A/N: Well, for some reason, this chapter came very easily to me. So here it is, earlier than expected!

There is some random medical terminology in this chapter, so here's a bit of info: CPK measures muscle breakdown (can be caused by a lot of things), platelets are responsible for blood clotting, and anemia is caused by a low level of red blood cells (RBC's contain iron, so that's the relationship there). And autoimmunity is a nasty thing, where your body attacks itself. I already have Bella's diagnosis in mind, but...well, we shall get to that. :)

Thank you so much for the reviews and encouragement! I was having some writer's block, so I started another story, but of course I'm sticking with this one, too. Plus I think my writer's block is cured, so yay for that.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.

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Chapter 10: Autoimmunity

EPOV

When I got home that night, I walked straight over to the piano because I knew there was no hope of sleeping. I poured a healthy glass of Pinot Noir and sat down at the grand piano, letting the wind drown out the sounds of the dark, languid notes that filled the apartment. Any time a patient, or a memory, or some random event reminded me of the one that had changed my life, I played all night, long and slow and torturous.

And fuck, I was tired. I was tired of obsessing over something I couldn't fix then, and never could fix. She was dead. And I couldn't do a thing about it.

But I could fix Bella, if she needed fixing. Couldn't I? Was I grasping at something that wasn't even there? Was I letting my twisted, tortured history cloud my judgment about whatever I thought was wrong with her? I couldn't just subject her to my every whim, as I occasionally did with patients who didn't know better. She would know, and she would stop me.

I tried for hours to shake those images from my mind, the images of my past, of her dying, wasting face, her pleas for help and then, finally, a plea for release. She had given up and it fucking destroyed me, because I never gave up. Even when she was crying and begging and obviously done, just completely spent, I didn't want to give up. Then Carlisle had stepped in and convinced me it was the right way, the only way…

And then I saw Bella's face, her perfect, lovely features and the way she smiled and blushed and looked so alive all the time. I had noticed it the very first time I saw her, even when she was pale and sick and lying there in that hospital bed. It took my fucking breathing away the first time I saw her, even more so when she started arguing with me. She reminded me of so many things, of why I had gone into medicine in the first place, and what I had lost along the way.

I poured everything I had into the music at my fingers, until the sun came up over the Pacific and the red dawn streamed in through the windows. Forget sleeping. Maybe I'd have better luck in my office, lulled to sleep by the slow drones of sleep-deprived residents and agitated nurses.

***

I spent the whole weekend at the hospital, which didn't bother me in the least. I kept a closer eye on my pager and my voice mail, once I realized that I hadn't physically set up an appointment with Bella, and I had this nagging feeling she might blow it off altogether.

Brandon had the weekend off, one of the perks of being a senior resident, but Jasper was there bright and early, anxious to get my take on every patient that walked in the door. I found myself drifting off when he suddenly mentioned Friday night.

"Alice wanted me to thank you again for coming out last night," he said. I looked up.

"You and Alice talk a lot?" I asked off-handedly, but Jasper noticed the tone in my voice.

"I like her," he said. "Alice has a great outlook on life."

"She also has a great outlook on her job," I commented. "Minus the drama."

Jasper clearly knew what I was getting at, but it didn't seem to phase him. I didn't want to push it; I respected Brandon, and I didn't want to interfere with her personal life. But I also didn't want her bringing her personal life to work.

"Bella's pretty amazing," he said, but he wasn't fishing for information. He seemed to mean it.

"Mmhm," I said, starting to wonder where this was going.

"I didn't realize she was a patient of yours," he said.

"What?" I asked impulsively. Didn't Brandon understand confidentiality?

"Well," he stammered, looking slightly flustered. "Someone paged me regarding an appointment."

"Someone paged you?" I asked, my voice rising.

"Yeah, someone in triage…I told them to contact you, since she's not my patient."

"Shit," I said under my breath, rising from my chair. No one ever paged me unless it was an emergency, which meant Bella hadn't made the appointment. I would have to take care of this myself.

"Sorry, Edward. If I had known—"

"It's not your fault," I said, giving him a quick nod on my way out the door.

I walked briskly to triage and found Jane sitting at her desk, on the phone as usual. She took one look at me and hung up the phone, a concerned look on her face.

"Hi, Jane," I said, sparing a polite smile. Jeezus, were people here really afraid of me?

"Hello, Dr. Cullen," she said, smiling tightly. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yes, I think a patient of mine called for an appointment."

