la belle dame sans merci | carlisle cullen

10

It was raining pretty hard when he pulled into her driveway around ten AM, having just finished his shift at the hospital. The rain soaked him in the time it took to cross her yard to the door. He knocked three times before pushing his hands through his soaked hair and trying to make himself look less disheveled.

"One second, Carlisle!" He heard her call from somewhere in the house, unable to help the smile that brought to his face. A moment later, the door opened and that sweet rosemary scent clouded his mind as she beamed at him, "Hello."

"How did you know it was me?" He asked as she stepped aside to invite him in.

"Nobody else knows where I live." Minerva responded, closing the door behind him.

"Shoes on or off?" He asked.

"Off. I know, very unamerican." She replied making him chuckle, "I'm.. sorry for the mess. I don't have company."

"I'm honoured to be the first." Carlisle assured, looking around the house discreetly. It wasn't a mess but it was definitely lived in, tidy enough. There were books stacked all over, candles on several surfaces, jars littering the space. Flowers hung from the walls, which were painted an off white from what he could see behind the drying greenery and paintings. Over every window and door, there were symbols painted. "It's cozy." He commented, following her to the kitchen.

"You can say it's a mess, it's alright. Have a seat."  Minerva says with a small smile, "cup of tea?"

"No thank you." He watches her bustle, filling the tea kettle and putting it on the stove and drawing a mug out of the cabinet. It's a brown mug with ornate little flowers, "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Minerva says earnestly, "It's faster if I sleep. I only just woke up. I'll probably be fine by tomorrow."

"Incredible." Carlisle hums, making her cheeks turn that shade of pink. He can't decide what his favourite colour is. The light grey of her eyes, the pink her face turns when she's embarrassed, that green that flickered behind her eyes while she slept. It was hard to choose.

"It's pretty handy." She agrees with a sigh, "Draining though." The tea kettle leaves the stove as it threatens to squeal, she pours her cup carefully. "Would you like to sit on the porch? I'm desperate for a smoke."

"Why do you smoke?" Carlisle can't help but ask. He remembered seeing her smoking that day outside the hospital. Until he saw a filter between her beautiful fingers, he thought it was a disgusting habit.

A sigh leaves her lips as she picks up her tea cup and he raises from her chair to follow, "My lungs would make you think I'm an Olympian, it's got virtually no effect on my health. It's kind of complicated." She slides open a glass door and then step on to her porch. Her backyard seems much the same as the front, crowded with plant life. As soon as they're out, a cat bounds toward their ankles. "There you are, Percy." She says in a sweet voice that makes him melt, "This is Carlisle, don't bite him." They take a seat at the small glass table covered by a large blue umbrella, "He's going to be angry you're in his seat." She warns, scooping the orange cat off the ground and it begins to purr in its owners grasp. She fiddles with an ornate silver case before producing a cigarette with a light brown filter.

"It makes me feel in control, I guess." Her nimble fingers strike a match and lights it carefully, eyebrows furrowing until a small puff of smoke leaves her lips. "Reminds me I can feel something." She takes a drag and leans back in the chair, "I'm not free of addiction though, so I guess I've been doing it too long to stop now." She takes the cigarette between her middle and ring finger to look at it thoughtfully, "I remember when they were the latest health craze."