A/N: Thanks so much for the responses last chapter! I'm glad nearly all of you like the medical stuff, cause you're getting a bit more this chapter. Then we'll get a break from it for a bit, I promise :) Reference's at the bottom.

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight

-x-x-x-x-

Chapter 20 - Holy Shit, Indeed

Mrs. Green doesn't lose her arm, but it was a close call. They had to cut away over half the muscle tissue and she's expected to endure months of rehab. Even then, she's not predicted to regain full function.

A catheter was placed in her chest for dialysis and she was sent to ICU after her surgery, where they've monitored her all week. I saw her husband in the cafeteria and he updated me on her progress, as well as his intentions to sue Dr. Biers. Carlisle is in the clear, however, since he ended up coming in when he wasn't on-call.

I tell Alice this over coffee.

"Could they have sued him anyway?" she wonders around a mouthful of scone. "He wasn't on-call, so technically it wasn't his responsibility."

I shake my head. "The hell if I know. The law acts all wonky about our duties sometimes. Either way, I deserve a thank you," I declare indignantly.

"I wouldn't hold your breath," Alice says. "Not after the dinner episode the two of you had. Just be grateful he stood up for you to Dr. Biers."

"He didn't really stand up for me. He was just putting Dr. Biers down the only way he knew how. I was like… a pawn. I just happened to be there."

She sighs wistfully. "Gosh, why did I have to be off that day? I always miss the best stuff."

"I don't know, but I'm starting to think I don't get paid enough for the crap I put up with."

"You're starting to think that?"

"Touche. I should have been like… a florist or something."

She looks surprised. "A florist? Really?"

"Sure. It's just flowers. No one really cares if a flower dies. We expect it, actually. And they don't put you down or talk back to you. If you get stuck by a rose thorn, you don't have to take prophylactic meds for HIV. Oh, and it smells good all the time! No dookie or rotten wound stench. Can't you just imagine how relaxing that job would be?"

"Good point. It's not too late to switch," she says knowingly.

I give her a very serious look. "Don't tempt me."

A few moments of silence pass in which we both sip our coffee. Alice stares out the window and taps the side of her cup with her finger.

She says, "Did you hear that he called in Dr. Ellis to do the surgery with him?"

"No," I answer, surprised. "It seems like Dr. Sanders would have done that since he was already there."

"Well, apparently she agreed to do it and Dr. Cullen trusts her."

"That's weird," I muse. "Their whole little thing is… it's just weird." I shake my head and then lean closer to Alice. I lower my voice even though no one I recognize is present and the baristas probably don't give two shits about our workplace gossip. "You don't think he's having an affair with her, do you?"

Alice crinkles her nose in distaste. "You think he'd push her to marry Edward if they were sleeping together?"

"Stranger things have happened," I assure, although that does sound a little sickening. It doesn't make a lot of sense. If Carlisle liked her that way, then surely he wouldn't be pressing his son to marry her. And anyway, Carlisle's old enough to be her father. What kind of man would he have to be to sleep with a much younger woman and then pawn her off on his own son?

"I'd hope not that strange," Alice says, shaking her head. But I'm not convinced. What if they started sleeping together after she and Edward broke up? That's highly plausible, however disgusting it may be.

I take a large sip of my coffee and try not to get carried away with these ludicrous thoughts. I have no proof. It's just as likely that they're nothing but good friends.

Esme doesn't seem too worried about their kinship, I remind myself.

"Yeah, I'm sure you're right," I finally agree.

-x-x-

Mr. Lowery is back in the hospital, and I bargained with Emmett so that I could be his nurse today. His labs are all good, which means he's been eating correctly and keeping up with his dialysis. However, his x-rays showed a bad case of bilateral lobe pneumonia.

"This is my second time having it, and I don't even know how someone gets pneumonia," he complains while I'm opening his medications. "My daughter says it isn't contagious."

"It can be contagious. Someone who has it really has to cough right in your face, though. You may have just gotten a little cold that turned into it."

