Dr. Carlisle Cullen (
ofthefamily) wrote2010-05-11 11:34 am
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Golden: 1819.
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.
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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"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."
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You need to think about yourself here. Please.
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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."
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"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."
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.)
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Anything but the plaintive note in it.
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"What? 'I know'? You would prefer some other term?"
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"That's never how -- things won't end up that way for you."
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Slowly, "I don't want to fight with you about it."
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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?"
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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."
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"You did mention an interest once. How is that going?"
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"I think I prefer the lectures."
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"You should definitely choose near a school then."
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So he just kind of looks up, wondering if Edward will elaborate.
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"On you? Or me? Or it?"
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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."
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Carlisle sounds incredulous, and may be harboring a little bit more resentment towards the Other One than he had previously now.
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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.
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