Hey ! How are you all? This is my first story on this website, and I hope you all read and review. I don't really know that much about my strengths and weaknesses yet, reviews are much appreciated. Thanks for reading.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. The hot Carlisle (hes my favorite ever), the sad Esme (love her too), or the pee brained Edward (He he.)

When she sat still and didn't say anything were the times that Carlisle hated himself the most.

Her eyes, now a cold burgundy, stared at nothing but some sadness lurked behind them. Her red lips would pull down into a straight line, and she would make all of her features neutral. This always completed her neutral mask; when her face would conceal itself from Edward.

He knew she had endured much in her twenty six years, more than even himself and Edward combined could have witnessed in their human years. She was hard to the world now. He understood that. What he didn't understand, or maybe he didn't want to, he couldn't decide, was why she didn't want to talk about it. Usually when he saw a patient in the same situation as she, they wanted to talk. Vent, explain, and beg him to make it better, but she handled, or maybe she didn't, her grief without any other person's, living or dead, help. She didn't want to talk; she wouldn't look at him after he had taught her how to hunt.

Something about her drew Carlisle in and, as much as he hated to admit it, he wanted her to speak. She hadn't used her voice, her new voice, since she was changed. All she'd said was, "I'm thirsty." The only other time she used her voice was when she wanted to go on a walk or to use her simple manners. She seemed decent; he knew she was decent. What he didn't understand about this, was how such a beautiful girl ended up with such a sick and twisted husband. It baffled him. Shouldn't she have the ability to make that decision for her? He had. He had been in what he thought to be love, now he saw he was infatuated with the illusion of love, it hadn't been love in the least, merely an obsession with something he'd once known.

This was her. And that is what killed him on the inside. How someone so vibrant, so radiant, so forgiving and friendly, had been dealt such a horrible hand in life. He knew her; knew much about her. She was Esme Anne Platt, the same girl who had climbed a tree about ten years ago and broke her leg, and she was here. She was the only girl Carlisle had thought about for months, years, after he'd first seen her. Edward had threatened him with numerous ways to dieā€¦again, he thought wryly. Carlisle hadn't cared, that silly illusion had presented itself again, and this time, he knew it was no illusion. The way he eyes, already light, would positively glisten at the sight of him. And her lips would pull into the softest, warmest smile he'd ever known. How he longed for that now.

She was in this mood now, it was night time, and she didn't do much at night. It seemed to Carlisle that she was horribly reluctant to give up her human life. She still thought that if she closed her eyes and lay down, she would drift into a dreamless sleep. Wrong.

Apparently, and he got this information from Edward, she had been sitting like this, still and looking as dead as she was, for hours. He had lamented that her walk was shorter than usual and her thoughts tormented Edward more than the other boy cared to say. Carlisle knew that Edward already had a strange, child and mother like connection with Esme. He knew her thoughts, he knew her fears. He couldn't help it.

Carlisle pulled the jacket tighter around his shoulders, gesturing Edward with a strong hand, to follow him out the back door of their small house in Ashland Wisconsin and into the night. Edward followed, bringing with him a look of sorrow. They walked in silence, neither man daring to split the settled and comfortable peace with talk of her.

The night was so different from her. It was vibrant and beautiful, like the woman she used to be. The crickets were playing a high, keening tune that had filtered into their ears from the prairie behind the house. The light bugs, bottoms flashing, flew around in the air, lighting the way; not that either needed to see it. The wind played gently, almost playfully, in the tall prairie grass that caught the scent of small wood violets just getting ready to bloom. The sky was an inky blanket of something dangerously familiar to both men.

It seemed funny to him, Carlisle, how something so familiar, night, could become so imposing when you looked at it from a different light. Being a vampire made night seem to be the time of day when everything was to become dark and sultry. Stalking your quarry, preying upon poor human girls that didn't know better, letting the blood flow, free and dark, over yourself happened in the night. It seemed that darkness did exactly what it aimed to do; it bathed the world around Carlisle and Edward into the inky blackness that any predator would love. Carlisle simply found the darkness to be very nice, cool, and familiar after this long week of many changes.

He had known he couldn't just leave her, so why was it looking to be the better option now? Carlisle trodden on one of the delicate blue flowers with a growl low in his throat, simply acting on impulse, his lips pulled back; exposing his teeth. Why was she making his world so hard to live in? He had things to do, a household to play father in. He was sick of her trampling upon the territory, that for so long, had belonged to him and Edward. He was sick of her moping-.

"Your thoughts are malicious tonight, Carlisle." Edward sighed with a glance at the ground.

Carlisle shook his head, not daring to look at Edward. At these times, Carlisle wished he could have been a father in his human years; he needed the practice. What did he say to that? Why, yes, they are. He chuckled silently beside Edward. No, that wasn't right.

