themidnightson | (no subject)

Entry tags:

edward cullen

(no subject)

The house was full of the Lullaby encore requested by Esme when the sound of Carlisle's Mercedes could be heard coming down the road outside the house. Even with his mind impeded comfortably by the last 'voice' missing from the house, Edward's fingers continued to move through the upper scale of the piece without tremor or hesitation.

He was brooding on Peter and Charlotte's arrival. But mostly he was trying not to focus on the melancholy ache at the ending of the piece coming too soon, and it's all too obvious parallels.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"So did you," Carlisle returns matter-of-factly. He's had nearly one hundred years to deal with that fact and facts are easy for the doctor to recount.

He doesn't continue speaking, for thirty-seven beats. Carlisle's long since memorized Lully's work.

"You're a good soul, Edward. You deserve to be happy too, in whatever measure you allow yourself."

Yes. But he'd been dying.

Bella was only in danger because of him.

(Well, and because she couldn't seem to walk over a flat floor without managing to find someway to fall down. He still wasn't sure how he'd managed to miss that she was clumsy.)

"I won't take her life or soul from her."

It's not even won't. He can't--can't even think straight at the idea of anything so greatly altering who and how she is at this exact time.

She was too stunning the way she was.

She had to be protected from them.

"You don't have the power to take her soul away from her."

Carlisle, ages ago and on the other side of the world, was the son of a pastor. Much changes in nearly 400 years.

"You can share in it if she lets you." The older man stands to move closer to the piano. A flick of the hand to demand shared space on the long piano bench. "You love her."

Edward scooted down the bench without missing a note, until he moved to being only on one side as he continue half-heartedly.

His gaze had sunk lower at the last words. He did. He loved her. It was the only reason, every reason. He wanted to be where she was, simply to be able to see her.

...being away made him quite anxious.

Nothing made sense away from her.

Edward let out a slow breath.

"I won't let Alice be right. I won't let anyone else do that to her either."

"Then that leaves you with not changing her," Carlisle walks through the logic, facing the wall while Edward continues playing.

"Even if nothing comes of this -- " Which Carlisle doesn't believe for a second that nothing will happen, but he tries to bite down on that as much as possible, " -- that love is there. You will see that forever.

"You just need to decide if that's enough."

Edward is going to ignore Carlisle's not believing. He was already ignoring Alice's being right and not being allowed to be anymore right than she already was -- which he knew was laudably insane.

"It will be."

It has to be.

It's not as if she even see's him that way.

She only saw him through the vaneer of his stupid, if well meaning month worth of scattered and bizarre, reactions.

It wasn't as if she was in love with him. It wasn't as if that was a possibly. Even if she could-- no. No. It had to be enough. That she was alive. That he could befriend her, watch over her, keep her safe.

It had to be enough.

"Then that is what it will be." Firm.

"I don't wish to see you suffer as you are."

Edward's hands continued to play.

How had he gone so long with playing? How could it have stopped being this comforting even briefly?

"It's better than the alternative."

Even if the scent of her was still compelling to all the darkest parts of him, he inwardly cringed at the possiblity of her death (murder) even tangental to the conversation.

"Alright."

Have I really doomed you to this --

Carlisle throws a smile on his face. "Though I do hope you stop moping eventually. We might get weary of it otherwise."

Edward didn't frown, even though he longed to.

He didn't have a right to answer all their thoughts all the time. They deserved their privacy, and their own reactions being theirs, even if he could not give them the silence of not hearing.

Lips curving to a dry smile, Edward said, "If you don't like my playing, you could just send me to my room."

Carlisle harrumphs.

"It's better than the music the nurses play at the hospital. It's inevitably catchy, but nigh on incomprehensible."

Something about 'bootylicious' that Carlisle is happy he does not understand.

One could not always educate taste into humans.

"What a high compliment," Edward said, with a laugh, as the musical selection they were playing came to a close.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only