Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

'Everyone could see the way his muscles worked,
            the way we look like animals,
                his skin barely keeping him inside.'

Richard Siken

Forks, 2004

Carlisle knew a question was coming. He could read Edward well enough to know that it was burning on his tongue. The way he crouched on the floor in front of him, legs crossed, looking up at him. 'What is it, Edward?' Carlisle closed the book on his lap and placed it next to him on the couch. Edward reached for it, more to keep his fingers busy than out of interest what's it about, or so it seemed to Carlisle.

'Have you ever…lost it?'

Carlisle raised an eyebrow. Emmet entered the room suddenly, twirling a baseball in his hand. He sat down on the floor next to Edward. Jasper appeared in the doorway, leaning against the dark wood, crossing his arms, eyes on Carlisle, who looked from one to the other, 'Did you wait until Alice, Rosalie and Esme were out of the house to ask me about this?'

Edward shrugged, Emmet mumbling something. Jasper, ever the direct one, said, 'So, have you?'

Carlisle leaned back, smoothing out a few wrinkles in his sleeves. He looked out of the large windows, the autumn forest surrounding their house was bathed in shades of brown and red. The trees bent under the rising wind. It had been stormy back then, too. Also an October day. Also Forks.

'You could say that.'

'No way!' Emmet, having his ball thrown in the air, missed it coming back down and Carlisle surged forward, caught it, and turned it in his hand.

'You? I can't imagine,' Jasper came over to them, grabbed a chair on the way, placed it backwards next to Emmet, and sat down. Carlisle laughed, 'I never claimed to be in control of myself at all times.'

'And yet you always are,' said Edward, leaning back on his hands, furrowing his brows. Carlisle smiled, more to himself and tossed the ball back to Emmet who caught it without looking. 'Tell us about it,' he demanded, eyes full of curiosity. Carlisle smoothed the pillow beside him. The wind shook the house, wood creaked, the window frames rattled.

There were a few seconds of silence, then Jasper felt something so overwhelmingly painful that he clutched his chest. Craving, so consuming, it made him nauseous. It was bleeding out of Carlisle. He stared at him, Carlisle's gaze wandering over their heads into the distance.

'It seems inappropriate to share that with you, boys,' Carlisle began rolling up his sleeves, which Jasper deemed strange. He never fiddled with his clothes, it was an all too human thing to do. 'Carlisle, we are no children, remember? We know you want to protect us, and we are very grateful for your guidance, but we are as mature as sentient beings can be,' Edward stated and Emmet nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

Carlisle leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, interlacing his fingers, 'You may be right about that.'

'So, who was she?' Jasper tried to find a way through the burning emotions raging inside Carlisle. It irritated him; normally, the head of their family radiated calm and confidence. Not now. Now it felt as if he were starved. Longing to the point that it bordered on hunger. Jasper wondered where he had all those emotions stored, they seemed too big to be contained.

Edward gasped, ‘No.’

‘Edward, would you mind leaving my thoughts to me?’ Carlisle asked in a steady voice.

‘Sorry,’ said Edward and Emmet nudged him, 'Always the intruder.'

'It's not on purpose,' Edward muttered, giving Emmet an annoyed look. Emmet ruffled Edwards hair until Edward pushed his hand away. 'So, back to her,' said Emmet and stared up at Carlisle, expression on his face as if he was about to open a particular big present.

Carlisle smiled, imitating a deep breath that was of course unnecessary, but somehow always calmed him down.

'He was passed out, when I found him.'

Jasper leaned forward in his chair so that he was balancing on two legs. Arms on the backrest, eyes glued to Carlisle's lips. Emmet's mouth fell open, he sat up straight, 'Oh, this is about to be interesting.'

'Who was he?' whispered Jasper, trying to block out Carlisle's swirl of emotions, one stronger than the other. A storm concocting inside him. Carlisle looked at him. Jasper noticed that he flexed his right hand for a split second.

'Someone with a gun and eyes like the darkest pinewoods.'

Outside, the autumnal storm gathered momentum; inside, Edward, Emmet, and Jasper hung on Carlisle's every word.

Forks, 1994

Charlie

There is being tired and there is whatever Charlie was feeling right now. Bone deep exhaustion. An aching in his joints, eyes burning. Tongue numb from coffee that has been reheated too many times. He was the last one in the office. As usual. Trying to wrap his head around yet another inexplicable case of mass wildlife killings, about which the local forest ranger had complained. Again. Deer ripped to shreds, which could be explained with mountain lions or bears if those hadn't also been found torn to pieces not far from their actual prey.

Charlie leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes against the bright lights at the ceiling. What can kill a bear? Rip its throat open? It didn't make any sense. He pressed the back of his hand against his forehead. The report on this has do be done by Friday, then his little girl came to visit. Bella just turned 7. They were going to celebrate that together with his 30th birthday, which was in March. Bella hasn't been in Forks since new years and Charlie missed her dearly.

He never told her on the phone, she was a child and he didn't want her to feel bad, smart as she was, he already worried how she handled her parents living that far apart. A glance at the old clock hanging lopsided on the opposite wall told him it was too late to find anywhere to eat in Forks, where restaurants closed at 10 p.m. When he got up, his stomach growled. He pulled open a drawer that contained nothing but scribbled-on paper and a few cough drops. The energy bar he had eaten hours ago had long since been digested. He sighed, grabbed his jacket, and trudged through the office. The cold October air hit him sharply as he stepped outside, locked the door, and walked to his car.

The dizziness came unexpectedly, first pricking his legs and then shooting to his fingertips, which became very cold. He rested his palms on the roof of his car. The metal creaked. When was the last time I fainted, has that ever happened before, he thought, before the world and his car tilted. The ground wasn't frozen yet, but it was hard when his shoulder collided with it. He was able to roll onto his back. A streetlight flickered in the distance before his world went very dark. He thought he smelled aftershave that wasn't his own, but was already too far gone to be sure.

He didn't wake up completely disoriented. Not well rested, but not entirely exhausted either. His head hurt a little, as did his shoulder and the hand he had used to stop his fall. The pain was unpleasant but somehow reassuring, because Charlie could locate it and feel the corresponding parts of his body. His surroundings looked familiar, he knew the smell, knew the place. He was in the living room of his own house, laying on the worn-out couch. When he raised his hand to grab something—the edge of the table, his head, a pillow—he hadn't decided yet—he saw that it was bandaged. Thin white linen stripes were expertly wrapped around his palm and wrist. He stared at them, flexed his fingers, and felt a slight burning sensation. None of this made sense. Only now did he notice that the light in the kitchen was on. All his senses slowly returned, his thoughts sluggish and sticky.

That changed when he heard a noise. He instinctively reached for the gun lying on the table and stood up. A hint of dizziness returned, just an echo, and he staggered as he covered the few feet to the kitchen, raised the gun, released the safety catch, and aimed it at the back of a white-blond head.

'Please don't shoot me, Chief. Imagine the mess.'

Charlie had his gun still raised and steady when the man turned around. Standing a bit taller than himself, wearing a black shirt, the first few buttons undone, pale and beautiful to a point it seemed ridiculous to Charlie. More an image stepped out of a movie than a human being. A calm expression on his face, eyes a shade of amber so bright they looked almost golden. Charlie rubbed his own eyes, it must've looked comical. When he opened them again he saw little white points dancing in the corner of the room.

'Who the hell are you?'

The man smiled, suddenly looked years older than he must've been. Charlie guessed early to mid-twenties.

'I am the one who found you passed out next to your car.'

Charlie lowered his weapon, a little, 'That explains nothing'. He got another calm smile for that, a chuckle even, 'It doesn't, does it?' Charlie only noticed the wooden spoon in the man's hand when he put it down on the shelf behind him. The smell of tomatoes and cooked onions crept into his nose.

'Are you cooking?'

The man looked behind himself then back at Charlie, 'I am trying'. That shouldn't be a reason for Charlie to decide not to shoot the man on the spot but it somehow was. 'Am I dreaming?' he asked the stranger as he put his gun on the kitchen table. His hand felt light and empty without it. Defenseless.

'Is this something you'd dream about?' The pan continued sizzling. Charlie noticed the pot full of pasta next to it, sitting on the stove, 'If you answer another question with a question, I will shoot you. Or arrest you. The order is still unclear.'

Charlie got a laugh for that. When the stranger grabbed his hand it was cold, dry. Skin smooth. 'I am Carlisle Cullen. Dr. Carlisle Cullen, if you want to be precise. I had a job interview at the Community Hospital today,' he let go of Charlie's hand, smiling as if this would explain everything and they could now enjoy a late dinner together.

'A doctor, huh?' Charlie leaned back against the kitchen table, arms crossed. Carlisle didn't answer, instead he turned his back to Charlie and stirred the red sauce in the pan. 'How do I know you're not feeding me bullshit?'

'You don't. And isn't that exciting?' Carlisle grabbed a plate and piled pasta and tomato sauce on it. He pressed the loaded plate into Charlie's hand, who stared at it. Motionless. 'I'll tell you something. You eat - I'll explain. How does that sound to you?'

Charlie ended up sitting down. The absurdity of the situation struck him, but a mixture of tiredness, hunger, and the fact that it was the middle of the night and everything felt strangely unreal made him reach for a fork and spear a few noodles. 'Talk,' he said to Carlisle, who sat opposite him without a plate.

'I applied for the open position of ward physician in the intensive care unit and got an invitation to come here today to talk to the senior physician. After that, I went to dinner, and on my way back to the motel, I drove past the police station. That's when I saw you lying next to your car,' Carlisle had a particular way of speaking, a dialect that Charlie couldn't place. He furrowed his brows, 'The timing is awfully convenient.'

