. He hadn't been totally sure how he would explain that one.
Looking up at the clock and seeing that it was already twenty past seven, Carlisle pushed himself up to grab his briefcase off his desk. Flicking the light switch, he let his office plunge into darkness before snapping the door shut. Now out in the corridor, he was back in professional mode and began to make his way to Harry's room, passing out cheery greetings to his colleagues on the way, including a particularly giggly pair of nurses. He was thankful Edward wasn't there to hear their thoughts; Carlisle didn't think he could bear to know.
Hearing someone approaching from around the corner, he was forced to make a show of pretending to accidentally bump into one of his more outgoing co-workers, Simon Morrison, who had helped him in the initial monitoring of Harry. The other doctor looked up in surprise before a huge grin spread across his face, as Carlisle mentally prepared himself for what was sure to be a loud conversation.
"Carlisle!" Simon boomed, causing the heads of those passing to turn in the direction of the two doctors. "What're you doing down this part this late in the day, eh? I thought you'd normally had enough of your patients by now!" Throwing his head back to laugh at his own wit, Simon completely missed the cringe of embarrassment cross his colleague's face.
With every intention of ending the conversation as quickly as possible, Carlisle gave a gentle chuckle before replying, "Actually I've just got one more patient to check in on before heading home. In fact, I'd really best be getting to them now." With a brief smile to close the conversation, Carlisle made to move past Simon. He only managed a couple of steps before he heard an exaggerated gasp over his shoulder.
"You don't mean…The Mystery Boy, do you?" he cried, the amusement and feigned shock thick in his voice.
Carlisle closed his eyes at the title the staff had given Harry. He had heard whispers about it at various times throughout the day and had decided to keep well away from any discussions involving his patient. Grudgingly deciding to play along with Simon's fun, he slowly counted to five before opening his eyes again and turning around.
"Who?"
This time Simon didn't need to fake his shock. "Come off it, Carlisle! I know you spend all day cooped up in that cave you call an office, but surely you must have heard about the kid. He's all anyone's been talking about today."
"I haven't really had the time to visit the staffroom or the cafeteria today, but I do believe I know who you're referring to. Would this be the boy you and I were monitoring this morning?"
Simon's eyes sparkled with mischief as he replied, "Ah, should have known you were only joking, Carlisle. You know everything that's going on around here." At this he gave another hearty laugh. "But yeah, that's the kid. How's he doing? Or won't he even tell you that?" This time Simon clutched his stomach as he doubled over with such intense laughter he couldn't breathe.
'Well at least he's laughing quietly,' Carlisle thought to himself.
"Yes, I'm going to check on Harry again who is getting better as expected. Luckily I don't need him to tell me if he's recovering, I can see that for myself." Carlisle was really beginning to tire of this conversation. All he had wanted to do was check on Harry's condition.
After he had stopped laughing and wiped away a fake tear from his eye, Simon asked Carlisle, "Well, hey, do you want me to come with you? Might be good to see if anyone else can get the kid to talk."
Carlisle paused as though he were considering the other doctor's words, when in actual fact he was thinking about how bad an idea it sounded. Harry was already having issues trusting one doctor. They didn't need to throw a spanner in the works by trying to make him put faith in another doctor he didn't know. They'd have to start all over again.
"Thank-you for the offer, Simon, but I think I'd better see him on my own. We don't want to stress him any more than necessary," Carlisle replied, offering the eccentric doctor a smile.
Simon waved him off. "Ah you're probably right, of course. Don't want to freak the guy out," he agreed, looking at Carlisle expectantly as though he was waiting for him to continue the conversation. When Carlisle remained silent, he turned to leave. "Well don't let me keep you, Carlisle. You go see your mystery kid and I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow, Simon," Carlisle waved and continued around the corner. Once he was sure he was out of ear-shot, he let out a long sigh.
'That man. How does he get anything done with the amount he rambles?'
Hoping for no more distractions, Carlisle quickened his pace slightly to Harry's room. Managing to reach the door without having to speak to anyone else, he opened it quietly and stepped inside.
Harry's bed was empty. Instead, he found the boy standing at the window looking out on to the darkened street, and for the first time since his arrival that morning, Harry looked relaxed. Carlisle wasn't sure if he had realised someone had come in and was just about to clear his throat to speak when Harry did instead.
