Chapter Text
"Oh, goddamn
My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand
Taking mine, but it's been promised to another"
"Ms. Evenson?"
Esme lifts her attention to the call of her surname, eyes landing on the handsome doctor strolling into her hospital room.
"Good evening," he greets, approaching her with a crease in his brow, his amber eyes roving her face. "I'm Doctor Cullen."
"Nice to meet you, Doctor Cullen," she returns, attempting to offer him a small smile, but it tugs horribly on her injuries to do so.
"If only it were under better circumstances," he frowns, stopping in front of her with assessing eyes. "I heard you took quite the fall."
She knows how it looks, knows the man in front of her can probably see right through the hasty lie. She knows the mottled right side of her face and the broken arm isn't fooling anyone.
"Clumsy," she shrugs her good shoulder, folding her hands over her stomach. She can't let herself think about it. If she does, the restrained tears will fall from her eyes and it will all come loose. "I used to climb trees when I was younger. Fell out of one and broke my leg when I was sixteen."
"I can only assume a tree was not the culprit this time," Doctor Cullen says, reaching gingerly for her face. "May I?"
"Stairs," she corrects before tilting her chin. "And yes."
Doctor Cullen touches gentle fingers to the underside of her jaw and she nearly startles at the chill of his flesh on hers.
"Apologies, we keep it so cold in here," he murmurs as he follows the line of bone, up the hinge of her jaw and along her eye socket, until she gasps in pain.
They apologize at the same time.
He retracts his hand immediately, those frown lines deepening. "I don't believe they're fractured, but your cheekbone and mandible have suffered severe trauma."
"Makes sense," she breathes, squeezing her eyes shut to avoid the stars bursting across her vision. "Fell on the face."
"Ms. Evenson-"
"Esme," she corrects, blinking past the sting of tears. "You can call me Esme."
"Carlisle, in that case," he responds, holding out his hand. She's able to catch the softening of his gaze as she takes it, curls her fingers around his palm. "And I was going to say that I think you may need to stay overnight for monitoring. I'd like to see the swelling go down so I can gain a better idea of the true state of the bones."
She sighs, afraid that would be the verdict. She can't deny that she is partially relieved as well. Charles can't get to her here. Certainly not while Carlisle Cullen is nearby, from the looks of it.
That thought surprisingly offers her some comfort, helps her forget for just one split second that her husband slapped her so hard across the face that she did fall down the stairs. Landing harshly on the hardwood floor, she knew instantly that the reason he decided to hit her that night was no longer existent. She knew there was no way a baby would survive that kind of fall.
When Esme Evenson ends up in his emergency room again, Carlisle fails to conceal his anger. Not at her, of course. But he knows that she isn't waiting for him in another hospital room over some random accident; the man sitting in the waiting room is responsible and he'll be damned if-
"Carlisle," she whispers, pressing a shaking hand to his chest.
It's the first time she's touched him and it stops him dead in his tracks. Her face has healed remarkably well in the six weeks since he initially treated it, her arm only recently freed from the cast, but he can still see the traces of pain, the wince in the corner of her right eye, the way her lip trembles slightly on that same side.
She stayed in the hospital for two days over her battered face, her broken arm, and the miscarriage. She hadn't wanted to tell him and he felt horrible for walking in on her sobbing, her knees pulled to her chest, her tears staining the bandage on her cheek. She was unable to keep it a secret once he saw her, whispering the truth to him like they were in confession, but she refused to blatantly admit that her husband was the reason.
After that, he spent the following 48 hours with Esme Evenson as if she was his one and only patient to worry about. He saw her on a near weekly basis after that to check up on her arm, the facial trauma.
He had hoped to see her again, but not like this.
He thinks her ribs are broken.
"Please," she murmurs, but Carlisle shakes his head, covers the small hand over his dead heart before she can pull it away. Her eyes rise to meet his, a dulled brown highlighted only by the purple splotches of exhaustion beneath.
"Why are you protecting him?"
That lights a fire, flames bleeding into her gaze and turning it a rich hazel.
"I'm not," she hisses, fingers balling into a fist under his. "What do you think I will gain by reporting this? Safety? He'll kill me and if I'm going to die, it won't be like that."
"You aren't dying," he says with a finality he doesn't fully understand, but he wholeheartedly believes it. She isn't going to die, he won't let it happen.
