(A/N – I do not own the characters in or Twilight in any way, all rights are reserved to Stephanie Meyers.)

Making the Most of the Time we Have Left.

Carlisle's P.O.V. (ALL HUMAN!)

I closed the door quietly, and paced my doctor's coat messily over the cloak hanger on the back of it as the door closed again. I walked as quickly as I could to the bedroom me and my wife, Esme, shared together.

The house was quiet from my usually quarrelling teenagers, but me being the concerned man I was, I stuck my head into the living room to see if my children were home, which the shouldn't be. I was slightly shocked to find, Jasper and Rosalie sitting quietly together, whispering to each other. Edward was sat numbly at his piano, his fingers wandering over the ivory keys absentmindedly as he stared into space. Alice, with the same expression as her twin brother, Edward, sat in the arm chair next to the unlit fire, and finally, Emmett, sat keeling before her, Alice's hand in his bear like paw.

Tears sprang to my eyes and I clutched the door frame for support, my Children's eyes finally finding their ever weakening Father figure.

"Dad, you're home already?" Rosalie asked, tucking a curl behind her ear.

Breathing in, I answered, "I couldn't bear not knowing." And as the words left my mouth, Jasper's head popped up and I saw clearly, the red rings around his eyes. "That's not the point, though," I continued. "Why are you home?"

Silence ensued again before Jasper cleared his throat and answered me. "Mum rang, said for us to come home."

I closed my eyes and breathed in unevenly. "Oh god," I breathed, "Not this."

I tried so hard to stop myself from crying in front of my children, but now, in this moment, I couldn't keep the charade up for much longer. I hunched over as a strangled cry left my mouth, the first tears falling down my cheeks as I wept uncontrollably at the door way. I clutched the wood in desperation, but no support was found until small hands caught me.

"Don't cry, Carlisle. Please, for me?"

I shook my head in defiance, finally landing on the floor, Esme landed next to me, her hands running through my hair.

"Look at me, please."

My wife tore my hands away from my face by my wrists, and I was made to stare her in her in the eye.

"The children need you, now. I need you, now. Please?"

I could feel the suppressed sobs at the back of my throat trying to escape my closed mouth. I pushed them back, however, keeping my thoughts on my wife and my wife only.

Our children stared hopelessly at us, tears rolling down their own pale cheeks. Their eyes like mine looked hollow.

"What happened," I managed to finally gasp. "The news?"

Esme stood up quickly, her eyes diverting from my own. I knew then the news was what we dreaded to here.

"It's terminal," she whispered, almost inaudibly. "The cancer is terminal."

Our children gasped and Alice threw herself into her big brother's arms, crying into his shoulder. Edward, the oldest of all of them sat unfeeling, his hand frozen above the C sharp he had just played due to the slip his hand had suffered.

My wife breathed out before walking away, not once looking back.

This isn't what Esme was supposed to be saying. She was meant to say that the cancer was gone, that she was in remission. Not this, not this!

Rosalie stuck her hand out before me. "Get up, you useless lump," she tried to joke, but couldn't. "Your wife needs you."

I took her hand, running up that stairs after her and into our bedroom like I had originally planned to do.

Closing the door, my grief caught up with me. "No!" I roared.

Esme didn't flinch, didn't move. Instead, she sat there, unseeing, numb.

"I was prepared for it, Carlisle," she whispered back against my shouting tone. "I knew it could mean... this." Her voice broke, and she dropped her head into her hands.

But my wife had the right to be angry, upset, hurt. She had suffered so much already. When the cancer hit, the doctors recommended a mastectomy which she agreed to, in hope it would stop the cancer spreading after the chemotherapy and radiotherapy failed, but it didn't work... again. And the cancer spread from her breast to her lungs.

"Hold me?" Esme whimpered, suddenly, her hair falling over her shoulders as she tilted her head over her shoulder to look at me from her arm chair.

And as I allowed myself to let her sink into my arms, I realised another surge of sorrow was coursing through my veins.

The hair that fell from her shoulders was not my wife's own hair, it was a wig she wore daily because of the resulting hair loss chemotherapy caused. Taking it off, I placed it next to us not looking. I gently played with her remaining, thinning caramel coloured curls, weaving them between my fingers as Esme wetted the material of my shirt with her tears.

"Don't cry," I reminded her, softly, kissing her head.

Snorting feebly, she replied, "Because I'm going to beat it?"

I clenched her hand extremely tightly in mine as she repeated my last words I had said to her before I had left for work this morning.

