ofthefamily | Carlisle-Esme, Pittsburgh.

Carlisle-Esme, Pittsburgh.

Vampires don't sleep.

They do, however, sometimes find it relaxing to sit in a chair with a gramophone record playing in the background -- instrumental; an orchestra. Beyond that, there's no label on the record to dictate where or when the performance was recorded.

Carlisle's eyes are closed, his feet are propped up on a chair.

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"Looks aren't the only thing that changes," Esme says.

She closes her eyes, unable to look at him as she continues to speak, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I had a son."

"And that's why -- "

Esme nods. "He... he was born too soon. He had difficulty breathing."

"Esme."

Because his time studying humans -- how they deal with illness, grief, loss -- he has to say this.

"You can't blame yourself for that. There are any number of medical reasons why the child was premature."

"I ran away from my husband," Esme says, her voice thick with emotion. "It was... too much stress."

Possibly. But it would have been worse if you had stayed.

That's not what Esme needs.

"Come here." Carlisle stands, gesturing for Esme to stand while he moves to the gramophone to put on another record. It's another instrumental. Harpsichord.

Carlisle sits down again, balancing what would look to be awkwardly on his hip so that Esme can sit next to him in the oversized chair.

Esme moves to sit with Carlisle. At one time, being so close would have pleased her. But right now, she's too lost in her memories to fully appreciate it.

Carlisle forms around Esme when she sits, making himself as malleable as possible for however she needs him. His left arm maneuvers behind Esme's neck to bend at the elbow and lay one hand on her tidal-wave hair.

What are you doing?

"You will be alright, Esme."

Esme buries her face against his chest, turning her body sideways and curling in so she is practically in his lap.

If she could cry, she would be crying right now.

There was one time in Carlisle's medical studies that he became a midwife's assistant. Silent the entire time, his strength helped in difficult pregnancies.

"Always let them hear your heart beating," the midwife would advise. "It's a comfort to them, bein' near something so living."

"Shhhh," Carlisle says aloud to no one in particular. "You're alright here."

"If I hadn't left... hadn't tried to make it on my own..." she says, unable to get out a fully formed sentence.

"You know what would have happened if you had tried to stay with him," Carlisle starts, keeping the man's name off of his mind and lips. "You had to.

"You can't go backward. Try to make your life here. Please."

Esme lifts her head and looks at him. "You know?"

"It was medically obvious when I saw you again that you had jumped," Carlisle starts slowly. "Edward told me about Charles. Not about your son."

It's on the tip of her tongue to ask how much Edward has told him, but she doesn't want to answer any questions, so she decides that it doesn't matter.

"It wasn't the life I wanted. I wanted to move out west and be a schoolteacher. My family... well, I couldn't bring myself to leave them. And then Charles went to the war. But he came back."

And was meaner upon his return.

Maybe Elisabeth Masen had cause to worry about her son in more ways than just the possibility of him dying. But no, Edward never would have changed like that --

"But now you're here."

Esme nods. "Yes. And I don't know why you chose to give me a second chance, but I am grateful that you did."

Even if she won't be able to have children.

"You will drive yourself crazy if you keep looking for reasons that aren't there," Carlisle tells Esme's hair.

I wanted to.

"Have faith that you can find something you can love here."

I already have.

Esme nods. "I'm not used to people doing nice things for me for no reason."

Or at all.

Pointedly: "Get used to it."

Esme manages a weak smile.

"I'm trying."

"I know."

Esme and Carlisle have nearly entwined themselves around each other in the chair now, ankles crossing over ankles and both leaning inward towards the other.

"What more can I do?"

By sheer force of will, Esme doesn't allow the first words that spring to mind to pass her lips.

Instead, she shrugs and lets her eyes drift closed, drawing comfort from his closeness.

"Somehow I doubt you are ever a woman who does not know what she wants."

He doesn't push the topic, though. Carlisle sits as still as stone with Esme by his side on the chair, thoughts wandering.

"I will try to make you happy. If I can, and know how. There is no manual for this."

"Being here makes me happy."

Here being subjective. She means here, sitting with him, close to him. But she assumes he will mean here in Pittsburgh.

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