Carlisle reached into into a black briefcase, sitting next to the chair he sat on, that Charlie hadn't noticed before. He pulled out a crumpled letter, smoothed it out, and slid it over to Charlie. It was indeed an invitation to a job interview on October 4, 1994. Signed by the senior physician and addressed to a Carlisle Cullen. Charlie swallowed a bite of pasta with the well-seasoned sauce and pushed the letter back to Carlisle, 'Aren't you a little young to be a doctor?'

Carlisle smiled broadly, revealing white teeth. He folded the letter and put it back into his briefcase. 'Is that funny to you?' Charlie put down his fork.

'A bit, yes,' Carlisle replied, following Charlie's movement with his oddly attentive eyes. 'Is it not to your liking?' Carlisle asked, nodding toward Charlie's discarded fork. Charlie instinctively reached for it again, 'It is. But you didn't have to cook for me. Where did you even find pasta and tomatoes in my kitchen?'

'It was the only thing I found. This and a bottle of red wine,' Carlisle said. 'So you're a doctor and instead of driving me to the hospital you take me home and cook me dinner? Entering a property that is not yours and leaving me unconscious on the couch?' Charlie summarized, pointing his fork at the young doctor. 'When you put it that way, it really does sound strange,' Carlisle stated. 'Because it is,' Charlie replied, looking at his bandaged hand that cramped a bit holding the fork too tight, 'How did you even know where I live?'

'Listen, Chief,' Carlisle leaned forward, folding his hands on the table, 'I saw you lying there, stopped, went over to you, felt your pulse, determined that you were just unconscious and had injured your hand, probably when you fell and hit the ground. I put you in my car, looked for the address on your ID, took out my map of Forks, and drove to your house. Most people pass out because they forget to eat, drink, or listen to their body's signs of exhaustion. I bandaged your hand and cooked you something. A warm meal can work wonders. I wanted to be gone before you woke up.'

Instead of relief Charlie felt a hundred more questions arise. He asked the seemingly least important one, 'So you carried me?' Carlisle shrugged, 'You're not that heavy.' There was a moment of silence. Charlie stared into Carlisle's eyes. It seemed to him as if the other man wasn't blinking.

He only noticed that it was raining when the drops began to patter louder and louder against the windows and on the roof. Charlie suddenly stood up. In one elegant movement, he pushed his chair back, legs scraping across the old wooden floor, 'I take my leave. I'm sorry I crossed boundaries and invaded your privacy.' He reached for his briefcase and took a step forward, when Charlie grabbed his wrist. Carlisle halted. Charlie didn't say anything at first, wondering what the hell he was doing. Then he stood up, made his own chair nearly topple over.

'I'm just not used to... someone...I can be a bit suspicious sometimes.'

Carlisle smiled at that, 'Comes with the job, I suppose?'

'You could say that,' Charlie let go of him, his fingers sliding down his hand. 'Thank you, Doctor,' he said, looking up, meeting the strange gaze once again. 'No need to thank me, this is my job, after all,' replied Carlisle setting his briefcase back on the table.

'The cooking isn't, is it?' Charlie asked and eyed his half eaten plate. 'Well, not exactly,' Carlisle's smell hit him suddenly, overpowering the lingering smell of cooked tomatoes. Timber and expensive aftershave. Sharp. Dingy. That was what made Charlie speak. That, or the fact that he had spent too many nights alone lately. Or that he had hit his head harder than he thought, when he fainted. Maybe it was all of those things combined, 'Stay and have a glass of wine with me.' Charlie took two breaths before Carlisle answered, 'Are you sure? You don't have to keep me here out of politeness.'

'The weather's gotten bad and the roads in Forks are shit. Stay until the storm passes. I don't want you to have an accident,' Charlie held Carlisle's gaze, which never seemed to waver.

'I wouldn't', he replied, which was a strange thing to say, Charlie thought. They stood there for a moment. Carlisle's gaze darted to Charlie's neck for a split second, but Charlie could have imagined that in the dim light. 'Why not,' Carlisle went to one of the kitchen cabinets and reached for the bottle of wine as if this were his house and he naturally knew where everything was located. Charlie grabbed his plate, he'd managed to eat some, after all. Not much, but he felt better. The screaming agony in his stomach was silenced. He put the plate in the sink and reached for two wine glasses, then turned to speak to Carlisle who wasn't there, even though Charlie could have sworn that he had just been standing right next to him.

'You coming?' the voice came from the living room. Charlie polished the glasses with a damp towel and walked towards the couch, where Carlisle already sat, legs crossed, opening the bottle. Charlie was just wondering how he had gotten hold of the bottle opener so quickly and how he even knew where it was, when all the lights went out. The room was lit up by a flash of lightning that thundered through the stormy night sky outside. Charlie's foot caught on the edge of the carpet, and before he could decide whether to let go of the glasses so he could use his hands to break his fall, he felt an arm around his waist.

'Careful,' Carlisle's voice was very close to Charlie's ear. 'You have quick reflexes,' Charlie said just to say something. Carlisle didn't reply, but lead him toward the couch. 'Do you have candles?' Carlisle was already on the other side of the room, opening drawers. 'Um, yes, in the top compartment. There should be matches in there too.' The candles were lit faster than Charlie could put the glasses on the table. The flickering light made the room warmer and smaller, made the night even more surreal. Morning seemed far away.

'Does this happen often?' Carlisle asked as he filled the glasses. In the darkness, the red wine turned almost black, sluggish. 'Me drinking with strangers in the middle of the night?' Charlie said and watched Carlisle's profile, how his pale lips turn into a smile, 'The power going out.' Charlie took the glass Carlisle handed him. 'Happens occasionally. The power lines are not the most stable.' Carlisle nodded and reached for the other glass. He raised it to toast Charlie. 'To strangers then,' Charlie pulled up the corner of his mouth, 'To strangers.'

The wine was good, not that Charlie had a particularly extensive knowledge of wines. He'd received it as a birthday present from a colleague last year and realized at that moment that he apparently hadn't had a reason to open it until now. The occasional beer was more to his taste.

Carlisle wore a calm expression. Relaxed. Not expectant. Charlie had the feeling they could just sit here silently all night. Which was normally something Charlie would love to do. But he was curious. And who could blame him?

'Why would someone like you apply for a job here in Forks, of all places?' Charlie swirled his glass in his hand. He had once heard that red wine should be drunk at room temperature, so it hopefully wouldn't spoil the taste when he wrapped his hands, which were slowly getting warmer, around the glass.

'Someone like me?' Carlisle put his glass down on the table. Charlie thought it looked as if the wine was untouched, but he could be wrong. Perhaps Carlisle was simply used to better wine.

Someone so beautiful, someone so sophisticated, as if stepped right out of a black-and-white-movie, Charlie thought, trying to rein his thoughts back in. 'Someone as young as you,' he explained, the little lie crackling on his tongue.

'I am not that young,' Carlisle said, the light of the flames dancing over his features. Charlie thought of the statues of Greek Gods, of pictures of monarchs long dead in his old schoolbooks, of Old Hollywood. 'Younger than me,' he took another sip of his wine and then placed his glass on the table next to Carlisle's. His bandaged hand burned a little, and he tensed his fingers. Carlisle ignored his statement, grabbed his hand and turned it so that his palm faced upwards. 'It's probably sprained. I don't think it's broken. You should rest it. And ice it occasionally,' Charlie thought he would let go now but he didn't. Instead he pressed his thumb into the palm and Charlie winced. 'I'm sorry,' Carlisle said. Charlie tried to pull his hand slowly out of Carlisle's grip, but he wouldn't let go. He pushed his thumb up until it rested on the pulse point on his wrist. Charlie searched for his eyes in the flickering candle light and imagined them to appear darker then before.

'Carlisle?' The man addressed looked at him abruptly and let go of his hand as if he had been burned. He stood up, the old springs in the couch squeaked. Charlie looked up at him, 'What just happened?'

Carlisle's jaw seemed locked, his teeth grinding. 'I have to go, I don't know what came over me,' he turned, when Charlie, for the second time that night, reached for him. He just managed to grab the hem of his shirt. 'You shouldn't drive in this weather, it's dangerous,' he stood up, misjudged the distance and found himself face to face with Carlisle.

'I'm not the one in danger,' Carlisle's voice sounded roughened, as if he had a dry throat.

'What's that supposed to mean?', Charlie felt he was being pranked. If he didn't know better, Charlie would say something that sounded very much like a growl escaped from Carlisle's throat as he turned away from him. 'That means I overestimated my self-control. Pride comes before a fall, as they say,' Carlisle's voice had lost its cool, its calm.

'What are you talking about? Are you afraid of something? I have a gun, remember?' Charlie let go of Carlisle's shirt, grabbed his shoulder and turned him towards himself. The eyes that met his own were hungry, Charlie couldn't find any other word for it. Not fearful, not confused. A man watching himself make a mistake.

'A gun won't save you,' Carlisle said, face suddenly so close, it blurred before Charlie's eyes. 'What, are you a serial killer after all?' Charlie scoffed. He wasn't afraid of a pretty faced doctor, he was the chief of police for god's sake.

Carlisle seemed torn. He made a movement between taking a step backwards and raising his hands. 'I'll have you on your knees handcuffed in five seconds, don't bullshit me,' Charlie grabbed the front of Carlisle's shirt, the collar crumpled in his hand.

'You have no idea what you're talking about,' Carlisle's voice broke a bit, sounding like a warning and a plea equally. Confused didn't even begin to describe how Charlie felt. 'If you want to leave, leave. If you want to stay, stay. I've met enough criminals to know you're not one. So whatever you're dealing with, either pull yourself together and spend the night here staying on the couch, or I could take you to the police station and lock you in a drunk tank, if that's what you think is necessary.'

