Ohio, 1920

[themidnightson]

There are many differences to the lifestyle in Ohio.

Chiefly among them is the inflated necessity of keeping face.



They have to appear in the right circles and the right places casually and consistently.

They have to circulate and interact, both the new private care doctor and his first year med school brother.



Tonight that is the Sesame Club, where Jazz music, frivolity, dancing and food flow freely.

Comments

[themidnightson]

Edward almost flashes from the place at the invitation, but he's only standing upright next to his chair when he stops himself. Pulls on his jacket slowly, gracefully, and walks out, stopping only three times to be told to give people's regards to his brother.

His hands go in his pockets and he walks down the street, knowing the precise place Carlisle is and stopping only once he reaches him.

It's been a long hour all told.

Maybe it was better for Carlisle.

[ofthefamily]

It was alright. Necessary.

"What do we do now?"

All dressed up and nowhere to go --

[themidnightson]

The expression is not sullen, but it's blanker than it has been most of the night. The feeling, on the hand, is at the first sentence. Because it's hardly the first sentence to him. The first spoken one never is.

"It's still early."

Whatever early meant to people who never slept.

[ofthefamily]

"And I picked that one."

Sesame wasn't bad. Just...a bit much.

[themidnightson]

Edward considered it, hands never leaving his pockets, thoughts reaching out to other places within the miles he could hear. His face blanked at the overwhelming surge of letting it all crawl through him pell-mell, seeking solace or silence in a maelstrom made the needle in a haystack look juvenile puzzle.

Maybe it's a second or maybe it's minutes.

He doesn't know, but then he blinks.

The planes of his face soften.



"Heights is quieter tonight."

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle nods. It sounds enough of a plan to him, so he stands from the bench and starts walking.

The long way.

The sidewalks are even quieter, with everyone inside at home or elsewhere.

[themidnightson]

Edward falls into step with him.

Even with his thoughts pulled closer to him, the tension hasn't left him though from the sudden surge of all the sound. It's filtering in with persistent whispers that shade everything around him and near him. A million tiny voices.

"Tell me something," he said very softly.

A plaintive note surfacing in it.

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle doesn't reply. He'll answer.

[themidnightson]

"Anything."

It's quiet, at the same time as a hand arc upward. Two fingers briefly brushing his temple to explain without saying, why he's pleading asking.

Followed by; "Something new."

That would possibly distract his focus.

[ofthefamily]

He doesn't want to bring up the things that Edward doesn't know. The question brings them up unwittingly, before Carlisle can clamp them down.

Maybe I should learn another language. It's been awhile since I've tried a new one.

[themidnightson]

"Any one with specific interest?" Edward asked, momentarily distracted by the flicker of images that had entered Carlisle's (and his) mind before being closed again.

[ofthefamily]

...No, Carlisle admits.




I wasn't a very happy soul before I met you, Edward.

[themidnightson]

And diversion was slightly more accomplished with those words.

It was far more important than the rabble of whispers.

"You don't talk much about those times."


There's gentle, yet restrained, curiosity in that one.

[ofthefamily]

"There's not much to talk about."

If you want to know something specific, I will tell you.

Carlisle's not even sure they're still walking towards the Heights, at this point.

[themidnightson]

They are. Edward's still leading them in that direction, if not very quickly given Carlisle's responses.

"Nearly three centuries is a very long time not to have anything to say about," Edward said. There was no accusation in it. If anything it was a little confused and concerned.

There was the smallest pause, looking down. He was aware of how what he was about to say sounded before it even left his mouth. "I want to know everything." He always did. It was Carlisle.

[ofthefamily]

He's so young --

"There's not much I remember. I showed you what I could in London. After a while, I moved from France to Italy. After Italy, I moved to America."

There's no reason why Edward can't have the details, Carlisle berates himself. Some of them he has to know. Some of them he should know.

A tiny amount of them, Carlisle is surprised to learn, he actually wants to share.

France was...beyond difficult. No mentor, silence, can't interact with anyone for their safety and wanting to kill them consume them but No, I always knew I wouldn't do that.

And then, trying to jump off a cliff.

Sink to the bottom of the ocean.

Setting his clothing on fire.

Stabbing himself.

Everything. Just to die.

Carlisle's looking away, now. I gave up, eventually. The next day I attacked a 15-point buck. I can't believe I still remember that.

[themidnightson]

Edward had actually stopped stock still from the casual pace of walking.

To not have found and seen it before, and suddenly to have pristine image after pristine image of Carlisle first alone, completely abandoned and then driven beyond all thought but to killing himself. Carlisle, who had the most holy regard for every iota of life--

Carlisle who was not looking at him now.

It wasn't even a millisecond before he was on the side Carlisle was looking off from. There was no doubt or disappoint in Edward's face or eyes. If anything he hurt and was angry in excess for the Carlisle of a very long time before he had even been born.

"It's still important. It's part of what led to you being who you are right now."

And who he was right now was so paramountly important, parmountly right.

[ofthefamily]

I shouldn't have shown you that.

Carlisle's eyes are still cast downward. He's not ashamed of the past. Not being ashamed doesn't make things easier to think about.

If he'd succeeded in France, there'd be a very nice gravestone next to Elisabeth and Edward Masen, resting in peace.

No. Don't regret this.

[themidnightson]

Edwards expression softened, hand reaching over to lift his chin with two fingers. There's a soft sigh mingled with a chuckle; in understanding for something he can't even. Elisabeth and Edward Masen are as far removed from his world as the stars.

Carlisle is the center of the only world he knows.

"Only that would be disappointing."

[ofthefamily]

Their eyes meet. Carlisle freezes into place at Edward's touch.

Far be it from me to disappoint, Carlisle offers plainly, in the middle of a vacant sidewalk.

Carlisle is the reason why Edward's eyes are gold instead of green. Or red. Or nothing at all. He doesn't know what to make of it for a second.

[themidnightson]

Edward's smile was slow, touched by an equal sadness and amusement, coming form the same place for the same reasons.

"You're all the reasons I've seen this world for what it actually is. Have seen more beauty and truth and life than I ever knew it held out side of picture books and musical recordings."

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle's hands go up to the lapels of his jacket, inching him forward.

You exaggerate.

[themidnightson]

"Do I?"

Edward let his feet bring him closer, let his hand shifting until his palm instead of the pads of his fingers was against the side of Carlisle's jaw.

"Not that I have met any of them yet, but the life afforded to me by anyone else of our kind seems far different; devoid of beauty, violent, fraught and starving to be filled."

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle's thinking of about a dozen things at the moment -- I would keep you from them forever -- not all beauty --

He finds himself thinking about the alley around the next corner.

There were others. Others who cared for me, in their ways. Nowhere close to the way you do. Or I do for you.

[themidnightson]

They are out in the open. And they are--their hands--Edward doesn't look away from Carlisle's eyes, but his focus wavers for a second, which shows, but the closest person not sleeping is three blocks away to the south.

Then it's gone, and he tilts his head, golden eyes intense for a different reasons suddenly. "Never? But in Italy?"

He'd assumed. The same few faces, always there, not always angry or sad.