FORKS - carlisle cullen

F O U R

Eleanor Martin's POV

The next day, we arrive at the hospital slightly ahead of time for Gran's appointment. I have always prided myself on my punctuality, and this is no exception. Just the same as all of the other times, Dr. Cullen greets us and then takes Gran back for an exam of her heart and lungs to track the pace of their devolution and to see if any of the medications were helping to slow it down.

But this time instead of sending her straight home afterwards, a nurse pushes her back to get some blood work done and Dr. Cullen asks me to follow him into his office to have a private discussion. I follow him quietly through the crowded hallway, already knowing that this conversation is the one that I have been wanting to delay for as long as possible.

As soon as his office door closes behind us, I speak up. "How long?"

He turns and gives me an unreadable look, and the realization that I'm alone in a small room with him suddenly sets in along with a wave of fear. I do not understand why my body reacts this way to him.

It's the same feeling I got when I saw the lions at the zoo: they were dangerous creatures, but they were separated from me. There is something dangerous about Dr. Cullen, but there is also something that is holding him back.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't catch this sooner, but it was a rapid change since the last time I saw her," he explains, leaning back against his desk and crossing his arms over his torso. "We could take a very aggressive form of treatment, but the medications would have very strong side-effects. She most likely wouldn't even be in a fully-conscious state at any point when the medications were in her system, which would be all of the time."

"How long?" I ask again, not trying to be rude, but wanting to get to the point.

"Two weeks?" He offers. "Maybe three, tops. That's without any treatment."

"And with the treatment?" I inquire.

"It could extend that to a month at the most. It's not much of a difference." He says.

"Would you mind if I made a few phone calls?" I ask. "I need to discuss this with a few family members if you don't mind."

"Of course," he says passing by me towards the door. "I'll be in the hallway if you need me."

After making phone calls to my parents, my uncle, and my aunt, we all agree that we'd rather her spend her last weeks conscious and aware of her surroundings rather than in a medication-induced stupor.

"Dr. Cullen?" I call, stepping into the hallway to see him leaning against the opposite wall, looking down. His gaze snaps up to me instantly, his eyes concerned and genuinely caring rather than being filled with the false sympathy that you usually receive from a doctor. "We've reached our decision."

"And what have you decided to do?" He asks, re-entering the office and closing the door for privacy reasons.

"We don't want to have her undergo the treatment. Even though it would prolong the whole deal, we want her to be able to be conscious and aware of what's happening. It's what she would want." I say, closing my fists and digging my fingernails into my palms to distract myself from the urge to cry.

"Very well," Dr. Cullen nods as if he expected that to be our answer. "And I truly am sorry that it had to come to this."

"I am too," I admit with a wry smile. "But it's no surprise. I mean, she's almost 94 years old. It was less of a matter of if and more of a matter of when. We're just lucky to have had this much time with her."

"That's a very good way of looking at it, Ms. Martin," Dr. Cullen praises me. "If only everyone had that mindset."

I nod, hugging myself as if trying to keep from falling apart. "Do you have a family, Dr. Cullen?"

"Yes," he clears his throat, grabbing a picture frame from his desk with a proud and affectionate smile. "I have seven adopted children."

I gently take the frame from him, looking at the smiling faces. "So you know how much it would hurt to lose one of them," I state, and he nods solemnly. "How would you keep it together? In front of the others, I mean? To keep them from seeing you upset."

"It won't help to hide your weaknesses from your allies." He wisely advises me, and I nod, knowing that he is right.

"What're their names?" I ask, looking at the photograph again.

"These two are Alice and Jasper," he points to a blonde boy carrying a gorgeous petite brunette on his back. "And that's Emmett and Rosalie," he points to a large dark-haired man (I don't think I could even call him a boy he's so huge) and a beautiful blonde girl who looks like she could be a supermodel. "These two are Edward and Bella, and the smallest one is Renesmee." He indicates the last three, Edward having coppery hair and Bella being a lovely brunette and Renesmee being somewhere in between.

"What about him?" I ask, pointing to the only tan one in the photo.

"That's Jacob," Dr. Cullen tells me, putting a name to the face of the boy who is kneeling next to Renesmee. "He's just a friend of the family, but he may as well be my son."

"They're beautiful kids, Dr. Cullen," I smile with a melancholy tone in my voice. "You have a gorgeous family."

"Thank you," he replies. "And please feel free to call me Carlisle."

"Eleanor." I state my name, so he knows that I am comfortable with being on a first name basis with him.

As Gran and I leave the hospital that day, her wheelchair just seems a tiny bit heavier, as though the weight of death was literally sat upon her shoulders.