Carlisle looked baffled and almost bemused.

'You must think I'm strange,' he said, grabbing Charlies clenched fingers and peeled them one by one from his collar. He did that effortlessly, yet appealing nearly no pressure on Charlie's hurt hand.

'I had my fair share of strange and you're not even top three, believe me," he said, unsure if he should sit back down. The danger seems to have passed but a feeling creeping up his neck told him there was an imbalance in strength, that should be the other way around. He was police, he had a gun. Why did he feel so vulnerable? As if layers that were supposed to protect him had been peeled away.

'Fourth place then?' Carlisle asked and stepped away from Charlie, letting go of his hands as he turned around. He managed to walk across the poorly lit room, past the coffee table and the old armchair, without even touching the furniture. How he was able to find his way around an unfamiliar environment so well and so quickly was a mystery to Charlie. Maybe it was a doctor thing, but somehow he doubted it. Carlisle stopped in front of a sideboard on which stood a few framed photographs.

'She looks just like you,' he said and leaned forward to take a closer look at a particular picture. It was one from last year, when Bella was sitting on Charlie's shoulders, an ice cream cone in one hand and an ice cream-smeared book in the other. Charlie watched him. He looked very composed, hands behind his back. Old-fashioned, Charlie thought. There was a dissonance between his age and his behavior. Charlie missed Carlisle's question while contemplating this, 'Huh?'

'I asked how old she is,' Carlisle looked back over his shoulder at Charlie, who had now taken a few steps around the couch himself, 'Just turned seven. Her name is Isabella, we call her Bella.' Carlisle nodded, the serene smile back on his face. 'Do you have kids?', Charlie watched one of the candles go out, the wick sinking into the wax. What a dumb question to ask such a young man, he thought, and crossed the room to a dresser to get more candles.

'You could say I do,' Carlisle answered while Charlie opened a drawer. 'Really? How many?' Charlie asked and imagined two little blond haired babies with the same amber eyes as their dad. 'Five,' Carlisle said and Charlie stopped moving.

'Five? You have five children?' he turned to Carlisle who still wandered around the room stopping here and there to look at little trinkets and an oil painting of a clearing that needed a good dusting. All Charlie got was another smile and no further response. Either he had met the strangest, youngest doctor in the world, who not only looked like a movie star from the 1920s, but was also a father of plenty, or he would wake up tomorrow morning and wonder what this crazy dream had meant.

Billy would have a lot of fun if Charlie told him about this over a beer. His best friend was a big fan of dream interpretation, and this would be exactly the kind of dream he would love to analyze for Charlie.

Another clap of thunder rumbled through the sky, and a wave of rain pelted down on the roof. Everything creaked and groaned. One thing you could be sure of in Forks in October was the storms that brought heavy rain and thunder. Charlie didn't mind them, he never had. He liked the rain, liked the cloudy sky and the smell of damp wood and moss.

As he reached into the dresser and rummaged for a candle, he felt a sudden pain and jerked his hand back. 'Ah, shit,' he'd grabbed a little hunting knife and regretted, not for the first time, not having sorted out his dressers long ago. It was something he kept putting off. So he probably deserved the cut in his hand. He looked at his palm in the darkness and watched thick drops of blood ooze from the open skin. Bella wasn't tall enough to reach the dresser at that height, so it apparently had seemed safe to him to keep a damn knife in there. His thoughts were interrupted by a breath of wind, which was somewhat strange inside a house, and a pale hand reaching past his shoulder to grab his.

Carlisle

He had managed to control his thirst for centuries, exposed himself to human blood over and over again, reached into open chests, operated on more people than he could remember, their faces blurring together. He had bandaged, glued, and stitched wounds, washing the blood from his hands every day. Never touched it, always maintaining control, had seen himself in a position to teach others to control themselves as well.

So he wondered what had happened, what had led him to stand behind Forks' chief of police, so close, his chest was pressed against his back, whose injured hand gripped so tightly by him—it must hurt, lowering his head, a second away from tearing the man's carotid artery open. A dry mouth and throat causing him aching pain, he felt his fangs breaking through, his muscles getting tighter.

'Carlisle?'

Charlie's voice sounded muffled to him. Carlisle lowered his head, soaking in the smell. Now, that the skin was broken and blood poured out, it was even worse. He should have left, knew something was wrong when he held the stranger in his arms, breathed in his scent for the first time, and decided not to drive him to the hospital. When he found one excuse after another to stay. The animal and the man inside him began to fight. What had he been thinking? How could he have overestimated himself so badly?

He had heard of such occurrences, people who smelled so enticing that vampires lost all restraint. Were driven mad. But he had never experienced it himself, had looked down on such vampires, if he was honest. They were monsters, he was not, he was a doctor, a member of society. Civilized.

He'd wanted to prove to himself that these base instincts did not apply to him, that he could overcome the bloodlust. He wanted to spend time with this beautiful man with dark unruly hair and eyes the color of the forrest surrounding Forks, only to discover that he was just a human being like millions of others. A valuable life, of course, but no one special. That he, Carlisle, would remain completely unaffected, no matter what he had felt during their first encounter.

That was a misconception. He had miscalculated on an big scale and his consciousness screamed at him as he lowered his lips to the man's neck, pressed his thumb into the open wound in his hand, felt the body beneath him twitch, heard his heart racing. The smell got overwhelming, rich and earthy, sharp and sweet, he could taste it on his tongue, felt his mouth starting to water.

'I am so sorry,' he whispered against the warm skin and slid his hand under the plaid shirt Charlie was wearing. Fingers on his lower abdomen, he felt the muscles trembling. Charlie grabbed his wrist with his bandaged hand, but of course it didn't do anything. Carlisle stopped anyway, fanned his hand, and slid his nails across the skin. The difference in strength was not even measurable in human terms. Unfair. Hunter and prey, eternally trapped in their roles. Carlisle had fought so hard not to be a monster, to rise above the beast inside him. Only to stand here and watch himself forget everything he had drummed into his own head and his family over decades, centuries.

It was desire, scorching hot, extinguishing any thoughts of restraint or control. It overrode them with the urge to bite and slash, to take and take until there was nothing left. He wanted Charlie so badly, to taste him, tear him apart, see what his heart looked like ripped out of his chest. See what his eyes looked like when they rolled back. Mouth and legs wide open, writhing in pain and pleasure.

A picture fell to the floor with a clatter, and Carlisle gained his control back for the tiniest moment. He let go of Charlie, who rushed past him toward the kitchen. I should leave, right out of the front door, and never return to Forks, Carlisle thought as he did the opposite. He watched himself be nonsensical in amazement.

Not a fraction of a second later, he stood opposite Charlie in the dark kitchen. A gun was pointed at his chest. Blood dripped onto the floor along the handle.

'Who are you?' Charlie had asked him that question before, and Carlisle had answered it. A flash of lightning lit up the room, crashing through the window, and Charlie's eyes widened. Carlisle knew what he looked like. Eyes black, fangs hidden in his mouth, but humans sense danger. And there was no greater danger to Charlie's life in that moment than himself.

'Not who, what,' Carlisle closed the distance between himself and Charlie until the gun was pressed directly against his chest. Carlisle could feel Charlie's trembling through the metal, the heat radiating from his body, the blood racing through his veins, flooded with adrenaline.

Those mesmerizing eyes looked up at him, 'You're insane.' It was a statement that Carlisle couldn't even disagree with. He felt insane, which was a strange feeling after centuries of pure reason and controlled behavior. Suddenly, anger dripped into his other emotions. What was it about this man, why had he been in Forks today of all days and found him? Was fate punishing him? All the things he had done when he was with the Volturi, all the lives he hadn't been able to save. Had he become too complacent and now had to pay the price?

He reached for the gun, his hand closing around the cold metal and snatching it from Charlie's grasp. It cost him nothing to do so, it was like blinking, which he didn't technically have to do, but had gotten into the habit anyway. He had become so good at imitating a human being. Raising and lowering his chest, moving constantly, pretending that his joints sometimes ached. So that people would feel comfortable around him, trust him.

All of that seemed to have been lost to him now. The beast had crept forward, taken over his hands, which threw the weapon behind him so hard it would be bent, and then grabbed Charlie to slam him against the nearest wall.

Charlie made a small sound. Pained. His bloody hand reached for Carlisle's arm, the smell of it became overwhelming, flooding Carlisle's senses.

'Are you going to kill me?'

Carlisle closed his eyes briefly, resting his forehead against the wall next to Charlie's head. His hands moved down, reaching for Charlie's waist. He noticed how narrow it was; when he stretched out his hands, his fingers could almost touch on Charlie's back. He swallowed a growl. Could feel the tip of his fangs on his own tongue.

'I don't want to.'

Charlie turned to him, his voice close to his ear, 'That doesn't answer my question.' Carlisle scoffed. Normally, that was the moment when people were supposed to panic, but Charlie seemed to want to argue with him instead, fighting over semantics.

'What do you want?'

Carlisle opened his eyes again at this question, leaned back a bit to look at Charlie, who appeared less frightened than he should have been, 'Why do I feel like you're suffering?'

Carlisle hooked his nails in Charlie's skin, 'Don't feel sorry for a murderer, I don't deserve it.'

‘When was the last time you killed someone?’, Charlie's voice hitched a bit when Carlisle's grip around his waist got tighter.