"I'm - I was saving money," she confesses, some of the fight leaving her. "When I found out I was pregnant, I was going to run. He caught me."
"Oh, Esme," he sighs, every part of him aching for her. "I'm so sorry."
"He's taken everything from me, Carlisle, I'm not protecting him," she rasps, lowering her eyes to the hand covering hers. "I think I've grown to hate him."
Carlisle brushes his thumb along her knuckles before finally releasing her, but her fingers remained curled in the fabric of his hospital coat.
"Carlisle," she mumbles, blinking up at him. It's then that he takes note of the dropping heart rate, the heaviness of her breathing, and he instantly swoops his arms beneath her before she can collapse.
He's careful to cradle her body, ensuring he doesn't put any pressure on the left side he's noticed her babying.
"So fast," she exhales, dropping her healed cheek to his shoulder. "Like magic."
"No, just caught you before the fall," he reasons softly, carrying her to the hospital bed across the room. "I'm going to check your ribs-"
"Don't leave," she gets out, eyes slipping closed and staying that way. "Just stay in here. With me."
The last of her words leave her lips on a slurred exhale, but he nods nonetheless, takes a seat on the edge of the bed near her hip.
Considering the phantom revival his heart endures every time he sees her, he figured he would be spending the rest of the night by Esme's side. After her reluctant admission regarding her husband, he's hesitant to leave, period. He doesn't know why the draw to her is so strong - from the instinctive need to protect her from an obvious abuser, to the simple longing of hearing his name in her mouth, his pull to Esme Evenson has become magnetic.
Never mind the ring on the finger, the burly man with the thick beard outside, or the fact that she's a human and he's a vampiric monster; abandoning thoughts of her has become a feat he continues to fail at.
Esme wakes to a frigid sensation along her side, the pain in her ribs subsided.
"Carlisle?" His name is like sandpaper in her mouth and her eyes are too hazy with sleep to see. She tries to turn into the welcome cove of his body, but-
"Right here," he assures her, a delicate hand settling on her shoulder. On her opposite side.
She blinks past the blur of unconsciousness to find him sitting on the edge of her bed, ice packs lining her ribcage.
Her cheeks flush red.
She was dreaming that he was lying in the bed with her, soothing her brutalized bones with those cold hands she's grown to adore. She awoke wanting it to be real.
"What's wrong?" he murmurs in concern, the back of one of those chilled hands grazing her forehead. "You look feverish."
"It's nothing," she promises quickly, a little too quickly. His eyebrow arches, but he says nothing more.
She's grateful he can't hear the crescendo of her heartbeat drumming against her already bruised ribs.
Cumulatively, between hospital check-ins and their respective follow-ups, she's known this man for just over six weeks. She can't explain the immediate attraction, the strange but pleasant connection she made with him on the very first day and deepened inadvertently over time. All she knows is that she feels better when he's near. Safer too, but ultimately, it's not the idea of protection that brings him to mind; it's the desire to see the rare gemstones of his eyes flare gold when he sees her (no matter the circumstance), to hear the smooth baritone of her name in his throat, to feel the cold spark of his skin touching hers.
It's a crush, she knows this, but it's becoming less innocent. Especially now, when she dreams of escaping her husband, Carlisle is present in the visions.
That was never part of the plan.
"You're thinking too much," he says softly, brushing a tentative thumb to the edge of her eyebrow before drawing his hand away.
"Am I on pain medication?" she inquires, enjoying the quizzical lilt of his lips.
"No, not yet. Considering it, though."
"I'd rather you didn't," she sighs, feeling the slight tug in her healed arm when she extends it, steals his fleeting hand back. He watches the slide of her hand into his, the curl of her fingers around his.
"Maybe you were slipped something," he jokes, the line of his throat bobbing as he caresses the row of her knuckles.
His flesh is freezing and somewhere in the back of her mind she worries about his circulation. "Thank you for staying with me."
"As long as you need," he murmurs, soft and reverent like a vow. He holds her gaze for a moment too long before his eyes drift to her side. "I need to grab you new ice packs. They seem to be helping."
She nods, watches the slip of his hand from hers as he rises and heads for the door. When it opens though, she catches sight of another man on the other side.
"Hey Doc," she hears Charles' gruff voice and feels her entire body stiffen involuntarily. "I've been sitting out there for hours now. Nurse said you were back here with my wife."
Carlisle's body is as rigid as hers, broadened in a subconscious attempt to hide her, she assumes.
