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needahugfromesme · 4 days

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poison, or, Carlisle becomes a jeweler

An excerpt from this 1933 one-shot. The Cullens are taking sorta-newborn Rosalie out in public tonight, and she wishes she could have pierced ears again. Rosalie POV.

It was hard to decide which was worse, the smell of the baking cookies or the paint fumes coming from my bedroom. I finally went outside to lounge on one of the patio chairs, watching the clouds and ignoring the book in my hands. I had tried and given up on three hairstyles already, and frustration wasn't good for my thirst.

Carlisle came home early. He didn't usually work the day shift, but he had arranged to have tonight off because of the play.

"Hello, Rosalie," he said as he drew back down the garage door. "You look lovely today… a new dress?"

"Yes, Esme found it earlier this week."

He nodded absently and headed for the back door. But he paused halfway up the walk, sniffing the air and making a face. "Good heavens," he murmured. "What is going on in that house?"

"Cookies and paint," I explained, giving him a faint smile.

"I think I'll join you out here, then… as long as possible." He sat in the other chair, his eyes drifting briefly to the book in my lap. He looked awkward for a moment and then appeared to gratefully discover the pile of mail in his hands. I sighed and stared back up at the clouds. Why could we move faster than the human eye could see, but we couldn't speed up time? Each day seemed to grow longer. It was so dull sitting here in the middle of nowhere with nothing but birds and clouds for company. And I certainly didn't want to sit out here in awkward silence with Carlisle.

"Can't take the smell anymore," Edward grumbled as the back door banged behind him. He nodded to Carlisle in greeting. "I'm going down to the river for a while."

"You're all cowards!" Esme shouted from inside the house. At first I thought she was angry, but Carlisle was doing that laughing-silently-while-reading thing.

"Rosalie wants her ears pierced," Edward announced over his shoulder just before he ducked into the woods.

When are you going to learn to mind your own business?! "Never mind," I growled to Carlisle, who was looking at me thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I don't have anything that would be able to pierce the skin, aside from…" He trailed off, making an uncomfortable gesture toward his mouth. I clenched my teeth and looked back up at the clouds. I wasn't going to dignify that with a response.

"Yes you do!" Edward called from the woods.

"No I… oh, yes I do," Carlisle murmured to himself. He was silent so long that I thought perhaps he had left, so I finally looked up at him again. "I could try," he told me. "I admit I've never done that particular procedure before, but… I actually do have something that might work."

I frowned. "What?"

"Something a friend once gave me, long ago…" he trailed off. His eyes glazed over in that way they did when he got lost in his memories. He stood, turning towards the house. "Join me?"

My curiosity was even stronger than my sense of smell, so I went with him back into the house and upstairs into his study. I had never been in here before. The walls were packed with bookcases, and books were also overflowing off of some smaller shelves that had been hung on the walls. Besides the hundreds of books—some old, some new, some in other languages—there were stacks of brittle, yellowed paper, all sorts of paintings covering every inch of the walls above the bookcases, and little odds and ends dotted around the room.

A huge ornate desk filled a good quarter of the room, strewn with even more books and crisp-looking medical journals, as well as a framed picture of himself, Esme, and Edward with the Statue of Liberty in the background. The air was heavy with dust and mold, as well as some sharper smells coming from a little row of vials up on one high shelf. I never would have guessed Carlisle could be so sloppy. Hadn't they only lived in this house for two years?

"I think it's in this one," Carlisle said absently. He knelt down by a trunk and flipped open its latches. It opened with a creak. After setting aside a stash of papers, Carlisle drew out what looked like a jewelry box. It was beautiful, delicately carved out of some dark wood with twining leaves and animals and stars. Tiny rubies had been set as the eyes in each of the animals, and some of the stars were inlaid with diamonds.

I couldn't begin to guess how much the box was worth. Carlisle carried it to the desk and opened it, revealing a bed of red velvet on which rested a neat row of white instruments. I supposed they were medical instruments: there were three blades, all different sizes, and two needles, one with an eye and a smaller one without, and a long hook-shaped thing, and two other sinister-looking objects that I hadn't the faintest guess about. Carlisle selected the smaller of the two needles.

