Though the deck is stacked against you
Win or lose, you have to play
The hand a life has dealt you
And It's a gamble either way
- Dolly Parton - "Gamble Either Way"

"I put Mrs. Thompson's discharge papers on your desk, Dr. Cullen."

I nodded, pasting a somber smile on my face as I swung open the door to my office. "Thank you, Tina."

After two weeks of third shift, I was finally back on days. It's not that I was tired or even particularly minded working nights, but I missed my family. Emmett, Rosalie, Jasper, Alice, and Edward spent their days at school, so I saw them precious few minutes during my days on third shift. Though an added benefit was much needed private time with my wife—I missed our family unit as a whole: joking with Emmett, hunting with Jasper, working in the garage with Rosalie, Alice's joie de vivre, and Edward…

Edward. Of all my sires, I often felt closest to him. Esme and I took particular interest in our 'eldest' son, often sharing private conversations regarding his dark moods, his seclusion, and his… status as the only non-partnered member of our family. I know that fueled his isolation, and Esme often chastised me for changing him too early, but all my guilt could not alter the outcome now. He was alone, but it was by his own doing. In all our conversations—my favorite time with Edward, he was content with himself, feeling no need to take a mate. And, foolishly, I believed him.

I stepped into my office and immediately closed the door behind me with a heavy sigh, catching sight of the white, yellow, and pink discharge papers in triplicate that needed my signature. I was attesting my name to a document that would allow an elderly patient to go home and die in peace, surrounded by her family and a husband who I was sure would quickly follow her. I often wondered about moments like that—of what it would feel like to plan a will or funeral and then just sit back and wait. My family would never have to worry about that fate.

I shrugged off my white lab coat and gently folded it over the back of the leather chair behind my desk. It was a comfortable office, not nearly as intimate as the one I had at home where I could be surrounded by all the tomes I'd collected over the centuries, but Esme and I had done our best of making four white walls my own personal space. My diplomas adorned the walls (or the forgeries Alice and Edward had so generously offered to counterfeit), an obligatory family portrait to keep me company during the longest hours of the day or night, and dozens of physician's reference books, though I rarely needed them anymore, they still looked an appropriate prop.

I could hear the low rumble of thunder in the distance as I eased into the chair and I felt a smile grace my face. Perhaps there would be a storm. It had been so long since the family played baseball together; it would be good to enjoy an evening in the clearing before hunting.

Removing an ink pen from the stand on the desk, I prepared to sign Mrs. Thompson's discharge papers knowing I'd never see her as a patient again. Human life was so frail, so precious. As my pen was poised over the paper, the door flew open with a bang, the force shuffling papers on my desk. Edward stood at the threshold, his eyes black as coal, his fists clenched, his jaw clamped shut.

I knew that expression.

Insatiable thirst.

A sense of worry flooded over me as I rose slowly from the desk. It had been years, decades, since I'd seen Edward in such a state. Should I assume the worst?

His eyes flashed to mine and I instantly realized he was delving into my thoughts; I began reciting the bones in the hand as a means of distraction. Distal phalanx, proximal phalanx, metacarpal…

"Edward?" I moved with hesitation toward the door as he growled softly, his shoulders shaking from the effort of trying to contain himself. Edging along the bookshelves to give him space, I extended my hands in a placating manner, hoping to ease his tension. "Come in, and close the door, son."

The muscles in his neck were strained, his lips curling back to reveal his white teeth, but he slowly, cautiously crept into the room, clearly full of suspicion. I closed the door, sparing a brief glance to the corridor outside, ensuring everything was in order and no one was apprehensive of my son coming in to see me. Had anyone noticed his curious expression? Should I think of a cover story now?

Satisfied by the fact that I could hear no murmuring from nearby staff and patients, I turned the lock and leaned against the door. "Edward," I beckoned, giving him as much distance as I could, "what seems to be the matter?"

"I think you can see what the problem is." The words were clipped short, his voice bore the tones of anger and frustration, something I wasn't unaccustomed to with him, but the tenor to his voice held something new.

I nodded, skirting along the bookshelves again to resume my position behind my desk. Perhaps it wasn't the smartest thing to leave the door unblocked, but he needed to see my trust now. I made the effort to clear my head, to react only after he shared whatever problem he seemed to encounter today.