They kept walking, attempting to get out of her hearing range. Carlisle wondered if she would even hear them. Sometimes, she got so wrapped in her thoughts she wouldn't hear them say anything to her. It was as if she inhabited a different world than them sometimes. Esme was plainly a very delicate matter around this household. "Sorry." He murmured gruffly to Edward. His hands flew into his pockets, he was afraid that if he didn't have them in his pocket, then he would take all of his frustration out on some poor tree. He raised his eyes from the forest floor, glancing repentantly at Edward.

Edward glanced at something far away in the night. "It can't be healthy for her." He whispered, his face, from where Carlisle could see, twisting into a mask of pain. "She thinks about...things, Carlisle. Her mind's eye is so vivid." Edward turned to look at Carlisle. "She can't be doing this for any reason... Nothing, human or vampire, would want to dwell on some of the things she does. She has a hard time letting go. She's afraid. She misses her child. She needs something... but I haven't a clue what." He shook his head. "I know so much about her, but I can't, really, understand her, until she talks."

Carlisle knew as much but didn't point it out. He knew that Edward was ready to be rebellious again. Edward had already pulled that on his once before and Carlisle didn't want to deal with all of that, plus Esme right now. He may have been a vampire, and he may be very smart, but as he had already admitted, children weren't really his thing. Edward wasn't a child; Edward was a respected member of his family, as far as Carlisle was concerned. "I know." Carlisle replied his mind already thinking up a thousand different reactions to his asking her to speak.

She could be gracious, just have been waiting for a chance to take this invitation. Then she would talk for hours, telling him everything. Carlisle actually laughed out loud at that suggestion, lifting the protective blockade he'd built around his head and letting those brief thoughts filter to Edward. Edward smiled graciously, sinking, in his usual graceful way, to the forest floor.

She could, on the other hand, be very closed and anxious about this suggestion. And that seemed way more likely from Esme. It broke Carlisle's heart that Esme wouldn't open up to him again. When he had nursed her broken leg, all those years ago, she had talked to him for hours at the Hospital in her small, badly lit room. She had talked about her insufferable mother and old fashioned father, she had talked about her wishes for the future, she had even talked about her soon to be husband in a favorable light. Where had that Esme gone?

He shook his head, something she had said, her eyes a light, her mouth in a smile, tugging at his memory like a small child whipping the table cloth out from under a table of food. "Oh!" He let out a sharp breath that he shouldn't have inhaled; he was shocked at his revelation. He, then, whispered her words. "'I don't have dreams, Carlisle.'" Her words had been hard; her voice contorting around his name like it was sweet candy. Her eyes had revealed something so... deep and breathtakingly beautiful about her. Carlisle remembered holding his breath. "'I only have night mares.'" Her seriousness seemed to be so much better than her silence.

Edward smiled wryly, his nearly black eyes twinkling. "I'm going hunting." He whispered in the black silence.

Carlisle, from hunting with him so many times, could picture Edward's typical loss of humanity. His eyes would sharpen, his senses would focus into nothing but the hunt. And he was a malicious hunter, but Carlisle also knew Edward well enough to know that Edward was a masochist. He would torture himself for hours after the hunt, attempting to decide if he wanted to brood for an extended period. Carlisle saved himself with a second to spare from rolling his eyes. "Have a good time."

"I'm thinking on taking Esme." He whispered again.

Carlisle let his whole posture go ram rod straight. "Please, Edward." He let his walls go around one thought for a moment, he heard Edward chuckle an 'I know'. "Be careful with her. Don't push o-."

"- Or she'll pull." Edward nodded, standing. His figure, about six feet tall, was still the classical American boy look. "I promise you. She'll come back in one piece." Edward ran his hands over his black sweater, he pulled the sweater down on his bare fore arms, giving Carlisle a reassuring smile. "See you after work."

And Edward was gone.

After sitting at his desk at home, staring at a clock for about two hours, he wanted to move about but couldn't. Fear kept him seated, well, that, and trepidation. He heard a door open, he even, though he may have been tricking himself, heard a tiny trill of soprano laughter. "Thank you, Edward."

Carlisle could almost see Edward smile his boyish, lopsided grin. "You're very welcome, Esme."

Esme entered the room after the hunting trip with Edward, looking refreshed and buoyant, though there was still something lurking in her soft eyes. Her footsteps were near silent with something that looked like hesitation, and her whole posture said defeated in big, black lettering. Upon seeing Carlisle, she gasped. "I did-. I should-." I'm-."

"It's fine." He dismissed her worries with a wave. Carlisle stood, placing his hands on his chair and pushing it in slowly. He didn't want her to leave. Silently, though he was sure she could read it in his eyes, willed her to stay. "How was the trip?" He didn't care; he only cared about how she was.

Her eyes seemed to go steely very quickly. "It went well." She said, her voice was just as Carlisle knew it would be. And it shocked him to hear her speaking to him and looking at him.