"I don't know," I said, drawing away slightly. "What is that even made of?"

"Bone," he said absently, examining the needle with interest. "Vampire bone, I mean. I think it would work," he added to himself, testing the sharp point with his fingertip.

"Ugh! What kind of friend gave you that?"

"Do you remember what I told you about the Volturi? The coven in Italy?" I nodded. "Aro is one of the three who rule jointly. He was the one I spent the most time with during my time there. I found a sort of kindred spirit in his company. We differed on a great many issues, but we shared a deep curiosity about the nature of things, the sciences in particular. He has also made an extensive study on the supernatural world as a whole, both the mythical and…" he smiled. "Things that should be mythical. He has performed and compiled a great deal of research regarding our species.

"Anyway, Aro was quite amused with my desire to learn and practice medicine. Sadly, like so many of our kind, he does not share our respect for the sanctity of human life… he could not understand why I would trouble to devote myself to their care. He also had an interesting sense of humor, to say the least. When I took my leave of his coven, he presented me with this. I can't imagine how many hours it took him to fashion these." He looked back at the other instruments. "I suppose he copied their design from some of my regular instruments. He said I would need a proper set of tools, in case I ever got tired of patching up humans and decided to care for my own species."

"But why would you need these?" I asked. "You told me that we hardly ever get hurt, and that our bodies just repair themselves if it does happen."

He laughed again. "I think it was meant as rather a joke. I couldn't fathom a scenario where a vampire would require any medical procedure involving tools such as these… until today, that is!"

I twisted the silk of my skirt between my fingers. "And you think it will work on my skin? Would it hurt?"

"I don't think it would hurt any more than when you had your ears pierced before… at least not the bit with the needle. But in order for the hole to remain open, I'll need to apply just a bit of venom. I think that might sting, though it'll only be on there for a moment."

I squeezed the fabric tighter between my fingers, shaking my head. "I don't want your mouth on me again."

"No, of course not," he protested, quickly crossing the room to retrieve the black bag he took to work every day. He set it on the desk beside the carved box and drew out a small silver case. I frowned, expecting some other bizarre collection of implements, but it only contained a few cotton swabs, a small bottle of clear liquid, some gauze, and various other tools that a real doctor would actually carry around.

"What are you two working on?" Esme asked, tapping on the door as she came in.

"Making strides in vampire medicine," Carlisle announced cheerfully. "Although in this case I might be more of a jeweler than a surgeon… Rosalie is thinking about having her ears pierced."

Esme looked surprised. "We can do that?"

Carlisle went over the explanation again, enthusiastically showing her the bone instruments. She wrinkled her nose. "And whose bone is that, exactly?" she asked.

"I don't know," Carlisle admitted. "Aro always had various odds and ends lying around. Anyway, I was explaining to Rosalie that in order for the holes not to close again, I'll need to apply a bit of my venom." He flourished one of the cotton swabs, and then dug inside his black bag again, retrieving an empty syringe. "I could fill this with water and irrigate the wound to clean out the venom. If it goes according to plan, the venom will scar the damaged tissue just enough for the hole to remain open. Well, Rosalie, shall we try it?"

"I don't know," I muttered, staring at the needle in his hand and trying to imagine a dead person's bone being stabbed through my ear.

"I'll do it," Esme volunteered.

"Have you ever done it before?" I asked doubtfully.

"No!" she laughed. "I meant, I'll have mine done first. You can watch, and then decide if you want to go ahead with it."

"Oh. All right."

"You're sure, love?" Carlisle asked her. "It would be quite permanent."

"I would have done it years ago, had I known it was possible! Well, where do you want me, doctor?"

He decided that she should sit in the chair behind his desk, so that she could lay her head down on her arms with her ear up to the ceiling. He retrieved an old towel and draped it over her neck and shoulder, clearing away her hair.

"Saline or regular water for the irrigation?" he asked nobody in particular. "Saline, surely… fewer impurities that might interfere with tissue fusion…" He filled the syringe with the clear liquid that had been in the little bottle. He squirted some of it onto the needle and carefully wiped it dry with the gauze. But as soon as he brought the needle close to Esme's ear, it snapped in half in his fingers. He stood back up, staring at the rubble in his hands as though he had just witnessed a miracle.

