None of the characters herein belong to me and everything is the intellectual property of Stephenie Meyer. I love writing about these 2 characters.

2006

The sun was resting low across the horizon, painting Forks in a deep amber glow, decorating the morning with a deliciously blood-coloured hue. She traced her fingers across the velvet drapes, impressed that after 80 years they still looked new as they hung perfectly at either end of the window. This kind of quality, after years of looking for things that lasted, appealed to her.

She heard footsteps, then the soft closing of the door and the weight of a briefcase being perched upon the phone table. The fresh scent of the New England Journal of Medicine, to which her husband had contributed this month, blended through the old and worn leather. She must have been distracted, because normally she heard the purr of his engine before she heard his footsteps. Of course, if she was being fully honest with herself, she was distracted.

Below her, in the garden, the open space was being prepared for the wedding. The boughs of weeping willows were lush and thick, sweeping the ground with their graceful tentacles. If she had been so inclined, she might have sketched the silence of the world before her, but today she felt uninspired. The garden looked forlorn and lonely and it made it hear heart heavy. Later in the morning and over the next few days it would be very busy so she knew she had to take this time for herself. Yet when she was alone, they very thought of it all became painful and she wanted desperately to be distracted.

She turned from the window, glad that his shift was over and that he was in their home again. Her logic very much told her that she was able to protect herself, that her body was made entirely for survival, yet his being away made her feel vulnerable. She was afraid in those moments of loneliness, when he was being unavoidably and infinitely kind to all the humans he came into contact with but was, by virtue of that, separate from her.

He was her protector, as much as she did not require it.

She padded from their bedroom, her feet reaching the bottom of the stairs just as he emerged from the closet in which all of their coats hung. He had yet to remove his scarf and she took it upon herself to do it for him, savouring the feel of the rich wool against her fingers.

She had found the smell, the fine perfume of human blood, tainted by medicines and the humming electricity of medical equipment, irresistible at first. It was always stronger if he had been operating and on those occasions it was underlined with the tangy, sterile smell of surgical metal. He had not brought his lab coats home until they had been married for 20 years but even at that, the scent wove itself into the fabric of his expensive shirts and clung to the pressed lines of his trousers. It burned the back of her throat, an acidic tang that she wanted to claw at.

"Good morning, my dear," he caught his hand in his and in the privacy of the morning, when all the children were locked away or dreaming through the night hours, he stole this opportunity divest a kiss on her upturned wrist, just where her pulse should have been. If it had been there, it would have raced against the softness of his lips.

It had the ability to weaken her with a futility that was still new, still fresh. The gentle strength which was carried on his lips, which empowered his healing hands, that laced his every thought and promise and idea, was strong enough to render her helpless.

She pressed herself to him, drank him in as he murmured softly against her ear. There were no tangible, cogent words – instead they were soft, gentle noises of comfort and reassurance.

"Forgive me but I missed you tonight," she whispered.

"Hush, there is little to forgive," he assured, watching as she folded his scarf between her fingers deftly, leaving it on the sideboard, "I am flattered that, after nearly a century of marriage, you still desire me so entirely."

"Yes, Carlisle, it is debilitating," she agreed, a smile of humour turning the corners of her mouth.

He laughed a little then,a gentle chuckle that he reserved plainly for her, and she could feel him coming back to her, leaving the hospital and the humans behind and returning to her heart.

He motioned with a soft bow of his head to the back garden, "How are the plans developing?"

"They are going well," she answered, "And Bella left just after you departed for work. Her mother arrives this morning so she is, understandably, excited."

"Ah, I see. That is understandable," he agreed, taking her hand in his.

While they did not eat and while they did not sleep, they had fallen into a routine which they both relished anyway because of its very simplicity. They needed routine as individuals, and as a couple it allowed them to simulate a semblance of humanity that otherwise might have driven them wild.

When Carlisle had departed the evening before, she settled into the routine of the wife who's husband worked night shifts on rotation every six months. She hated these six months more than anything else in her eternity because the nights just seemed so much longer. She read for a while, sitting in her seat by the fire in his library, then changed into bed clothes and, as always in his absence, climbed into his side of the bed and relished in the warm scent of leather and vanilla and gold that bled from there.

