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Disclaimer: Don't own Twilight.

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Chapter 7: Walking Pneumonia

BPOV

A cold, hard rain was falling by the time I stumbled out the front door and into the night. Rosalie was standing on the sidewalk, her blond hair matted against her shoulders, her whole body trembling from the cold. But she had a long, black trench coat draped over her frame, and she was huddled under a large umbrella with someone who looked vaguely familiar. I was too flustered by the whole miserable exchange of the last ten minutes to care about who it was, so I just grabbed Rosalie by the hand and tried to pull her with me.

"Bella—" she started to protest.

"We're getting the hell out of here," I interrupted, a rough, emotional edge to my voice. The thought of this place, and that disgusting, twisted pyscho in there made my stomach lurch.

"Okay," she relented, turning to the huge, impeccably dressed guy beside her. I didn't even look in his direction; I was glaring at Rosalie, irritated that she was stalling in the pouring rain.

She began to remove the jacket, but the mystery guy placed his large, muscular hand on her shoulder, keeping the coat in place. My glare softened a bit, but I still couldn't quite make out his face in the driving wind and rain. And I was so cold, and so upset, and my fingers were turning blue and my teeth were chattering loudly.

She smiled at him, saying nothing, and I took her hand and we scrambled down the street to the corner, where a line of cabs was waiting. We jumped into the backseat, drenched and miserable. I gave the cabbie my address and he grunted something unintelligible, and floored it up the hill.

I looked over at Rosalie, whose face was set in a stern, unreadable expression that seemed like an odd mix of serenity, fear, and regret. She was tapping her fingers lightly on the console, gazing out the window at the dark storefronts and drunken bar-hoppers.

"Rosalie," I said, placing my hand lightly on her arm. She jumped a bit at the contact, and turned toward me.

"Oh, Bella, I'm so sorry," she said softly, and I could see the tears brimming in her eyes.

"Sorry for what, Rosalie? You don't ever have to go back there."

"At what price, Bella?!" she exclaimed, clenching my wrists so tightly that I could feel her fingernails piercing my skin.

I looked at her in silence, torn between the truth and some kind of over-protective lie. I decided Rosalie couldn't handle the truth, especially not now.

"I took care of it, Rosalie. I told him you can't physically work there anymore, okay?"

"I'm sure he bought that," she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I have connections," I lied. "Even assholes like him aren't immune to…people in power." The most powerful person I knew was my father, but Charlie wasn't exactly intimidating.

"Even if that's true, what am I supposed to do now, Bella? I need money for rent, and food, and—"

"Then you'll get another job, Rosalie. You have a college education—you didn't spend four years in a classroom for nothing."

"I didn't really spend too much time in the classroom…"

"Okay, look, that doesn't matter. I'll help you."

"I'm not a pity case, Bella," she argued, her voice rising. "You shouldn't have even gotten involved."

I felt my chest tighten at her words, realizing suddenly that I really hadn't fixed anything. Maybe she was right, I realized. Maybe I had failed Rosalie as a friend, as a doctor, as someone she could rely on to just stay the hell out of her personal affairs…

"Bella," she said, her voice softening. "I didn't mean it like that—"

"I was just worried about you," I said, reading the apology in her eyes.

"I know."

The cab pulled up to the curb at the top of the hill, sparing us a long and painful walk. I couldn't fathom why in the world someone would buy five-inch stiletto heels in a city like San Francisco, but Rosalie seemed to manage just fine. I, on the other hand, would have tumbled down the hill long ago.

"You're staying with me tonight," I said, giving Rosalie a hard, stubborn stare. "In case that weirdo comes looking for you or something."

"I'm too tired to argue with you," she mumbled.

"Good."

I turned the key in the lock, and we climbed the stairs to my dark, chilly apartment. I rarely turned on the heat, because it just wasn't necessary in this city. Tonight, though, was one of those rare nights that defied the California stereotype. Tonight was frigid.

"Bella, I have to tell you something," Rosalie said suddenly, still shivering from the cold.

"Why don't you change first? You're practically hypothermic."

"Oh don't worry, I won't get pneumonia."

"Well, technically you can't get pneumonia from cold temperatures—"

"Bella!" she said. "Stop being nerdy!"

Oops. Bad habit. "Sorry," I grumbled.

"Okay, but in ten minutes, when we're both warm, I have to talk to you," she said, giving me no room to argue.

***

After we had both changed and looked a little less blue, Rosalie found me at the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat back, eyeing me closely. She brushed her hair behind her ears, and sipped her coffee quietly.

"Who was that guy you were standing with?" I asked, frustrated by the silence.

She looked up, meeting my inquisitive stare. I hadn't thought of him until now. And I still couldn't place his face, which was frustrating me.

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually," she said in a quiet, hesitant voice.

"Uh oh," I groaned. "Rosalie, any guy that patronizes a club like that is not high quality."

"He wasn't from the club. He was from across the street."

"Those bars aren't much better," I said, although I had to raise my eyes at that. Those bars aren't much better, because they attract the corporate, rich, self-absorbed crowd. I hated those guys almost as much as the low-lifes.

"Well, he's a doctor," she said, and I felt the coffee catch in my throat. Ugh. Aspirating coffee was painful.

