AN ~ Thanks for all my reviews last chap guys! They mean a lot to me :) Please continue to let me know what you think.

This chapter is a bit heavy, but (imho) sweet too. (btw a 'butterly kiss' is a kiss on the eyelid.) I think the title says it all, so I'll let you guys get on with it.

Disclaimer: Eclipse is not mine :(

Chapter Forty Three: Forgiveness

Esme:

I tried to focus on my empty sketch pad, hoping to express my turbid emotions on its pages, but I just couldn't concentrate. The battle with the newborns and all that surrounded it seemed years ago, and yet we had no closure. If I could just see Carlisle walk through that door in his doctor's coat, smell that comforting butterscotch surrounded by stale blood and disinfectant and all those other hospital smells...maybe then, I could convince myself that it was a regular day. Maybe I could forget Bree, forget the way she cringed and whimpered, screamed and flailed, searched for help we could not grant her.

I heard the crunch of Carlisle's Mercedes rolling up the drive, and in an instant I was downstairs to meet him, just like I always was. He stepped through the door with a weary smile, white coat half-heartedly tugged over his battle clothes. There was no hospital smell to mingle with his soothing butterscotch scent: instead, it was clouded by mud and wolf and other vampires - and Bree.

I swallowed the urge to sob into Carlisle's neck as Edward towed Bella into the house. She looked so upset. Edward refused to show any particular emotion.

"Is Jacob all right?" I asked all three of them at once.

"He'll be fine," Edward insisted, glancing at Bella with concern but keeping his jaw clenched with bitterness.

"He's unconscious at the moment but his wounds will heal quickly - very quickly," Carlisle elaborated. "He should be back on his feet within the week, good as new."

He glanced at Bella hopefully. She caught his gaze and huffed irritably.

"Don't be like that, Bella." Alice pouted, dancing cheerfully down the stairs in a flouncy, fashionable outfit, having freed herself of her battle attire long ago. She grinned at Bella and took her hand. "Alibis are important - besides, Jacob's not going anywhere fast, I can tell you that now." She tapped her temple with her free hand. Bella laughed once. Alice smiled encouragingly and led her upstairs, closely followed by Edward, who retained his stony expression.

Once the three were out of sight, I turned to Carlisle and pulled the jacket from his shoulders.

"How did it go?" I asked.

"I'm alive, aren't I?" He smirked, and I laughed.

"I did have to re-break Jacob's fractures, which - I'm sure you can imagine - didn't appeal to Sam's better nature," he elaborated, grimacing for a moment before his gentle smile returned. "But I think, overall, it strengthened our alliance. They even invited me back."

"Well, at least some good came out of today, I suppose," I replied, trying to sound aloof as memories of Bree's terrified face haunted me again. I turned my back on Carlisle to hang up his jacket, and he gently turned me around to face him.

"Esme, sweetheart, we did what we could," he gently pointed out. "Fighting Jane would have been foolish - it would not have saved Bree, and we would have been severely punished for stepping out of line. Not to mention Bella knowing our secret, and the alliance with the wolves. They have infinite excuses to destroy us. I wish I could have put more in for Bree but honestly, I'm surprised the rest of us made it home from that visit."

"I understand, I guess," I agreed, letting the material slip through my fingers as Carlisle pried his jacket from my fingers. "But how could we let her die without saying anything? We're terrible parents! She was a child, Carlisle, and she died without anybody to love her! I-"

"You loved her," Carlisle interrupted quietly. I frowned, my brow creasing.

"What?"

"You loved her Esme. I took pity on her, and I may have actually said all the words, but right from the minute you saw her, she found salvation in your heart. She did not leave this world unloved, my dear. Of all the people I know, you take your heart the most for granted. Don't."

The last word was scarcely a breath. Carlisle gave me a fleeting butterfly kiss and then he was gone; upstairs, no doubt to his study. I crept up after him and slipped into the room to find him walking along his wall of paintings, slowly taking in each one as he made his way to the window.

