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carlisleisabottom · 4 years ago

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I demand a part 2

Prompt: can you write an au where Carlisle stays with Esme the first time he meets her when she's like 16?

A/N: Obviously very AU. For the sake of this story, let's pretend Esme's broken leg is a bit more serious.

Columbus, Ohio; 1911

"Dr. Cullen, wait," she calls, hopping along after him through the hospital’s back entrance.

Carlisle turns on his heel as the door slams shut behind her, the smallest hint of frustration simmering in his gut. Never has he met a more stubborn human being. In his near 300 years of living, this woman, this girl, gets to him like no other.

"Miss Platt-"

"Don't do that," she huffs, slowing in her haste to reach him now and taking a deep breath. The pang of guilt replaces his irritation; he sometimes forgets himself with her, allows some of his superior abilities to shine through. He should have slowed for her, especially in this condition. "Don't revert back to surnames."

"I'm not reverting," he argues softy. "I'm your doctor and it's how I am to address you."

"When we're in the hospital, during hospital hours," she nods, finally stopping to stand before him. Her gaze roams the alleyway. "Which we are not, Carlisle."

He hates the way she says his name, the way it elicits some strange yearning inside of him.

"You've been avoiding me." She gets straight to the point, it's one of the things he enjoys about her. "Betty told me you were leaving."

Carlisle sighs, curses the haughty young nurse.

"Chicago," he confirms, lowering his gaze to the white knuckles gripping her crutches.

He can hear the acceleration of her heart, the thick swallow of her throat.

"When?" she murmurs, all of the teasing, all of the playfulness usually inhabiting her tone, gone.

"Tomorrow," he replies, feeling as though he is delivering a harsh blow.

And not just to her.

"Why?" she demands and when he looks up, her jaw is squared, her eyes hardened and shimmering.

She already knows.

"Esme, you're healing. You're healing fantastically and you'll be walking in no time," he reasons. "You don't need me anymore."

She scoffs, bears her teeth down into her bottom lip.

He hates himself for this, hates himself for getting close to a human, to her. He's been damned for centuries now, but the moment he met her? His fate was sealed.

Esme Anne Platt was near death when she was brought in, all broken bones, internal bleeding, and a fractured skull. But that was not the first thing he noticed about her.

No, the initial thing that grabbed his attention was the scent of her blood, the way his throat caught with desire for it, his control wavering. For hundreds of years, he has been tempted, but he has rarely ever faltered, especially not in his time as a doctor.

But the scent of her had assaulted him, a rage of fire scraping down his throat, the pinprick sensation of venom filling his mouth. He was disgusted with himself, but one of Aro's tales from his past flickered through his mind.

La Tua Cantante.

A singer.

"If ever you are to stumble across your own, Carlisle, promise me you shall savor every drop."

He discarded Aro's words from his mind as if they were a curse. He always believed singers to be a myth, but even if that were the explanation behind his animalistic draw to the girl, he would not let it affect him, define him. He would rise above it and he would save her life.

And he did.

He set her bones, sewed up her skin, and made it a personal mission to ensure that ther path to survival, to healing, went as smoothly as possible.

Carlisle only intended to look after her until she woke. Her return to consciousness would be a sure sign of recovery and he could then leave her care to one of the nurses. But ever since Esme Platt opened her eyes to him checking her vitals one morning, he has a hard time looking away.

"Hi," she rasped, golden brown eyes assessing him through what must have been a haze of pain medication. "I fell out of a tree."

A quiet laugh escaped him then. "Yes, indeed you did."

He explained her injuries to her as she gained coherency, answered all of her questions, and listened to her halfheartedly defend her reasoning for being situated high above the ground in a tree.

"I'm climb trees all the time, Dr. Cullen," she murmured, blinking slowly and struggling to maintain eye contact with him. "It wasn't my fault my mother decided to yell at me while I was up there."

"Up nearly 40 feet, might I add," he pointed out.

"The higher you go, the more beautiful the world becomes," she mused, shooting a lazy grin his way. "But thank you, for saving my life."

Carlisle merely shook his head. "You did all the hard work. Quite the fighter you are, Miss Platt."

"Esme," she corrected, her eyes slipping closed.