'Many lifetimes ago,' Carlisle whispered. Everyone gets their reckoning eventually, maybe this was his. Aro had predicted back then that someone would bring Carlisle to his knees, knock him off his moral throne, as Aro called his aversion to violence and human blood. He couldn't have foreseen that it would be a beautiful man, a father, hiding away under a stormy sky in Forks, Washington.

'Why are you so goddamn strong?'

Carlisle was torn from his thoughts and looked at Charlie, hearing his heartbeat slow down, not calm, but miles away from mortal fear. Strangely, he didn't smell any fear on Charlie at all. More heightened senses, a body ready to fight, not knowing that it would be futile.

There was curiosity in Charlie's voice, which Carlisle deemed misplaced but not surprising. Charlie didn't seem like a very fearful man, more like the go-getter type. Headstrong. Righteous and stubborn.

Instead of answering, he grabbed Charlie's wrists with his right hand, stretched his arms above his head, and pressed them against the cold tiles. Charlie had to extend a little, arching his back, his shirt riding up and exposing a few inches of skin. Blood dripped onto Carlisle's hand, and it took all his strength not to immediately sink his teeth into the open wound.

'Have you ever met anyone who could do that to you?'

Charlie tensed his arms, pushing against Carlisle's grip. Carlisle could see the lean muscles working, the tense forearms, the veins standing out.

'It doesn't make sense,' was all Charlie said.

'Not in your world,' Carlisle replied, releasing Charlie, who immediately dropped his arms. A little blood had stuck to the wall above his head. Maybe Carlisle could leave. It would take him just a second to get out the door, to his car, and flee Forks through the storm. Erasing this day, erasing Charlie from his mind, get as far away from him as he could.

'This must be a dream,' said Charlie, and Carlisle scoffed, 'A nightmare, perhaps.'

'And who are you in this nightmare?' Charlie pressed his bloody hand against his chest, the bleeding slowed down, thank God. Not that it helped much at this point. The whole house smelled of Charlie's blood, drowning out all other smells.

'The monster, of course,' Carlisle tried to make himself leave. Screamed at his feet to move and yet stood there as if rooted to the spot.

'You don't look the part,' Charlie peeled off his shirt to wrap it around his hand, Carlisle wished he wouldn't, trying to distract himself from all the exquisite smells that were revealed when he stood before him wearing only a white T-shirt. To not stare at the curve of the exposed neck or the bare arms.

'Why, am I too pretty?' Carlisle asked humorlessly.

'Too remorseful,' Charlie dropped the shirt on the floor. Carlisle tried to process the words coming out of Charlie's mouth, one more unexpected than the next.

'You are a strange man, Chief Swan,' he said looking down at the crumpled shirt. Just a lump in the darkness. One more thing that was soaked in the smell of Charlie's blood.

'Yeah, I am the strange one, sure,' Charlie stared at him. Defiantly. One hand bleeding, one hand bandaged, barely any food in his system. His weapon thrashed. He had to know that he was closer to death than to life. That it was uncertain whether he would live to see the next day, because Carlisle himself was not yet sure. He wondered where Charlie got all this courage from. Why he wasn't cowering in fear.

'Are you not afraid?' Carlisle still stood at the same spot, he just couldn't bring himself to move even an inch.

A small clock on the kitchen counter beeped and showed 2 o'clock. The number flickered red on the little screen. Charlie walked past Carlisle, who closed his eyes and turned his head away, feeling drunk from the smell of blood and Charlie himself, who pressed a small button on the battery-powered clock. The beeping stopped. The rain drumming against the windows was once again the only sound in the room, along with the deep sighing of the house under the tugging storm raging outside.

'I should be, shouldn't I?' Charlie said, looking out the kitchen window. His battered hands on the counter. Humans are so fragile, Carlisle thought walking over to him, so easy to break, the skin over the blood-filled veins so thin. Nothing to defend themselves against us.

He grabbed Charlie's shirt collar, heard the seam tear, and knew he was losing control of his strength. Charlie's hand left a small bloody mark on the counter as he stumbled backward. Straight into Carlisle, who reached around him, wrapping his hand around his neck, tilted his head back, thumb under his jaw, so that Charlie had to look up at him, 'Yes, you should be.'

Charlie

A kiss wasn't what he had expected. A broken neck, a knife in his back, Carlisle slamming his head against the sink, but not a kiss. He closed his eyes because every other sense was boiling over and he wanted to shut at least that one down. His neck hurt as Carlisle bent his head back. The man was a wall behind him, a force. Immovable, undeniable. He'd came over him like the storm over Forks.

His lips were ice cold, tongue tasted of mint and metal. Something sharp tore Charlie's lip. He flinched, managed to turn his body around, open his eyes, and put his hands on Carlisle's chest. Something in the back of his mind wondered why he couldn't feel a heartbeat beneath his palms, but Carlisle had already grabbed him again and his common sense disappeared with the next kiss. He was pressed against the kitchen tiles once again, a hand on his neck, nails in his skin. He felt like being eaten alive, blood dripped out of the corner of his mouth, his lip and tongue were scratched.

'I am sorry,' Carlisle said, voice unrecognizable. Sank down deep into throaty wanting. The words disappearing meaningless into Charlie's mouth. Charlie made a sound, something between a groan and a sharp exhale and Carlisle pushed off very quickly and very forceful, pressing him harder against the tiles in the process. He bent forward, blonde strands falling in his face. When he looked up, Charlie noticed blood around his mouth, small spots scattered across his lip.

His gaze wandered upward and he stared into eyes the likes of he had never seen before. The night had crept into the house, through the floor, straight into Carlisle to settle in them. Charlie saw his reflection in the pupils and an abyss so deep, it threatened to consume him completely.

He reached out before a concrete thought could form. His mind couldn't keep up. Everything was happening too fast and nothing made sense. Fear flared up and then died down again. Something else had taken its place. Something Charlie had no name for. The feeling you get when you deliberately stay underwater too long to see how long your lungs can hold out, drive too fast to feel the sharp wind in your face or stand too close to an edge to see how far the pit beneath reaches.

When his hand touched Carlisle's face, he flinched. 'You're not going to kill me,' Charlie said, wiping the blood from Carlisle's lips with his thumb, leaving even more on his cheek with his own hand still bleeding a bit. It almost looked like the red wine they had opened. That seemed so long ago.

'Don't be so sure,' Carlisle said, and there was no threat in his voice. It was pain and regret, strong enough to tear a man apart.

'What do you need?'

Carlisle leaned into his palm, 'Something you can't provide without me hurting you.'

Charlie pushed a thumb into Carlisle's mouth, pulled the corner to the side, and exposed a razor-sharp canine tooth.

Carlisle pulled away from his grip.

'Why do you have those?' Charlie lowered his hand.

'Why do you think?'

Charlie knew who had sharp teeth, was bloodthirsty, strong, and beautiful. Ageless.

'Those things aren't real. They don't exist,' Charlie felt a throbbing behind his temples, afraid of losing touch with reality. It grew thinner and thinner the deeper he fell into this endless night.

'Yet here I am, Chief.'

Charlie shook his head, pressed two fingers against the bridge of his nose.

Carlisle had let go of him, but was still standing so close that his presence was overwhelming. One thing was missing, the warmth that a body radiated when standing so near. Charlie remembered the missing heartbeat, how fast Carlisle was. He hadn't eaten anything but had drunk wine. Or had he? Hadn't the glass been untouched?

'So if I shoot you…' Charlie began.

'The wound will heal almost instantly, leaving no lasting damage,' Carlisle said, as if explaining basic biology.

'Let's see about that,' Charlie trudged past Carlisle into the living room, expecting to be grabbed again which did not happen, and looked around for the gun Carlisle had snatched from his hand earlier. He found it next to the table in the light of the last candle still burning. The barrel was bent in several places. He reached for it, 'What the hell?'

He couldn't process the implications of someone who could leave an imprint on a metal weapon right now, so he pushed the thought and the gun aside and went to a locked cabinet. He couldn't be bothered to look for the key, so he kicked the lock, breaking it off the old wood.

He reached into the cabinet, pulled out his Glock and a magazine, loaded the gun as he turned around, and released the safety. Carlisle stood right behind him, and Charlie jumped. He hadn't heard him move.

When he raised the gun, Carlisle didn't flinch; he looked him in the face, ignoring the gun aimed at him. His expression was difficult to read.

'I didn't think I'd have a gun pointed at me thrice tonight.'

'What did you think the night would be like?' Charlie walked toward him and Carlisle turned away, which people who had a gun pointed at them didn't normally do.

'I can hardly remember,' he said while walking through the room, turning back to Charlie and sitting down in the moss green armchair. He did so very gracefully, there was no other word for it. The way he placed his hands on the armrests and looked up at Charlie, who was standing in front of him, the gun pointed directly at his chest, 'Have you suddenly regained control of yourself? Or is it the gun that makes the difference after all?'

One corner of Carlisle's mouth twitched, 'I could break your little gun in two, Chief, and it wouldn't take any effort. As for self-control...let's just say it doesn't look good.'

Charlie scoffed, kicked the inside of Carlisle's shoes to push his legs apart, and stepped between them. He pressed the gun against Carlisle's temple, who gave in and tilted his head slightly to the side, 'And does that make you feel good? Powerful?'

'No,' said Carlisle, grabbing Charlie's thigh and pulling him closer, 'It makes me feel ashamed.'

'Why?' Charlie held the gun steady, even though his hand hurt. Neither of his hands was in particularly good shape.

'I never wanted to be a monster,' Carlisle's hand slid up Charlie's thigh, circled and wrapped around his hip, sliding two fingers into a belt loop of his pants, pulling him even closer.

'Then don't be,' cool fingers slid under Charlie's T-shirt. Strangely, they didn't elicit a cold reaction, but burned on his skin.

