Disclaimer:All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the authors. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. Thank you to the wonderful Stephenie Meyer and her characters --- we love to play with them!

Written for Carlisle/Bella Fic-a-Thon! at Live Journal Community, Twilightrarely


It wasn't the first time it had happened.

There had been her seventh grade history teacher who would lean his twenty-something body back across the front of his desk and drone on about the invasion of the Mongol hordes. He hadn't been quite oblivious to the glazed look of the female students in the class otherwise he would have sat properly at his desk. She learned very little that year.

The eye doctor her mother had dragged her to when she started having those headaches in eighth grade had preyed upon her imagination. He had chatted pleasantly about his new baby boy but she couldn't think too clearly when his hands so gently positioned her face to examine her eyes. Her eyes…could he really see what was there? She had blushed and then blushed again with the thought that he could see her blush. He had wisely tried not to touch her after that.

What was wrong with her? She never could bring herself to share these daydreams with her friends. She couldn't bear the thought of them thinking she was somehow twisted. She kept so much to herself anyway. And ask her mother? That was laughable. When she was older she somehow realized her mother probably had the same problem. Hadn't she gotten all giggly whenever she had a parent/teacher conference with her fifth grade teacher, Mr. Riley? It had also made her prone to chase after inappropriate men.

The constant in all this had been the blush. The spreading warmth that had a mind of its own and nothing she tried to do could control it. She had grown her hair long so she could wrap it around her face as she bent down over her school books; risking short peeks at the objects of her infatuation.

But this felt unforgivable. She thanked the heavens that Edward could not read her mind. The thoughts couldn't be controlled any better than the blush but he must never know. No one must ever know.

But now…the blush had taken on a whole new meaning for her. It was blood, after all.

That first time she had seen Carlisle, in the hospital, her mouth had fallen open with his remarkable looks. She remembered so clearly how his cool fingers had lightly touched her skull; remembered his smooth, appealing voice, "So, Miss Swan, how are you feeling?"

The second time she saw him was when Edward brought her to his house. She had been a little more prepared this time for his perfection. He had been hesitant, not wanting to frighten her so she had stepped forward to shake his hand. He had said, "Please, call me Carlisle." Yes…she definitely would…in her dreams.

Bella awoke with the sudden feeling that someone was watching her. She pulled her head off the pillow to stare at Edward sitting stone like in her rocking chair.

"Is there something you'd like to share with me, Bella?" His face was a careful blank.

The dream…Edward…and Carlisleblush.