Chapter 1

Esme shivered in the cold morning. She'd just opened the newsstand she ran. People would soon start to head for work, buying their favorite newspaper or magazine as they passed by her.

"I'm cold," Feathers, Esme's pet parrot, squawked.

"I am, too," Esme agreed.

She rubbed her hands together to keep them warm. Winter had come. Christmas was close. Snow was sticking to the ground. She'd put on a scarf and had thrown her hood over her head, but it didn't help very much. The harsh wind stung her cheeks. She couldn't feel the tip of her nose.

Suddenly, her attention was caught by the opening of the door of the house facing her. Her heart accelerated slightly as she waited for him to come out. There he was, his medical bag in his left hand and a dark coat on. Esme didn't know his name, only that he was a doctor, which she had deduced from his bag as well as from observing one day, as he got home, that he'd forgotten to take his stethoscope off. On warmer occasions, he wore only his thin lab coat.

He was blond, he was handsome and Esme kind of had a crush on him. However, as she watched more closely, Esme started worrying a lot. He obviously worked very long shifts. Once, he was gone for almost two days. She might've thought he'd spent the night at his girlfriend or boyfriend's place, if it weren't for the large bags under his eyes and his slumped posture when he finally came back. Another time, he got home, but left again a few hours later only. Esme took the habit of keeping the newsstand open until he returned from his work.

Even the few times he looked fairly well rested, he never seemed happy. He didn't appear to be resentful nor sad, though there was a something of melancholic in his expression, it was only as if he wore a great burden which he accepted he deserved, however heavy it was.

He lived alone. The short time he spent at his home was seemingly spent sleeping. His chimney never spat any smoke ; the windows, covered in a thin layer of dirt, never showed any light : it seemed the doctor lived mostly in the dark. Esme was seriously alarmed about his emotional and mental states. He was obviously miserable. He worked too much, he was always alone. He needed help but Esme didn't know what to do. She was too shy to intercept him on his way to or back from work and talk to him.

Carlisle felt cold. To be fair, he always felt cold. The heating was broken, and he didn't have either the energy to call someone to fix it nor any firewood for his chimney. When he got home, he immediately went to bed as usual and buried himself under the covers, where he lay until he had to leave for the hospital.

Shit. He'd forgotten to eat again. Oh, well. Maybe he'd have time for a sandwich between two surgeries.

He finished dressing himself, grabbed his medical bag and got out of his house.

When he had a little time, he nibbled on his sandwich, but he didn't eat more than a few bites. It was quite strange : it had been nearly a day since his last meal, and still he wasn't hungry. He knew he had to eat, though, and so he tried ; but he couldn't bring himself to it. He wrapped what was left of the sandwich (almost everything) and put it back in his bag.

Was it his imagination or was it freezing in here ? Hospitals were never very warm, and it was winter ; but he was sat next to the heater ; yet shivers ran incessantly down his back. Brr, he thought. Time to get back to work.

He felt even worse than usual. This wasn't normal. He was cold, he didn't have any appetite, and he felt weak. Maybe he was sick. He couldn't wait to go home. The hospital needed him, though : a lot of doctors had the flu and were home, which meant the few that remained had to go through a lot of patients. The hospital was in incessant activity. Carlisle got up and set back to work.

Esme sighed in relief when she saw the doctor's blond silhouette emerge from the Underground. It was very late in the night, around 1 a.m, but she'd wanted to make sure he came home. He didn't seem very stable on his feet, though. He didn't walk straight. Is he drunk ? Esme asked herself, before she caught sight of his face : it was deathly pale, and his blue eyes looked hollow. Esme revised her diagnoses : he was only beyond exhausted. He looked like he could crash any second now. As he reached his door, he seized his key and was going to introduce it into the lock when he collapsed on the porch.

Esme barely stopped herself from crying out. She rushed to him, frightening Feathers who soared in the air. She crouched in front of him.

"Are you okay ?"

He groaned. His eyes were closed, he was in a sort of sitting position, his back against the wall. She saw traces of red in his hair and took a closer look : it seemed that he'd bumped his head against the corner.

"Oh, no…"

Thankfully, the cut was shallow. She wouldn't have to call an ambulance.

Without thinking, she touched his cheek before pulling herself together and withdrawing it. He needed help, not useless caresses he didn't care for. She took his key, which had fallen on the ground not far from him. She opened the door, and went scouting to find a place not far from the entrance where she could put him. The temperature in his house was almost as cold as outside, she noticed. He would most likely be too heavy for her to carry him to his bedroom ; she decided the couch was a good solution.

She went out. Obviously, he hadn't moved.

"I'll try to be careful," she promised as she seized him under the armpits.

She couldn't tell if he could understand her or not, but she thought she'd heard him emit a grunt of acknowledgement. She took one of his arms and placed it across his shoulders, before dragging him inside. She thought it wasn't as hard as it could've been : maybe he was slightly conscious and was helping her as much as he could in his weakened state. After a lot of effort (he was a grown man, after all), she finally reached the living room and succeeded in laying him on the couch. She adjusted him as well as she could (even his legs were heavy, and she was very tired – it was now almost 2 a.m) and went back outside to fetch his bag, before closing the door for the last time.

It wasn't the end of her efforts, though. She wet a few tissues and tried to clean the wound to his head. It wasn't deep, but head injuries always bled a lot. She didn't do a perfect job, because he was now sleeping and she didn't want to lift his head too much. When she was finished, though, she realized how cold it really was. Wasn't heating available in there ? She tried to turn it on, but it was broken. Ah, but he had a chimney. No firewood, though. That wasn't a problem, Esme had a stash at home. It was only a few minutes away on foot. She took a look at the doctor, snoring in the living room, and decided she could go and come back before he woke up. In the meantime, she'd fetch a blanket to make him feel warmer. On the way to his bedroom, she spotted a water bill addressed to a Dr Carlisle Cullen. So that was his name. Quite uncommon. It suited him, she thought. She took the blanket off his bed and lay it on him. He wrapped himself in it and rolled on the other side, facing Esme. Now that she could observe him more in detail (she'd never seen him so close – until he fell, and she'd been too panicked to pay attention), she could see how handsome he really was. His wavy hair shone even in the dim light, his nose was straight and his features were regular. He was, however, pale and big bags underlined his closed eyes. Even in sleep, his mouth drooped a little. She wondered what caused him to be so – so sad all the time. Was it connected to the fact that he worked so hard, so long ? She'd have to ask him when he was awake and healed. For now, she had to bring firewood from her own home to try and warm the house.

She managed to light a comfortable fire, thanking her parents for forcing her to enroll in the Girl Scouts. After checking that everything was all right, she felt a wave of exhaustion crash onto her. Without thinking, she collapsed on Carlisle Cullen's now sheetless bed and fell asleep.

I hope this wasn't too weird and you enjoyed it :)