This story isn't like any of my others -- it's not fluffy and it does have slash undertones, though it is not overtly slash. If this bothers you, please stop reading now, because I don't really feel like reading comments about how gross that is or any such nonsense. Seriously, don't waste your time typing it; I'll only roll my eyes. If you have any sort of constructive criticism, it will be much appreciated. :)

Thanks to Katrin for the beta -- I was nervous about this one, and you've made me feel slightly less so. My phobia is out in full force!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I just like to contemplate Carlisle and Edward's relationship in all manner of ways.

Vignettes

1. Temptation

Carlisle arrived at the house just in time; the heavy, dark clouds had only begun to spit rain when he'd reached the edge of the property. He had gone out looking for recreation for Edward, but had once again returned only with books. Carlisle had been searching in vain for something to occupy his new charge, something to do to ease the boredom while he adjusted to his new life – at least until it was safe for him to be out in the open. So far he'd come up short.

He walked slowly into the sitting room, preoccupied with shaking the raindrops from his hair. He stopped abruptly, shocked, his wet shoes making a loud squeaking sound against the wooden floor. Edward was stretched languidly across the red velvet sofa, and he was completely nude, a book cradled in his hands.

Carlisle's eyes travelled the length of the perfect body before him, from the tousled bronze hair to the elegantly shaped feet resting on the sofa's arm. The change made them appear perfect to human eyes, their intended prey – but Edward had already neared such perfection in life. Even when he had been dying, his clear green eyes fogging over with sickness, he'd possessed something the others had not. He had already been dangerously alluring.

And now – now he was immeasurably beautiful. He was like a sculpture come to life by some sort of enchantment, or an angel who had lost his wings. But no angel would stare back with such loathing in its eyes, such obvious contempt.

Carlisle cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Where are your clothes?"

"I know," Edward said simply by way of response. When Carlisle merely stared at him, confusion evident on his face, Edward continued.

"I know what you really want, so stop playing the innocent mentor. Go ahead." He motioned to his naked form. "I will even give you permission so your conscience remains clear. Do your worst."

Carlisle couldn't even form a response. He stood in place, mouth gaping open like a fish out of water, eyes bulging. "Ex- excuse me?" he finally stammered. "Where did this come from?"

"I can hear what you are thinking," Edward said confidentially, superiority colouring his tone. "Every single thought that goes through your mind; I hear it all."

"Really-- since when? That is amazing, Edward. Not since Volterra have I met anyone—"

"Since I woke up like… this," Edward interrupted. "But don't try and change the subject; you can conduct your little mind experiments on me later if you must. I know what you want, so I have decided to let you know that I am aware and get it over with. Then we can continue our non-existence without my having to listen to it any longer."

Carlisle was flabbergasted. He hadn't been so confused in well over a century. "I don't understand. Whatever you are referring to, you must have misunderstood."

"Misunderstood?" Edward scoffed. "I've been so lonely for so long," he quoted acidly. "God forgive me, but he is so beautiful." He spat the last word like it was a curse.

"And what about just now – did I misunderstand the way you were just looking at me? Did I misunderstand what you were thinking?"

"I didn't mean it in that way –" Carlisle stuttered. "I was not -- I am not --" He'd never had such trouble with incoherency in his long life. Who was this boy that he could take him so completely by surprise in such an uncomfortable way?

Edward chuckled darkly, obviously responding to Carlisle's private thoughts.

"Please, Edward. Just put your clothes back on and we can discuss this reasonably," Carlisle admonished.

"Discuss away if you feel it's necessary, but I'm fine the way I am." He did, however, sit up on the sofa, tucking his feet under him and bending his legs to shield most of his body from view.

Carlisle sighed in frustration and put his thumb and index finger to his temples. How to start? He had never been in this sort of situation before and had no idea how to deal with it. He tried to organise his thoughts, only to realise that Edward could hear them anyway, so did it really matter in what order he spoke them?

Edward let out an amused sound and began examining his fingernails.

"Edward," Carlisle began, "you obviously grossly misinterpreted whatever you heard in my thoughts. I at no time contemplated anything remotely—"

He broke off, embarrassed, and motioned to Edward's naked frame. "I do not know why you thought I wanted to… take liberties with you. I would never, ever do any such thing."

