Notes:

Hi guys! I hope this kind of story isn't overdone - just if you're like me, too much Carlisle and Esme isn't a concept.

Hope you enjoy :)

...

Chapter 1

The plane hit the bank of cloud as soon as it crossed the state line. Welcome to Washington, indeed. But Esme didn't mind. This was home.

Getting stiffly off the plane, she collected her belongings. There were relatively few considering she was moving permanently but then she had been in a bit of a rush. Leaving everything behind did help you to sort out what was important. Being safe was important.

Esme had grown up in Seattle with her mother and brother, a brother who was eagerly waiting for her at the airport with his crinkly smile, moustache and wife Renée. Seriously Charlie, who had a moustache like that in this day and age?

Esme tutted to herself affectionately.

Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.

"Esme!" he cried when he saw her while Renée waved furiously.

"Hey," Esme smiled shyly. "Thank you for meeting me."

Charlie gave her a hug.

"How ya' doin' sis?" he asked happily, though warily.

He didn't want the truthful answer to that question.

"Great!" lied Esme with her beaming smile, something both Charlie and Renée were pleased to see that he hadn't managed to take away from her.

They hopped into the car ready for the long drive to Forks in Charlie's Police Cruiser. He was Chief of police there in the small town that he'd moved to after he and Renée got married. It was a quiet place and he assured Esme she'd like it. He hoped she would.

The drive was mostly a long string of prattle from Renée, punctuated politely by Charlie who had noticed that Esme wasn't saying anything.

Arriving home after dark, Charlie showed Esme to her room.

"This is it I'm afraid," he said gesturing around the comfortable but sparse room that both he and Renée had worked hard on and didn't want to be thanked for.

"Charlie, please," Esme said softly. "It's perfect, thank you."

The two siblings looked at each other. Of course Esme would thank him, even after the shit-storm Charlie had unwittingly led her into for the past five years.

"Esme," Charlie said gruffly, clearing his throat.

About now something ought to be said.

"I'm glad you're here," he mumbled. "I'm…I'm happy they got 'im."

Esme pursed her lips in thanks.

"Thank you Charlie," she said quietly, as her rather reserved brother retreated to leave her with her thoughts.

She organised her salvaged belongings, sorting them on her bed to make them look more substantial. She obsessively grouped them by size and colour and then proceeded to fold her clothes into the draw. Anyone who knew Esme knew that an odd sock in the wrong draw was enough to keep her up at night.

Esme looked at the handful of precious things that she had managed to keep safe, that he hadn't managed to smash in front of her, sad for what she had to leave behind. But she had to. He would have killed her. Her shaking hand went reflexively to her midriff, the habit always a painful reminder that she hadn't managed to save the most important thing of all.

But at least she had 'Mom', the photograph that had been hidden for many years in Esme's purse, a reminder of the woman who had passed away suddenly soon after Esme had got married, back when Charles was…

Esme wiped a tear from her eye. At least Mom never saw her unhappy.

Suddenly exhausted with emotion, she collapsed, fully dressed onto the bed. Esme hoped she might be tired enough to deserve a dreamless sleep.

But of course not. He was there.

The next morning, Esme woke late, at first thinking she was in the hospital again since the light was different to the Arizona morning through her bedroom window, but then she remembered.

She had made it.

Sure, she was bunking with her brother, had no money and no job, but there were worse places to be. Much worse.

She showered and stumbled down the stairs for something to eat.

"Hey!" said Renée brightly, gently massaging her baby-bump with her empty, but still warm, coffee mug. "Esme! Have some coffee!"

"Thanks!" said Esme gratefully.

She and Renée were good friends and their friendship hadn't been damaged by distance or the lack of contact since Esme had started having…difficulties…

Renée was different to Esme. Where Esme was neat and conscientious, Renée was proudly all-over-the-place, and wore chopsticks in her hair. She owned the small gift shop in town where the local Quilliuete tribe liked to sell their jewellery and was a perfect match to Charlie who was the Yang to her Yin.

She was also going to have a baby.

She was also happy.

"So," Renée sighed contentedly after Esme had been practically force-fed four croissants with jam. "How do you like the house?"

Esme looked around the kitchen. It was like a tasteful mermaid's palace.

"It's lovely," she said, examining a seashell from the windowsill.

Renée grinned.

"I know, right? That shell is from down at La Push, on the reservation" she gushed. "But Charlie helped me with some of the more…abstract fittings. It's so nice to have a husband who puts up with all my crazy schemes!"

Seeing the change in her friend, Renée stopped herself before she could dig any further.

Sticky…

Esme stared blankly out of the window at the encroaching pine forest. She was torn between being afraid of it and wanting it to swallow her up.

"Esme," said Renée slowly. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean…"

She was kicking herself! She might as well have started talking about her baby!

But actually, all Renée really liked to talk about was her baby, her kind husband, her beautiful house or her business. None of which were really appropriate given the current…company.

"It's fine," Esme tried to laugh. "I'm not into censorship."

Renée felt a pang for her friend. She was so sweet, even after everything.

"You might be after you hear Charlie swearing at the TV during the hockey!" laughed Renée, shaking her head. "God only knows what our little girl's first word will be!"

Esme smiled. A double whammy there. But she couldn't begrudge her friend her happiness. That wasn't fair.

And over the next few weeks it seemed like Renée's impossible bubble of enthusiasm was rubbing off on Esme. Charlie would feel his heart soar when he'd come home from work and hear the two women giggling happily as they cooked or did the laundry or did whatever the hell girls did. But this was an increasing problem.

With Esme's slightly alarming hyperactivity, the house was clean in half an hour, the dinner was cooked seemingly immediately and the laundry was folded in the baskets before Charlie and Renée could even blink. It was eerie to say the least. So Charlie had to have a think about how to entertain his twitchy sister, who still jumped every time she heard a loud noise.

"Maybe she should gat a job?" suggested Charlie in the groggy silence before he and Renée got out of bed in the morning.

"No!" hissed Renée. "It is way too soon! Plus we don't want her to feel like she's not welcome!"

Charlie shrugged.

"True, but Renée,"

His voice had risen to that tone he used when he was incredulous.

"I came home the other night to find the whole bookshelf re-arranged alphabetically, and the fridge magnets in rows. This obsessiveness…"

"…Means she's still stressed," said Renée gently.

Charlie snorted. Even though Renée was the kind of person who read self-help books for fun, she didn't know his sister like he did.

"Nah," he chuckled. "She needs independence. God knows Charles…"

His laugh faltered and he became serious.

"I'll buy her a car," Charlie said resolutely. "Then she can get a job and be manic somewhere else."

And so he did. Billy Black, an old friend of the Chief, sold Charlie his old car for a very reasonable price and Esme started obsessively job-hunting. However, as it turned out her efforts weren't necessary.

Renée heard from her friend Louise Weber…that Heather Stanley…had been told by Rachel Newton… that Billy's Black's nephew had overheard at a clinic at the hospital that there was a job being advertised for a Consultant's Secretary. A job that Esme was qualified for and would be good at.

Daring to be pleased, Esme asked Renée… to tell Rachel Newton…who would tell Heather Stanley…who would tell everyone that Esme was interested.

(Yes, it was a very small town and that was how it worked.)

Not surprisingly, word got round that the Chief's sister wanted the job. And after only a quick interview, in which she breezed a little over for the reason for her gap in employment over the last few years, she got the job. Again, she was the Chief's sister and it was a very small town.

Only a week later, she found herself walking, a little nervously, up to the reception desk in the hospital to meet the front-of-house.

And, little though Esme knew it at the time, from that moment, the hunt had begun.