"Oh, yes…Bella Swan? I tried to put her in touch with Dr. Whitlock—"

"I spoke with him, but I'd like to talk to her myself. Can you give me her number?"

"She didn't leave it," she mumbled.

"It's all right," I said, startled by the tense look on her face. I smiled again, hoping to ease her nerves or whatever it was that was making her look so uncomfortable. "I can find it."

I was hoping for a pager number, rather than a home phone or office number, but I knew she wouldn't have given that on her intake papers. And I hated dealing with the reception people at SFGH, but hell, this was urgent. I took out my cell phone and dialed the pediatrics extension at the General, hoping for a coherent, knowledgeable person on the other end.

"Good afternoon, this is Peds triage at SFGH."

"Hello, this is Edward Cullen, over at UC. I'm trying to find a pager number for one of your residents, Bella Swan."

"Just a moment please."

I waited…and waited…and waited, until finally someone came back on the line, struggling to make her voice heard over some screaming in the background.

"Who is this?" she asked, sounding exasperated.

"Dr. Edward Cullen, over at UC. I've been waiting for a pager number."

"Oh," she said, and I heard some papers shuffling. "Whose number?"

I sighed, taking a moment to calm myself. "Bella Swan," I muttered.

"Oh, yes. It's right here."

She rattled off the number and I thanked her, feeling a wave of relief for the millionth time this year that I wasn't an attending in that firestorm. I dialed the number and waited for my cell to ring. Exactly 30 seconds later, I heard her soft, crisp voice on the line, and I couldn't suppress a small, relieved smile.

"This is Bella Swan. Someone paged me at this number?"

"Hi, Bella," I said, and I heard a sharp intake of breath. My smile widened a bit.

"Dr. Cullen," she said, pausing a second longer than necessary. "I tried calling your office to schedule an appointment."

"We're short-staffed on the weekends," I said. "Unfortunately triage isn't as organized as my assistant."

"I see," she said, sounding slightly embarrassed. I could almost picture a faint blush rising in her cheeks.

"I'm not going to let you off the hook that easily, you know."

"I know," she said softly.

"Can you come in on Monday?"

"Monday? I'm working a 12-hour shift on Monday—"

"My schedule is flexible. Just tell me when you can come in, and I'll work around that."

"Um…" she began, as though she hadn't expected that. And she was right to be surprised, because doctors didn't usually work around their patients' schedules.

"I can come in after my shift…but it probably won't be until 8 pm."

"That's fine," I said. "Just page me when you get here, in case I'm not in my office."

"All right," she said. "See you then."

***

Forty-eight hours later, I was standing over a gurney, helping Jasper insert a central line on a delirious patient. I told him to relax, but his fingers were shaking so hard that he dropped the instrument three times before he turned to me.

"Fuck," he muttered, dropping the scalpel on the tray. "I can't do this."

"You can do this," I said. "Don't psych yourself out."

"If I screw up, this guy bleeds out and dies."

"That's why I'm standing here, Jasper. See one, do one, teach one. Let's go."

He looked at me with a pained look on his face, shook his head, and returned to the small incision site. He took a deep breath and started again, while I offered a few directions and words of encouragement. He steadied his hands, and a few seconds later, the line was in.

"Nice job," I said, and a wide grin spread on his face.

I heard the door swing open behind me, but I didn't turn around until I realized that Jasper was staring at the door.

"Hey Bella," Jasper said, always the friendly one. I felt like such a social stiff around him.

"Oh, hey Jasper," she said, glancing at me. "I didn't mean to interrupt…the woman at triage sent me in here."

"It's fine," I said to her, then turned back to Jasper. "You okay here?"

"I think I'm all set," he said, with a mysterious, devious glint in his eyes. Hell, I could swear I saw a little smirk on his face.

"Page me if there's any change," I grumbled to Jasper. Bella was standing in the doorway, as though she were afraid to come all the way in.

I walked toward the door, opening it wide and following Bella into the hall. It was getting late, almost 9, and the halls were quiet and subdued.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said.

"You're not late. Doctors have no concept of time."

She smiled, and I noticed her shoulders relax, just a bit. She looked tired, like she had just spent twelve hours on the wards, dealing with kids and their annoying parents. But her expression was bright and happy, because she enjoyed her work, and it showed in her face.

"I'm trying to maintain a sense of punctuality," she argued.