He looked into Edward's pale face, imploring him to believe, but Edward's eyes were shrewd. His lips curved up in a bitter smirk. Carlisle was beginning to get angry. He had never done anything to bring on any such behaviour, and he was quickly tiring of Edward's superior attitude.

Edward's smirk became more pronounced.

Carlisle clenched his hands into fists. "Edward," he practically growled, "I am sorry. How many times must I say it? I took you, and I did this to you and you had no say in the matter. Now you hate me for it and I am sorry, I truly am. I am not sorry, however, that you are here. I am never going to be sorry for that, but I am sorry that you are suffering because of what I did. I have no excuse. She asked me and I was lonely. It was far too easy to talk myself into after she'd pleaded with me and—"

Edward cut across him. "Do not speak to me of her," he spat. "She had no idea, no idea at all. She would never have wanted –" He stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath. "She asked you to save me because she thought you were a doctor."

"I am a doctor."

"If you say so," he said with heavy sarcasm.

Edward glared at him for a moment through narrowed red eyes. Carlisle began to think he'd said all he wanted when he suddenly blurted out, "You're always staring at me. You stare at me and you think things. You think about how beautiful I am to you, and you ask God's forgiveness for thinking it. Like God would ever listen to creatures such as us."

Carlisle attempted to keep his face composed as he replied. "Of course I look at you, Edward. I worry about you. So much. I hate that you are in pain, and I look for some idea, something, anything to ease your suffering. And you are beautiful to me, of course you are, but just because I find you beautiful does not mean I wish to--" he sighed deeply, shaking his head. "I have been alone for so long, and seeing you there, being able to speak freely with you feels like a miracle."

Carlisle paused and took a deep breath, his eyes imploring the hostile red ones before him. "I ask God's forgiveness for taking you, I do. It was selfish of me, the single most selfish thing I have ever done. I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me one day, even if God cannot."

Edward rolled his eyes and flopped over onto his stomach, kicking his legs up in the air and crossing them at the ankles. He pulled the book he'd been reading back under his nose.

Carlisle turned to leave the room at this obvious dismissal, but paused at the sound of his name.

"Carlisle," Edward said quietly, his eyes remaining fixed on the page before him. "I want my piano."

There was a long moment of silence in which Carlisle stared at the floor, the wall, the raindrops splattering against the window, at anything but Edward's perfect body laid out before him. "I expect you to be clothed when I return," was his only reply.

~*~

He returned several hours later with a small, upright piano. It was not Edward's piano, which had been left behind in Chicago, but a piano nonetheless. It would have to do until they were settled and Edward was in control enough for something better to be delivered.

Edward was dressed this time, sitting on the windowsill. He was hugging his knees to his chest, his cheek pressed against the frosty glass. Carlisle was startled at the relief that flooded through him at the sight of his still form. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he'd been terrified that Edward would not be there when he returned. He thought he would curl up and die if the boy were to leave him now, though he knew that wasn't physically possible.

"Where would I go?" Edward whispered to Carlisle's reflection in the window's glass. "Who would I be with if not you?"

Carlisle nodded sadly and retreated to his room.

2. Comfort

The music was soft, melancholy as it drifted up the stairs. Carlisle was almost beyond noticing it, this never-ending music that had become the only sound in the house.

The playing would go on for days at a time without stopping, with barely a moment's pause. It was like Edward was pouring his every emotion into the notes, his only means of escape. He only ever left the house to hunt, which was a frequent necessity due to his young age, though he never complained about his thirst. To complain would mean to speak to Carlisle, or at all, which he seemed to be avoiding at all costs. They had a routine that seemed to suit him – every few days Carlisle would approach him at the piano and simply say, "It's time." Edward would rise and follow, but never answer.

The house was never silent with the constant pounding of the keys, but somehow the silence between them had become deafening. Carlisle had begun to unconsciously address Edward without speaking, through the medium of his thoughts, though Edward didn't respond to this silent speech any more than he did to actual words. But Carlisle was encouraged by the occasional reaction he perceived: a flicker of the red eyes in his general direction, an almost imperceptible nodding of the bronze head, so he continued. Things could only improve, he told himself repeatedly – for how could they possibly get any worse?

The music was different today, sweeter, lighter, but somehow more sorrowful. He felt like Edward was calling to him with the tinkling of keys, summoning him from his daily exile to his room full of books and memories.