'Maybe we can't escape what we are. Maybe that's the story of my failure,' Carlisle looked up at him. The face lit from one side, so perfect it somehow felt like an insult to Charlie, putting everyone he ever thought beautiful before to shame.

'And who am I in this story of yours?'

Another hand had come up, sliding under the thin fabric, fingertips on Charlie's lower back. Carlisle leaned into the weapon, 'You're my very own personal reckoning.'

'Then why don't you do what you want so badly?'

'Why don't you shoot?'

Here we go again with the counter-questions, Charlie thought as if that would still matter.

'What will you tell your coworkers tomorrow about what happened to your hands?' Carlisle reached for Charlie's bruised hand, whose bandages had come loose and were beginning to slip off his hand. Carlisle pulled them off his hand, revealing bruises around his thumb and on his knuckles.

'Will I still be alive tomorrow?'

Carlisle gave him an ominous look. Estimating. Outside, the storm continued to rage, bending the trees in front of the house and rattling the roof. Rain pelted against the windowpanes in such quantities that the glass seemed to vibrate. One hand on Charlie's back was enough to pull him onto Carlisle's lap. The gun hadn't moved; Charlie pressed it against Carlisle's temple.

'Do you want to kill me or fuck me?'

The corner of Carlisle's mouth twitched, 'I could ask you the same thing.'

'Why don't you ever answer my questions?'

'Why do you assume I have answers?'

Charlie sighed, lowering the gun a little because his arm was starting to cramp and the cut in his hand was throbbing. He pushed it against Carlisle's chest, roughly where the heart beat. Usually. Under normal circumstances. In normal people. It felt strange to be sitting on another man's lap; Charlie couldn't remember ever doing that before.

When Carlisle slid two hands onto his back, pulling him closer, it got harder to hold the gun steady. It was all that stood between them now.

'How old are you?'

Carlisle ran a finger down his spine and Charlie shuddered. Only slightly, barely a reaction. But he had the nagging feeling that it was noticed.

'Old.'

'How can that be?'

Carlisle took one hand off his back and reached for the gun. His long fingers wrapped around the barrel. He pushed it aside. Slowly, Charlie's fingers released their grip on the metal. Carlisle placed it on the floor next to the armchair, reached for Charlie's now empty hand, and pressed his lips to the palm.

'It just is,' his mouth moved.

‘Are you older than me?’ asked Charlie, who was captivated by the sight of the pale lips touching each of his fingers individually. Carlisle smiled, intertwined his hand with Charlie's, and pulled him in so that their upper bodies were pressed against each other.

'My coat is older than you, Chief.'

'That's impossible. You look so young.'

Carlisle's mouth was just an inch away from his, yet there was no breath reaching his lips as Carlisle spoke, 'Looks can be deceiving.'

Charlie had one hand on Carlisle's chest; the shirt was smooth and cold beneath his hand. Wrinkled where Charlie had grabbed him by the collar earlier.

'I had already lived several lives when you were born.'

Charlie leaned back a little, searching for the lie in Carlisle's eyes. It was all too impossible, too fantastical. How far could reality bend before it broke?

He should be disgusted, scared to death. Run away, fight for his life. None of his survival instincts seemed to be working properly. Whoever he was facing was the most dangerous man Charlie had ever encountered. And he didn't want to run. He wanted to bury his hands in the blonde hair and expose his neck. Lie down and let himself be torn apart. Get another kiss that tasted of blood and wine.

Desire flooded him like hot water. It crept into him through his fingertips, he tasted it on the back of his tongue, swallowed hard. Carlisle's eyes darted to the movement of his neck, the bouncing Adam's apple.

More questions gathered in his head, ready to tumble out of his mouth, each more urgent than the next, but he couldn't bring himself to ask them. Whatever Carlisle might tell him would not satisfy him anyway. It was a strange game they were playing, so he asked only one, 'Can you tell me what you want to do to me?' He pushed his hips forward slightly, sliding his hands over Carlisle's shoulders and onto his neck. The skin there seemed slightly warmer, but perhaps it was his own warmth he was feeling. An illusion. Carlisle's grip tightened, just for a second, his nails digging into Charlie's skin so deeply that marks would remain, then he eased his hands.

'Are you trying to make me lose control?' There was that raspy tone in Carlisle's voice again. Playing with fire wasn't was he did, Charlie walked into a house ablaze. On the other hand, he was never someone who knew when to stop. Or how. 'Answer my question,' he demanded, arching his back a bit, feeling the soft strands of hair in Carlisle's neck under his fingers.

A noise made Charlie flinch. Something had crashed onto the roof, probably a branch. He looked up. At that moment, he felt Carlisle grab his thighs, stand up, the world began to spin, the living room disappeared and tilted. Charlie's back landed on something soft. Yielding.

It took him a moment to recognize his bedroom, the wall with the faded quilt, the crumpled sheets on which he was lying. He propped himself up on his elbows. Carlisle stood in front of the bed.

'What…' he began, then decided not to ask. Whatever had just happened broke another strand of the logic that had held Charlie's world together until this night.

Carlisle sank down on the bed, one knee between Charlie's legs.

'I want to do everything to you.'

Charlie stared up at him, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, and somehow he knew Carlisle didn't have that problem. He could see him clearly. It was a strange thing to be seen so thoroughly, as if Carlisle's attention had made him more present, more alive. There was irony in that somewhere, Charlie felt. It takes him another two seconds to remember what he had asked, why he had been so eager to know.

He sank back onto the bed, wrapped his arms around Carlisle's neck, and pulled him down with him. Which was not what one should do after someone has basically revealed that they want to devour you. There was a part of Carlisle that wanted to hurt him. That was a fact. That was certain. So why did Charlie want to see what would happen? Feel what Carlisle wanted to do. Stick his finger in the wound and prevent it from healing?

'Do you think we've both lost our minds?' his voice was strained, Carlisle was heavy as he lowered himself onto him, pressed against his chest, pushed himself between his thighs.

'Possibly.'

Carlisle reached for Charlie's face. He ran his thumb over his lips, his cheek, along his jaw.

'Are you the devil?'

Carlisle's face became clearer the longer they were in the darkness. It burned itself into Charlie's consciousness. 'Do you believe in the devil?' Carlisle seemed amused.

Charlie shook his head. 'God?' Carlisle asked, and he shook his head again.

'What do you believe in, then?'

Charlie has never been asked that before, 'I'm not sure anymore.'

Carlisle looked as if he wanted to say something but decided against it. And Charlie didn't know if he would have wanted to hear it. The old clock on the wall crept toward half past two, ticking quietly as it relentlessly devoured time.

The longer the night went on, the less Charlie recognized himself in what he was doing. As if he had left himself behind at the police station. Everything after that was barely comprehensible.

Carlisle let go of his face, his cold fingers sliding off his skin, and sat up. He knelt over Charlie's thighs and began to unbutton his shirt. Charlie knew this was the end for him before the first button was undone. Only the moon put some light through the clouds and past the curtains into the room. It was enough to make Carlisle's body stand out against the darkness. The alabaster-colored skin. Taut muscles. A body carved from marble.

Charlie reached out a hand, but stopped just short of his stomach. Carlisle let his shirt slide to the floor and grabbed Charlie's hand before he could pull it back. He placed it on the middle of his upper body, 'You can touch me.'

'Did I dream you? Put you together in my head?'

Charlie let go of him, Carlisle followed his hand and pressed it into the pillows above his head. Leaning down, ‘Don't be fooled. There's a brute underneath all that.’

Charlie ran his tongue over his lips, which felt dry.

'Where?'

The last shred of reason dripped away. Bleeding out of Charlie. Soaking the sheets.

'Show me.'

Perhaps that was the moment when all restraint gave way. All resistance, all wriggling and unwillingness. Charlie couldn't remember exactly afterwards. Or maybe it was when Carlisle turned to face him for the first time. Who could say? Events always became blurred in the stories that were told about them.

Carlisle moved as if he had to remember how to do it. Practiced. Every movement controlled. A predator in a cage. When he pulled his own belt out of his pants, Charlie grabbed his hand, 'Stop that.'

Carlisle frowned, 'Undressing myself?'

'Controlling yourself.'

The belt landed on the floor with a heavy thud, the metal buckle clattering, 'You don't know what you're asking.'

Charlie sat up, pulled his shirt over his head, and threw it behind him, crumpled, 'I can take it.'

Carlisle's hand shot forward, grabbed his neck, and pushed him back onto the bed, 'No, you can't.'

'Try me,' said Charlie, watching his eyes wander over his chest. There was a grin beneath his serious face, a fire. Charlie could see the beast creeping to the surface. In the flexing of Carlisle's hand around his neck, the twitch of the corner of his mouth, 'Feeling suicidal, Chief?'

'Perhaps you're overestimating yourself, Doctor,' Charlie clicked his tongue as he spelled out Carlisle's title. Felt the word heavy in his mouth.

Carlisle fanned his hand, drawing five red lines across Charlie's chest as he pulled it down, 'Provoking me won't work.'

Charlie pushed his arms above his head, stretched, felt the wood of the headboard at his fingertips. Carlisle's jaw twitched.

'I think it already has.'

Charlie saw a face contorted into a grin before his hands were grabbed so tightly he could feel his bones crunching. One hand pressed him into the pillows, holding him immobile. Lips on his neck, a tongue on his skin. His head was turned to the side, muscles in his neck rebelling. Between two layers of fabric, Carlisle's thigh pushed between his legs. He was so hard it started to hurt, his cock throbbing under the restrictive denim.