Then she allowed herself to float into her dreaming, not entirely awake but also unable to fully fall into the arms of elusive sleep. How she envied the mortals their precious sleep. Entirely still and quiet she lay on her side, thinking through every memory she possessed; most of them revolving around their children or the doctor. Recently her dreams had been following the same relentless pattern, the same filmic interpretation of Edward's up and coming wedding - not only his wedding but his marriage and the future he had with Isabella.

She did not fear it would not work well for them but as a mother, despite the lack of biological ties, she was anxious that it should be as beautiful for Edward and Bella as the other marriages her son was surrounded by.

Thus, this daydreaming had become a routine too – one she wished to share with her husband. But there was something else in her musings that made it feel more like longing and that emotion embarrassed her. She could not, would not, share that with Carlisle.

They made their way, as always, through the sitting room and out onto the porch where there were two seats. Here, in the morning, they would exchange the ordinary conversations that were the norm in every marriage. He would explain how work had unfolded, if he didn't feel he should keep it to his heart, and she would encourage him to share it as if it really mattered to her. Because, unequivocally, it did.

She examined his eyes in the soft hue of the morning and realised the tell-tale shade of onyx was far more evident than it normally was. Her husband was hungry, he was thirsty and she couldn't recall the last time he had fed.

"Carlisle," she whispered, "When last did you hunt?"

He rubbed his pale fingers over his brow, "3 weeks ago."

"Darling," she struggled to keep her concern from her voice, "You need to feed."

He waved his hand lightly, smiling softly and it put her immediately at ease. Carlisle knew his limits intimately, just as much as he knew everyone else's around him, and he would not push himself unless he could really tolerate it.

"I agree," he said gently, "But I would rather like my mate to join me."

He rarely referred to her as his mate and when he did, his implication was not missed. It was a quirk in their relationship that was known only to them. Perhaps to Edward, she thought wryly, since they could not prevent him knowing everything despite trying rather furiously. There were undertones there that implied a feral attitude; a side of himself Carlisle was more than reluctant to indulge. She smiled shyly , though not without intent.

"Yes, yes my love," she whispered, "But I rather like this night gown and I would hate to snag it on a loose branch. You know how it would upset Alice. Will you let me change?"

He nodded his consent and sat back in his chair, breathing in the world around him. She paused to admire him for a moment, in the giddy way that the young girl had as the doctor tended to her leg. The line of his jaw was fine and solid as he rested, his lips pressed together in silent prayer, his lengthy eye lashes flickering on his cheeks.

"Esme," he finally muttered, a smile of extreme shyness whispering across the bottom of his face, "Please stop my dear, and go and change into something more fit for hunting."

She laughed a little and made her way back inside.

"I feel chastened for admiring my husband," she revealed, tying her hair back from her face with a soft pink ribbon as they stood at the edge of the wood. The forest rustled with life, beckoning them forward with a magnetic pull that still, till this day, frightened her. She was now more appropriately dressed and her husband had changed too, though Carlisle struggled to dress appropriately to look like a human. He owned only pressed dress trousers and soft cashmere sweaters and richly made shirts. He had failed to notice, even in his incredible cleverness, that men his age did not dress like that.

He looked at her seriously, then a look of embarrassment rested across his brow, "Oh but Esme it's not that I do not enjoy it, simply that I cannot cope with such open...admiration. At least, not from the one woman I want to admire me."

"Ah, the age old problem of vampiric beauty," she laughed, taking off before her husband could realise he was about to be left behind.

They ran at an exhilarating pace, pleased to have escaped the confines of their home and the immediacy of the wedding. In the initial days of their courting they had done this more but as they had relaxed into a routine, and into the parenthood which had become central to their life, they did not hunt together often. His shifts, and lack of appetite, did not call for it and she preferred to hunt alone when everyone was occupied.

There was a familiarity in their hunt though, a divine understanding of the other's habits and needs. A divine understanding of how difficult they both found it.

Before long they picked up the scent of a herd of deer and for the first time that morning she witnessed how truly thirsty her husband was. He took off after them, usually the slowest of the entire coven, and was a blur of speed as he did so. He was quick to pounce on the largest deer in the herd, brinigng the gentle animal to the ground with a deafening thud as the others ran from their hunters. Quickly, with overflowing compassion, he snapped the animal's neck. The murder was both delicate and horrid and it still managed to turn her stomach slightly; seeing her gentle husband made aggressive by his nature as the the silence of the woods was ruined by the snap.

"Please," he ran his hand across the deer's neck as it lay motionless, the warmth of blood radiating from it, "My dear."

