1931, Winter -- Rochester

[themidnightson]

Down the hallway, the gramaphone is playing a symphony Esme left on when she stepped out for errands. It's soothing enough, Edward leaves it be. It keeps him company in her absence. Tthe lingering echo of her presence still keeping time with him in the quiet house, even when all the neighbor buildings and beings invade his mind.


Perhaps, that is why he's in Carlisle's office tracing a finger down the spines of books in the new shelves. Searching for something to focus on and drown out a little of the ceasless, constant cacophony.

Comments

[ofthefamily]

Haven't you read all of those already?

Asked from the thoughts approaching to the same tempo as the footsteps carrying Carlisle to his office.

[themidnightson]

"You did add a few new pieces." In his absence, he doesn't say.

Even if he had read a good selection of those, in his absence, as well.

[ofthefamily]

The door to Carlisle's office cracks open to reveal Carlisle's hands heavy with post from the mailbox at the end of the drive as well as that same nondescript box. Carlisle moves to divest himself of his belongings atop his desk.

"Not many."

[themidnightson]

He shouldn't need to, he can see it well enough in his mind, but he glances over at it. Then looks back at the book in his hands. "Enough to pass the time for now."


He'll be about getting more.

[ofthefamily]

It's sorting through the post first; the envelope addressed to Mr. Edward A. Cullen throws Carlisle a surprise.

"You have correspondence," Carlisle says slowly, extending the envelope in one hand towards Edward near the bookshelves. "I don't recognize the address on the return, but it's local."

[themidnightson]

Edward's focus is, perhaps, still very distracted. And not on the books, even though he is looking at them. But he can extend his not-pacing and not-encroaching (on the desk not-his to retain something without any grace at all that cannot be done without some sort of acknowledgment and possibly explanation) to include not-ignoring the current topic, too.

He made a noncommittal noise even as his first focus slipped when he did recognize the letter head for the ESM. As much he might want to touch that one, he was also a little uncertain what he'd do in alternate eventualities.

He stayed looking at the books down at a far book shelf. "What does it say?"

[ofthefamily]

I was trying to let you open your own mail if you wanted.

[themidnightson]

Edward shrugged, woefully unhelpful at Carlisle, and without looking to him or his extended post, traced his finger along more spines of books. "It's fine. I'd feel compelled to tell you anyway."

If on his shock of first curious surprise alone,

then on the determination of what lay printed within.

[ofthefamily]

Edward, being more obtuse than is usual, even for him.

Carlisle grimaces but reaches for the letter opener to slice through the seam of the envelope and begins to read aloud from the cover letter.

"'Edward,'" Carlisle begins, "'It is the distinct pleasure of the deans of the University of Rochester to welcome you into the spring 1932 semester of our piano/composition dual program in the Eastman School of Music -- "

Carlisle's eyes shoot up to look at Edward, dropping the letter to the desk.

"Edward!"

[themidnightson]

His expression slips, revealing itself something softly pleased, quirking one side of his lips upward, even before Carlisle makes it past the first six words.

But it widens, even pressed to attempt some sort of dampening amusement, at Carlisle's sudden expulsion. Even if he couldn't dim the rippling pleasure, he did school a good portion of his expression (that did not include his rose-gold eyes) looking at Carlisle.

"Yes?"

[ofthefamily]

"Why didn't you tell me you had applied?!"

[themidnightson]

"I wasn't certain if I botched the impromptu recital." That wasn't entirely the truth, but perfection could be as stale as unpracticed.

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle's expression reads You're a big fat liar, but he lets it drop for the moment to return to the excitement of the acceptance letter.

"I am glad for you, in this. That you found something you wanted."

[themidnightson]

"Fourteen years later," he mused, thinking of a talks long ago and grayed. Even at the same moment as he thought, no -- no, it had not taken him fourteen years to know what he wanted.



(Though it may have taken him five to realize just how undeniable want and need were.)



He leaned against the shelf, watching Carlisle.

"It was worth it, to see your face right now."

[ofthefamily]

I hope I look proud, then.

[themidnightson]

That takes a second.

And a near clearing of his throat noise.

It's not that, but it's....imprecise is what it is.

"You should wait until I've accomplished something for that."

[ofthefamily]

"You don't view returning to education as an accomplishment."

[themidnightson]

The school was -- he had to admit, he wanted a challenge, and he liked the idea of learning more than books and patron watching had to teach. But he would have gone on fine even if the school had rejected him.

Not that he'd honestly thought they would.



He viewed being able to stand here in this room, with him, in this house of theirs, an accomplishment. A task. A thing he had to do right else it might be ripped from him, and his hold on anything that made sense. An action and task worth doing right.

Worth trying with every second of his day to be worthy of.

That was the accomplishment, each hour, each day.



The school was another part of living that life.

But on his own terms this time, maybe.

[ofthefamily]

Meanwhile, Carlisle is waiting for a reply.

Are you in there?

[themidnightson]

Edward's cheek lifted, without puckering his lips, eyes shifting to Carlisle's face. He tried for something much lighter than the tangle of his thoughts. "Maybe I will once I've been tried on the challenges the program is supposed to place before me."

[ofthefamily]

"I can be proud of you whether you're proud of yourself or not," Carlisle explains, ever the educator. "I'm talented in such respects."

[themidnightson]

There's the flicker of a smirk. It curves across his lips, drawing them into a lopsided cant for not even the full fledge of a third of a second, before slipping back in.

"That, too."


Before he shifts, "Can I--" his gaze shifted to the desk, not actually landing on the box, but his patience with distance, without waiting and having waited, even before Carlisle, as strange as it was.

[ofthefamily]

"Can you what?"

Innocent.

[themidnightson]

Damn him.

Edward didn't have a stomach to feel turn or clench.