"I'd give it up now if I were you," I said, my tone light. This woman had a crazy effect on me, as though every tense moment of the past weekend was just a distant, fleeting memory.

"We'll see how it goes."

I led her to one of the examining rooms, a private room with a stunning view and every piece of modern technology directly at my fingertips. She gasped a little bit when we entered, and I began to wonder what the facilities were like at the General. Probably not so great, according to the rumors.

"I know my chief resident examined you when you were here last week, but I'd like to examine you myself if you don't mind," I said, taking a seat on the doctor's stool, while she sat in the chair beside me.

"I don't mind," she said, placing her hands in her lap. I found myself staring at her impossibly deep brown eyes, which held my gaze as I spoke. She seemed more comfortable here, more at ease, as though an examining room gave her some kind of peace. I could see why, since she spent so many hours in rooms just like this.

"I'd also like to ask you a few questions."

"Of course," she said, like a dutiful, eager patient. I was used to people screaming and protesting and telling me to go to hell, which often happened when the patient was in pain. But Bella seemed perfectly content, and I wondered if she would seem this comfortable if we were sitting somewhere else, just the two of us.

"I have your chart here, so I already have a comprehensive family and medical history," I said, flipping through it. "So I'm going to focus more on recent events."

"Sure," she said, leaning back in the chair. "Ask away."

I cleared my throat and ran my hand through my hair because fuck, I was nervous. I didn't usually know my patients. Actually, I never knew my patients. It was one of my rules.

"All right," I said, placing the chart on the table. I didn't like to take notes when patients were talking to me; it distracted them, and me, and it damaged rapport. You couldn't get a person to tell you shit if they didn't trust you.

"Can you tell me when your symptoms started?"

"About a month ago. I've been running frequently, and my muscles and joints were aching. But that's pretty common, if you run as often as I do."

"How much do you run?" I asked, kind of curious.

"Maybe sixty miles a week, if I'm training for something. Forty if I'm not."

Impressive. We had something in common, although I never trained for anything. I ran to maintain my sanity.

"Can you describe the achiness? Where it hurts? What the pain is like?"

"It's just general soreness, like if you wake up feeling stiff from sleeping the wrong way, or if you did some kind of exercise you weren't used to, and then felt sore the next day."

"Did you take anything for it?"

"Ibuprofen, but not much of it."

She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, which was tumbling down from the messy bun at the top of her head. She was wearing a black suit today, with a neatly-pressed skirt and royal blue blouse, and despite the weariness in her face, she looked radiant.

"Does the ibuprofen help?" I asked, trying to keep myself on task.

"Not really."

"Has the pain gotten worse over the last month?"

"Um…" she paused, and she bit her lip in deep thought. It was cute and definitely sexy, and I wondered if she did this a lot when she was concentrating.

"I would say it hasn't gotten worse, just more…diffuse."

"Diffuse? Could you explain that?"

"Well it was just my knees at first, then my ankles…and now it hurts all over, I guess."

"Those aren't normal aches and pains, Bella," I said, my voice stern. Her expression fell slightly and she looked down.

"It can happen with the flu, or a virus of some kind. I haven't been running as much lately, and I'm feeling better," she argued.

"No more aches and pains?"

"I still have them, but they aren't as bad," she said weakly.

"Do you have them all the time, or just when you run?"

"It's worse when I run."

"So you feel it now?"

"No…I don't know…it varies. I don't know how else to explain it." She looked a little bit flustered, and she was still staring at her hands, fidgeting nervously.

"Okay, enough about that. I'm looking at your labs. Let's talk about them."

"Okay," she said. Finally, she looked up, and I silently rejoiced. But she looked more concerned now, as though I had forced her to recall a very unpleasant memory.

"Most of your lab values are normal," I said, handing her a copy. "You're slightly anemic."

"I always have been."

"Do you take iron supplements?"

"No, but I can start…"

"We can discuss that later. I'm more concerned by your platelets."

"It's just a few values below the norm. It's hardly concerning," she said, her voice firm.

"I think it's unusual," I argued.

"I don't."

"You know, my patients don't usually argue with me."

She sighed, took a deep breath. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm just being methodical."

"It's fine. I appreciate a good argument," I said, teasing her as gently as I dared. I hated that heaviness in her expression, the foreboding look in her eyes that told me she was genuinely worried about this.

"Your hemoglobin and RBC's are slightly low, which makes sense with the anemia. But your CPK is elevated."

"That's not too surprising given all the running I do."