"I am," Carlisle answers calmly. "Her ribs are bruised. Not necessarily an in and out kind of hospital visit."
"Ah, yeah, well my wife... she's the clumsiest woman you'll ever meet," Charles chuckles, peering over Carlisle's shoulder to catch a glimpse of her. "Ain't that right, Es?"
Her throat feels dry, but Carlisle answers before she has to.
"Maybe you should move into a house without stairs, then. Seeing as how she's fallen down them multiple times now," Carlisle grits out, a tense silence settling over the three of them once the words are out.
She can sense the quiet rage that radiates from Charles, a tension she knows all too well, but Carlisle remains like a statue in the doorway, a sentinel blocking the entry.
"I think we're ready to check out, head home now. I wouldn't have even brought her in if I thought it'd be a problem-"
"She's not the problem, Mr. Evenson."
"Carlisle," she calls, pursing her lips. His intentions are noble, but he doesn't understand. He has no idea how she'll suffer for this single interaction.
"First name basis, huh?" Charles snorts. "You play the hero role often, Doc? Try to convince your female patients that they're suffering so you can swoop in and make it all better?"
"I'm on a first name basis with your wife because she's in my hospital so often," Carlisle replies, but his voice is low, steely, a hushed danger in his tone she's never heard before. "And if she endures one more accident, I will ensure she is not the one with broken bones."
Her heart stutters. Esme shifts in the bed, easing her feet to the floor to intervene. Charles is squaring up, standing at an inch or two taller than Carlisle, his fists curled and ready at his sides.
"That a threat?"
"No, merely an assurance," Carlisle answers, his voice smooth again, professional even. "Now, Mr. Evenson, I need to grab some more ice for your wife's near broken ribs. You're welcome to return to the waiting room or - with the hour getting late - come back in the morning."
Esme blinks, lips parting in shock as Carlisle ushers Charles out of the doorway. Her husband barely manages a searing glare in her direction before Carlisle yanks the door shut.
For a moment, she stands in the middle of the room with her heart pounding so hard her entire body is vibrating with fear.
And then Carlisle Cullen is sweeping back into the room.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs immediately, appearing in front of her in what feels like a flash of movement. "I egged him on and I shouldn't have."
"He's going to kill us both," she whispers, reality crashing down around her like a glass ceiling. Esme buries her face in her hands. "Carlisle, he's-"
She feels the tender touch of Carlisle's hands on her trembling shoulders, the soothing motion of his thumbs brushing along the curve of her bones. "No, he won't, Esme. I swear it."
"You can't," she rasps, lifting her face to see him staring down at her with blazing intensity, those golden eyes simmering with promise. "Even if I left tonight, he'll find me, no matter what. He won't let this go. And you threatened him. What were you thinking?"
Guilt blooms across his features and he sighs, offers her another apologetic frown.
"About you."
He cracks her heart wide open.
Esme steps into him, buries her crumpling face in his chest, and feels careful arms settle around her shoulders.
"I'm sorry," he whispers again, his words muffled by her hair. "I was foolish and I'm sorry. I don't know why I... the way I feel about you is-"
"I know," she breathes, her forehead resting heavy against his sternum. Part of her, she realizes, is listening for the steadying beat of his heart to time her breathing to, but she just can't hear it. "I think I feel too much for you."
"That summarizes it well," Carlisle agrees quietly, dropping his chin to the top of her head.
It feels wonderfully right to be tucked against him like this, like it's where she's supposed to have been all along.
"Esme, I... I have grown to adore you, but I'm afraid I would be as horrible for you as Charles is."
Her brow knits immediately and she dislodges her head from beneath his chin, raises her eyes to him instead.
"What are you talking about? You're nothing like him," she murmurs, searching his face for some kind of indication of whatever deep, dark secret he could be carrying. But it's impossible to envision Carlisle ever aligning with adjectives like 'horrible'.
He could confess his worst sin right then and she doesn't think it would shake her faith in him. Not even close.
"No, maybe not in the way that he is a monster, but... a monster all the same."
Esme shakes her head, reaches up to cradle his cheek in her palm when she hisses at the unexpected pain.
"Your ribs," he murmurs, helping her back to the bed. She's seated on the edge of the thin mattress when she witnesses him move so fast that he's no more than a blur, grabbing the ice from the bedside table and pressing it to her side.
Her mouth falls open, eyes blinking furiously.