He barely acknowledges my explanation. "Another thing – my daughter got it last year and the doctor just gave her antibiotics and sent her home. How come Edward insisted I be admitted? I could have done the same thing she did. It'll be Thanksgiving in a few weeks, Bella. I don't need to be here."

Sheesh, someone is cranky this morning.

"First of all, you're still refusing to get a primary doctor," I scold him. Mr. Lowery purses his lips and takes the proffered cup of meds. I hand him his water. "Second of all, pneumonia can kill you. Especially as you get older, not to mention your kidney and heart problems. You need IV antibiotics, and it's always better to be safe than sorry."

"Have you seen me, Bella?" he declares. "I'm as strong as an ox. If a war can't bring me down, I'll be damned if a little case of pneumonia will do it."

"Yeah, well, don't give it a reason to," I say. "You're adamant about Edward being your doctor, so you have to follow his orders."

"Yeah, yeah." He has about twelve pills total, some of them huge, and he swallows them all at once. No matter how many times I see someone do it, it's always impressive. "How are you and Edward, anyway?" he says, handing me the empty cup.

"We're good." I leave it at that.

He cocks a wrinkled eyebrow. "That's it?"

"Pretty much."

"Well have you taken any big steps? Moved in together? Bought a house? Gotten engaged?"

I look at him with feigned shock. "It's a bit early for that, don't you think? It's only been a month and a half or so since we became official."

"Me and my wife only dated two weeks before we got married," he argues, his voice taking on a passionate tone. "It was the best decision of my life. We were married for thirty-four years before I lost her to cancer." I start to apologize for his loss, but he quickly waves me off. "None of that now, Bella. It was several years ago. I've made my peace. The point is, sometimes, when it's right, it's just right. You know what I mean? You shouldn't put a time limit on something like that. If it's meant to be, then you just know it."

I have to nod. I guess he has a point.

I finish up and turn to leave the room, but Mr. Lowery calls out to me before I go. "He loves you, you know."

I stop and look at him in surprise, ignoring the sudden flutter in my chest. "What makes you so sure?"

He shrugs. "I've known Edward a long time," he says. "You both wear your hearts on your sleeves. The two of you might as well be carrying around a sign." At my doubtful expression, he adds, "Sometimes, Bella, if you want to know something, the easiest thing to do is ask."

-x-x-

Edward makes me dinner. It's not edible or anything, but it's the thought that counts.

He sends a text asking me to come over, then another apologizing – though for what, I have no idea – and then I enter his house only to be assaulted by the smell of charred meat. The windows are open and the smoke is cleared, but I'm pretty sure the stench is imbedded inside the walls. There's a draft in the house from the open windows, and I enter the kitchen to find Edward trashing all the food, the frown on his face positively adorable.

He actually looks a little guilty when he sees me enter. "I can cook," he tells me, as if I said anything to the contrary. Then he rethinks his comment and says, "Well… I can cook spaghetti. But chicken didn't seem that hard."

I can't stop grinning. He's got a streak of flour across the front of his hair that looks like a platinum blonde highlight.

"It smells good," I lie. Edward looks at me like I'm crazy, so I sigh. "Alright, it stinks. Good God, it stinks. I'm actually a little thankful the house is still standing, because I could smell the stench halfway down the street and I got worried."

"Gee, thanks." He goes back to cleaning, as sullen as ever.

"Why were you cooking? I've never seen you cook."

"For you," he says simply, not looking at me.

"That's sweet, but you don't have to cook for me."

"I wanted to." He sets the rag on the counter and sighs, then finally turns around to face me. He leans against the counter, his hands resting on the surface on either side. "We haven't seen each other that much lately. Except at night, when we're both exhausted. I just wanted to… you know… do something nice for you."

I can tell he feels like a total failure. It's in the slump of his shoulders and the downturn of his lips. The whole situation would be really funny if he didn't look so damn crestfallen.