"Fascinating," he mumbled, studying the jagged, broken ends of the needle. "I didn't expect…" He stopped breathing completely, lost in thought, and then began murmuring more long words to himself.

"Can we still use one of the pieces?" Esme asked. "Carlisle?"

He blinked and seemed to remember that we were in the room. "I have another… just the one, though. I'll be more careful this time." He cleaned the larger needle with the saline, this time handling it as if it were made of glass. "Ready?" he asked Esme.

She hummed her consent and he went to work, ever so carefully pushing the needle through the stone flesh of her earlobe. There was an odd little screeching sound, like an animal was screaming far out in the woods somewhere. Esme flinched slightly and he froze in place. "No, I'm fine; it doesn't hurt much," she reported, her voice muffled by her folded arms and sleeves. "The noise just startled me."

He withdrew the needle and immediately picked up a cotton swab, whisking it inside his mouth for a moment to coat it with his silvery venom. Esme's brow furrowed as he dabbed the venom into the puncture wound, and despite myself I leaned closer in curiosity, trying to catch a glimpse inside the torn flesh. I couldn't see much; the flesh was white inside, but the venom was already doing whatever it did. Next he gathered a handful of the towel directly under her ear and used the syringe to wash the venom out.

"Does it sting?" he asked her worriedly.

"It did, a bit," she answered. "When you put the venom in it. But it's gone now—oh!" She sat up suddenly, raising her hand to her ear. "It's feeling sort of tickly now."

"I think that's the tissue healing," Carlisle said. "We'll have to see if the venom worked like I thought it would. I don't know if I left it on long enough." We all waited, Carlisle and I watching in fascination as the miniature wound shrank somewhat. But his plan had worked; the healing soon slowed to a stop, leaving a hole that looked almost normal, if too large by a hair's width.

"Feels right," Esme said, tugging curiously on her ear. "Rosalie, would you get the earrings so we can try it?"

I dashed out and back in, and handed her the earrings. She carefully slid one into the new hole and pronounced the procedure a success. Carlisle went to work again and soon she was smiling into her hand mirror, wearing both earrings. The second time had looked easier, and it looked like the damage had been perfectly symmetrical.

"All right, I'll do it," I announced.

"You could wear these tonight," Esme said, taking the earrings back off. "They're perfect with that dress."

"But then you won't have anything to wear tonight," I pointed out, though I held out my hand to accept them.

"Oh, that will be soon remedied," she promised. "You could help me pick some out... Carlisle, when do you think she could go out shopping?"

"Shopping?" Carlisle said, his eyes darting to mine. "That's quite a jump from an outdoor concert at night."

"I'm doing well," I interrupted. "Aren't I? You've said it before. And the only way to get used to moving around people is to move around them."

Carlisle focused on the needle for a moment, carefully scrubbing it again with the saline. "I suppose you're right," he said uncomfortably. "It's just that you're doing so well that everything is quite ahead of schedule, and your eyes are still red. All it would take is for someone to accidentally cut themselves…"

"Please, Carlisle," I moaned. "I'll be careful, and I'll keep my eyes down. And Edward could come with us, or you, just in case. I just want to get out and do things again!"

"Perhaps after we've moved…" He was weakening. I was proud of my self-control, because I wanted to shout at him that it was his fault I couldn't be around people, but I didn't. He would only get that miserable look and use it as proof that I wasn't ready, and I was ready. I had to be.

"So this can be a test tonight," I offered, pleased with how calm I sounded. "If I do well again—and you know I will—then I can go out with Esme. We could wait until next week."

Carlisle frowned. "We'll see how tonight goes," he agreed. "Then we'll take it from there. If you do well, perhaps our next step could be an event indoors, but in a large space—another concert or play, where everyone is seated and we can stay out of sight."

Fury welled up inside me, all the more potent because I couldn't let it show. I smiled instead, almost feeling my stone flesh cracking from the tension as I forced it out. "Whatever you say. But I know I can do it."

"And confidence is important," Carlisle replied. "But so is prudence."