He beckoned her forward but she remained standing against a tree and shook her head. The animal was losing its warmth quickly and the blood was cooling down, losing its already weak appeal by the second.

"You're more thirsty than I am," she answered, "I will wait on you."

"Together," he answered and in the golden depth of his eyes she could see something other than hunger; she could read guilt. Carlisle hated to do this alone but he wanted to because, just as she did, he felt humiliated.

Perhaps this was why they no longer hunted together as they once had. As Esme's thirst had dissipated and grown bearable she had suddenly realised that even this act was barbaric. And for everything he had already witnessed, in those first days where she lacked control and devoured any animal with which she was presented, she was mortified.

In the past, when they had accompanied each other on hunts, she allowed him to commit the kill and beckon her forward as he just did, in an act of subjugation that both embarrassed and relieved her. Carlisle was a gentleman and it was an understanding which passed between them silently; he committed the kill for her because she was too ashamed to do it herself and he did it for her because he loved her, not because he liked committing the act. She knew too, from the conversations they had in the depth of the night as they lay wrapped in each other's arms, that he found the entire process unseemly. He had confessed this much to her, though there were secrets Carlisle would always keep.

So it had worn away after a while, the entire charade of actively hunting together. Even when they hunted at the same time, they went entirely different ways in the forest. Today though his thirst and her desire to be with him had overridden the status quo and left them at an awkward juncture.

She kneeled beside him on the floor of the forest, the deep undergrowth padding their knees as they perched side by side. The heat radiated from the animal before them and being this near it at least smelled palatable. The venom sprang onto the surface of her tongue and coated the inside of her cheeks. She could smell Carlisle's too; an undertone of sugary tang that appealed to her, just catching the breeze as he opened his mouth in preparation to drink.

She watched as he dipped his head to the lower portion of the neck, his eyes remaining on her face as he did so. She smiled reassuringly and dipped her head too.

She had hunted a few days before, when he had still been working an early shift at the hospital, and was not as thirsty as she may have been had she abstained as long as her husband had.

Faces a few inches apart, they feasted in silence, the only noise the contracting of the animal's arteries and veins as their mouths pulled at the blood.

At first she had hated the smell and loved it at the same time. She had found the mess appalling and attractive. Found her husband feeding both erotic and horrifying simultaneously. It was a mess of desires and needs, contradictions and undeniable urges.

She had learned over time how to feed without spilling a drop, so the only clue as to her dietary predilections was the tiny trickle of blood at the corners of her mouth and the slightly pink staining on her lips and the pads of her fingers. The mess she had conquered but the contradictory feelings of pleasure and disgust still battled within her.

She turned her eyes to the side, her mouth still latched to the soft pelt and her teeth embedded in the artery, and watched as he fed. The soft hum in the back of his throat, the noise of relief and pleasure, was reflect in the serenity of his face. His jaw was relaxed, his brow was smooth, his eyes had fallen closed. She understood why he hated to be seen like this but despite that it was so...erotic to witness. There was something vital and full and powerful about seeing him reduced to his natural instincts and yet, something disconcerting too.

He hated to find relief and peace and calm within this vile act. She could see it in the set of his shoulders and the way his gullet contracted in need and in disgust.

As if he knew what she was thinking he reached blindly for her her hand, his fingers wrapping around hers, gripping with intensity that conveyed a need to be reassured. She squeezed in return.

The carcass soon seemed smaller without its life blood and she watched as her husband ran his hand over the belly of the beast, almost consolingly, as he completed his task. The shame that curled his mouth down was unmistakable but he would never voice it.

He sat back on his knees, his hand still wrapped over hers,"I have quite sated my thirst."

Of course they both knew that was not true because their thirst couldn't really be sated, it could only be dulled to a sore itch in the back of their larynx.

There was no need to verbalise their embarrassment or weakness, so they simply smiled sadly at each other and tired, in vain, to forget what they were. Most of the time, she thought to herself, they managed it.

He stood, helping her to her feet as he did so, and proceeded to brush the dry leaves and twigs from his trousers. He rubbed the pads of his forefinger and thumb together, blending the blood into his skin.

"Let's go home," she whispered, "And lie down side by side...and you can tell me about your day."

He smiled consolingly and took her hand, maintaining a slower pace as they picked their way through the forest. She could tell he was preoccupied and, much like her, she knew his recent preoccupation revolved around the impending nuptials.