He stood beside it, his skin sparkling and rippling like an ocean in the sun as he looked out over the forest with observant eyes that searched for nothing in particular. He slipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved his small golden crucifix, hanging limply from the chain he had broken when he had tossed it aside bitterly, feeling that he didn't deserve it. Now he handled the small golden symbol of his faith with as much care and tenderness as always. He lovingly removed it from the broken chain and held the pendant to his chest.

Carlisle and I shared very different beliefs on the existence and guidance of God, so I didn't often watch him pray. He had told me time and time again that he didn't mind, but I couldn't help but feel I was intruding on a private moment between him and his God. Today, though, I took a seat on the corner of Carlisle's desk, and silently observed.

Carlisle was beautiful when he prayed; a different sort of beautiful from his usual. Whenever I watched him, I was struck by this. It was something about the way he stood; serene and humble, his head bowed in reverence, in his own private world and yet, fully aware of anything and everything going on around him. It made him look like an angel; sometimes a sad angel, like today, but always with that endearing faith that both took and gave him strength and passion.

From this angle, I could just make out his lips moving subtly; a constant, indiscernible murmur emanating from them. He prayed with a reverence that sent a shiver down my spine. It reminded me of the way he spoke my name in our most intimate moments; something sacred, something for the intended ears only.

I felt a flush of that intruding feeling and stood up to leave, but when I reached the doorway, I heard a soft thud. I looked back to see that Carlisle had fallen to his knees, his shoulders shaking. Immediately, I wanted to go to him, but I was stopped in my tracks by the sound of his voice: still that smooth, reverent murmuring. It was more emotional now, more desperate, but still it was between him and God. My eyes stung with tears, watching him like that. I found myself hoping that God was being kind to him.

.o.o.o.

A long while later, Carlisle fell still. Soon after, his murmuring ceased. He placed his crucifix on a nearby shelf, which he then used to help himself stand up.

"Esme," Carlisle whispered, still not turning from the window.

"I didn't mean to intrude. I'm sorry," I apologised. "I was going to leave, but-"

"You don't need to leave. Actually, I was going to ask you to join me."

He waited while I walked to his side, a little surprised by his offer and still shocked from the powerful scene I had witnessed earlier. Carlisle put an arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. I rested my head against his shoulder and shut my eyes, soaking up the peace of the moment.

"You weren't intruding," Carlisle told me softly. "He and I just had a lot to discuss today. Forgive me if I frightened you. Things got a little...intense."

"I was concerned when you fell," I admitted. "Are you okay?"

He chuckled quietly. I straightened and opened my eyes, wondering what he could be finding funny in this situation.

"I appreciate your concern," he said gratefully, smiling shyly. "And yes, thank you, I'm quite well now that I have forgiveness from my two most highly respected sources."

"You be gentle with yourself now, okay?" I requested, pressing my head back against his chest. "Forgive yourself. Move on."

"I'm getting to that," he promised, stroking my hair methodically, peacefully; as even and enduring as a heartbeat. I shut my eyes again, relishing the power and delicacy of this moment. My mind lingered on an image of Carlisle praying, bathed in soft golden light: before his collapse, when he stood in that humbled yet powerful, angelic position and conversed with his Lord. It would make most exquisite artwork if I could get it right.

"Would you mind if I painted you?" I asked after a long, tranquil silence. I opened my eyes to see Carlisle's reaction: he looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I laughed, realising what it must have sounded like.

"No, no, not like that," I backtracked. "It's just that, when you pray, you look...angelic. That's the only way I can describe it. I'd so dearly love to capture that - or to at least try. But it's your choice; it's a private thing for you and I understand if-"

He put a finger to my lips, cutting me off.

"You know you are welcome to do whatever you like with my private moments," he reminded me. "I trust you to do me justice."

He smiled crookedly, his eyes glistening with joy and youth, and I laughed gently. His expression softened and he put one hand around the back of my head, drawing me into a deep, tender and passionate kiss. I knotted my fingers in his hair, holding him so that our foreheads touched even once our lips parted. He moved both his hands to the small of my back and pulled me in closer.

"I love you," he murmured against my lips, as if it were a great secret, meant for my ears only. "Oh, Esme."

The reverence in his voice made me shiver.