"Hi," he said simply, still facing the window.
"Hello. You must be feeling better if you're well enough to be out of bed," Carlisle teased lightly, a smile playing on his lips.
Harry turned around and blushed.
"Oh, um, yeah. I just felt like I needed to walk around a bit. That's ok, right?" He asked quickly, as though afraid he was going to get in trouble. Carlisle simply chuckled.
"Of course that's fine, Harry. Just as long as you don't feel light-headed or anything?" he questioned.
"No, I feel pretty good actually. I'm surprised." Harry lifted his hand up to his head as though to feel at his stitches, brushing the hair off his brow in the process. His bare forehead was only visible for a split second before his dark hair fell back into place, but it was long enough for Carlisle to notice the thin scar etched into his skin. He couldn't help himself.
"What's that mark on your forehead? I've not noticed it before."
At this, Harry stiffened.
"I-it's nothing," he stammered as he tried to plaster his hair down with his hand. Carlisle was too curious to accept that as an answer.
"What gave you a scar there, Harry?"
Seemingly satisfied that his forehead was sufficiently hidden, Harry lifted his gaze and glared at his doctor with as much ice as possible.
"I said it's nothing," he replied curtly, effectively bringing the conversation to a close.
Recognising defeat, Carlisle didn't bring it up again. Instead he just added it to the never-ending list of things Harry wouldn't tell him about. He had said he wouldn't pressure him into talking. Things were already going badly.
Carlisle sensed the air of calm dissipate as Harry squared his shoulders and turned back to face the window. His once relaxed posture was now stiff as Carlisle could tell he was putting as much effort as possible into ignoring his doctor.
"Ok, Harry. I won't ask again," he offered, hoping to put Harry at ease. Seeing no change in the boy's stance, he continued. "I just wanted to come and check on how you were going before I left for the evening." At this, he heard Harry sigh as he turned back around to face Carlisle.
"Thanks. Sorry, I'm just a little bit stressed. I'm feeling a lot better, though. In fact," his eyes lightened as he continued with caution, "I'm probably well enough to leave. Really, I feel fine." As if to prove his point, Harry made to move back to the bed, but in his eagerness he moved too quickly as his weak left ankle gave way beneath him. Carlisle threw his arm out to catch Harry before he fell to the ground and helped him back to his feet.
Standing upright again, Harry's face turned a bright shade of scarlet as he murmured his thanks. As though wanting to retain what was left of his pride, he limped the rest of the way back to his bed without assistance and flopped down on to it.
Carlisle had to restrain himself from giving a sarcastic remark. Instead he moved over to stand beside Harry, who was now lying on his back with his hands over his face.
"Harry, I think you and I both know that you should stay here for at least another couple of days. Don't you want to recover fully?" Only getting an unintelligible grunt from Harry's direction, Carlisle continued. "Besides, you haven't given us the names of any one to contact," his voice softened as he approached the delicate subject. "There must be someone who we can inform of your whereabouts."
Adjusting his hands slightly so as to be understood, Harry replied, "There's no one you need to contact. Not really." Carlisle then heard him mutter to himself, "They probably all think I'm dead, anyway."
Carlisle couldn't help his mouth hang open slightly. What on earth had Harry been involved with that would make people assume he were dead? And shouldn't that be a perfect reason to tell them and put them out of their worry?
"Harry, please," he was almost begging now. "There must be someone for us to contact. Your family –" Carlisle stopped as Harry flung his hands from his face and slammed them down by his sides on to the bed. Springing upright, he turned to his doctor, and Carlisle thought he saw something visibly snap in his patient's eyes.
"I DON'T HAVE A FAMILY," Harry yelled, and with a crash the window flew open causing a spine-chilling blast of air to enter the small room. Carlisle stood there frozen. Had Harry done that? He was suddenly hit with a wave of fear as the danger of the situation dawned on him. Carlisle was about to lift his foot to take a step backwards, but upon hearing a hiss of pain he stopped himself and looked at Harry.