Her voice wasn't soprano, but it wasn't bass either. It wasn't quite as deep as his voice, but it wasn't as high as Tanya's either. He closed his eyes, trying to bottle her voice up and keep it for when he was losing hope. Esme looked uncomfortable in this room with him. She shifted from foot to foot in an awkward dance that showed how self conscious she was. Her sweater, black like Edward's, fit her snuggly, accentuating her breasts and the curves in her stomach and hips. Her back had a deep valley before the swell of her bottom under her skirt. Her face and neck though. They were his favorite. Her eyes were a lighter burgundy now, more open to him. Her lips were fuller and a deeper red, swollen looking. Her face wasn't quite as angular as either of the men's. It was softer, more open. He loved her face. Her neck was elegant, smooth, pale. Esme, his mind sighed around her name in contentment. "How was Edward? I know he can-."

Esme raised her hand. "No, Edward was the perfect gentlemen." There seemed to be another thought behind that one. Her eyes were so open, Carlisle realized with a start. He didn't need Edward's power to read it in her eyes.

Carlisle took a hesitant step toward the beautiful woman. She took a step back, drawing a breath way too fast. Her throat hurt, he could see it in her eyes. She swung her hair in front of her face. "I'm going to take a walk." It was a single breath, rushed, and she was gone.

"You shouldn't have gone to her." Edward was in the room then, wounding Carlisle's ego further, but he didn't care. Was Esme alright?

Carlisle put on his jacket, the buttery brown leather sliding into place on his muscular shoulder's with a tailored fit he had learned to appreciate. "I'm going after her."

Edward chuckled, seemingly looking at something close behind the window. "You won't have to go far." Edward smiled knowingly. "I love how I'm the masochist."

Carlisle shook his head. "I don't have ti-."

She was there.

Her hair was swinging in the breeze, creating the illusion on waves of caramel surrounding her face. Her eyes were fixed on something far away, something seemingly floating in the breeze. Her skirt was fluttering around her pale legs, showing off her shapely calves and knees. Carlisle could have died when he saw the white silk of her bra peek over the corner of her shirt. He, abruptly, gasped. The swell of one pale breast was barely visible. "God." He murmured, looking at her.

Edward walked up behind him. "This is highly disturbing." He murmured to himself. "I'm going to leave, because, I, this is hard to believe, I know, don't want to see Esme undressed."

Carlisle gave him no mind, continuing to stare at her. "Yes, bye. Thanks."

Edward walked out of the room with a steady, practiced step. His human walk. Carlisle wanted to tell Edward to walk faster. That slow, calm walk mocked Carlisle.

"Carlisle?" Her voice was quiet with trepidation, and Carlisle immediately remembered how she had run from his only two hours ago. It was Esme. And it was a dusky twilight.

He looked at her too quickly; she shrunk back against the brown of the house. Carlisle stayed seated. His eyes wandered over her skin, seemingly fascinated by the smooth skin and subtle curves. "Hello." He smiled openly, inviting her to join him on the swinging bench. She scooted to the far end of the chaise. "How are you?"

She ignored his question. "I know you remember me." Her eyes locked with his, they were open again. "I remember you, but I'm sorry. Because you remember a different Esme. Much has changed since then, much has happened, Carlisle."

He gasped, looking out away from her. He could not look at her.

"I'm not that girl anymore."

He turned away as her body shook with tear less sobs.

"And I'm sorry that you remember her, because I remember you." She smiled then. Ruefully, and without any real emotion besides sadness. "I remember you so well. You were Carlisle, the doctor that made me feel... happy." Esme put her hand on his hand, he stopped breathing. "Don't think too hard on me. I'm going to leave as soon as I can. I didn't want to intrude on anything." Her voice was resolute as she bent to his ear. "I gave up on happiness."

And she disappeared; merely a part of the darkness again.

Carlisle stood, a daze settling into his mind, and started to walk. Away from the house, away from her, away from anything to do with what he had done. Faster and faster, his feet padded on the ground with a predatory preciosity. His eyes were narrowed, his lips parted to allow quick gasps of air to enter his lungs.

I gave up on happiness.

What a simple thing to say. She just declared that she wasn't waiting, no, that was wrong. She wasn't expecting anymore happiness in her life. She had given up on happiness. Carlisle wondered about that for a long while. How did one just give up on happiness? It seemed, sometimes, to be the small, unusually happy things that kept him and Edward moving forward. An eternity was a long time to be devoid of happiness... but then it occurred to him that she could be planning on killing herself again. Maybe she thought that she deserved to die, Carlisle's mind vehemently rejected this hypothesis.

Not her, it repeated over and over, anyone but that girl. That girl that he loved. Anyone but her. His mind, one half anyway, wanted to know why he was running from this problem. Don't think too hard on me, she'd murmured to him. And that had had the opposite desired affect. He couldn't stop thinking about her. How her hair swung back and forth, brushing against her pale skin. How her lips pouted, how her body looked as if it would fit to his.

Carlisle couldn't stop thinking about her.

I would LOVE to offer my sincerest thanks to the most amazing beta on : Ocean of Dreams. Thanks.

My musical inspiration for this chapter is: Fall For You, by Sencondhand Serenade.

I would love it, and I know reviewing takes time, if you would drop me a review if you have the time. Thanks in advance, if you review I'll get back to A.S.A.P.