"Carlisle's right, dear," Esme soothed. "One day at a time… we have all the time in the world, after all. No rush."

I kept my mouth shut after that, afraid I would lose my shaky grip on my temper. It had been her idea to go shopping in the first place, but of course she would side with Carlisle as soon as he opened his mouth! I sat down and laid my head in my arms, refusing to wince as the needle stabbed through my earlobe with its little shrieking sound.

Carlisle left the needle in place this time while he prepared the venom, and then he slipped out the needle. He quickly applied the cotton swab, coating the edges of the wound with his poison as he spun it around.

My fingers crushed my hair as the familiar flame began to burn its way into the torn flesh. Only for a second, I told myself firmly. It won't be like before. But I could already feel the phantom flames creeping down my neck and out my arm; it seemed like only a moment ago I had been drowning in the lake of fire. My insides twisted and my breath quickened.

"Get it out," I demanded, my nails digging into the polished wood of his desk. "Get it out now!"

Carlisle hastily switched the swab for the syringe and then flooded the wound with the saline. Almost immediately the flame was quenched. "I'm sorry," he said, filling the syringe again and soaking the shoulder of my dress as he pumped more saline into my ear. "Did it hurt very much?"

"Of course it hurt," I hissed, sitting up and kneading my ear. "I'm fine. Let's get the other one done."

"You're sure?"

"I can't very well go around with one pierced ear, can I?" I snapped. But I drew a deep breath, forcing myself to look up into his wounded eyes. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry. I know you're doing the best you can. Let's just get it over with, please."

He worked quickly. The flames were smaller this time, and he worked in a blur so that the whole thing was over in less than ten seconds. He cleaned up while I tried on the earrings.

"Perfect," Esme proclaimed, giving me her warmest smile.

#ohohohohoh what a wonderful depiction of family dynamic!!!#and characters #I LOVE how you make Carlisle's prudence come out in a slightly condescending and annoying way #The dude's just like that #And Esme taking Carlisle's side hurts even more😭#Brilliant writing!!!!!

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needahugfromesme · 5 days

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honesty

On ao3 here. CW: Brief reference to domestic abuse.

1923

Esme flopped onto the freshly made bed with a sigh, arms outstretched.

Her husband watched the scene for a moment. Then delicately picked up one arm, lying down beside her, and letting her arm fall over his body. His shoes were kicked off with his toe — falling unceremoniously on the floor with a thwack — before pulling his legs onto the mattress.

When she had insisted the first piece of furniture they built in their new-to-them home was their entirely unnecessary bed he thought she was endearingly silly. Yet, there was something to be said about the familiar comfort after a week of traveling across the continent.

His eyes slipped closed, listening to her unnecessary breathing, calm, slow, and steady. She was hoping to finally be reintroduced to human society and was doing everything possible to make it a successful transition. He felt the mattress shift as she moved closer, her shoulder bumping into his as she threaded her fingers through his.

He presumed he was as close to the sleep as he ever would be. Comfortable and somnolent. Warm from the sun shining through windows that did not yet have coverings. Birds chirping in the backyard. His wife by his side, the honeysuckle of her shampoo mixing with the fresh scent of the soap she used to wash their linens.

“May I be honest with you?” She asked quietly.

“I hope you are always honest with me, Esme,” he muttered.

He heard her blow air out of her nose, and knew, even without peeling his eyes open, she was smiling fondly.

“I feel safer now.” He felt her lift their joined hands off the bed, holding them upright, tilting them slowly. No doubt watching the thousands of beams reflecting off their unnatural skin.

“In this house?”

The house was located further from civilization than the former hunting lodge, minutes away from a small logging town, they had occupied in Wisconsin. The structure itself was larger, the newlyweds and the perpetual teenager finding they needed far more space than the previous two bedrooms. Structurally he questioned its soundness, it needed quite a few renovations. But Esme’s smile when she caught a glimpse of the slightly dilapidated project in his countless brochures ensured he was purchasing the property.

“In this country,” she said, letting their hands fall to the mattress with a quiet thunk.

