Golden: 1819.

[ofthefamily]

An old face. Calmer, older, and yet all the same unchanged.

At least he's not running for his life, now. And he knows where he is.

For Carlisle Cullen, this is always a good start.

Comments

[themidnightson]

"How many lives simply disappear and no one notices."

Edward can appreciate that far too well.
It's still a plague he deals with.

[ofthefamily]

Or the people that you want to have notice (care) can never manage to.

Carlisle shifts in his seat.

"The subjects are interesting; if a little redundant from what I've already covered on my own."

[themidnightson]

The first thought hits more squarely with a force Edward isn't expecting, and perhaps it does wrinkle his expression.




Almost specifically, with a faint shake of his head,

"You are, sadly, still a good deal away from the system that allows for testing out of classes based on what you already know."

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle groans. "How unfortunate."

Carlisle will live without that luxury then.

[themidnightson]

"It's helpful now," Edward concedes.

"Not that we worry too much about degrees."

[ofthefamily]

"And how often do you attend university?"

[themidnightson]

"Whenever we want, and many classes can be audited across continents and oceans now with technological advances incorporated toward the teaching systems."

Edward expression shifted toward more non-pulsed.

"Most of the year is spent in high school, though."

[ofthefamily]

"High school? Sound interesting."

Oh Carlisle. You'll learn.

[themidnightson]

There's a flash-bright first reaction, almost questioning his seriousness but it meets not a millisecond later with the fact this Carlisle doesn't have the pieces of understanding that meter up to what high school is.

Especially, what high school is for (to) Edward.

"It's the America equivalent for compulsory secondary schooling, if how and why and what they teach changes a good deal over time."

[ofthefamily]

"So you're saying it's...not interesting."

[themidnightson]

"Not to anyone who isn't in their first ten years of teaching."

It's a little more wry than serious.

[ofthefamily]

"You would like my lectures I think."

I would certainly like to have you there.

[themidnightson]

It could be debatable. Either he isn't able to stop himself when his lips curl toward the smallest of smiles or he really doesn't notice at all, with some quiet pleasedness toward the thought itself.


His words are quieter, faintly pleased (if problematic for the point), and not nearly the rebuff they could have sounded in any other tone. "You seem to be managing well enough without me."

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle's expression creases in confusion.

"You are misinformed."

[themidnightson]

If the first reaction was double edges, the following one is only more so. He doesn't want to ask, for reason which are proven and founded and have nothing to do with the man sitting in front of him. Well. At least. Yet.

And conversely he does. Want to hear that he's wrong.
Regardless of just how well he might not believe it regardless.

Still ten years have passed for him and Edward wasn't there, wasn't a part of it. Wasn't born yet. Wasn't even in his past more than a handful of days. Hates that he's actually entertaining and encouraging the descent of these thoughts.




It doesn't lead to much more than his pressing faintly together.

[ofthefamily]

Here's the thing, though.

Carlisle's not all that willing to be so forthcoming about his answer. Edward's silent here, when he is usually at least willing to say something. Maybe he doesn't want to know?

[themidnightson]

Of course he does. Even when he really doesn't want to hear the things Carlisle has to say or think, based on his own opinions, he always still wants to know, to hear him.

Whether it's good for him or not.



An unnecessary huff is pushed out his nose.
As though it were simple, and he hadn't. "How so?"

[ofthefamily]

Maybe Edward forgot.

I am happy with you. So I manage.

[themidnightson]

Edward's brain stutters through a number of reactions, all of them simultaneously hitting at once.

Carlisle does not seem un-happy now. With his life. With everything. And he did smile like that the first time he spotted Edward from the door. And some part of him aches with an unfettered possessive pleasure at the idea. But if Carlisle is happier here and now, with him, than he ever is beyond the door, then is he doing him a disservice for the life he keeps having to return to. And it's seconds, only, each time.

Seconds.

And Carlisle.....manages.




This place. This strange room. Crossed between their times.
Uncertain, and rare for it. "I'm not certain what to say to that."

[ofthefamily]

Don't say anything if you do not wish to, Edward.

Every time I see you helps me. Even if it just a picture in my mind.

[themidnightson]

There are several -- several -- things he almost says.
Perhaps even that he should say. But what he does is simply this.


Edward's eyelids flicked closer to closed, amber eyes never leaving Carlisle's face, his head tilting until his temple and his ever bright hair were against the wing of his chair. "You are much too far away."

Physically. Generally. Temporally. (Honestly?)

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle stands, and how did he get here, where Edward asks for him? It's surreal.

Carlisle moves to the arm of Edward's chair expectantly. "What would you have of me?"

[themidnightson]

Edward pivoted his head, so he could still be looking at Carlisle. Never away.
His lips tugged just barely. "How complicated is it to say, everything?"

[ofthefamily]

Very.

(And is he so very blind in the future that he can no longer see such as Edward by his own side? When Carlisle lands a hand in Edward's hair, his fingers curl possessively at this rather than the movement itself.)

"Je pourrais rester ici," Carlisle offers, a mumble and a request as much as a deal to be made. "If you'd like."

[themidnightson]

His eyes close at the tension across his hair, the tone of the voice so close, and the weight of what can not be missed in Carlisle's thoughts. The multifaceted edges of it.

"Suis-je n'ai jamais trouvé, alors," is soft, the edges of his eyes tightening. "Et vous êtes abandonnés."

He promised. He promised never again. Never.

He leans into the chair wing, but not even slightly from Carlisle's touch, when his eyes open, looking at the suit near him more than the face. How much is it admit that he's gone through all these thoughts.

"Or does nothing change, because the time outside each door never moves, and then a lifetime here still takes nothing from there."