"What kind of doctor?" I asked suspiciously, scanning my brain for every doctor I knew, trying to recall his face.

"Uh…" she began, her face contorting in thought. "An orthopod?"

"Orthopedist?"

"Yeah," she said, her eyes brightening. "He said he does knees."

Oh, God. A quack doctor that fixes the knees of vulnerable women—how many of those did I know? A lot, unfortunately.

"Rosalie, he was just trying to impress you—"

"But he knows Edward Cullen!"

More coughing. Now my throat was really starting to hurt.

"What?" I croaked.

"They work together at UC. He said they were at the bars together."

I felt my stomach drop. Was I actually disappointed that Edward hadn't been standing there with his…friend, or whatever? Was it because that meant he was with someone else, probably home by now, fucking some girl's brains out…

"Bella?" Rosalie asked, interrupting my unpleasant vision.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "What's this guy's name?"

"Emmett," she said.

"Last name?"

"I didn't get that," she admitted. "Oh, wait, he gave me his card."

She reached into her purse and fished out a business card, proving every detail of her bizarre encounter with a random surgeon on the street. I looked at the card, suddenly remembering why I knew his face, and why I had tried to block it out. It was that night, that long, miserable night in the hospital…at least until Edward Cullen walked in, looking godlike at four in the morning, while I looked like death. Ugh, no wonder why I had tried to forget the whole experience.

"I'm going to call him," she said.

"What? Why?"

"Because he's a surgeon, Bella! He can help me." She paused, glancing down with a sly smile on her face. "And he's dreamy."

"Dreamy?"

"Yeah, like that guy on Grey's Anatomy. He's like…Dr. McDreamy or something."

I steadfastly refused to watch that show, but I had heard the term. I rolled my eyes, but I had to smile at Rosalie, who looked completely smitten by the hunky doctor in the rain.

"Okay, then call him for an appointment," I relented. "But, Rosalie, don't get your hopes up. Most surgeons I know fit the stereotype."

"He was different, Bella. He was a sweet guy."

I nodded, but already my mind was elsewhere. I shouldn't ask about Edward Cullen; I couldn't give Rosalie that satisfaction. But if they were at the bars together, then why wasn't he there, too, waiting with an umbrella…

"Where was Edward Cullen, then?" I asked, because sometimes my vocal cords worked without consulting my brain.

Rosalie looked a little confused at first, but then her eyes gleamed, and a knowing smile danced on her lips. I could handle this. I deserved it.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked coyly.

"Rose! You can be such a teenager sometimes."

"Well, honestly, I thought you had run into him, and that's why you were booking it out of that club so fast."

"What?" My voice had a high-pitched squeak to it, because there was no way a guy like Edward Cullen would be seen in a shit hole like that.

"He went in there after you," she said, as though it was the most logical statement she had ever made.

"He did what?"

"Didn't you see him?" she asked.

"No, I didn't see him," I huffed. I hadn't seen anyone but that fat asshole behind the desk. The almighty doctor had probably flaked out when he got a good look at that guy, and just let me hang out to dry.

"Oh," she said, looking somewhat baffled.

"What did Dr.—er, Emmett say about it?"

"He didn't say anything. He seemed just as confused as you are."

"So while I'm in this shady-ass place, you're flirting with the hot surgeon on the street?" I asked, hurt and exasperated.

"No, Bella! He was trying to calm me down, and so he tried to change the subject and I told him about my knee and he just gave me his card—"

"Okay, Rosalie," I said, feeling a major headache coming on. "It's okay. It worked out fine, so we can just forget about it."

"But what about Edward? He never came out of the club."

"He didn't?"

"No…I mean, I didn't see him, so he must have still been in there when we left."

I wasn't sure if I felt relieved or annoyed or just completely blindsided. I had definitely fled the place at breakneck speed, but shouldn't I have at least seen him? Should we have waited for him to come out? Shouldn't Emmett have said something?

"I think you should call him," Rosalie said, a devious lilt in her voice.

"No," I said firmly. "I'm not calling him."

"Why not? He went in there to help you."

"Rosalie, he didn't help me. He probably went and hid in the bathroom or got himself a lap dance."

She rolled her eyes and gave me a dismissive, annoyed wave.

"You don't know what happened, Bella. You should just call him and find out. Or even better, you should just go there."

"I'm not showing up at his office to ask about his activities at a strip club," I said dryly. Actually, I couldn't imagine any circumstances that would necessitate my showing up at his office unannounced.

"You can be so stubborn sometimes," she said, standing up to rinse out her mug. "But you'll break down."

"Break down?"

"Yes," she said, turning towards me. "Especially since someone called me this morning from the hospital, to tell me that they have your phone."

Shit. I hardly used my phone since I had a pager, but I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. It didn't surprise me that I had left something so important behind; I had discharged myself in near record time. And Rosalie was my emergency contact, so it made sense that someone had called her. But why hadn't she told me this earlier?

"Then I'll just show up at the lost and found," I grumbled.

"Actually," she said, looking every bit the devious, matchmaking vixen she was, "Edward Cullen is holding it for you."

***

I've gone too long without some E/B interaction...this shall be fixed asap! ;)

Please review! Thanks!