"Did something happen today?" I prompted, reaching my desk, easing myself down into the chair once again.

He turned his back to me, pacing the floor, his fists still clenched tight at his side. "Yes."

I didn't know if I should wait or continue to prompt him, but as I was naming the muscles that overlay the thumb, I began to wonder if we would need to move again already.

"Do you know Chief Swan?"

My brow furrowed, clearly I wasn't expecting the conversation to drift in this direction. "Charlie Swan? Of course. Did you have a run in with the police?" I questioned.

He was breathing deeply, as though he'd been holding his breath for some time. Edward usually had amazing control around humans and found holding his breath to be unnecessary. Whatever happened with the police chief shook him to his core.

"Chief Swan has a daughter," he began again, his back still to me as he stopped his pacing to tug at his hair.

I remembered running into Charlie at Newton's Outfitters one evening just before the holidays. He was buying fishing lures and he was beaming with pride and excitement at the thought of his daughter returning to Forks in January. "Ah yes, Isabella was it?"

"Bella," Edward corrected firmly. "Today was her first day at school—and Carlisle…"

He walked to the door and placed his palms flush against the wood, leaning heavily against it as another growl ripped from his chest. "…I almost killed her." His voice was no more than a breath but I could hear him easily.

Surely he was exaggerating. We hunted together not even two weeks ago. Thirst should be manageable in that duration of time.

"I'm not exaggerating," he snapped, turning to face me once again, the rage written all over his face, brimming over in his voice. "Something happened—I don't know what, but I fantasized about killing her, drinking from her. I had it all planned out in my mind and that planning was the only thing that kept me from snapping the necks of my classmates and savoring that girl's blood."

I'd never heard him speak this frankly, this calculatedly. Not even when he left during a rebellious streak several decades ago. Hearing the bitter edge creep into his voice, the viciousness, startled me.

"She called to me, Carlisle, like nothing I have ever experienced in my entire existence. I can't explain it, I don't want to even think about it. My God, I almost ruined everything for the entire family. Everything! I could close my eyes and just imagine how sweet her blood would taste, the viscosity of it in my mouth, the thrill of the panic it would create. I've never been so tempted and I hate her for it."

He resumed his tread across the floor, moving toward the bookshelf. I had heard a legend many years ago about those whose blood called the strongest, but I always chalked it up more to extreme thirst than a true calling. "Now, you don't hate her, you don't even know—"

"I HATE HER!" He roared, his fist lashing out, smashing into the books on the shelf. The pulp of the wood was obliterated, debris flying, leaves of papers scattering, raining down onto the floor.

I instantly sensed the presence of a human heartbeat growing stronger, getting closer, and I knew Edward could hear it, smell it too. "Shh," I breathed, taking a step closer should he choose to act.

It was Tina, the head nurse who had dropped Mrs. Thompson's paperwork off only minutes before. Her slight knuckles rapped on the door. "Everything all right, Dr. Cullen? That was quite a ruckus."

I silenced Edward with my eyes, assuring him I'd handle the situation and quickly; he seemed to be rapidly spiraling out of control again. If this was a fraction of how he behaved in school, clearly there was cause to worry. "Fine, Tina, a shelf of books gave way. It won't take a minute to clean up."

"Let me know if you need help, I could call maintenance."

Her heartbeat grew fainter as she traversed the hallway back to the nurse's station. Edward let out a breath.

"So, you've come to hate Miss Swan. Don't worry; there are ways to get around this. You just have one class with her?"

He sighed with exasperation. "I already tried transferring out."

I nodded. "All right. Well, perhaps a chat with Mr. Banner then, a seat reassignment."

He growled. "That's not going to work, Carlisle, I want her blood too badly."

I was beginning to wonder what poor Isabella Swan experienced at school today, was her impression about the odd Cullen family already tainted? "What was she thinking? Is she fearful?"

He looked over at me and then his eyes darted quickly to the mess on the floor. "I don't know."

Perhaps he was so involved in his own emotions, his vampiric instinct, that he blocked her out for her own safety. I knew there were things he was holding back and I wondered what Alice knew.

"Did you try holding your breath, honestly, that does help."

"Of course I did," he snapped again, kicking the pile of papers on the floor, sending them scattering once again. "I don't think you understand. No one can, and I can't stay around and ruin this life you've built."