"That may be true," I said, pausing. "But it could be something else."

"What could it be, then?" she asked, and I could hear the exasperation rising in her voice. "Everything is normal. All the tests, all the labs, the CT scan…there is nothing wrong with me."

"I want to do run a full auto-antibody and complement panel."

"What?" she asked, and her body went rigid. "Why?"

"Because I want to rule out autoimmune diseases."

"This can't be autoimmune."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not, Edward!" she said, and defiance flushed her face like wildfire. Her name seared into my ears, breaking down some kind of barrier, dancing precariously on that line between the personal and the professional. Of course this was personal; I felt it, and so did she.

"I'm sorry, Bella," I said, softening my voice. "I just want to run the tests, to rule it out."

"This could be serious, if you're insisting on those tests."

"I'm just being thorough," I said, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her, to take her hands in mine and tell her I was sorry for making her worry, sorry for bringing her in here after twelve hours on the wards. Sorry for making her think that at the prime of her life, something horrible was about to bring it all crashing down.

"I understand that," she said softly.

"We'll run the tests, and I'll get back to you as soon as I possibly can. I'll hound the lab at all hours so you don't lose any sleep over this. Hell, I'll do the lab work myself."

She managed a tiny, weak smile, and she breathed deeply to calm herself. She gazed out the window, and her body relaxed at the sight of the city below.

"I always feel better looking out a window in this city. Is that strange?" she asked, turning slowly toward me.

"No," I said, because I did the same thing.

"When I lose a patient and I feel like crying and screaming and quitting medicine forever, I go to the top floor of the hospital and just sit by the window," she said, her voice quiet, distant. "I like to think about all the people living their lives, making the city come to life. And I remember that for every child I lose, there are others out there somewhere, alive and well, because of me."

I nodded, because frankly, I couldn't say a single word even if I wanted to. She spoke with such passion and conviction, and such heartbreaking sincerity, that I wondered if I understood medicine at all. I surrounded myself with windows—in my office, in this hospital, at home—but I never thought about why. I just did, because it felt right. I did, because it was better therapy than any drug on the market.

"Does that make any sense at all?" she asked, her eyes pleading.

"Yes," I managed, incapable of tearing my eyes away from hers. They were glistening in the bright light of the room, and I wondered for a second if she might cry. Instead, she just nodded, and returned her gaze to her hands, and waited for me to continue.

"I'll step out for a second and let you change into a gown," I said, summoning the only role I knew how to play.

She nodded and I stepped out of the room, taking a long, slow breath to get my bearings. I felt like my whole fucking world was shifting, and I wanted it to stop, I wanted to go back to the way things were. But in so many other ways, I didn't think I could ever go back, even if I wanted to.

A few minutes later I went back in, to find Bella sitting on the examining table, dangling her feet over the edge. She looked so vulnerable in her hospital gown, like she could succumb to the slightest breeze. Her suit made her look indestructible, professional. Here, she looked like my patient, like someone I needed to help, care for, treat…something. I felt responsible for her.

"You know the drill," I said, smiling to soothe her, to ease her nerves. But as soon as I touched her, just to place my fingers delicately on her wrists to feel her blood pulsing on her veins, I felt a current shoot through me like a live wire. I heard her breath hitch ever so slightly in her throat, but I said nothing. I was too busy trying to control my own breathing.

I managed to take her vitals and her blood pressure, moving slowly and diligently through the full exam. I drew her blood quickly, thankful that she had good veins so I didn't have to cause her any more pain than necessary. I listened to her lungs, and then her heart, using every one of my senses and years of experience to guide me. I was strictly her doctor now, and while I certainly noticed and appreciated her beautiful form, I focused solely on the diagnostic task at hand. And ultimately, I found nothing.

"See?" she said, leaning back on the table, cocking her head. "I'm as healthy as a horse."

"Not all horses are healthy," I countered, but I had a smirk on my face. "Take Barbaro. He had a bad leg, and no one knew it. And then…"

She rolled her eyes. "Dr. Cullen, if you told that story to another patient, they would be in tears by now. You can't compare your patients to dead horses."

"Yeah, but you have a thick skin," I argued. I grinned at her, because she was happy again, like any patient would be after a normal exam. I was glad I could give her that, for now at least.

"That's true. Well, as much as I would love to spend the night here, I should be going."

"I'll walk you out," I said. "I'm afraid I can't drive you home tonight, I'm on call."

"I can find my way to the bus stop," she smirked, climbing off the table.