He felt sharp teeth on his skin, but they didn't break through, just scratched the top layer. The hand that had been resting on his chest moved down, its fingers cold. When they slid under his waistband, Charlie opened his mouth. It seemed to him as if he had forgotten to breathe for a few seconds, but no air reached his lungs because a mouth was pressed onto his. He felt dizzy, the hand moved lower, brushing against his cock, which was warm and already sticky.

'You're terribly hard, Chief,' Carlisle's words nestled on Charlie's tongue, who scoffed, 'And you? Does everything still work if you're really as old as you say you are?'

Carlisle pressed his lips against the corner of his mouth, moved to his ear, 'Works just fine.'

Carlisle let go of his hands, which had become somewhat numb without Charlie noticing, took one of his tingling hands and placed it between his legs. There was something hard pressing against the zipper of his black pants.

Charlie's heart skipped two beats, 'Why me?'

'Have you ever looked in a mirror?' Carlisle's voice was just a whisper on the skin under his ear. He shuddered.

'You're utterly beautiful.'

'I've never been called that before,' Charlie flinched as Carlisle's hand pulled out of his pants and began to unzip them.

'That's a shame. You should hear it every day,' the words sank into another kiss. A tongue pressing on Charlie's. Taking his breath.

His body grew warm and pliant, blood rushed to his limbs, tingling, his skin felt strangely tight. When Carlisle broke away from his lips, Charlie gasped for air, watching as his pants were pulled down his legs and Carlisle stood up to peel off the rest of his clothes.

The body that was now fully exposed was more Greek god than human. The kind you find unearthed in ruins from ancient times. Statuesque.

He swallowed everything he wanted to say. Nothing would have been appropriate. Nothing sufficient. Maybe Carlisle was an angel, not a devil. Maybe Charlie had misunderstood everything. Didn't it say somewhere in the Bible that they were also terrifying? Sunday school was so long ago, he couldn't remember. He didn't believe in higher powers or prayer. But he would get down on his knees for this man.

Carlisle

Charlie was beautiful in a way that made Carlisle feel starved. There was still a boy in the man, a rebellious streak he hadn't lost. An unyielding spirit behind those dark eyes.

Carlisle needed every minute, every second of his centuries-long exercise in self-control, to keep from pouncing on the man lying on the bed, looking up at him. Eyes piercingly fixed on his. Carlisle knew what effect they had on humans. Inviting, then horrifying. Beauty that humans only wanted to see from afar. Then they ran, sensing that they were facing the most dangerous predator in the world.

Not Charlie. Something was so fundamentally different in his behavior that Carlisle couldn't figure him out. He couldn't want him as much as Carlisle wanted him. The extent of his desire was all-encompassing, had overwhelmed him suddenly and completely. He rarely had new experiences anymore, but this was unfamiliar to him. It was as terrifying as it was invigorating.

'So, do you work out sometime, or?' Charlie pointed vaguely at him, eyebrows raised. Carlisles grinned, 'Still joking, huh?' He sank onto the bed, hungry for the warm body and bitten lips. He placed a kiss on the middle of Charlie's stomach, right on his sternum where a thin layer of sweat had formed on his muscles and ran his lips over his chest, placed them on his neck, and felt the blood pumping so close beneath the skin, he could practically taste it.

He rarely gave in to his desires. Control had built a wall around them, piece by piece. A barrier against everything he didn't want to be. Bloodthirsty. Disregarding human life. He wanted to help, he always had, and got called selfless for it. But he knew better. Buried beneath his restraint, the monster crouched in the corner, at all times. Waiting to break free. He had always suspected that he would eventually be proven right on this particular assumption.

He had heard it described, desire so strong it overrides everything. Stammered in panic from those who had been forced to their knees before the Volturi, before Aro. Those who had so grossly violated the agreement of secrecy, they now had to pay with their lives for their mistakes. Part of Carlisle had felt pity for them, but the other part, the larger one, felt they deserved their punishment. And perhaps he had thought it a myth. Dismissed it as bogus stories from those, who couldn't control themselves. And wanted to excuse their weakness.

'Don't think that could never happen to you, my boy. Your arrogance has made you careless,” Aro had said to him after he watched them rip apart a juvenile vampire, who had attacked a young farmer at a fair, and swore that his blood had smelled so good to him that he couldn't hold back, even though he had tried so hard.

Well, who was he to talk now?

That joke was at his expense. He heard fate laughing as he kissed Charlie's stomach. Just above the navel. The other man had one hand clawed into the pillow above his head, the other resting on Carlisle's head, fingers buried in his hair. It left small traces of blood in the strands. The wound in his palm still open. Carlisle licked a stripe down to a throbbing cock. Charlie arched his back and exhaled with his mouth open, legs falling further apart. Carlisle almost lost his mind. I have to see, he thought and crawled back up. Pressed himself between Charlie's legs in the process, made more bare skin rub against each other.

Charlie had his eyes closed, mouth open, breath stuttering. He was warm. Cheeks slightly reddened, barely visible. Carlisle wanted to crawl inside him, find a place behind his ribs and spread like a disease. Creep into every cell. Make the dividing lines between them disappear.

'Have you done that before?'

Charlie opened his eyes and Carlisle noticed surprisingly long lashes. 'Obviously. I have a child', he said, sounding confused and out of breath. 'With another man,' Carlisle plucked a piece of lint from his cheek.

'Are you asking me if I ever fucked a guy?'

'You are not one for subtleties, are you?'

Charlie looked at him, his pupils wandering back and forth between his eyes. He sat up abruptly, which took Carlisle by surprise, pushed him to the side so that he was lying on his back, and knelt over his hips. That did two things. It brought Carlisle's cock between Charlie's butt cheeks, where it was warm and tight, and it gave him a view of the man that he could get used to.

'I've done that before, yes. Do you want me to tell you about it?' Charlie moved his hips slightly, tilting his pelvis forward. Carlisle grabbed his thighs, pressing his fingers into the warm skin. He didn't respond to Charlie, who didn't seem to mind, because he started talking, while his hands were on Carlisle's chest, supporting himself.

'His name was Matthew. We were both at the police academy. Long days, hard drill, bunk beds. You know how it is,' he began, and although Carlisle knew nothing about the inner workings of a police academy, he nodded.

'We were in trouble. Again. Smuggled in cigarettes or booze, or both. I can't remember exactly. Anyway, we were given extra training as punishment. Running laps until our legs gave out. Late into the night. At least we had the showers for ourselves afterwards,' Charlie began drawing circles on Carlisle's chest with his finger, who said nothing because he was almost embarrassed by how much he wanted the story to continue.

'That's when I first noticed what a beautiful back he had. All muscle and a birthmark right between his shoulder blades. He had blond hair reaching down to it, one of those awful self-cut mullets, before he had to shave it off for the academy. Which wasn't a bad thing. The buzzed head looked good on him. However, I had my mouth on the birthmark before I could even think about what I was doing. And instead of punching me, which I would have expected, he put his hands on the tiles and spread his legs,' Charlie stopped for a second as Carlisle took his hands off his thighs and placed them firmly on his hips. His dick twitched, which Charlie must've felt. The increase in his pulse was an indication that he did.

'What happened then?' Carlisle pressed Charlie's hips down on his own. Absorbing his warmth.

Charlie grinned, leaned down, mouth close to Carlisle's ear.

'Then I fucked him. Until he really couldn't walk anymore.'

It was vulgar. There was no other word for it. Nasty. A way of speaking that Carlisle didn't normally appreciate. And it apparently made him so hard that Charlie slid forward a bit when he felt Carlisle's cock pressing against him. It didn't take him a second to slam Charlie into the sheets. Face down, trying in vain to push himself up, and it only took him the time it took Charlie to take a breath to open all his drawers and find a half-empty tube of Vaseline.

Then he was leaning over Charlie again, flooded with lust. Breathing in the scent, mouth at Charlie's ear, ‘I'm afraid I'm going to tear you apart.’

‘Don't threaten me with a good time, Doc,’ Charlie's voices was slightly muffled with his face half in the pillow.

'Always talking back,' Carlisle scooped up some vaseline and pressed a finger against the ring of muscles, 'let's see how long that lasts.' Carlisle could sense the words that wanted to come out of Charlie' s mouth sliding back into his throat as he pushed a finger inside and crooked it at the second joint. Charlie dug his nails into the sheets, knuckles turning white. Carlisle listened to his heart beating faster, pumping blood through the body. Making him warm. Soft. Pliable. 'Good?' Carlisle pressed a kiss on Charlie's neck, just below the hairline. The nod was almost imperceptible.

Carlisle was used to controlling his strength; after all, he was a doctor and performed procedures such as open-heart surgery, so he couldn't be rough. However, he wasn't overwhelmed with craving in the operating room, so strong that it began to throb behind his eyes. He had to restrain his movements, calm his muscles, control himself. Always regulate.

He couldn't let go, he would break Charlie's bones if he did. And it got harder by the second. He searched his memories frantically, trying to remember something similar. Blood that smelled good, a moment when he had to force himself back under control, but nothing came to mind. Only environments that had a mildly stimulating effect on him, no one who had brought him to the brink of madness. Charlie's body twitched as he added a second finger. It was warm and soft inside the other man's body, alive. All systems running at full speed, nerves firing continuously, skin becoming more sensitive. The smell of human life enveloping Carlisle.

Charlie breathed heavily, pressed his hands into the sheets beside his head, and tried again to sit up, but Carlisle had a hand on his neck and pressed him back down. He felt the muscles in Charlie's back working under his fingers. In vain.

'You are one strong son of a bitch,' Charlie said, turning his face toward him. 'I am sorry,' Carlisle said reflexively, wondering if he ever have been called this specific name before.