"What..."
"Esme, I don't... I don't know how to explain it all in a way that will make sense," he whispers, inches from her face, hand cradling the pack of ice to her side.
She swallows hard, realizing that this is likely going to be bigger than she imagined. It doesn't change her answer.
"Try."
"So he can't hurt me," Carlisle concludes his long-winded explanation. "Not much can."
He was careful to remove himself from Esme's personal space, standing a few feet away from her while she remained perched on the hospital bed, melting ice pressed to her side. Her features have remained neutral throughout the story he's never spoken aloud to a human, but her eyes never left him, her mouth never twisted with fear or disgust like he expected.
"And you've... been this way for over two hundred years?" she whispers, the first thing she's said since this entire turn of events began.
"Yes," he confirms. "I was twenty-three when I was turned and that was in the 1640s."
"That - wow," she murmurs, chewing on her bottom lip when her eyes suddenly spark with something. "Can you come over here?"
Carlisle eyes her hesitantly but does as she asks, approaching cautiously before stopping to stand in front of her. Esme reaches for him with her healed arm, laying a palm flat atop his chest.
"I was so worried," she breathes, almost looking relieved by whatever realization she's come to. "I couldn't feel your heartbeat earlier."
"Ah," he chuckles ruefully. "Yes, lost that too. But since I met you... sometimes it feels like it's there again."
Her eyes widen, vibrant and shining up at him. Then she smiles and he swears his heart somersaults.
"I have to admit, the last thing I expected after telling you I was a vampire was for you to be smiling."
Esme laughs softly, lowers her hand from his chest.
"I suppose it would not be the most expected reaction," she muses, twisting her fingers in her lap. "It is alarming and I do expect the shock of it to hit me harder at some point, but I just - I already know you won't hurt me and it's not as though it changes how I see you."
Carlisle huffs incredulously. "How can it not?"
"Because I've been allowed the opportunity to learn who you are and at the very least, you are good, Carlisle." She holds his gaze, too much compassion bleeding from her own. "Not a monster."
"I don't know about that," he murmurs, stealing the forlorn ice pack from her side. "What I do know is that Charles Evenson is no longer a threat to you."
"We're still married," she sighs, staring down at the band on her ring finger. "He would never go through with a divorce."
"There are ways to keep you safe regardless," Carlisle assures her, setting the ice pack down on the bedside table. "That's what matters most."
"You can't keep me overnight forever, Doctor," she muses, a grin in her words, but when he glances back to her, she's watching him through lowered lashes. "As much as I wish you could."
The corner of his mouth quirks, hopefully disguising the near tumble of the ice from his hands.
"You're growing delusional. Combination of pain and lack of sleep, I'm guessing," he assesses, pausing to stand before her once more and lifting a tentative hand to her neck, two fingers to her skin to check her vitals.
"Perhaps. Lack of filter seems to be an issue of mine tonight," she chuckles, her tired heart galloping under his fingertips.
"It's beating so fast," he mumbles, more so to himself. "Do I make you nervous?"
Esme furrows her brow in response. "No."
"If you're at all worried, my diet consists only of animals-"
"Carlisle, I was never anxious of you then and I'm not now."
"Your heart rate just spikes whenever I approach. If there's anything I can do to ease-"
Her skin flushes hot beneath his fingers and he tilts his head in curiosity at the oddity of... oh.
Esme clears her throat. "I'm not nervous or afraid of you," she assures him, the corners of her lips curling gently. Her eyes, warmed like honey and staring up at him, flicker to his mouth.
The hand poised at her pulse follows the line of her throat, his palm coming to a natural cradle at her jaw. He strokes his thumb along the prominent bone of her cheek, hears that thundering heartbeat grow louder.
Carlisle uses his other hand to brush the caramel curls of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ear, relishing in the tenderness of her smile he receives in return.
"Esme." It's wrong, all wrong, the way he begins to lean in without permission, without the guilt he knows he should feel. She's married, she's human, she's everything he shouldn't have, but she's tilting her cheek into the cup of his palm, watching him as if she's merely waiting.
"Carlisle," she echoes, the husk of his name from her destined to be his undoing.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, dropping his forehead to rest against hers for a moment of reprieve.
Her head shakes and her fingers curl around his wrists, holding him there.
"I don't want you to stop."
She reaches for the lapel of his lab coat, gently tugging him forward, and he doesn't resist.
He kisses her.