The first thing Carlisle noticed was the immediate shift in expression; Harry had clearly been in excruciating pain, his face screwed up in agony, until Carlisle turned around and it was wiped of any previous emotion. As another cool gust of wind swept through the room, Harry looked suddenly fearful, his gaze shifting nervously between Carlisle and the now open window. He had suddenly returned to being the ordinary teenage boy looking like he had been caught misbehaving. Whatever it was that had just happened, Carlisle realised that Harry was terrified of his doctor's reaction. He obviously didn't want Carlisle to put two and two together and figure out he had made the window open.
Wiping the look of shock off his face, Carlisle turned to the window and made a noise he hoped sounded exasperated.
"That window," he murmured as he headed towards it to shut it. "The latches on it have been playing up for weeks now." He closed the window and fastened the handles. Turning back to Harry he smiled. "Every time the wind gets too strong they blow open. It's been driving everybody up the walls."
Carlisle was pleased to see that Harry visibly relaxed at his explanation. He wasn't entirely sure why he was lying to the boy, but something told him that it would not be wise to question him about the window or the pain the boy had experienced. Moving back over to stand beside the bed, Carlisle opened his mouth but was cut off by Harry.
"Please, Doctor Cullen, believe me. There's no need to let anyone know about me. I'm officially of age where I come from and I can look after myself just fine." He paused before whispering to himself, "I'm better off without family."
To say Carlisle was hurt at Harry's words would be an understatement. He's better off without family? Carlisle knew what it was like to be alone, to wander from place to place without anybody for company. He had done it himself for over two hundred years and hadn't realised how much he hated it until he found Edward. Having someone he could call a friend, a son, was the best feeling he had ever felt, rivalled only by the feeling of finding Esme. Carlisle didn't know what he would do without his family. He couldn't possibly understand how Harry could feel he didn't need one.
'Perhaps that's all he knows. He might have never had a proper family to call his own.' The thought depressed Carlisle even further and he knew that if at any point Harry needed help he would be there for him.
"Harry–" he began, but stopped at the look of hurt in Harry's eyes. Knowing that he couldn't continue the conversation without making things more uncomfortable than they already were, he dropped the topic.
"Alright, Harry, we won't talk about it now. But promise me that if you do ever wish to speak to someone, you know that I'll be happy to listen." He looked at Harry and tried to convey as much understanding and compassion as he could through his eyes. Soon the boy's gaze softened and he nodded in acceptance.
"Thank-you, Harry. I'll let you get some rest. If you need anything throughout the night, the nurses will be here to assist you," he told him as he turned towards the door.
"Doctor Cullen?" Carlisle stopped at the sound of his name and turned to face the boy.
Harry was still sitting up but his eyes were looking down at his hands which were fiddling with the sheets on his bed. His eyebrows were furrowed as if in deep thought and he was biting his bottom lip. Slowly he lifted he gaze and opened his mouth as he tried to formulate what he was going to say. Carlisle just waited patiently by the door.
"I had stitches," Harry began slowly, as though still unsure of what he was saying. "There must have been a lot of blood."
Carlisle mentally frowned. He had a vague idea of where this question was headed and he didn't think it was going to be anything good.
"Yes there was. The metal that hit you must have been very sharp. You were quite lucky it didn't cause any permanent damage."
Harry just nodded in response as though he had been expecting that answer. Breathing out, he opened his mouth to continue, as Carlisle braced himself for what he was sure was coming next.
"Did that bother you? The blood?" He looked at Carlisle anxiously as though he wasn't quite sure if he wanted his question to be answered.
'Edward was right.'
Carlisle wanted nothing more than to be able to come up with a response that would make Harry drop his suspicions. But what is there to say to a boy who has discovered a secret of this magnitude? Deciding it best not to answer the question directly, Carlisle put a smile on his face and replied "I'm a doctor, Harry. Why should a little blood bother me?"
Getting no response from Harry and wanting to leave before he did, Carlisle assumed the conversation to be over and opened the door.
"Goodnight, Harry."
Stepping out into the corridor and pulling the door shut behind him, Carlisle closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
'Great. Now I have to explain to my family why a human knows about us. That will be a fun chat.'
Sighing, he began to make his way out of the hospital and to his car, unable to prevent from rolling around in his thoughts the one phrase that could divide his family.
Harry knows.