"Will you make sure they all feed?"

She looked at him, puzzled, then understood what he meant.

"Of course darling," she laced her arm with his, "They are responsible enough-"

"I do know Esme," he interrupted, though not angrily, "It is simply that they shall be surrounded by humans and they struggle. Jasper in particular..."

"They would never ruin Edward and Bella's day," she said, and her tone was almost one of admonishment.

"No, not intentionally," he whispered, "But we have to be wary."

She nodded her head in agreement, watching as he trailed his hand along the rough bark of the trees.

"Yes," she conceded, "We do. I shall discuss it with them."

"Thank you," he smiled, "It always seems so much more palatable coming from you. They do not like to be told by father."

She laughed, "Carlisle, they respect you too much. They despise you seeing their weakness and that is why they are so desperate to appear faultless."

It was very true – admonishment from Carlisle was far more embarrassing than any sort of chastisement from her. They knew that they could never disappoint either of them, of course, but to compete with their father's goodness was almost impossible. Their mother however understood their weaknesses far more. In light of this Carlisle looked to her to remind them of their manners and behaviour and saw himself as their guide and leader. It was a role into which she fell naturally anyway, the mother who made them fit for polite society.

"I know," he agreed, "What time does Bella's mother arrive?"

"She will be in Forks already," she answered, her mind recalling Renee's face, "Her husband is coming too."

They cleared the forest that led seamlessly back into their garden and this time, it was awash with life suggesting to them both that they had been gone longer than they thought. Their sons were felling trees and carving them into make-shift benches, designed by her, within minutes. She had been particularly proud of this design and had been encouraged by Alice's excitement and Bella's quiet pleasure to turn it into a reality. It was going to be beautiful.

Bella and Edward were sitting on a far away bench, manually tying the gorgeous green foliage together for the centre of the tables. For humans, these kind of tasks were boring and only born out of a necessity to save money. For vampires, it was something new and different to do in a life with no sleep. Edward appeared to be deriving great pleasure from something so mundane.

Her husband, as if able to read her thoughts, squeezed her hand. He had read her sadness, her wistful wish for more, as she watched their first son take this massive step as if it were slow motion.

That was something else they hadn't verbalized either – their sadness at seeing him go.

"Carlisle, Esme," Edward stood up, beckoning them forward, "What do you think?"

"Magnificent," she motioned around her.

"Bella, how was your mother's flight?" Carlisle sat beside them, taking up some of the foliage and tying it neatly.

She watched his hands, the precision of a surgeon dancing softly across his fingers, as he tied and pulled and knotted the twine. She loved his hands for everything they had given her. The press against her jaw as his teeth sunk into her neck all those years ago, the soft touch of his fingers across her brow when she was worried, the way in which he held her hand in his. They were reassuring hands, hand that led a family and saved lives, mediated fights and dragged a pen furiously across years and years of paper. They were, in short, miraculous hands.

"Fine," the girl murmured, attention focussed on the task like someone who wished to avoid the conversation in which they were engaged entirely.

Edward smirked, "Bella's mother wanted to meet you. Bella was embarrassed."

Esme recognised that look of agony which passed across the beautiful girl's face. She knew the dynamic of shyness, of not fitting in, and felt it acutely. Bella wasn't afraid of her mother being torn to pieces by the Cullen family. No, she was afraid they would think badly of Renee and her eccentricity.

"I told her," Edward continued teasingly as Bella's face coloured considerably, "That none of you would want to eat Renee anyway."

Carlisle laughed at this but remained silent, feigning great concentration with his task. She sat beside her husband, directly across from Bella.

"I think it's a lovely idea," she said softly, taking Bella's hands from their distraction, "It was always tradition for the mothers of the couple to have tea. Was it not, Edward?"

"Yes," he agreed non-committally.

"You should invite her for tea today," Carlisle murmured and she was surprised by his encouragement.

For all Carlisle worked with humans from day to day, and he expected his family to be around them, he was not exactly willing to invite them into his home on the spur of the moment. He didn't like to put them in danger, simply, and Bella coming around as often as she did was an entirely alien experience for them all.

"No really," Bella whispered, "You don't have to. I -"

"Esme wants to," Edward interrupted, "She's already planned it in her head. She's chosen her china and linens. It will be fun, she thinks, to lay out a table like she used to."

