la belle dame sans merci | carlisle cullen

Seventy-Seven

In three hundred and sixty four years, nearly three hundred and sixty five now, Carlisle Cullen had never been anywhere close to this happy. If God graced him with any rational thought as far as Minerva was concerned, that might have been just a touch melancholic.

He'd done good things, he'd saved lives, he'd met extraordinary people, he'd been married once, he had a wonderful family. He was grateful he'd had the chance to do those things, eternally and extremely. Only it all seemed to pale in comparison to the fortune he had to hear Minerva laugh again.

Sure, he had one last secret up his sleeve. The fact— obvious fact, if you were to ask anyone else— that he was wildly infatuated with her did gnaw at his ribcage like a wild animal just begging to get out. He could deal with that. It didn't quite matter that she'd forgiven him. He hadn't forgiven himself in the slightest.

For months, his every instinct had screamed at him to just tell her what he was, to lay every ugly piece of him out on the table, ready himself for the autopsy. Let her peer into the darkest parts of him with a scalpel in hand and tell him he was redeemable. It bordered on heresy. If he'd just let it tumble out, they wouldn't have lost so much time.

It was the principle of the thing then. He wouldn't disrespect his family for such a rational objection. God love Edward but they were different in that way. He could keep his ardour caged then and still he could now.
It wouldn't bode particularly well on the climate of earning her trust back if he saddled her with the burden of his heart too. Hey Minerva, how was your day? By the way, I've been completely besotted with you since I first walked into your flower shop. Hope that's alright. As if.

No, he'd wait. He'd do it right. It'd been scarcely a month since he'd been back in her good favour and he wasn't about to push his luck.

"Hey." Rosalie said in passing as she came through the front door. He'd been pretending to read for some time. It wasn't intentional, he just hadn't been able to get his focus to zero in on the words before him. Minerva was far more an appealing train of thought than the history of anaesthetics. His own personal novocaine.

Carlisle's head snapped up as the door swung shut behind his oldest daughter, book falling abandoned in his lap. Rosemary, lavender, yarrow. "Why do you smell like that?"

Rosalie tossed him an innocent glance, "Like what?"

"You know like what." The book was fully closed now, abandoned to the coffee table.

"I got a new air freshener for the car." The utterly blank look she received in return made her face crack into a smile, shaking her head. "I went to go visit your witch, sue me."

Carlisle's phantom heart was thundering. "You what?" His voice was thin, pinched. A thousand worst case scenarios flying through his mind at once.

Rosalie just rolled her eyes at him, "You have so little faith in me." She accused, "I wanted to talk to her about my place in the shitstorm, take my share of the blame."

That did absolutely nothing to make him (and Emmet who'd been quietly trying to beat Jasper's time trial on Mario Kart) stop looking at her like she'd just grown a second head.

"You what?"

"I told her I'd been pretty against her in the beginning, that's all." Rosalie shrugged, "And I invited her over since you're too chicken to."

Carlisle wished they'd kept the fainting couch. Alice had finally agreed to part with it in the new millennium since she was the only one that used it to dramatically fall back when she was exasperated. She'd relented on the basis that Jasper would agree to be prepared to catch her at any moment that called for such theatrics. He'd never understood Alice better than he did in that moment.

"You.. invited her over." Carlisle parroted back to her.

"Since you're too chicken to, yes."

Speak of the fainting devil, Alice appeared in a flash at the top of the stairs. "Minerva's coming over?" She asked hopefully, zipping to the bottom of the stairs, "When? Today?" Sometimes he worried Alice liked her more than he did.

"Well no, I figured I'd let them do that much." Rosalie said with a shrug, "Hopeless as they are."

Carlisle was utterly floored. "Not hopeless." He muttered in a strained tone, he was quite distinctly riddled with hope. "What did she say?"

Rose shouldered off her jacket, leaving him in a moment of torturous suspense. "She'd love to, obviously." She scoffed giving him an amused glance. No sooner than his mind started going did Rosalie add, "She said no dinner." Carlisle opened his mouth and then shut it again. Drat.

He'd considered it many times. Inviting Minerva over, having her meet the rest of the Cullen's properly outside of March's vitriol. The idea filled him with such an incredible amount of anxiety. Alice was basically the captain of the Minerva fan club and Rosalie was working on it but it all felt so precarious. Worse, he was terrified it'd be awkward.

It didn't help the whole family knew quite well that Carlisle was madly in love with her. He'd be so incredibly fortunate if Emmet didn't make some mortifying joke about it. Every time Carlisle came home from the flower shop, Emmet would go How's mom today? Just to make Carlisle sputter and hiss out she's fine, stop doing that. The last thing they needed was for Emmet to let one of those slip to Minerva's face. God, he'd start lighting matches to put himself out of his misery.

"Can I? Can I, please, please?" Alice pleaded zipping into the living room, "Let me, let me, let me."

Carlisle blinked up at her a couple of times, still in slight shock, trying to get past the flush of nerves. "Let you?"

Alice was such a kid sometimes. "Minerva night! Let me plan it."

Oh, that wasn't a good idea. God love Alice but she could be a little over zealous. "I don't think there's anything to really plan, Alice." He said gently, "Just something easy, so she can get to know everyone."

"Easy! Got it!" Alice leapt. Oh no. "Leave it to me!" Like that she was gone calling out Jasper's name in excitement.

Carlisle sunk deeper into the arm chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Oh, God help me."

author's note: i can't remember the last time we had Carlisle's perspective this is CRIMINAL. also can you tell i love making him go "you WHAT?!" Carlisle fighting for his life challenge level impossible.