“Oh?” He opened his eyes, blinking slowly, lazily turning his head to look at her. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

She did not continue, although he knew she could. Vulnerability no longer came naturally to Esme. She had reached a point in life where almost every word she spoke was mulled over laboriously before it met the air. The only person who ever got a look at her bare thoughts was a telepath Carlisle pitied and envied.

“Penny for your thought?”

“I believe… I have known in the logical portion of my mind Char- he no longer posed a threat to my well-being. I know that. Yet, when I saw the map today, and realized how far from home I was, it felt as if I could finally breathe.”

“Are you sure that’s not the mountain air?” He smiled.

“It might be,” she laughed lightly, rolling her head to look at him.

“I wish I had known you felt unsafe. We could have moved sooner. I presumed you might find it difficult to leave any earlier.”

Indeed she had found it difficult to leave the place where her son was buried. “Worthless mother,” and “abandoning him” were the only words he could discern as she tearlessly sobbed into his shoulder two weeks earlier.

“But that is precisely my point. I never felt unsafe, at least in the moment. Only in hindsight.”

“Small mercies?”

“Indeed,” she smiled. She let go of his hand, reaching up to brush a stubborn lock of hair off his forehead.

They fell into what he had nicknamed ‘comfortable silence.’ There was little pressure to fill the void, the silence could sit, be peaceful even. It was one of the elements of marriage he found most surprising and gratifying.

He watched as she closed her eyes and scooted closer, resting her head on his chest. His arm wrapped around her back.

“You used the word home,” he said after fifteen minutes or so.

“I misspoke, my home is here, with you,” she said quickly, correcting what she assumed was a transgression.

“Es, I only wished to know where you were referring.”

“I suppose Ohio,” she sighed. “It is humorous because it did not when I was there.”

“Oh, I understand that sentiment entirely.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I would never step foot in London again, and yet if someone asks me where I am from my mind immediately goes to that grey dreary awful city.”

“You would never go back?” She asked, looking up at him. He nodded causing a wrinkle between her brows. “That’s a pity. I have always dreamed of going one day, in the far, far future.”

“Perhaps I could be convinced by an enchanting woman,” he conceded.

“If only I knew where to find one,” she laughed, triggering his laughter. He caught her lips in a quick, familiar kiss.

She broke the embrace with a contented sigh, lying her head back on his chest.

“Did Ohio ever feel like your home?” He asked, threading his fingers through her hair.

“You can not let a dead dog lie,” she sighed into his chest.

“I’m curious about my wife. Is that a crime?”

“You are too curious for your own good, Carlisle Cullen.”

“A trait we share.”

She took a deep breath, he could feel her body rise and fall against his. “I think it must have been the day I told my parents what he had done. I remember feeling entirely alone, clutching a cold rag to my eye to stop the swelling, while my mother went on a tirade about how difficult marriage was. I distinctly remember thinking there was very little left for me in life.”

“You have never told me about that day.”

“I told you they turned me away,” she refuted.

“Yes, but never anything further.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Only what you care to share,” he said. Her breathing halted, her body tightening under his hands. He continued speaking, “You do not have to tell me a thing, Esme. But I know when you broach a subject first you have been thinking of the manner for quite some time.”

She huffed, but he could feel her cheek move as she smiled.

“Recently,” she said, shifting off his chest, moving to tuck into his side to look at him comfortably, “I have begun to doubt my father ever knew what Char-he ever did.” He knew she corrected herself on his account, and as her husband, he should feel guilty about this fact, but when it came to Charles Evenson his rage often trumped his desire to be a supportive husband.

“I thought you said you told him.”

“When I got home he was in the fields,” she sighed as if lifting a heavy object.

For the first year after her transition, Esme had refused to discuss her past, unless entirely necessary. Only after much hurt and passive disagreements did she reveal this was due to the grief, and not lack of trust in her new companions. With clearer eyes the sorrow was evident, the slump of her shoulders, the spaces she left between words, the tone that made it feel as if every word was an exertion of energy.

“I told my mother, everything. She had not said a word in response, besides offering me a rag. He came in for a glass of water. My back was to him. I can no longer remember his face the last time I saw him but I remember the joy in his voice. He kissed the top of my head and asked the reason for the visit. Before I could answer my mother told me to go wash up. When I came back she told me he was going to drive me home in the buggy. I would still have time to make dinner.”