'Don't be sorry,' Charlie whispered, his voice coarse, 'Be rougher.'

What is it with this man, Carlisle thought. 'Don't ask that of me,' he scissored his fingers and Charlie rounded his shoulders, breathed out through his nose. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The storm relentlessly pelted rain onto the roof. Streams of rainwater ran down the windows.

Charlie pulled himself up a little and this time Carlisle let him, his fingers slipping out. Charlie turned around, one hand reaching for Carlisle's face, the other for his hand, pressing it back between his legs.

'I'm not that easy to break,' he said, the last word stuttered as Carlisle pushed three fingers back into him.

Carlisle closed his eyes and pressed his nose into Charlie's cheek. Before him, the path of reason crumbled. It was worn away like rock by the sea. Steadily. Tirelessly.

'Let go,' Charlie's breath hit Carlisle's ear, the words crept into his head. As he reached up to support himself, he broke some wood off the headboard. The crash echoed through the air like a cracking whip, mimicking the thunder outside.

The next time he opened his eyes, he could see someone else in the reflection in Charlie's dark pupils. The monster had come. Its teeth bared.

Charlie

Something had changed. Transformed. Like autumn turning into winter. Barely noticeable. Insidious. Suddenly there was ice on the fallen leaves. The man bent over him had emerged. Charlie couldn't have described what it was when asked, but he could see it. In the night-black eyes. Taste it in the next kiss that tore his lower lip open. Feel in the slender fingers that pushed deeper into him.

He moaned, pressing his head back into the pillows. Saw that Carlisle had broken a piece off the wooden ornament at the head of the bed and he became so hard it hurt to move.

My grandfather carved that, he thought, his pondering confused and muddled. He reached for Carlisle's face, pressed his thumb into the corners of his mouth, and shoved their lips together. Greedy was the right word for what he felt. He wanted it all. To have and feel and take everything Carlisle would give him.

He slid his arms around Carlisle's neck. Held him close. 'Do it,' he hissed into his ear. The other man bared his teeth for a moment. Charlie saw the razor-sharp canines flash, but he couldn't, mustn't understand their meaning. A wolf in sheep's clothing, he thought, but what a beautiful one.

The cock pushing into him felt all to human. Was hard flesh and veins.

Carlisle had one hand around his neck, pushing his jaw up with his thumb so that his head was bent back painfully. He had his mouth on his cheek, whispering against Charlie's skin, 'Breathe.'

He did as he was told. Gasped for air. Breathed through the intrusion, the piece of foreign body inside him. It burned. Pushed. He closed his eyes. Thunder broke. It sounded like the roof above them was collapsing.

The heat that came after the burning was what brought tears to Charlie's eyes. What happened when Carlisle began to move. 'Oh fuck,' his voice was all breath, vocal cords on strike.

'You asked for it,' Carlisle spoke against his ear, and Charlie was sure he would come. Just from the man's voice. 'Spread your legs wider, Chief,' Carlisle licked a wet streak from his jaw to his ear, 'like dear Matthew did for you.' Charlie groaned, followed the instructions. His knees bent so far to both sides, they almost touched the bed.

Carlisle began to roll his body against him, muscles working like a beautiful machine. He pushed himself up, eyes drilling into Charlie's face, who avoided his scorching gaze and looked down. Watched Carlisle's hips between his thighs, push into him again and again, sinking into his body.

'How does it feel?'

'Full,' Charlie muttered, arching his back, moving his hips to meet Carlisle's rhythm, who reached for his face and pushed a thumb between his teeth, forcing his tongue and lower lip down.

And spat into his mouth.

Oh Lord have mercy, Charlie thought, and then not much else. Then his eyes rolled back before he closed them. Then Carlisle pressed his mouth shut, leaned down, and bit him for the first time that night. Teeth broke through skin at the soft spot between his shoulder and neck.

Charlie grabbed Carlisle's upper arms, which felt velvety and tense beneath his fingers. The smell of blood entered his nose. Pain crept through his body, too little to overwhelm the pleasure. Enough to bring him to the brink of orgasm.

Then it got rough.

Carlisle let go of him and Charlie stared into his face, his mouth smeared red. A stark contrast against his pale skin. The next kiss was full of Charlie's own blood. Warm and metallic.

'Forgive me.'

As Charlie was turned onto his stomach, he thought he heard the words, but maybe he had just imagined them. It hurt briefly when Carlisle pulled out of him. The emptiness was strange but didn't last long as he pushed himself back in, leaning over him. Licking blood from his neck. Grabbing Charlie's hands and pressing them into the pillows above his head. Fingernails digging into his skin. It hurt. Charlie wanted it to never end.

Carlisle dug into him, deeper and deeper. Harder. Rhythm deadly.

‘Jesus,’ Charlie breathed into the pillow. His cock trapped between his own stomach and the bed. Getting more friction than he could handle. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to come.

Carlisle never let up. Didn't breathe. Didn't give Charlie a break. He moved tirelessly. Precisely. Lips on Charlie's neck, between his shoulder blades. Teeth scratched stripes into his skin. Something between a sob and a moan escaped Charlie's throat.

'Did I make you cry, Chief?'

Charlie felt Carlisle push himself up on his knees and pull him up with him, his back against his chest. Charlie shook his head, swallowing a few retorts because Carlisle had reached around him and had his cock in his hand. Sliding his thumb over the tip.

'Give it time,' he whispered in Charlie's ear. I knew it, Charlie thought, feeling his thighs cramp, I had a hunch who was behind the composed facade.

Charlie reached behind him, fingers in the blond hair. There wasn't a drop of sweat on Carlisle's face, but an expression of urgency. Hunger. He bent Charlie forward, who caught himself on his hands. He no longer felt the sprain or the cut in them. He only felt Carlisle's hand on his neck, the nails in his skin, hard flesh in his ass. Carlisle had grabbed his hips with his other hand and pulled his body back onto his cock. Repeatedly. The rhythm matched Charlie's heartbeat. His arms began to tremble, and the smell of blood grew stronger as it dripped from the wound in Charlie's neck onto the sheets.

I won't last, he thought, feeling the trembling wandering into his shoulders. Muscles burning. The next time he opened his mouth, the air that flowed into his throat and lungs was stale. He felt dizzy. A mouth on his ear, 'Are you close?' Charlie nodded, closed his eyes. Let his head hang between his shoulders.

Carlisle pulled him back up again, his strength inexhaustible and grabbed his throat so tightly that Charlie felt pressure on his Adam's apple. A thumb on his carotid artery. Carlisle's teeth pushed into the open wound once more and Charlie opened his mouth wide for a groan. The cracks in his lip tear further. He clawed his hands into Carlisle's arm, that was wrapped around his chest and let his head fall back onto a hard shoulder. His thighs began to tremble. Boiling heat shot between his legs, firing like lightning through his tense muscles.

'Cumming,' he stuttered, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. Carlisle tore his teeth from Charlie's skin, jerked his head around, and pressed a kiss to his lips. Blood-soaked tongue heavy on his own. The orgasm hit Charlie like a wave, pushing him underwater. He arched his back, trying to breathe through the tangy taste of blood and sweat and the sickening sweetness of it.

Carlisle grabbed his dick, which was already starting to drip cum. His firm grip and the feeling of the man's thick cock reaching into his damn stomach were enough, and he briefly saw white dots as he felt hot cum spurt, splashing through Carlisle's fingers onto his own stomach and chest. He couldn't breathe properly, Carlisle still had his tongue in his mouth, he could feel his deadly teeth scraping over his own. Have I already lost enough blood to pass out, wondered a small rational part of his oxygen-deprived brain, which immediately fell silent again as he fell over into soft sheets. His limbs felt like rubber. He rolled onto his back, arms trembling, and saw Carlisle leaning over him.

There was surely something he could have said, but nothing came to mind. This must be how people felt when they had a religious experience, when Jesus appeared in their living room or something. Only it wasn't the Savior who had come to Charlie, but the most beautiful monster in the world. It had promised, warned, that it would tear him apart, and it seemed to Charlie that it would make good on its promises.

Carlisle pushed two fingers into some cum that was stuck to Charlie's stomach, a little puddle above his naval, opened his mouth, and licked it off. Charlie stared at him, and his cock, which should have been spent, twitched curiously.

'Am I going to die?'

Charlie could barely hear his own question over the pounding of his heart. Over the desire that was rising up in him again. Madness, he thought, I'm going crazy. Carlisle didn't answer, but leaned down toward him, tongue on his chest. He moved upward, pressing delicate kisses on Charlie's feverish skin. Lips on his jaw, his chin, his mouth.

Of course, Carlisle was still hard. Still hungry. Charlie couldn't understand everything that was going on, couldn't make sense of it all, but one thing was clear — the man was as deadly as he was beautiful.

Carlisle lay down beside him, the bed sinking where his body settled. Before Charlie could turn toward him, he got pulled on top of him, face up. Treating me like a damn ragdoll, he thought, flinching as he felt Carlisle slowly push himself back into him. Inch by inch. His own cock filled up again. He noticed that Carlisle hadn't answered his question. Somewhere far back in his mind, an alarm started to go off. Very mildly. Quiet. Dying down as soon as Carlisle grabbed his hips and pushed him down onto that magnificent cock of his. Charlie couldn't do much more than breathe. Placing his hands on Carlisle's. The man under him moved a bit, pushed his hips upwards. It must have been heavy to have a grown man lying on top of him, Charlie thought, almost saying it out loud, but then remembered everything he had seen Carlisle do and swallowed his words as Carlisle bottomed out. Held him there. Let him tremble. Let him feel the length and thickness.