Whether to try and relieve some small portion of Edward's misery or to join him in it completely – Carlisle wasn't sure of his own intentions – he rose from behind his desk and glided from the room and down the stairs.

Edward's back was to him, but his playing quieted when he heard the approach of Carlisle's thoughts. Even after the months since Edward had revealed his ability to Carlisle, he still couldn't quite wrap his mind around what it must be like for him, the constant barrage of other's thoughts invading his mind.

Carlisle stopped a few feet away and Edward's hands paused over the keys. "Please, don't stop on my account," Carlisle said quietly, aloud this time. He needed to hear his own voice, any voice in this room where only music had lived for countless days, weeks, months. Had it really been months? "That was lovely."

"It was my mother's favourite," Edward replied almost inaudibly, starting the piece over from the beginning. Carlisle wandered closer until he stood to the left of the instrument, looking into Edward's troubled face.

"I can't cry," Edward said quickly, as if he'd grown unaccustomed to the use of his voice, which he very likely had. "I never thought I would ever want to… before, but now I can't. I try and I try, but nothing..."

Carlisle nodded sadly and sat down next to him on the piano bench. He kept his movements slow, measured, as not to startle him and put an abrupt end to this new openness.

"I know. We have no bodily fluids besides the venom, you see."

Edward's haunted eyes met his for the first time in weeks, the first time in months with no hint of hostility.

"I wish I could tell you that particular aspect gets easier with time, but I can't. I still wish…" he sighed.

Edward's hands curled into fists and banged loudly on the piano keys. He let out a dry, strangled sob.

Carlisle reached for him, wrapping his arms around his shaking shoulders and Edward buried his face in Carlisle's cold, stone neck. He continued to sob dryly, Carlisle murmuring nonsense words as if to soothe a small child, his hand gently stroking the dishevelled, bronze head.

"I'm sorry," Edward choked out. "Please forgive me."

"Shh," Carlisle soothed, rocking them gently back and forth. "There is nothing to forgive."

3. Resentment

He carried her to the house as quickly as he could; she was already writhing with the pain of the transformation under the sheet he'd swathed her in. He hadn't wanted to bite her at the hospital, but what choice did he have? She was almost gone. The doctor who initially examined her had thought her already dead.

Edward greeted him at the door. "What have you done?" he snapped. "Who is that?"

Carlisle walked farther into the room and placed her gently on the sofa, removing the sheet to reveal her agonised face, sweat pooling on her brow. She moaned pitifully.

"Her name is Esme. They brought her to the morgue after she fell from a cliff. Her heart was still beating faintly, though I was the only one who seemed able to tell."

"Why did you do this? She was dead -- why not leave her?"

Images a decade old flashed through Carlisle's mind-- a young Esme, trying to be brave as he set the bones in her broken leg. "I knew her before," he explained audibly. "Now she's a war widow, and she just lost her only child." He'd heard the nurses speaking of it in whispers after she was brought in.

Edward was staring at her strangely. "She thinks she's in Hell," he whispered. "She thinks the Hell fires are burning her for killing herself. She didn't fall, she jumped."

Carlisle placed a cold hand on her clammy cheek.

"All she wanted was to die, to end her pain, and you've now taken that chance from her forever," Edward said angrily. "Why couldn't you leave her to die?"

Carlisle didn't look away from her sweet, heart-shaped face, now twisted in pain. A strangled sob issued from her lips.

It will be fine, he thought. She will heal. She will heal in time.

"Will she?" Edward asked, unconvinced. "Has time healed you, Carlisle?"

"It's beginning to," he answered quietly, still not looking away from her face.

"How many of us do you have to damn to make yourself feel better?"

"Enough!" Carlisle yelled, looking in Edward's direction at last. "She needs peace. She is in enough pain as it is."

Edward shook his head angrily; his jaw clenched tight, nostrils flaring, hands balled into fists. He turned quickly and ran up the stairs.

~*~

Esme was lovely and sweet, and she lavished attention on them both. She was in pain, both from the loss of her child and with the realisation of what she had become, but still she tried. There was no silence, no glowering, no harsh words. They quickly fell into a new routine, a pleasant one -- one of her filling Carlisle's dark nights with sunshine.

She tried to reach Edward, and it was obvious he cared for her immediately, always smiling easily at her words and her secret thoughts. She treated him like a son when he was badly in need of a mother, and this eased Carlisle's mind greatly.