Esme frowned at Edward and Carlisle, who was chuckling at his son's forwardness and abuse of his special gift. She would have chastised him but the light-hearted tone did not permit it.

"Yes," she bristled, "I rather am. Tea went out of fashion in the fifties..."

"Tea went out of fashion when you stopped needing to drink it, Esme," Edward smiled, looking to Rosalie and Alice as they stopped at the edge of the bench.

She swatted his arm at his half-hearted compliment.

"Can we come?" Rosalie asked, the idea of such a civil afternoon appealing to everything that Rosalie missed.

Bella simply groaned, realising that the decision had already been made without her consent. Renee would be coming for tea and there was little she could do about it.

"No," Alice shook her head, "We're not going to be there. Esme thinks it's a matter of propriety."

Esme smiled at Rosalie, who had masked her disappointment well.

"It's settled then," Carlisle said softly, "Your mother should come for tea."

She was surprised by his encouragement and resisted her desire to share a look with him that conveyed her shock. He continued to tie the foliage together and didn't look at her either. His eyes had returned to the brightest gold, making his face seem calmer than it had been before they fed. They were trained on the task at hand and she denied her curiosity to ask him why he was so keen to have Renee come for tea. She knew he would have a reason and she didn't always need to know.

00000

Renee was dressed in a long, flowing dress that reminded her of the lost fashions of the 70s that she had never quite embraced but had skirted around the edges of. She was petite, yes, but the lingering curves and softness of her pregnancy had stayed with her when she had been frozen in time, leaving her a body that was not suited to lithe long dresses and loose cuts. Carlisle, in the closed confines of their bedroom, had confessed to her that he loved the softness of her body in a way that embarrassed him. She had never felt more desired.

Renee, she could tell, was almost as nervous about this meeting as she was. The woman was fidgeting with the bracelet made of sea shells around her wrist, fiddling with the tie that pulled it together. At the bottom of the stairs, they embraced rather awkwardly. She smelled like sand and heat and the south. Her intake of breath when she realised the chill of Esme's skin was quickly replaced with a breathy laugh.

"Sorry," she smiled, "I can never get used to how cold Forks is. Who would want to stay here?"

"I agree," she motioned to the stairs and they climbed leisurely. The house was quiet; Carlisle having retreated to his study to complete some paperwork and everyone else feigning normality at the cinema in Port Angeles.

"My husband enjoys the hospital though," she continued smoothly, rather enjoying the pretence of the housewife, "And we like to take the children outdoors as much as possible."

Telling half-truths was one of the most refreshing things for her. Feigning humanity even more so.

"Yeah," Renee followed her seamlessly, though Esme could see she wanted to linger to look at the different artwork around the house, " Charlie says-"

She stopped mid-sentence and Esme smiled kindly, realising why she had stalled. It appeared rather rude to be discussing someone else's family and Renee was evidently annoyed at herself for such carelessness.

"What does Charlie say?"

She motioned to the seat at the other side of the wrought iron table on the terrace, on which she had set the china that Edward had made fun of and a tall cake stand of little finger sandwiches and pastries. It had felt really rather nice to fake humanity; to do something from her life before. Carlisle had quietly helped her, his smile alternating from one of amusement to one of sadness as they hankered for a civility that they could never have.

She had already planned how to falsify her eating and as she reached for the tea strainer and placed it over her cup, she felt far more human than she had in a long time. It washed away the hunt of that morning, remaining in her only internally, ridding her of the feeling guilt that had been with her since the real feast that morning.

"He says that your husband is one of the best doctors in the country and Forks is lucky to have him," Renee smiled.

"He is very good, I hear," she smiled in agreement, "Though I rarely see him at work."

Renee motioned to the garden below them, the foundations of the wedding taking shape before them, "It's all coming along."

Esme detected the sadness in her voice, the desire to have been more involved in her one and only child's big day.

"I am sure you would have liked to be more involved," Esme nodded, "But we still have so much to do and you are essential to that."

"Actually you seem to have quite a handle on this."

"Oh, I have quite a lot of experience," Esme laughed, falsely reaching for a macaroon that was perched on one of the upper tiers, "But my daughters are even more in love with planning parties."

"They are?"

"Mhmm," she agreed, "I enjoy organising things though."

"I'm the complete opposite," Renee filled the silence, "Are your family out?"

"Carlisle is in his study and the rest of the children are joining Bella and Edward at the cinema," she informed.