He rose then, intending to leave her, but she must have heard the rustle of sheets, sensed the silent movement of his body.

"Dr. Cullen," she mumbled, her eyes still shut, head lolling to the side. "Stay."

He paused.

No one had ever said that word to him.

Stay.

So he did.

The problem is that he continued to stay, always visiting her first thing in the mornings and saving her room for last before his departure - if he even left at all.

"How have you accomplished so much at only twenty-three?" she asked him once, her eyes alight with gold. They always managed to brighten from a gentle copper to a simmering hazel whenever he saw her.

"My father was very... encouraging," he managed to lie, wishing deep down that he could simply tell her the truth, share his story with someone. With the only person he’s ever wished could know him inside and out. "He sort of pushed me into this life."

Esme frowned at him. "Our parents do not sound terribly different."

"Your parents seem... well-intentioned."

She rolled her eyes at him, relished in the conspiratorial smile they shared. They had silently agreed that her parents were hardly favorable people.

"I'm their only child and I'm disappointing them fiercely," she chuckled. "Why do you think my mother was screaming at me for climbing a tree in a dress?"

"You just turned seventeen two days ago," Carlisle grinned at her. "I think you're doing an exceptional job at being a seventeen year old. Well, up until you fell from the tree last month, that probably set you back a bit."

“Actually, I’m kind of glad I nearly died,” she revealed to him, lifting a placating hand as the horror must have spread across his face. “Dr. Cullen, I... I just mean that meeting you has probably been the nicest thing to happen to me.” Her cheeks flushed a lovely red color, the spill of crimson cascading down to her neck. “I realize that I’m your patient, that you are required to be kind to me, but you’ve treated me in a way no one else has. So... thank you.”

He had trained himself by then to be around her without the temptation flaring too great, but even as he ignored the inviting rush of her blood in his ears, something else filled his senses. Affection flooded his chest, adoration for the young woman sitting in a hospital bed mere inches from him.

For a newly turned seventeen year old, he quickly reminded himself. For a child. Whom he adored in a... paternal kind of way. Sure.

Because that was all it could be. Even if he was only twenty-three, that was still six human years. Highly inappropriate.

“Technically, I don’t have to be nice to you,” he murmured, just to see that smile light up her face. “But in all honesty, I understand what you mean, and it’s mutual.”

She had been his patient for a month and three days. He was in charge of her physical therapy, always the one to hold tightly to her hands as she regained the ability to walk, catching her each time she stumbled through the learning process of adjusting to crutches.

She is beyond the need for a doctor’s care now and he knows it. Her wounds have healed, the shattered tibia of her leg will set beautifully and another doctor can remove the cast for her in a couple of months. Esme would be able to return to her normal life, something he cannot exist in.

No matter how much he wishes he could.

“Carlisle,” she calls again, dragging him from his reverie. She’s staring up at him with a furrowed crease between her brows and the frown lines etched deep into her mouth. He has to stop himself from reaching forward, smoothing all of the upset away. “Don’t go.”

“It’s for the best,” he tells her with his most reassuring smile, but his chest feels tight, his words thick. “You must be at least somewhat relieved to be going home-”

“Relieved?” she repeats incredulously. “After all I have shared with you, you believe I am relieved to return to the stifling monotony of my life? Did I mention that my father has been shopping for suitors? That there is already a family friend in mind for me to marry in just a few short years?”

Carlisle doesn’t realize he has begun to clench one of his hands into a fist.

“And you think I have a desire to go back?”

“It doesn’t matter what you have a desire for,” Carlisle mutters, scraping a hand through his hair, disheveling it. “I can’t just - take you away from it, Esme. You’re seventeen and I’m your doctor-”

“You’re my best friend,” she corrects, but it is soft spoken, shy. “My life isn’t bad, Carlisle, and I know I shouldn’t complain. But to... to go back to such a lonely existence...” She cuts her eyes away from him, lips pursed as she stares into the ground. “The life laid out for me is not the one I want.”

He swallows hard, swallows down every single word he truly wants to say.

“It won’t be that way forever,” he reasons quietly. “Maybe... maybe the man your parents have in mind, maybe he will be the man of your dreams.”

Her eyes are glistening and his stomach is churning despite its lack of contents.