“And you suppose she did not tell him?”

“I presumed she had for the longest time.”

“What has caused you to doubt now?”

“Edward.”

“Edward?”

“Knowing Edward. Make no mistake I would have done anything for my son, but he was a babe. There was a part of me that assumed I could not understand my father’s indifference because I did not know the struggles of raising an impertinent child. But becoming well acquainted with Edward and all his flaws. I know I know I am not his mother, and I do not wish to be, but I care for him. If he confessed a fraction of what I had that day, I believe I would be compelled to commit a massacre. I can no longer conceive how my father would have driven me home, would have held polite conversation with my husband, if he had any idea.”

“Your mother knew, yet she arranged for him to take you back.”

“My mother never cared for me,” she said plainly.

“I am sure, she lov-”

“No, she did not. She told me as much, countless times. She never wished for children. I have accepted this long ago. But my father adored me. He would take me everywhere with him, he would just beam as he introduced me. ‘This is my little girl, Esme Anne.’ That first year of marriage he came by our house. I was in no shape to receive company and Charles asked him to leave. A few months after Charles enlisted he left a meal on our doorstep. He did not knock or leave a note — he could not write. But I know the taste of Platt beef. I am convinced he must not have known.”

“Perhaps he did not.”

“I was cruel to him.”

“Esme, I am sure he understood why you did not contact him. Even if he did not know precisely what you were experiencing.”

“At my brother’s funeral, he approached me, and I made some wicked comment about both his children being dead and how happy he must be,” she laughed humorlessly, a sound that bordered a sob. “Knowing now the pain he was facing, I can never forgive myself. Even if he knew.”

“You were hurt, you believed the one who was supposed to love you had thrown you into cruelty-”

“Carlisle, I do not need justifications,” she said softly, yet firmly, palm pressing to his chest.

“I understand,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

A true sentiment, one not meant to comfort or justify. I love you and the cruelty you see when you face a mirror. I love you and the fishing weights tied to your ankles in the form of memories I will never fully understand. I love you.

She pulled herself away from their embrace, forcing herself to sit up with a quiet groan. Her knees went to her chest, her arms wrapping around her shins, her chin resting atop her knees. He followed suit, tucking one leg under himself and letting one fall to hang off the bed.

“I apologize for being so morose,” she said quietly, her hair moving ever so slightly in the Summer breeze.

“I would rather know your true heart than be told empty pleasantries.”

She shook her head. “It is not your responsibility to carry my burdens.”

He laughed, “I believe that is the definition of marriage, my love. You have certainly carried your share of mine.”

She shrugged, tilting her head on her knees to see him better.

“Is the move the only element that has brought up all of this?” He asked delicately.

She nodded. “It feels as if Esme Platt, Evenson, Bauer is gone, finally. I knew she was before, of course. I knew I could never go back but being here, in an entirely new place feels as if Esme Platt is finally dead.” No sooner had she finished speaking was she laughing. “How dramatic.”

“I for one, hope you are wrong.”

“Hm?”

“I’m quite charmed by Esme Platt… and her impertinence,” he smiled, bumping her shoulder with his. It earned him a small smile. “Can I tell you something?” She nodded. “I loathe moving.”

“You do?”

“Oh yes. It feels as if the second I am content, I must pack up an entire life and move somewhere else unfamiliar and drab. Another town with another set of people I have to reinvent myself for.”

“So hundreds of ends?”

“I suppose. But I don’t know if it ends, in a sense I could be hundreds of Carlisles, and Williams, and one John.”

“You went by John?”

“Once, for two weeks. I moved because I could not force myself to respond to the name,” he smiled. “But they’re all me.”

“So this is a death and a birth? I like the sound of that.”

“You are an artist, aren’t you?” He laughed. She ducked her head. The fight over her clearly God-given talent was a battle for a different time, they had uncorked enough for one day. “Thank you for being honest with me,” he said earnestly. In one move, she pressed a kiss to his cheek and was on the other side of the room beginning to unpack one of their trunks. It was a start. A birth of newfound trust, one would say. Now he sounded like the artist, but not a very good one.

#a new one!#save for later

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