Still the idea of just forming it into a question, a sentence. He hadn't been able to even form a single word -- explanation, excuse, apology, anything -- in Esme's presence about it.



His jaw tightened only to release.

He didn't look up from the desk.

It took effort to be coherent.


"Is it fixed?"

[ofthefamily]

Yes. Well -- it is a different leather.

Carlisle returns to his desk, then, opening the box and pulling out the bracer, cleaned and newer looking. The leather is not worn, which makes Carlisle wince. Too much like starting over, but he made an executive decision that replacing the brace itself and reaffixing the crest was a better plan than trying to repair the gash it had born beforehand.

Edward can be angry with him about it later.

Carlisle holds out the bracer to Edward much in the same way has he did the envelope from the university.

[themidnightson]

It shouldn't rankle him that Carlisle is touching it.

It's Carlisle. It's Carlisle; but it's...
Edward let a short breath out his nose.
Then pushed off the bookcase finally.

He meant to walk, but then was the hundredth of second later at the edge of the desk, eyes on Carlisle's hand. It did look different but not entirely, which was annoyingly offsetting. More than that he just wanted it back, wanted to stop feeling like he was missing a part of himself.


Edward, hand still, tried to make himself take it with specifically graceful gratefulness instead of the strange turned flash of desperate uncertainty, with a touch of terror that sounded.

[ofthefamily]

At least he wanted it fixed in the first place.

Carlisle waits.

[themidnightson]

There wasn't a tremble.

The movement was very specific.

Fingertips brushing over the new leather.

Sliding under it until the edge crumpled against his palm and stilling only when his fingertips met the edge of Carlisle's skin. He looked up, but any intention of being able to say 'thank you' was entirely futile now.

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle moves his fingers then, tying the laces as he did the first time in (spoken) silence.

I didn't know you still had it.

[themidnightson]

Edward went utterly still at the movement of Carlisle's hands, at his wrist encased. Not expecting. Not even hoping when considering never brought the option into possibility. A statue of marble, untimely still, until he blinked at Carlisle's words.

His eyes moved down to the fingers at his wrist. It was so different, so inconceivable to parallel and yet the idea that he could have. And he had almost--

He forces his mouth to move. It's like trying to shove gears and sand. His voice feels like it a rattle to him even when it comes out smooth. "It's the second time I've taken it off."











He has to.

"Ever."

[ofthefamily]

He kept it throughout everything.

Carlisle remains silent, focusing unnecessarily on the ties until they are secure. Edward's hand is turned downward again and Carlisle lifts it by the wrist just enough to lean and press his lips to the crest.

Where it should be. A contented sort of smile.

[themidnightson]

It hurts.

Not explosively, not to knock the nonexistent wind out of him, just enough to spire up from somewhere unexpectedly watching Carlisle.

To feel so wholly undeserving, so aware of everything he's done, every murder, every day, the words he used, what he abandoned entirely and clung to beyond all hypocrisy, to the point of needing it beyond reason even in his presence.

His hand flipped suddenly, the first movement other than his eyes or mouth since going still. To catch the side of Carlisle's face, across his jaw, to tilt it up so Carlisle has to look at him, so he can demand of himself not to look away again.

"I--"

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle is startled, but moves the way Edward demands of him.

Hmm?

[themidnightson]

I am sorry.

I watched for weeks.

I couldn't even write your name once.

I would have come a year ago if I thought I could.

I couldn't do it, I tried -- never with the blonde ones

I love you. I love -- need you. I need you. I need you. I need you.

"--promise." He couldn't swear on anything. He still didn't believe, or didn't believe even more now. He'd seen true evil, touched it and tasted it and traced it's entrails bleeding with his fingers.

He might be profane before both of them, before him now, but it was all he had. All he could. All Carlisle had said he wanted, all Edward wanted the universe to give him now. There were no words. None to speak, and none to find.

Edward brought his other hand up to match the first.

"I promise I'll never leave you like that again."

[ofthefamily]

"Thank you."

[themidnightson]

"No," Edward's voice cracked partly on that word, on the refusal of hearing it. Shaking his head, when he leaned down. There was nothing he deserved being thanked for. Not now. Not for the palest shadows he could offer. Still shaking his head when his lips touched Carlisle's hair.

"No, Carlisle. Thank you."

For bringing him inside out of the rain.

Another at the place where his hair met his forehead.

"Thank you." For forgiving and welcoming him here.

Another at the left side of the bridge of his nose.

"Thank you." For wanting him here in their family still.



Against his lips, as a murmur lost entirely in movement.

For being the same bit of incomplete without.

[ofthefamily]

A kiss barely returned for being surprised at Edward's movement --
he asked us what our favorite work of art was
Edward's reacting and is grateful to Carlisle and while it doesn't make sense --


Carlisle decides to smile for him.

[themidnightson]

Edward stood back up, with something that wasn't quite a shake of his head or a smile or sensation of foolishness. His hands releasing Carlisle's face as he did so.
No, never have I loved any other man
His left hand pulling his right sleeve back over the bracer and securely to his wrist, fingers lingered on the stiff leather even once it was fully covered. His eyes fell on the admission letter on the desk.

Quiet, not a topic change, more a reincorporation,

"I should read the rest of that."

[ofthefamily]

"They are probably anxiously awaiting some kind of confirmation from you.

"Esme will enjoy going to your recitals."

[themidnightson]

He does not need to explain that admission should have put him there next fall. He has a feeling there will be other things requested of him in it because of this clearance.

Edward collected the letter and it's envelope.

"You can tell her, if you'd like."

[ofthefamily]

Laughing, "If you think I am going to deprive myself of the absolute enjoyment of watching her practically pounce upon you with glee, you are sadly mistaken, my Edward."