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.

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[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."

[ofthefamily]

"I do not sound like him. And you do not exist yet in my world."

You need to think about yourself here. Please.

[themidnightson]

It will never be easy. Carlisle made his life.
He made his own choices. (That promise.)

And what Carlisle, this one here, asks, now. Still the same and not yet. Maybe not ever. How does one figure out whether one is dealing with an alternate universe or potential undoing their own existence.

And that request. That request smacks of so many things.
So many things that have not happened to him.
Centuries yet found or survived through.


Edward leaned into the hand above him, trying to keep his voice toward some level of wry, "You will realize at some point I am tragically accomplished, and incompetent, at that."

It fails though, on the follow through. "Especially with you."

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle bends at the knee; it brings his face closer to Edward's now, even if Carlisle's hand doesn't leave him.

"What if this is the chance? To just go? Do what you want - I want.

"I don't want it to be another ten years before I see you again."

[themidnightson]

More than anything it hurts. That same face. The exact same face. Every piece and part of it. The same voice, low in his ears, and those thoughts. That anyone could ask that of him. Ever.It tears at everything he created in his stupidity.

He knows what it did once. He'll never forget that.

"He needs me."

Even if his tone leaves the second word inflected far more heavily toward a completely different point and word. Which probably, none of his thoughts or words are helped, when he doesn't stop himself from reaching out and brushing his fingertips across Carlisle's cheek bone.

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle swallows through the nodding of his head.

He gets it. He does.

Carlisle as he is can manage. Edward's Carlisle - no, the Carlisle from Edward's time - can't.

It's the only answer that makes Carlisle function with Edward's answer.

[themidnightson]

He can't succeed here. He even already knows the flavor of the pain that flashes through him, the one that isn't his. His fingers tensed, going perfectly still. Four remote dots of contact.

None of this is fair. It hasn't been since he started arriving from the 1700's. Still isn't. Not that anything has been 'fair' to Edward in over seventy years in this regard.

He can't even ask what he did to the universe at large.
That answer is beyond self evident, too.
Even if it's not the words that come.

He lets his gaze drop. "I tried to tell you. I left once."

I tried to forget you once.

[ofthefamily]

"I know."

And that's really all there is.

But Carlisle doesn't move.

Edward asked him to be here.

(Carlisle will take what he can get.)

[themidnightson]

"Don't say that." It wants to be an order.
Anything but the plaintive note in it.

[ofthefamily]

Confusion again.

"What? 'I know'? You would prefer some other term?"

[themidnightson]

"Not that." Edward can look chagrin even at semi-stricken. "The other--" doesn't finish, when his eyes shut and he briefly shakes his head. It's still words to him, still an idea. An acceptance of the unacceptable in a place it shouldn't be.


"That's never how -- things won't end up that way for you."

[ofthefamily]

You don't know that. Even being from one possible future, you don't know that.




Slowly, "I don't want to fight with you about it."

[themidnightson]

"You exist." He's not quite sure if it's an apology or explanation.
They both exist. He can't say yes, and he doesn't have it in him to say no.


Edward turned his head and looked up. He didn't take a breath, but his facial expression shifted. Calmer. Smoother lines. The skin at the edges of his eyes relaxes. Perhaps, everything perfectly shifts towards a picturesque vision of normal, except his eyes.

"Choose a different topic? Something else nice from the newest decade?"

[ofthefamily]

It takes Carlisle a while. He rearranges himself on the floor, even, sitting next to the chair as though everything were completely normal.

"I'm learning the harpsichord."

[themidnightson]

His mouth tugged faintly.

"You did mention an interest once. How is that going?"

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle wrinkles his nose, looking out and letting his gaze fall somewhere on the toe of Edward's shoe.

"I think I prefer the lectures."

[themidnightson]

The first two urges, the one that nearly arrest his mouth and his hand from him, are tightly slammed down. At least it is not something even remotely new.


"You should definitely choose near a school then."

[ofthefamily]

"Or a medical teaching facility."

[themidnightson]

"You had chosen one of those my first time."

[ofthefamily]

Edward doesn't usually offer details of that sort.

So he just kind of looks up, wondering if Edward will elaborate.

[themidnightson]

His lips twisted a small bit crooked. Still quite refrained, and without shifting any of the rest of his features, but true. His arm shifted from his lap, to run the line of his leg, his own finger tips brushing together just in the inch of space right next to Carlisle's shoulder.

"On you? Or me? Or it?"

[ofthefamily]

"Anything."

[themidnightson]

"I was much worse at it than you. Now or then." There's something errantly smug in that. Somehow. "I was impatient for a million things."

Edward snorted, a very quite press of almost no sound, as he turned his hand over, palm up. His pinky actually accidentally brushing Carlisle's hand as he was looking at his whole palm.

At least mostly accidentally.

"It was only my second year as....since you'd found me."

[ofthefamily]

"I...I made you go into schooling so quickly?"

Carlisle sounds incredulous, and may be harboring a little bit more resentment towards the Other One than he had previously now.

[themidnightson]

"No." Edward's lips turned toward something more affectionate, without his realizing this yet, his gaze still quite certainly on the palm of his hand. "You seemed to be hoping I was going to come to my senses any day then and wait a few more years. Especially after each almost incident."

Even though he was so proud. Exquisitely so.

Edward hadn't be able to accept that reaction then.

How proud Carlisle had been. How much it meant to him. Them.

"I was...persistent and driven toward it from the first inspiration. And perhaps too aware, that unless someone died in this near inundation experiment of personal control, you wouldn't say no."

But, then, he was slowly becoming more aware that Carlisle never would.