"Psh, don't be ridiculous. I'm putting you in a cab."

"Waste of money," she huffed.

"Spoken like a true resident," I retorted. "Look, you came all the way over here after a long shift, let me at least pay for your cab fare."

"Do you do that for all your patients?"

"Maybe," I teased.

"Uh huh," she said. "Are you going to make me walk out of here in this gown?"

She gave me a sly little grin, which made my nerves hum. Was she flirting with me?

"I apologize. I'll step out—"

"Oh, for god's sakes, just turn around and I'll change. You've already seen it all."

That was true, but I didn't think about it that way. When you're examining a patient, you try not to think of them as…well, as I was thinking about Bella right now. So I did as she commanded, and I turned around, facing the door like a scolded child.

It took her a total of 30 seconds to change, at which point she cleared her throat, signaling me to turn around. She was back in her suit, but her long chestnut hair fell lightly on her shoulders, framing her lovely face and soft, glowing smile.

"All set?" I asked, as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

"Mmhm," she nodded, and I opened the door, following her lead. We walked slowly down the hall, saying nothing, stalling for reasons neither one of us really understood. I was starting to understand, but I was too much of a pussy and a realist to admit it.

When we reached the front desk, I called her a cab and we waited at the turnaround for it to pull up. I just kept thinking about the touch of her skin, that first contact that burned my blood like a hot, insatiable flame. I could feel it even now, with her so close; I could smell the subtle scent of strawberries in her hair, and could hear the delicate cadence of her breathing. She was so subtly alluring, so exquisite, and I had spent every moment since we met trying to convince myself otherwise.

"I should have the tests back by Wednesday at the latest," I said, breaking a long, but natural silence. We were sitting outside on the steps, watching the buses and cars go by, enjoying another beautiful night in San Francisco.

"Will you call me?" she asked.

"I'd rather talk to you in person."

She sighed, wrapping her arms around her legs. "It's hard for me to come all the way over here, you know."

"Then I'll come to the General," I said, without even thinking about it. I hadn't stepped foot in there since my residency; hell, I didn't even know where it was. I guess that's why this place had free shuttles, although I didn't exactly take advantage of those, either.

"No, don't do that," she said quickly, shaking her head. Her hair bounced lightly on her shoulders, becoming tangled in the cool, steady wind. She looked a little less put-together, a little more carefree. I wondered what had changed. I wondered if tomorrow, or the next day, she would go right back to seeing me as Edward Cullen, the evil doctor who came bearing bad news.

"Then let's meet halfway," I said, angling my body toward her. She looked at me, her eyes blazing, a questioning look on her face.

"Where?" she asked.

"At dinner."

"Dinner? As in a hospital cafeteria?"

"No, as in a restaurant where normal people go to sustain themselves," I teased.

"Is this a dinner between colleagues?"

"Do you want it to be?" I asked, suddenly nervous. I brushed a few wayward strands out of my face and waited for her to answer, because shit, she was taking her good old time.

"Well, I don't want it to be a patient-doctor thing," she said, a tiny smile appearing on her lips.

"Then where does that leave us?"

"Hmm," she mused, as the cab pulled up. "I guess we'll find out."

She stood up, brushed off her skirt and ran her fingers through her hair, a futile effort against the wind. I always felt like this when she left. I always felt like shit, basically.

"I'll pick you up at 8," I said, handing the driver a twenty.

"Didn't you say you have no concept of time?" she asked, a teasing smile dancing on her lips, gleaming in her eyes.

"I'll make an exception for you," I said, as she climbed in.

I wanted to touch her, to hold her hand or do something, just to feel it again. I didn't want to wait until Wednesday night; I didn't want to wait another minute. And I didn't know why, I didn't know what was happening, but this girl was confusing me and changing me and driving me crazy all at once, and I realized I was a fool for denying it. And maybe, more importantly, I was a fool for giving in.

But I was still Edward Cullen, still the stubborn, detached son-of-a-bitch who struggled to let anyone in, who refused to let his emotions dictate the way he practiced medicine. But this wasn't medicine anymore, was it? The lines were so blurred that I couldn't see straight anymore.

"You've already made too many exceptions," she murmured. "I hope you realize that, Dr. Cullen."

"I've only made one," I said, losing myself in her puzzling, arresting gaze.

"And what is that?" she asked.

"You, Bella," I said, my voice barely audible in the raging wind. "But I think you already knew that."

***

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