“That’s impossible,” she whispers, glaring up at him despite the tears. “Am I... am I foolish to think that we - that there was a chance-”

Her voice is cracking, her heart pounding so hard it’s thundering in his ears, and he begins to shake his head to shut it all out.

“Esme, stop,” he begs so softly he fears he spoke too low for her ears to catch. But the tears are tripping down to her chin now and he knows she has.

“Well, I feel like an idiot,” she exhales on a watery chuckle, swaying precariously as she releases one of her crutches to wipe at her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Cullen.”

She staggers slightly and he’s reaching to steady her in a heartbeat, far too quickly.

Esme holds his gaze as he cups her shoulders in his palms. He hasn’t even begun to assess the severity of the issue that she must have her suspicions about him, the slip ups he has allowed to happen around her.

“You are far from an idiot,” he murmurs, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Nor foolish. Regardless, it does not change the fact of my age and my position. I won’t take advantage of your place in my life.”

“Then don’t, just - just stay,” she breathes, staring up at him with glistening eyes. “Stay here in Ohio for just a while longer. Stay with me.”

Her words are barely above a whisper. His hand is still poised at her ear, the other resting gently upon her shoulder. She could never comprehend the risk he poses to her, the threat.

If she were to find out what he truly was, she would hardly be standing before him, begging him to stay.

“There are so many reasons I need to go,” he sighs mournfully, moving to withdraw his hand, but she catches it against her cheek.

“No reasons to stick around, Doctor?” she inquires, attempting to tease him, but the effort is lost to the sorrow in her eyes. “No patients left to care for?”

The smile across his lips is tentative, small and reserved only for her.

“Just one. Thinks she needs me, but she doesn’t.” His thumb skims the bone of her cheek before he reclaims his hand, lowers it to his side. “She actually has no idea what she’s asking for.”

“Then prove her wrong,” Esme challenges, lifting her chin in that show of defiance he tends to look forward to. “Stay for a year. Just a year.”

He does the calculations in his head despite himself. He’s been in Ohio for two years already, one is likely all he would have left to pass as his false age anyway. Could it really hurt?

He could just stay in the area, not necessarily with her. He’ll watch her grow up a little, fall for whatever handsome young suitor her father has picked out for her, and then he could go.

No harm done to anyone except himself.

Besides, there is a constant thrum of protection that has made a home in his veins when it comes to Esme Platt, making itself known the moment he met her. At least if he sticks around, he can ensure no further harm befalls her. At the very least, he could catch her if she falls from any more trees.

“Okay,” he agrees, watching the sunlight sprint across her face. “But only the year.”

She nods, but a coy smile is playing across her face. As though she knew this was the outcome all along.

He knows then and there that this will be the best and worst year of his eternal life.

“You’re looking awfully sure of yourself,” Carlisle chuckles, but Esme’s smile doesn’t waver, the light in her eyes only growing brighter.

“Not necessarily,” she shrugs, hobbling along ahead of him towards the alleyway’s exit. “There’s something I’m sure of, but I guess we’ll just have to wait and see if I’m right.”

Esme glances back to him over her shoulder.

“Want to go on a walk with me?”

“Of course,” he smiles, catching up with her all too easily.

Carlisle finds himself hoping that she’s right, too.

Columbus, Ohio; 1912 (1 year later)

Esme grins to herself as she feels the gentle rustle of the branch beneath her, the swing of her legs faltering slightly.

“I do wish you would inform me when you’re coming up here,” Carlisle scolds, but his tone is playful and she looks up to see him coming towards her with such ease.

When he revealed his great secret to her just a few months ago, he was so certain she would be repulsed by his mere existence. She always knew he was different, that he was so much more than ordinary. It certainly took her a while to come to terms with the existence of vampires, the myths and legends she had always discarded as fairy tales suddenly all too real.

Never once, though, has she been afraid of Carlisle Cullen. Only in awe of him.

As well as in love with him, but he wasn’t allowed to know that yet.

“I won’t fall,” she singsongs back at him, but she can feel those all too assessing eyes on her healed leg.

It’s been over a year now since he promised he would remain in Ohio. She knows she’s been living on borrowed time with him, waiting for the day he would finally announce his departure.

She has her arguments well-prepared.