I frowned. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I'm leaving, Carlisle. Now. To Alaska. That's what I came to tell you. And to ask if I could borrow the Mercedes."

I tried to hide my shock and disappointment. "Edward," I began, taking a step closer.

His eyes were sad, troubled, and he hung his head in shame, his hands covering his face. "I quit, Carlisle. I can't do this. I have to get out of Forks. If I stay-"

I silenced him with an outstretched hand. I knew what he would say. An overwhelming sense of guilt flooded me. I had mastered this life, rejecting the prey I was destined to feed from, but did I have any right to condemn anyone else to that fate and hope they would adopt my path?

"I'm sorry," I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets as I turned to stare out the window at the drizzle slowly leaking from the low, indigo blue stratus clouds hovering overhead. I was careful to keep my thoughts to myself and stay in the moment. "I know there's nothing I can do to change your mind, I've always liked that about you, your independence, your individuality, but there's something I want to say before you leave."

I turned to appraise him, to see if he was actually listening. He dropped his hands from his face and clutched the back of the chair in front of him for support. His dark eyes sought out mine.

"This isn't an easy life, Edward. I've had many years to overcome my desires, but one thing I've learned is that you can't run away, it won't do you any good. There will always be temptations; it's just a fact of life. We encountered them in our human lives too, but we don't recall those trials and tribulations. We have chosen a different path, a different fate, and you're strong; I know you can overcome this. Today it's Isabella Swan, tomorrow someone else's blood will be our temptress, but you must address your impulse, we can't just quit—I'm proof enough of that. It's your choice that makes you human, Edward, that conscious effort to istrivei to be something better."

He held my gaze for the briefest of moments before retreating and letting his head fall again, his chin nearly resting on his chest. "I appreciate your faith in me but it's unwarranted, I don't deserve it. I don't want to leave, but if I stay—" his hands shook as he battle for control over, what I presume was, the memory of the temptation to drink the Swan girl's blood. "If I stay," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "we'd be leaving anyway."

I sighed. I didn't fancy returning home to tell Esme; she was going to be devastated. "Have you spoken to anyone? Esme is going to be distressed."

"I know!" he snapped, his eyes flashing up to mine again. "I didn't want to stop at home and tell her, I didn't even want to see her because I knew she'd want me to stay. Alice knows some, I'm sure she'll tell you and the family when you arrive back home."

I nodded slowly. If Alice couldn't talk any sense into him, and I couldn't calm him, we had no chance, or choice, in altering his decision. I had no right to demand that he stay, and couldn't enforce it anyway. The selfish part of me wanted us to stay together, to be a family and rely upon one another's strengths when one was feeling weak. "So you're set on leaving then?"

"When I dropped Emmett, Rosalie, Alice, and Jasper off after school I wasn't sure if I was coming to the hospital or to the Swan's—I think it's best if I leave. I just came to tell you that I was leaving and to borrow the car, I don't think I should stop for gas."

I retrieved the keys from my pocket and moved toward him, placing the keys in his outstretched hand. I was nervous suddenly, unsure of why. Though I didn't have a racing heart or adrenaline to send signals to my brain, I still felt apprehension. "Keep in touch. Call Esme and tell her you're all right." I wanted to know he was well too.

Edward nodded and handed me the keys to his car. "Thank you. I'm sorry for disappointing you."

My throat felt uncomfortably tight, I wasn't sure when I was going to see him again. I shook my head. "You've never been a disappointment, son." I leaned forward, patting his shoulder once, feeling him relax ever so slightly.

"Goodbye."

I nodded, watching him walk out the door. I guess that's what father's do, try to instill their beliefs in their children, 'raise' them the best they can, and hope for the best. They listen, offer advice, but ultimately a father can't fight a battle for his son. He can't be there to hold his hand at every moment, but a good father supports his son's decision—even when he doesn't agree with them, forgives his mistakes—no matter what, and always welcomes him back home.

Author's Note: gah! I think writing Carlisle might be even tougher than Edward. Edward explains to Bella in the Meadow Scene that he 'talked' to Emmett and Jasper about Bella calling to him, and doesn't mention Carlisle specifically, but I think he would have mentioned it to him, though they might not have necessarily discussed it at that time. I think this missing moment could have gone so many different ways, but I hope you find THIS way believable. Thanks!