A/N: I realized in the last chapter that some people may not be familiar with Huntington's - wikipedia is a good place to go for information. Basically, though, it's probably the most devastating disease you could imagine, and it strikes people in their 40s (or earlier) and is always fatal. These days, people can be tested for it, but then they know that at some point in their lives, the symptoms will start appearing (and they are truly horrific symptoms - I won't outline them here, but basically it's a slow and painful process). A lot of people would rather just not know, so they can live their lives as normally as possible. There is no cure, but researchers are working hard to find one!

That said, I only write stories with happy endings. Just wanted to clear that up.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.

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Chapter 21: Outcomes

EPOV

Sunday was Bella's last day at home, and I took a rare day off to spend it with her. I didn't want to leave the apartment; hell, I didn't want to leave the bed, but she wanted to show me her favorite corners of the city, the unknown spots that she loved. I knew this city, and I considered it my own, but it felt like an entirely different place in Bella's company. She brought it to life, in a way I had never experienced before.

We didn't talk about the previous night's conversation, although it lingered in the back of my mind. And hers, too, I guessed, but I couldn't press her. Not now, anyway. In the hospital, I had slightly more authority.

But at the same time, the test was her decision, not mine, and I wanted her to make that choice on her own. If she tested positive, it wouldn't change the way I felt about her, not in the least, but it would change everything else. I would lose her eventually, and it would be a slow, torturous process. But I pushed that image far out of my mind, deep into the recesses of all the other memories of suffering I had seen and experienced in my life. No one could handle the slow demise that Huntington's inflicted on its victims, but Bella would endure it with grace and dignity. But she would give up, eventually. And I would be left without her.

Even if that was the reality, of which I couldn't be sure without the test, we would still have years. Decades, even. By then, maybe, there would be a cure. I refused to look at this any other way; I had no choice, for Bella's sake. I couldn't make her feel like the outcome of one test would dictate the rest of her life.

It was late Sunday night when we got back to my apartment, slightly tipsy off a few glasses of wine at a neighborhood pub. I insisted on driving her in to work tomorrow, which she of course refused, but I made up some story about an oil change and she eventually gave in. She had been here many times before, but something always seemed to nag at her when she was here. And I didn't know if it had to do with her apartment, or Rosalie, or the feeling that she didn't belong. That, of course, was ridiculous.

"You have such a beautiful apartment, Edward," she said, stumbling gracefully on the doorframe. I never figured out how Bella turned clumsiness into something graceful, but she had mastered it.

"It's all right," I said, oblivious to the damn apartment when Bella was standing right in front of me, smiling shyly as she perched herself on one of the bar stools.

"But there is one thing that bothers me about it," she said.

I raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback by her words. She had a teasing, seductive glint in her eyes, but she let the silence hang there, waiting for me to break it.

"Is it the oven? Because I, for one, think it's broken…"

"It works fine for me," she said, a little smile on her face.

"Smart ass," I smirked. I set off the smoke-alarm every time I put so much as a potato in there; Bella, on the other hand, created masterpieces out of things like fennel and lamb. "Then what is it?"

"It's that thing in the corner that you never use," she said, keeping her eyes fixed on me, although I knew exactly what she was talking about.

"I use it," I protested.

"Not for me."

She was right, of course. I hadn't played the piano for Bella, although I knew it was the silent question on her lips every time she came here. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

"I don't play for people," I explained.

"Why not?" she asked, genuinely interested.

"Well, I don't know…music is just…intensely personal. If I played for you, you would know exactly what I was thinking."

"I'd like to know exactly what you're thinking," she said, and I didn't doubt that was true.

"I think it's usually fairly easy to guess."

"Please, Edward? So I can have something to think about while I'm slaving away on the wards tomorrow."

I shook my head, not in denial, but in defeat. How could I deny this woman anything?

"Just for a few minutes," I said, and her face brightened in a warm, excited smile. I sat down at the bench, warmed by the feel of her body next to mine, and let my fingers dance across the keys. The soft, smooth melody filled the room, and Bella leaned into me, her eyes fixed on my hands as I played.

I soon lost myself in it completely, feeling my emotions tumble out into the music in a careless, dramatic rush. If Bella noticed, as she probably did, I didn't stop because I didn't care; I wanted her to understand exactly how I felt, even though I could hear the concern and fear and uncertainty trickle into the notes. I played for an hour, before she rested her soft, tiny hand on mine, returning the stillness to the room.