“I received a job offer from Indianapolis this morning,” Carlisle relays to her, leaning back against the trunk of the tree with utter ease.

Esme blows out a breath, not bothering to hide her sigh of disappointment. She has known from the start that the ending for them was visible from the start, but she is so far from ready to concede, to let him go.

“People are beginning to talk, you know that,” he murmurs. “Many are beginning to notice that I look ten years younger than I am supposed to. I’ve... I’ve tried to prolong this as much as I can.”

She can hear the unspoken for you at the end of the sentence and it causes her heart to twist.

“I know,” she mumbles, digging her nails into the tree bark. “I’ve known this day would come soon.”

“I can tell your father is eager to be rid of me as well, I think he favors Charles Evenson quite a bit,” Carlisle chuckles ruefully, but the comment has her skin crawling, her blood pumping.

“Well, I don’t,” she huffs, pushing up from her seated position to stand. Carlisle is by her side in an instant, touching gentle fingers at her elbow, ready to catch her if she lost her footing for even a second. “Charles is nothing compared to you.”

“Esme,” he sighs, lifting his hand to cup the rounded bone of her shoulder in his palm. “He’s... he would be better for you. For the normal and fulfilling life you deserve to have.”

“Carlisle,” she echoes, shifting to face him. The sun is able to peek out at them from behind the clouds at this height and it sets a strip of skin across his cheek glistening. “No one will ever compare to you. Not for me.”

It’s as close to a confession as she can manage. Her feelings for him have never necessarily been a grand secret, but Carlisle has been so adamant and obvious about avoiding his own for the past year, it feels wrong to flaunt hers.

Esme purses her lips and steals the hand from her shoulder, letting the chill of his flesh seep into hers.

“You are at the very least my closest friend?” she inquires, staring up into his eyes, amber and warm from a recent hunt.

“Of course,” he answers reluctantly, the kindness and trepidation mingling together in the simple words.

“Then take me with you,” she bargains, squeezing his fingers when his lips part with protest. “Carlisle, I swear I will refrain from stealing your virtue, but you cannot continue to preach about wanting the best for me when you know that isn’t here. Not on a farm in Ohio with Charles Evenson.”

“First of all, my virtue is not the one I worry for,” he replies with a gentle glare. “Secondly, Esme, you know I can’t just-”

“Lie.”

“Excuse me?” he questions with a furrowed brow.

“Tell my father we’re getting married,” she reasons, but Carlisle nearly chokes on the unnecessary oxygen in his lungs. “Both of my parents are aware that every time I sneak off of the farm, it’s to see you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, but-” Carlisle withdraws his hand from hers and scrubs both palms down his face. “It’s improper.”

“Carlisle, their greatest concern is that I’ll end up a crazy old maid. You’d be solving at least one part of that problem for them,” she smirks, watching him glance up at her. “Your whole purpose in life is to better humanity? Well, here’s your chance.”

“Don’t play that card with me,” he mutters, narrowing his gaze on her in a way that makes her stupid heart accelerate. “Don’t use my values as a tool.”

“I’m sorry,” she sighs, the guilt trickling in, but she just... she can’t lose him, can’t lose the opportunity to have a life of her own either. “I’m only asking you do my the greatest favor of allowing me to accompany you. As your friend.”

Carlisle stares at her for a long moment before reaching forward to brush a stray curl of hair from eyes, tucking the lock behind her ear. She hates with every fibre of her being that he is able to hear the trip and stumble of her heart.

“Can you give me the night to consider it?” he asks and she nods.

“Promise me, though,” she murmurs, dropping her gaze to his shoes. “Promise me you won’t leave without telling me.”

His perfectly polished shoes inch closer to her on the slim arm of the branch and his hands land on her shoulders, gripping her softly but with reassurance.

“I would never,” he promises, the curve of his lips a welcome sight when she lifts her eyes. “Now, would you like to get down?”

The grin spreads across her own lips immediate and uninhibited.

“Yes,” she chuckles, her laughter growing as she’s maneuvered onto his back in an instant.

And then they are flying through the air, her arms around his neck, legs around his waist, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Esme digs her chin into his shoulder, watching the world fall behind them, letting herself believe that her life with Carlisle is as infinite as it feels in that moment.

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