There was a delicate silence, one that was heavy with the shared experience of bitter-sweet feelings.

"I cannot believe that Edward is getting married," she whispered finally.

The relief on Renee's face was almost tangible, touchable in its sincerity.

"No, I know," her guest shook her head, misinterpreting her words, "I was worried at first because they are so young but now I've seen them together I just..."

"Carlisle and I worried about their age too," she lied flawlessly, not because she was devious but because she wanted Renee to be at peace, "But we wholeheartedly believe they are right for each other. Edward, you see, is my first son, and I have found it difficult to let go."

Her honesty came as a surprise to her, even though she had been suppressing the feeling of loss for a few weeks now.

"Oh?"

Human curiosity was something Esme could remember feeling, but it was blurry around the edges of her memory. She found it fascinating though to watch humans be actively curious about everything around them particularly the people they came into contact with. She knew the women and parents at the high schools and hospitals in which members of her family were involved found her to be an anomaly. On those rare occasions on which she visited her husband at work, the nurses didn't question her beauty but instead her appeal to him specifically. She was so shy, so quiet and unable to give him the family he deserved in their opinion. The mothers at school envied and pitied her at the same time. They envied her clever, beautiful adopted children. How terrible it must be to be so beautiful and so barren. Yes, human curiosity was a cruel thing too.

So she fully understood Renee's weighted "Oh?" that contained both pity and unquenchable curiosity, underneath a thinly stretched skin of propriety.

"Edward was the first child we adopted," she said, "Carlisle treated him in the hospital and, having lost both of his parents, took pity on him. He was so terribly dark and angry – I cannot describe it. Yet Bella has made him so much happier Renee, it makes my heart sing to see it. He smiles all the time when all he ever did was scowl."

From somewhere in the house, she heard her husband's silently sweet intake of breath as she bared her soul to this woman. She hoped he would not be offended by her withholding such honesty from him but she couldn't help herself. It was a case of one mother to another, sharing the same bitter-sweet envy at their children outgrowing them.

Renee looked at her strangely then smiled, silently permitting her to continue.

"I love all of my children fiercely," she whispered, "And they are everything to me but Edward, he is more than I can convey in words. You must understand what I mean."

She desperately hoped the Renee did.

"Yes," Renee traced her finger around the rim of the fine china, "Yes I do. I adore Bella and Bella loves him a lot."

"I lost a child just before Edward," she continued, more to cleanse her tongue of the recollection than to share it with anyone else, "And I've never been able to have another. Edward made all of that better."

Her husband's sad groan was more audible than his reaction previously and while Renee did not hear it, she was perceptive enough to feel the shift in atmosphere. Carlisle had given up the pretence of writing entirely, even though she knew he would feel guilty for it, and was listening to his wife's sadness with pained attention. It felt good to tell him this through the medium of someone else.

"That's so sad," the other woman whispered, "I didn't know that."

"Very few people do," she sighed, sitting back, her hand curving imperceptibly over her stomach that remained soft after nearly a century, "And to see him grow into this happy young man makes me feel so confused. I want his happiness desperately but I...feel like I am losing him too."

She shook her head, "How morose. Please forgive me."

"No," Renee shook her head, her eyes shining with un-shed tears and honesty, "I am so glad you've said that. Phil just doesn't understand how stupid it makes you feel."

Esme laughed then, a genuinely deep laugh, "I think my husband does. You see none of them really belonged to us. So we do not really have any right to covet them. Perhaps that is what makes it feel even worse."

"They'll be ok," her guest smiled, " I need to believe that."

"Don't we all."

There was a gently pause, then Renee spoke;

"Do you have your dress?"

The conversation had come to its natural conclusion but to finally have given words to her feeling was a catharsis she could not truly have appreciated until after it happened. She was losing her Edward, her son, and she had been so frightened of it.

Happy for him, yes, but frightened too.

He had been an inherent part of her life, this life, from the moment and hour she had awoken from the fire of transformation. It had been Edward, not Carlisle, who had first allowed her to feed by bringing the hot body of a doe to the cellar in which she had been locked for her own safety. He had been her companion in those first lonely months of hunger and desperation. Then suddenly, he had grown to be her son. She had been so consumed by her own transformation that when she suddenly realised this 17 year old needed a mother, she had been furious with herself for not seeing what she could be to him. She had punished herself by being even more attentive to everything he needed and, most of the time, it was just the reassurance that he was loved and someone to tell him that this was all for something. He needed someone to touch his cheek and tell him how much he was wanted.