"I'll get the test," she whispered, her voice barely rising above the low, enduring echo of the last few notes. I felt the air catch in my throat, as I registered the words.

"Bella, you don't have to—"

"I do, Edward. I want to."

"When?" I asked, stunned by the sheer resolve in her eyes.

"Soon," she said, leaning her head on my shoulder. "I promise."

***

Bella was in extremely good spirits when I pulled up to the General on Monday morning, and I forgot how much I liked her in those form-fitting black suits and cute white blouses. Her chestnut hair was tied loosely at the base of her neck, and her face was a flushed, radiant pink. I wanted to know who those lucky bastards were that got to work with her all day.

"You look so excited, I'm afraid you might never come out of there," I teased.

"I will if you come back for me," she said, while she checked one last time to make sure that her stethoscope was in her bag.

"That can be arranged."

"I'll call you at noon," she said, her lovely pools of brown searing into mine. "If I can hold out that long."

"Don't overdo it, Bella. Take it easy your first day back," I said, gently admonishing her.

"I will." She smiled and kissed me softly, before she bounded out of the car and through the doors to the General. I was happy for her—thrilled, really—but I was worried, too. I couldn't shake the feeling that life had been too good to us for the last three months; I thought, with a sinking feeling, that Bella was on borrowed time.

***

A month passed, and I was sitting in my office, writing performance reviews for various residents. I was working on Jasper's at the moment, which was oddly difficult to write. I knew Jasper far better than the other residents; after that night celebrating Bella's first day back, Bella insisted on hanging out with him more often. Alice, of course, loved that idea, and I had been seeing a lot more of them lately. But it was, in a lot of ways, something I should have started years ago. Alice was a kind, caring person, and she and Bella had become close. I should have seen that coming, based on the way they approached their patients, and the intensely personal way they practiced medicine.

I was lost in that thought, staring out the window when a gentle knock came at my door. It must have been Alice—the only person who ever really knocked at my office door. Most of the people in this place preferred to avoid face-to-face contact with the attendings, which was fine with me.

But it wasn't Alice, and my eyes widened as Bella walked in, wearing her suit and her impeccable white coat. She took it off, along with her stethoscope, and sat down across from me, placing her hands in her lap.

"Hi, Edward," she said, a small smile on her face. But it wasn't the one I was used to, the one that illuminated her whole face and brought a lovely blush to her cheeks. It was sad, almost businesslike.

"Hi," I said, giving her a puzzled look. "What brings you in today?"

"I'm here for the test," she said, glancing down at her hands. She was fidgeting nervously, anticipating my reaction.

"Oh," I said, genuinely surprised and slightly relieved. "You didn't have to come all the way over here for that."

"I wanted you to be with me," she said, the slightest tremor in her voice. She suddenly looked so small, so vulnerable, like a child in the principal's office, awaiting her fate.

"I'm here for you, Bella. You know that."

"I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time—"

"No," I said, with more sternness than I had intended. "It's never a bad time. Let's find an exam room, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed, following me to the door. I took her hands in mine before I opened it, sweeping the loose strands of hair from her face. It was the middle of the day, and physically she seemed fine, but emotionally she looked drained.

"Don't do this for me," I said, meeting her anxious gaze.

"I'm not," she said. "I'm doing this for the both of us."

I wasn't sure what to say to that, so I simply kissed her, telling her without words how brave I thought she was, how incredibly resilient. And telling her, too, that I loved her more than anything.

We walked down the hall to an empty exam room, and she rolled up her sleeve diligently so that I could draw her blood. It took less than a minute, and then I would send off the sample to the lab. By tomorrow, she would know.

"Thank you," she said, resituating the sleeves of her suit.

"Are you free for lunch?" I asked, glancing at the clock. It was 2 pm, somewhat late for lunch, but I didn't care. I didn't want her to go.

"Always," she said, smiling wider now.

My heart stuttered in my chest at the sight of her lovely, glowing face, and the way her eyes danced when she smiled like that. It was times like these when I couldn't tear my eyes away from her, when I could picture her ten, twenty, fifty years from now, smiling the same youthful, hopeful, beautiful smile.

And with a feeling of utter despair that left me choking for air, I wondered if, after tomorrow, I would ever see her smile the same way again.

***

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