There was still a gulf between the three of them, however, that Edward was unwilling to bridge. He kept a careful rule of no contact, and try as Esme might to mother him, Edward did not allow himself to be touched by her. He didn't allow himself to be touched by anyone, not even Carlisle, not anymore.

He began to spend most of his time alone, wandering away when they went for walks, hunting by himself for days on end. But he always returned, and smiled when he should, and answered politely when spoken to, so Carlisle didn't broach the subject.

They moved, Carlisle started at another hospital, and Esme remodelled a new house. Edward spent his time devouring books on any and every subject available to him. Time passed and little changed, as was often the way for their kind.

But Carlisle felt the gulf widening with every year, he and Esme on one side and Edward on the other. It worried him, but he was afraid to bring it up, afraid that Edward would throw everything in his face the way he'd done in the past, or worse even, bolt from the house never to be seen again. He kept his thoughts guarded, hoping nothing would slip through.

Edward was waiting for him in his office when he returned from the hospital one early morning, perched on the corner of his desk. He met Carlisle's worried eyes when he entered the room.

"I'm leaving," he said simply. Carlisle sucked in a breath, ready to argue. "Please, don't. There are things I need to do; things that you would not allow. I have to go." He jumped down from the desk.

Carlisle looked away to hide the agony in his eyes, though he knew Edward could read it in his thoughts. "When are you leaving?" he asked sadly.

"Right this minute," Edward answered, already heading for the door.

"You have to wait to say goodbye to Esme, she's gone into town for supplies." Anything to stall him -- maybe she could talk him out of leaving,

"No," he said quietly, "I don't think I will."

Edward, Carlisle thought, please don't leave me. Don't do this.

"You don't need me anymore," Edward breathed, barely audible.

Do you remember when we spoke of crying, about being unable to?

Edward's fingers curled around the wooden doorframe, his back to Carlisle. He stiffened but gave no answer, then released the wood and walked down the hall. Carlisle heard his light footfalls on the stairs, the opening and closing of the door, then silence. He collapsed into his chair and put his face in his hands.

Months later Esme tried to fix the doorframe of his office, to rid it of the indentations Edward's fingers had left in the wood, but Carlisle wouldn't allow it. He needed them there. He needed them there to remind him of the things he'd done wrong, things he hadn't been able—hadn't even attempted -- to mend.

4. Regret

They had been without him for three long years. They stayed in the same house, Carlisle still working at the same hospital, though he was pushing his age further than he ever had before. They would soon get suspicious, if they weren't already. It was impossible to know without Edward there. Edward. So they stayed, hoping against hope that he would return to them.

And return he did, out of the blue one day, coming back as unexpectedly as he had left. Carlisle was sitting outside in the sunshine, hidden from view behind the house, reading a book when he caught a glimpse of Edward's lean figure walking towards him. He stood quickly, his book falling to the ground, forgotten.

"Edward," he whispered, more to himself than to gain any sort of response. I must be imagining things, he thought, and was rewarded with a low, wonderfully familiar chuckle.

Carlisle ran to meet him, elated, and wrapped his arms around Edward's marble body. He was delighted to find his embrace returned, something that had not been allowed before Edward's hasty departure from his life. But now Edward clung to him as if he were a life preserver, hands scrabbling over his back to find something, anything to hold onto, and finally coming to rest on his shoulder blades. A shaky sigh escaped his lips.

"I've been so worried. How I've missed you, my Edward," Carlisle said quietly, pulling back a small bit to get a better look at him. Edward turned his head quickly, burying his face in Carlisle's neck and pulling him close again. Edward? Carlisle questioned with his thoughts. What is the matter?

He felt the soft shake of Edward's head against his neck, the bronze mess of hair tickling his face. He gently extricated himself from the embrace and looked to Edward's face once more. Edward turned his head abruptly, staring at his feet. Carlisle reached out to him, taking his face softly between both hands and turned it towards his own.

He gasped.

Edward's eyes were a deep burgundy, no longer the varying golden hues they had once been. They were red, engorged with human blood. He realised his mouth was hanging open in shock and snapped it shut at once, before the expression on Edward's face could become any more melancholy, before he decided to run from him once again. Carlisle didn't think he could take that.

"My dearest Edward," he whispered, running his hand over his jaw, up his cheekbone, until he'd reached his left eye, which he circled lightly with his fingertips. "Is this what you left me to do?"