And oh how she loved him.

"I have," Esme smiled, "Though my daughter Alice says it is too old for me. I have old-fashioned tastes."

Carlisle's laughter rang through the house then and she realised he was nearer.

"Would you like to meet your daughter's future father in law?" She asked as her husband came onto the terrace, "He is evidently distracted from his work."

Renee smiled and nodded.

His had, gripping hard on her shoulder, was all that she needed to know he understood fully.

000000

In her marriage to Carlisle she had learned intimately about the concept of alternatives. The alternatives that presented themselves in every facet of life. Alternatives to natural motherhood in the coven she called her children, the other offers presented by this immortality, the alternatives to human behaviour. Alternatives were everything in their lives.

She had come to understand the alternatives to sating all types of appetites; physical or emotional.

Her husband made love to her as if he were praying, sating an appetite that would most likely never be diminished. At times it was almost too much to bear in all its glory and reverence. It had been borne from his shyness and her fear at first but now it was serene in its passion and worship. Even when it was quick and dark and feral it never lost its reverence.

Watching the crashing bolts of lightening and the grumble of thunder, he lay with his head on her pale abdomen as the storm wrecked the sky, both of them attempting to calm their breathing. He had run home from work during his rest period. He required no rest anyway but he slipped into the rest room and pretended he was asleep to allay the already vociferous suspicions. He had not done this in the longest time, so to feel him crawl in beside her as she was in her half-dream had been a pleasant surprise. To feel his hands on her was even more so. He had not uttered a word, the only noise throughout had been the groan of his release and the depth of his breathing, mingling with the gasps of her pleasure.

"What a pleasant surprise Doctor Cullen," she finally whispered, "Though I was under the impression that you were rather busy at the hospital."

"They make me rest," he muttered, trailing his fingers across her ribs, "It is a frightful waste of time."

"We have to keep up the pretence,"she laughed and she loved his smile when he heard her laugh so freely.

"I could not stop thinking about you Esme," he said, the entire timbre of his voice changing, altering the tone of their union with it, "I was operating and I could not concentrate as well as I normally do. It made me uneasy."

She misunderstood him and felt a blush that could never show on her skin gathering in her chest.

"Not like that," he said softly, gentle reassurance lacing his voice as he caught her look of shame, "No, darling. Though I am not above such thoughts I assure you. No, I could not stop thinking about your conversation with Renee."

"Carlisle," she threaded her fingers through his hair soothingly, "You are not angry that I did not share my sadness with you?"

"No my darling, only sad that you feel so bereft," he answered after a beat.

She loved him then, so deeply. Carlisle felt others pain like no other she had ever known, human or otherwise. He couldn't bear to see those he didn't know in pain, so she could only imagine what it must feel like to see those he loved hurt or aching. His compassion came from his desperate desire to make all around him happy and at peace. Really, he had chosen a motley crew of ruined humans if that had been his goal. It was unattainable and she secretly though that, perhaps, that was why he had chosen them.

"You are so naturally maternal," he whispered, rolling onto his back, "That I forget it must come with a painful side. You are so very good at being their mother that we are all inclined to forget you give a lot of yourself to it also."

She nodded in agreement with his assessment and felt her throat tighten at his words, "It seems so very much like the death of something."

He laughed at the irony and she joined in, despite the fact that is seemed a little callous. They laughed in the face of something they desired very much but never attained. Death was alien to them, so to feel its presence was disconcerting.

"It is not death Esme," he whispered and she noted that he checked his watch as he did so, "It is the beginning of a new life and the welcoming of a new daughter."

His rest should be over soon and how terrible it would feel to have his warmth leave her. She bit her tongue against the protestation that rose in her throat because it was incredibly unfair of her to expect any less of him. Carlisle thrived when he helped others and they had eternity before them; those humans had nothing in comparison.

"You are a wonderful mother," he whispered softly, reaching for the pants that he had left rumpled at the foot of their bed, "You must know."

She couldn't answer as he pressed his cool lips to her head.

She hadn't realised, when welcoming her sons and daughters into her heart as much as she would have with any child she had made, it would hurt just as badly when she had to watch them go.

Thank you for reading. Please leave a review because I'd be interested to hear your critique of my character interpretation. Thank you.