"But I'm not!" Esme hissed, her teeth clenching together. "The doctors performed a CAT scan, Carlisle. It's spread to my brain."

I let my tears spill silently as I rocked her slowly in my arms.

"Miracles can happen," I fought back, the words twisting around my teeth.

"Not anymore, darling, not anymore."

Still rocking her, Esme sighed, her tears now stemmed.

"How long?" I choked, brokenly.

My shirt gathered in her fists as she replied, "Three months."

God give us longer, I prayed, my eyes looking up to the skies outside the window.

"Three months without further treatment," she admitted to my torment.

"God, no, Esme. Why would you do it?"

A smile ghosted across her lips, before she replied, a grimace now present. "It hurts, Carlisle. The treatment hurts me. I can't stand it anymore. I'm skin and bones as you hold me. I throw up continuously, bile replacing the sickness when there's nothing left to bring up."

"But you'll be in immense pain, Esme."

"I know," she replied. "But it's bearable as long as I have my family with me."

Pausing, she looked up at me, her green eyes now absent of their usual sparkle. Esme stroked my cheek with the back of her hand, and I realised she finally looked somewhat peaceful.

"I want to die here, with you," she stated, her voice, again, failing her. "Somewhere familiar, warm...the place I call home."

"I don't want you to leave me," I croaked.

"I don't want to leave, either. But God will look after me."

Smiling, I traced the features of her face, pausing each time as I reached a different feature. When I got to her lips, I placed a gentle kiss upon them, humming a tune Esme and I had stumbled upon during our cancer support sessions with other cancer patients. Slowly I began to sing it, albeit quietly into her ear.

"It's been years since they told her about it
The darkness her body possessed
And the scars are still there in the mirror
Everyday that she gets herself dressed
Though the pain is miles and miles behind her
And the fear is now a docile beast
If you ask her why she is still running
She'll tell you it makes her complete."

"I run for hope
I run to feel
I run for the truth
For all that is real
I run for your mother, your sister, your wife
I run for you and me, my friend
I run for life!"

Closing her eyes, Esme began to sing with me, her hand squeezing mine tightly. And as we sang, I realised painfully, just how well our voices melted together. In barely three months, maybe longer, maybe shorter, this would never happen again.

"It's a blur since they told me about it
How the darkness had taken its toll
And they cut into my skin and they cut into my body
But they will never get a piece of my soul
And now I'm still learning the lesson
To awake when I hear the call
And if you ask me why I am still running
I'll tell you I run for us all."

"I run for hope
I run to feel
I run for the truth
For all that is real
I run for your mother your sister your wife
I run for you and me my friend
I run for life!"

"And someday if they tell you about it
If the darkness knocks on your door
Remember her remember me
We will be running as we have before
Running for answers
Running for more."

Hooking my arm under Esme's knees, I lifted her from the chair and laid with her on our bed, my arm wrapped protectively around her.

At our wedding, I vowed not to let any harm come to her, but here I was now, clinging to my wife as she fought an internal battle I couldn't cure.

Not letting me stop, Esme pushed on singing quietly, her hands tracing down my chest before linking her hands together with mine again.

"I run for hope
I run to feel
I run for the truth
For all that is real
I run for your mother, your sister, your wife
I run for you and me my friend
I run for hope
I run to feel
I run for the truth
For all that is real
I run for your mother your sister, your daughter, your wife
For you and me my friend
I run for life!"

"I run for your mother your sister your wife
I run for you and me my friend
I run for life!"

Esme allowed a single tear to fall from her eye, but brushed it away as quickly as it came, kssing my cheek lightly, as if I would break.

"I want you to fight for me after I'm gone, Carlisle."

Stroking her hair, I nodded. "Always, my beloved."

"And you'll be with me when I go?"

I gulped painfully, but assured her, "With all my heart, I promise I'll be holding you as you enter the kingdom of heaven."

A content look rested on her face, and she finished, finally, "I love you so much, Carlisle."

"I love you too."

Esme closed her eyes as she succumbed to sleep. Kissing her forehead, I eased myself out from beneath her, undressing her and placing her nightgown over her bony, bruised body. Pulling the sheets back, I placed a sleeping wife under the covers, tucking her in. I took my place next to her, now making the most of the time we had left.

A/N – I read a fic about this recently, and I already had this seed planted in my mind. It's sad, and slightly sombre, but I hope I've done a good job with this by emitting the right emotions.

Please Review.

Thanks, Katie1995.