Carlisle

He buried his nose in Charlie's hair, felt the other man trembling, breathing, his skin covered with a thin layer of sweat. The blood on his neck was fresh and warm, and Carlisle pressed his lips to it and let some drip onto his tongue. It tasted like honey, like wine, like clear water, like everything Carlisle had denied himself all these years. He reached for Charlie's chest, wanting to feel the heartbeat beneath his palm, to feel the life raging in the body above him. With a jerk of his hips, he dug deeper into the warmth.

Charlie flinched, letting his head fall back, eyes closed, bitten lips parted. His cheeks were still flushed, his pulse racing but steady. Carlisle could still stop and avoid causing lasting damage. But I don't want to, thought the part of him that had torn open Charlie's throat. I want him. Faces blurred in his mind, names that should have been important to him fell apart into their letters, losing their meaning as Charlie reared up above him, making a sound as if he couldn't take it anymore. So beautiful, so strong. I want him, Carlisle had thought when he saw Charlie lying next to his car. I want him, when he sat opposite him on the couch.

He had walked into his own trap with his eyes wide open. And now they were both paying for it. Carlisle felt guilt somewhere behind the lust and thirst and the concentration and restraint it took not to shatter Charlie's bones. With each moan from him, it grew quieter, seeping into the blood-soaked sheets. Disappeared. Overshadowed by the hunger that made him want to crawl into Charlie's body. Bite and kiss and take more. Swallow the warmth and the blood and all the sounds.

'Is it good?'

Carlisle felt Charlie's ass clench around his dick every time he asked him something. Maybe it was his voice that did something to the man trembling above. He put his mouth to his ear, 'Answer me.' Charlie twitched, groaned. Rolled his hips against the hard length inside him. He nodded.

'Use your words, Charlie. What are you thinking?'

Charlie turned his head, eyes half closed, 'I think I should handcuff you to the bed and ride you like a goddamn mechanical bull.' The picture slammed into Carlisle's head and he grabbed Charlie's hips harder, 'Such a dirty mind, Chief.' He bucked his hips up, staying balls deep in the other man who made a pained noise followed by some heavy breathing. 'Do you know what I think?', Carlisle whispered against Charlie's ear, feeling the hairs on his neck and arms stand up. He shook his head, curling his toes, what Charlie noticed as he flipped them so fast, it would take Charlie a second to adjust. He didn't even make an effort to pull out. Pressing Charlie facedown into the pillows and bent down, 'I think your little handcuffs won't do a thing. I think I should hold you down, just like this and make you take me, over and over again. Mold you into shape. Make you beg.'

Charlie buckled so violently, moaning into the pillow, shoving himself against Carlisle's cock, that he knew he hit the nail on the head. He kneeled, pushing Charlie's hip up with him, watching with fascination how his own dick stretched the other man out. How the body shaped anew around the intrusion. Charlie got up a bit, steadied himself on his hands and pushed backwards, fucking himself on Carlisle's cock, making it slip in and out. Carlisle groaned, putting a hand on Charlie's lower back and let him move. It was a sight to behold, seeing the muscles in Charlie's back work, the black hair sticking sweaty to his neck.

Charlie made a sound. It sounded desperate. Escaping his throat involuntarily. Maybe it was that or the fact that he spread his legs further apart, collapsing onto his elbows, that made Carlisle cum. He grabbed Charlie's throat, slammed his body down, fangs in his neck, pushed so deep inside the other man, he hit some sort of resistance. Dick starting to pump while he pounded relentlessly. Sticky liquid coating his own dick inside Charlie's body. Flowing out next to it, dripping onto the sheet, making a squelching sound. His vision went white. He fell into a frenzy.

'Carlisle, I can't breathe.'

The voice came from far away. Not here, wasn't his concern. Sounded half gone anyway, like nothing he should worry about really. There was blood running down his throat, coating his mouth and tongue. Setting him ablaze.

Something teared under his hand. Fabric. Or skin.

'Carlisle.'

Warm fingers touched his hand that was wrapped around a throat he was about to crush. He pulled his teeth out of skin, himself out of a body, and pushed himself up on his hands. Everything in his body protested, wanted to continue. Beneath him, Charlie turned around. Just then, blood dripped from Carlisle's mouth onto his lips. Realization scratched at Carlisle's mind. Knocked, brought guilt and confusion and shame. Before it could all come crashing down on him, Charlie reached for his face. Smeared blood across his cheek with his thumb as he pulled him down into a salty kiss.

'I warned you,' he breathed into the other man's mouth. 'You did,' the answer sounded raspy. Charlie wouldn't be able to talk properly for days, Carlisle feared he'd hurt his windpipe and vocal chords. He sat up, kneeled between Charlie's legs. The man looked wrecked. In a way people were painted in old pictures lounging on white silk, beautiful in their despair.

The sheet under them was drenched in sweat and blood. Charlie breathed heavily. He must have been dizzy from blood loss at this point, Carlisle concluded. I did that to him, he thought. And underneath the rational part of him that should've feel the weight of that was a part that recognized the flushed face, the trembling legs, the swollen lips. I made him cum twice, made him almost cry with pleasure. Almost.

Charlie opened his legs wider, drew Carlisle's attention between them. Milky, sticky fluid dripped from the reddened hole.

'You didn't cry.'

Carlisle's rational part evaporated like the last smoke from a dying flame. As quickly and hotly as it had flared up, it died again. He pushed two fingers into Charlie, causing more cum to drip onto the bed. He looked up at Charlie, who bit his lip and looked at Carlisle's arm and hand between his legs. Carlisle leaned down toward him and ran his tongue over his chest, through the fresh blood, tasting it like an aphrodisiac in the back of his throat as he swallowed and ran his tongue over Charlie's earlobe.

'I can't take anymore.'

As Charlie said those words his hips bucked forwards, insides clenching as Carlisle put four long fingers inside him. Curling them.

'I think you can.'

When he started to pump his fingers in and out, scissoring, stretching Charlie wide open, the man arched his back, throwing his head to the side. 'God,' the word collapsed under the next rumble of thunder.

'God's not here,' Carlisle switched his fingers for his dick, easing back in with almost no resistance. He pushed Charlie's thighs back, hands behind his knees, and held them there. Made him immobile so he could only take what Carlisle gave him. Could only endure it.

The clock struck a new hour. The storm outside gained momentum, sweeping branches through the front yard and against the house.

Charlie did cry in the end. While coming a third time. Having sharp fangs in his neck. Feeling the world slip out of his grasp holding on to the man who drowned him in blood.

Forks, 2004

Of course, Carlisle hadn't told the boys everything; he had left out quite a lot. He was trying, after all, to respect Charlie's privacy. Somehow. But a few quotes had been mentioned and when he concluded his story, a barrage of questions came at him, which he should have expected.

'Chief Swan?'

'I mean, he's a good-looking guy.'

'Wait, was that the time you've told us you decided to stay in Forks for longer than planned?'

'I remember that!'

'Did he really ask you if you were the devil?'

They all stared at Emmet, who stared back. 'What? That's hot,' he said and shrugged. Edward grimaced and Jasper shook his head. 'That can hardly be described as hot, Emmet,' said Carlisle, mildly disturbed, 'I almost killed the Chief.'

'Yeah, but you didn't,' Jasper looked at him like he tried to figure something out. 'But I came very close,' Carlisle stood up, smoothed out the creases in his pants, 'And that's something I'll never be able to take back. I hurt him, badly, and I have to live with that.'

'Let's call it a night. I already told you too much, I got carried away,' he said and heard them groan. He smiled to himself, touched Jasper's shoulder and walked out of the room. He heard them talking quickly and excitedly to each other and couldn't blame them. Carlisle had never planned to tell them about Charlie, but maybe after 10 years, it was time. He went into the kitchen and absentmindedly ran his hand over the spotless stove. It was a shame, really, that they had never used it. Maybe an occasion would arise. Charlie eating his pasta came to mind, how he'd looked at him stubbornly and curious. He rested his hands flat on the marble countertop and looked out the window, watching the fir trees getting whipped by the wind.

'You were gone a few nights.'

Carlisle saw Jasper's reflection in the window and turned around, 'That didn't escape your notice, huh?' Jasper shook his head and crossed his arms, 'So the story didn't end where you ended it?'

'It ended eventually,' Carlisle said and could see that Jasper was not satisfied.

'Please leave it at that.'

Jasper didn't, he walked towards him, around the kitchenette in the middle of the room, 'Does Esme know?' Carlisle nodded. Jasper grabbed his wrist, 'Carlisle, why do I feel like someone is ripping my heart out of my chest? It tastes like bile, it hurts, it burns. What is that?'

Carlisle said nothing.

'Why did we move here after that? Did you see him again in between? What did he say when he saw you again after all these years?'

'Jasper…,' Carlisle slowly pulled his son's hand away from his skin.

'Were you in love with him?'

Carlisle looked up. 

'I can feel it. What's in here. You know I can,' Jasper placed a hand on his chest. 'I'm sorry, maybe you can block it or I'll leave the house for the night,' Carlisle suggested.

'There's no blocking it, it bleeds out of you,' Jasper explained, lowering his hand.

'I don't want to cause you any discomfort, I'll go,' before Jasper could protest, Carlisle was gone.

Jasper felt the throbbing pain subside as he went into the hallway.

'Where do you think he went?' asked Emmet, who was sitting on the steps. Jasper looked at Edward leaning against the opposite wall. Edward had seen a white house with dark bricks in Carlisle's mind, a police car. Just for a second before he tore himself out of Carlisle's head. Ashamed of having been there at all. He shrugged, said nothing. They stayed there for a while, listening to the rain and the quiet emptiness of the house, before dispersing, each with their own thoughts.