ofthefamily | [Rebellion] Carlisle-Esme. Edward is still away.

[Rebellion] Carlisle-Esme. Edward is still away.

Carlisle went back to work when Esme told him to do so, and the day after that, and the months after that. It helped to have a rhythm back in his life.

There was just no melody to it, so the feeling of incompleteness remained and never faltered.

"How's Esme?" one of his coworkers asked. Carlisle had forgotten the man's name as he was relatively new to the hospital. It occurs to him that it's possible he never bothered to learn it.

"She's well." Noncommittal and not sounding particularly open to conversation.

The doctor doesn't take the hint. "Are you going to the play opening tonight? A handful of tickets are still available from the head of the department since his daughter is in it." Carlisle can't miss the mumbled, "...and you should probably get out more" which follows the suggestion.

A few hours later, Carlisle is walking through the front door to their house.

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Esme shoulders raised a small bit. "I've never heard of it. Should I ask what it is about or save myself the surprise?"

"I'd think it best if I didn't ruin it for you. Molière is somewhat of an experience to be seen and not told."

Carlisle looks down at himself, brushing imaginary dust off his clothing.

"I should change too, I suppose."

He'll never convince her he doesn't look dashing already. "It'll be nice to dress up." She missed that some. Wrapping her arm in his, she led away from the door.

It has definitely been a novelty of late. Esme hasn't let Carlisle's tuxedo become moth-ridden; that's practically a miracle.

Carlisle runs his hands through his hair carefully, the tiny amount of pomade enough for the fine blond strands he tries to maintain in a current style to not stand out. Staring in the mirror in their room as he does so, Carlisle sees Esme step out behind him. "Are you ready?"

This is because Esme has held on to the notion hope, and knowledge of having lost everything, enough for both of them.

She also has a really lovely new dress.

At least new in terms of having not been worn before.

"I think you'll have to be the judge of that." She steps out from the closet, still slipping on clippable gold earrings that match the dress.

"Stunning as always." Carlisle's heavy expression lightens, one corner of his mouth turning upwards.

Carlisle helps Esme into a long-ish opera coat and steps out of the front door of the house arm in arm with his wife.

About ten minutes into the drive: "I'm sorry that I didn't d--"

Her hand is resting on his leg at the first word this time.

"You are now. That's what matters."

Carlisle stays silent the rest of the drive to the theater.

"Dr. Cullen!"

His coworker waved animatedly from the other side of the box office, saying hello to both himself and Esme as he approached. Esme remembered his name as Johnathan. Johnathan, Johnathan, Johnathan...

Carlisle stays and chats with Johnathan and his date just long enough to not appear abrupt before leading Esme to coat check.

He doesn't remember them anymore, which makes her even more inclined to make sure she does. She fills up the holes as best she can. It's a labor of love that only wears on her in rare, now and again, instances.

Her husband, and their life together, will never not be worth it.

"Thank you." It's a simple gratitude when she hands her coat over. She brushed her hands down her upper arms, to rid herself of the littlest black fluff from the coat no human could see.

"He seems well." She said with a nod back to where they'd come from.

"I think he has the hots for one of the understudies."

One who obviously wasn't his current date by the reference.

"Which one?" Casual curiosity as she watched her husband.

Carlisle gave Esme half a shrug as they started to make their way to their seats. "I can't keep track. He is quite...loquacious."

Which means Carlisle doesn't pay attention much.

"He is young yet." Esme said easily, stopping for only a second to thank someone who'd held open a door for them entering the main seating.

"They're all young," is Carlisle's last comment before they sit down.

Tartuffe is at times hard and sarcastic, other times comical and prodding at the audience to understand the motivations of its main character.

Carlisle misses the alexandrins, but focuses on the play entirely through the first half. By intermission he is still silent, but his hand has traveled to meet Esme's and stayed there.

It is a common quiet, though the whirl of people moving around them during it is different. Overlooked and unnoticed by so many. She squeezed his hand gently. "Enjoying the performance?"

Carlisle nods, adding, "Elmire is the daughter of the man from the hospital. She's not bad."

The audience is getting up and milling around, but Carlisle and Esme stay seated.

"I'm going to try harder. I know you didn't want me to apologize earlier and I'll stop thinking that if you want me to, but you have to know. I am going to try harder."

It hasn't been a painless time. Months of silence and diligent dedication to going to work and coming home. It's not as simple as the people who would simply wish they had their husband or loved one back. Carlisle is right there.

She can admit she has missed facets of him, greatly. She grieved still an absence, but Carlisle's regression into himself was an entirely different flavor of grief that couldn't be missed.

"It's not that I don't want you to, say it or think it. You can, if it helps you." She was half turned in her seat, holding his hand in both of hers. "I don't blame you for it."

"I haven't been a good husband."

She's had much, much worse.

"You haven't been a bad one either." Absent in residence, but not bad. Nor is it bitterly thought as she tilted her head. "I did not promise to stand by your side only if our times stayed golden, Carlisle."

She almost stops, but then, she added, quieter. Not because it matter less, but perhaps because it matters much more. "But I am glad for tonight. For dressing up and getting out of the house and your saying that you will try."

The audience is coming back to their seats. Carlisle lifts Esme's hand to his mouth to kiss the knuckles above her slender fingers.

Attempt at a smile. "You are far too good for me."

Esme leaned her head against his shoulder, "I love you with all that I am."

That hasn't changed. It will never change.

She tipped her head upward, looking at him, "I think, if you are up for it, I may have a suggestion about trying."

"Tell me."

"You have not seemed to mind tonight's event. Correct?" There's a glimmer of being mostly sure, but she wants to be more than that.

"Madame Pernelle could really use some work, and honestly, the play is a lot better in French..."

Not the point, Carlisle.

"It's been nice."

His dickering actually makes her smile more certain by far. It's Carlisle, making commentary from having been focused on something.

"Perhaps we should make it a weekly event?"

"...Alright."

Date night with Esme.

It doesn't sound so bad.

The crowd is quietening as the lights low, so instead of any words Esme rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.

Carlisle smiles into Esme's hair.

Time for the second half.

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[Rebellion] Carlisle-Esme. Edward is still away.

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