1922, Pittsburgh.

[ofthefamily]

The trail of bodies is indistinct and only a trail at all if you knew what you were looking for. No human did.

When dead-on-arrivals start coming in from the Southside Slopes on a daily basis instead of sporadically, with wounds no one can explain --

Edward, Carlisle thinks carefully to the bronze-haired boy sitting in a second-year anatomy class two floors up from Carlisle's rounds as the newest doctor on call, I have to go pay a housecall.

With clouds descending over Pittsburgh, Carlisle takes a walk.

Comments

[ofthefamily]

Too human.

[themidnightson]

There are too many questions.

"What happens now?"






(And when can he stop asking this one.)

[ofthefamily]

"Nothing." There is at least a solid answer to this one, Carlisle's hands sliding into his pockets as they walk. "Their message is delivered. To involve themselves more would be unnecessary."

Though I find myself interested in the idea that they saw an exile edict as fitting. I haven't been there for over 150 years.

Maybe they missed me? Carlisle perks up with a dry humor that doesn't fit him well.

[themidnightson]

"Hardly," Edward said, meeting the eyes of a man watching them walk by, with a scowl. The lackey's regard for Carlisle and the regards of the one's who had sent him had made it harder for Edward to stay where he'd been so long.

[ofthefamily]

"What did you want to ask me about?"

I will answer all I can, Carlisle reiterates in his mind. There are times when the answers are not the ones you want to hear.

[themidnightson]

"As if that would be new now," Edward quipped, stone still with truth, but he was playing over the conversation in his head. "Why come now? What does it actually do for them?"

[ofthefamily]

"Very little," Carlisle explains, giving Edward several disjointed mental starts at an explanation.

"They've known about you since you stole me the cross. Probably."

[themidnightson]

A great consortium hiding in tunnels and masquerading themselves as Political Gods knew of him and was watching the actions he took. The idea was laughable phrased that way but he couldn't laugh with how serious it actually was. Especially when they knew a lot more than he knew they knew of him and Carlisle was unsurprised by that turn of events.

"And now they're watching us? How?"

It wasn't simple reconnaissance.

It couldn't be.

[ofthefamily]

"Through me to a certain extent. Other vampires with whom we have crossed paths reporting to them in exchange for goodwill or favors. The list goes on.

"We were in London nearly three years ago. It took them four years for them to even think about sending someone to essentially slap me on the wrist. Please do not worry yourself," Carlisle tries for comforting. It is mostly secure in its own tone as well.

This is not to say that the messenger's words did not have a certain sting to them. This was the end of a chapter; an end dictated by someone else. It grated.

[themidnightson]

It's impossible not to focus on Carlisle's calm being upset. The tumult of it is an unavoidable background to even comfortingly said words; the prior always louder to Edward.

"He asked if I was your singer," Edward said with a small frown. A concept which still held no sense, and only part of his attention while he was considering the slew of hardly veiled threats.

[ofthefamily]

"Yes he did."

With Carlisle suddenly even less willing to lead the conversation.

[themidnightson]

Edward's frown hardened more, a confused note to it for the concise mirroring response being all he got. "I don't understand the reference."

[ofthefamily]

"It means -- "

What does it mean, to Carlisle? He barely believes it happens, though he has heard the stories.

"It is when one human's blood in particular...calls to one of us. Drawing us to them more so than the others. Some consider it a sign of fate having brought a human to them to change and take as a partner. Others consider it a weakness to be so attracted to a human that they kill them immediately.

"He wanted to know if I had been drawn to you in such a way."

[themidnightson]

"The more I hear of them, the less sense they make," Edward said, shaking his head.

It was a preposterous supposition. Fairytale myths even for their illustriousness inhumanity. As it must be if at over three hundred years and all his interactions Carlisle had no actual belief in the reference.

[ofthefamily]

"You are probably the closest to a cantate I'll ever have," Carlisle offers.

It makes sense, to a degree -- it took Carlisle nearly three hundred years, and he changes Edward.




"If that is worth anything."

[themidnightson]

The look, the one that responds, is all about questioning Carlisle on the use of his person in parallel to any of the Volturi's insanity. Even if the reluctance around the edges probably meant he got some part of the clinical compliment.

Though it doesn't amend looking away half second later. He was a catalyst, but Carlisle's made it clear enough for a while now that he's hardly singular in that occasion.

[ofthefamily]

Edward's lack of response confuses Carlisle. Edward is never quiet. Not when he wants to know something.

"What."

[themidnightson]

He doesn't say.

He doesn't want to lie.

The idea of holding back is new.

It's as devastating as it is helpful.





"Should we expect them to return in time?"

[ofthefamily]

"I doubt it. Say what you were actually going to say, Edward," Carlisle forces, nearly plaintive.

[themidnightson]

"I'd rather not," he starts, and wants to finish there. It's the most honest it'll get no matter how many words he adds, how descriptive he could get, how honest or dishonest he becomes from here. But the doleful note in Carlisle's voice drives him to comply. "-be compared to the idealized fantasy of sycophantics."

Especially not the comparison Carlisle's making with it and the hypocrisy that is ripe in Edward for having to hear it.

[ofthefamily]

"Fair," Carlisle offers finally.

It's not what he had been expecting.

You were always more than your blood, to me. It is what makes me different. It is what makes you different. For better or for worse.

A flicker of memory -- He wanted a higher calling, and he's going to die lying in his own shit -- arrives unbidden before Carlisle scatters it away so the pang of it can't take hold in his chest.

I had to go out and meet him, once I recognized it for what it was. I was telling you to go home because I did not know --

-- if he would try and attack me
-- if he had been here for you
-- if he would try to attack Esme
-- if he had been here for you I would have ripped joint from socket --

[themidnightson]

"You-" It was hard and still, right as Edward closed his mouth on the word, having not meant for that part of it come out.

[ofthefamily]

"Stop that and tell me." I can't deal with that right now Edward.

[themidnightson]

It takes a while, there are no false starts, but there is a forced exhale. "You actually thought I'd listen." Beat. "Still think I should have."

Edward shook his head, lips hardening pressed together.

"It's one thing to request that I stay with her while you were-" there's not a pause her, but there's an outward wave with his hand. All words are too small for the thought; for the fact Carlisle Cullen beat a defenseless man, even if it was deserved.

"--but to think I'd just walk away, and go wait by her side in that house, while he was waiting for you to make the smallest mistake, fall for some provocation that would open other venues of response from him, or them-"

[ofthefamily]

Almost angry, "I am not incapable of defending myself, Edward."