Edward released a strangled sob, his hand darted quickly to catch Carlisle by the wrist and he pressed the cold hand to his cheek.

"Oh, God, Carlisle. I am sorry, I am so, so sorry. You were right. I thought it wouldn't matter. I could read their thoughts, tell what they'd done, and I could go after only the evil ones. I believed I would feel no guilt, no remorse, that I would be doing something good." He broke off and shook his head.

"What have I done? What am I now? I've turned myself into the monster I feared I was from the beginning, that I blamed you for creating. But you didn't do it, it was me; it was always me." He sobbed again, turning his face to kiss the palm of Carlisle's hand.

Carlisle pulled Edward's shaking body against him once more, holding him tight. "It's all right, Edward. We all make mistakes in life. We must learn from them and move forward; it's all we can do."

Edward pulled back slightly. "How can you simply forgive me? I went against everything you taught me, everything you believe in. How can you forgive so easily?"

"Edward, you are your own man, you needed to learn for yourself. It is not my place to tell you how to live and what to believe, nor is it my place to hand out rules or punishments. You did what you thought you must, but you came back to yourself, and you came back to me. How can I possibly be anything but jubilant at this moment?"

Edward smiled crookedly, an old and beloved expression. Carlisle clapped him on the back and put an arm around his shoulders, steering him toward the house.

"We had probably better begin looking for a new town. I am a bit young to play 35, don't you think?"

Edward grinned at him, and ran to greet Esme.

5. Love

Relief. He felt relief now that he knew Edward was fine, now that he'd seen his beautiful face with his own eyes. He'd spent uncalculated hours in the pit of despair, contemplating a world without Edward in it, and he was as sure as he was of his own name that he never wanted to exist in such a place.

The relief was there, he could feel it creeping up his spine, calming his breathing, but underneath it all, the blind panic he'd been hiding for the sake of Esme and his family was still present and bubbling to the surface.

He lowered his head into shaking hands that in no way resembled his own. His hands were steady, accurate, surgeon's hands.

He thanked God that Aro, Caius and Marcus had enough respect for him to deny Edward's request, and that he had spent so much time with them in the past. He thanked God that Alice and Bella had arrived in time to save him -- to save his Edward, his beautiful Edward.

Edward -- you promised me. You promised you would never take yourself away from me ever again.

Edward is fine; Edward is home -- he repeated it in his mind like a mantra, to send the panic back from whence it came.

And then his Edward was there, windblown and perfect, standing silently in Carlisle's office, leaning against the closed door.

Guilt. Guilt was written all over his perfect angel's face: in the crease of his brow, the tightness of his jaw, the set of his mouth, but it was most evident in his eyes, which were black from thirst.

"I'm so sorry, Carlisle," he whispered. "I can never seem to stop breaking promises to those I care about."

Carlisle rose from his chair, hurrying around his desk, needing to touch him, needing to know he was really there, really whole, really real. He felt awkward, broken – it had been so long since he'd felt this way, and Edward was the only one he'd ever allowed to see it, the breakdown of his carefully crafted façade.

He sobbed when the skin of his hands met Edward's face. Never again, he scolded with his thoughts. Never again will you leave without promise of a quick return. Never again will you take yourself away from me.

Edward nodded once, his eyes downcast. Carlisle let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and flung his arms around Edward. I couldn't stand it, he thought, I couldn't stand to be without you. God forgive me, I know it's wrong of me, but I love you more than the others. I can't live without you.

Edward's grip increased, his fingers digging into the fabric of Carlisle's sweater. "I'm sorry," he answered quietly.

"I know," Carlisle said aloud, releasing Edward from his embrace. He stepped back slowly, his hands resting on Edward's shoulders, and stared into his sad, black eyes.

"I have to get back to Bella before she wakes up," Edward said quietly again in the same guilty tone. "But I'll be back in a few hours. I promise."

Carlisle nodded once and removed his hands. He returned to his chair and looked back at Edward; he hadn't moved from his spot in front of the door.

I feel like I've failed you, Edward. In this and everything else. Please try and forgive me for what I have or haven't done in regard to you.

"There is nothing to forgive," Edward whispered. He seemed to hesitate, his eyes trained on the wooden floor. "I love you," he said quickly.

He opened the door, swept through it and closed it gently behind him before Carlisle even had time to consider a response, mental or otherwise.

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