I make my way over to him, pausing right in front of his body. His legs are parted slightly and I stand between them. I reach up and smooth the flour that's in his hair, and his eyes light up just a little.

Mr. Lowery's words come back to me.

"I love that you wanted to cook for me."

Another little frown, but I kiss away his uncertainty. I run my hand up his chest, to his neck, and move closer so that he's pinned against the counter. I don't pull away until we're both panting.

His nose touches mine, his lips lingering near. "We can go out to eat somewhere," he offers. "Where do you want to go?"

"It hasn't rained in a few days. Can we go to that place in the park?"

"The place with the view?" He grins, obviously keen to the idea.

"Yeah. And let's take some wine this time. We'll stop and get something to eat on the way. It'll be like a little picnic!"

He smiles at my enthusiasm, and I move away to pick out some wine from his small wine rack. There's not a lot to choose from, as he never keeps it fully stocked, but there's something red and something white. I turn back to him and say, "Red or white?"

"Grab one of both," he suggests. "I'll go get a blanket."

-x-x-

I change clothes and we pack everything into the car. After some debating on where we should eat – Edward thought we should get takeout from an Italian restaurant, but I didn't want to wait on the food – we reach the park with a large bag of Wendy's, two bottles of wine, and two paper cups. I had originally suggested Taco Bell, so it was somewhat of a compromise, but I really think Edward just grew tired of arguing about it. Nonetheless, I love getting my way.

We make the small trek through the woods with our stuff and Edward spreads the blanket on the ground. It's an unusually dry day and the view isn't obstructed by fog. We sit down and I hold up both bottles of wine.

"What goes better with Wendy's, red or white?" I ask, grinning.

Edward smirks in amusement. "Well you're having chicken, so I'd say white." His answer sounds more like a question.

"Yeah, but it's spicy chicken. And you're having beef."

"It's a hamburger."

"Beef is beef, Edward. Putting it between bread doesn't change what it is."

"You like white," he says dismissively, ignoring my logic. "And you're having chicken. Here, I'll open it." I hand it over, thankful he'd been thoughtful enough to bring the wine opener. We'd been in the car when he suddenly remembered it and ran back inside to retrieve it.

He opens the bottle quickly and pours some in a cup for me. It's dark out, so he leaves the flashlight on and lays it across the ground so it's pointing towards our food. It doesn't help much, but it's hard to look at anything besides the extraordinary view in front of us anyway.

And Edward. It's hard not to look at Edward, bundled up handsomely in his thick jacket and blue jeans. But I realize he looks handsome in anything. Or nothing.

Nothing is my favorite.

We clink our cups together. "To this awesome spot," I toast.

"To the beautiful city," he counters.

"To a clear, non-rainy day."

"To the beautiful woman keeping me company."

I bite my lip at the compliment, but don't waver. "To the sexy doctor who can only cook spaghetti, but who makes good use of convenient drive-thrus."

"Hey, the drive-thru was your idea," he protests quickly, and I laugh before taking a big drink of my wine. It tastes different coming from a paper cup.

Edward digs through the bag and hands over my chicken sandwich and fries. "No ketchup," he says after a moment of searching.

"You didn't ask for any," I remind him.

"I shouldn't have to. Everyone eats ketchup with their fries."

"Not me." I pop two bare fries into my mouth. "I'm an eat-and-drive type of girl. Ketchup is too messy."

"You shouldn't eat and drive," he lectures me.

"You shouldn't eat ketchup."

"That's nowhere near the same."

"Depends on who you ask."

He narrows his eyes at me, then snatches a fry out of my fingers and pops it in his mouth. "I'm not asking. I'm telling," he states. I steal some of his fries in retaliation, teasing him for good measure, and then start eating my sandwich.

We talk about work while we eat – about a difficult patient he had to deal with the other day, about Mrs. Green, and even about Mr. Lowery, who's been in the hospital for four days now due to his unrelenting pneumonia. I ask Edward if he's met Mr. Lowery's granddaughter, the little red-headed beauty named Carla, and he states that he met her once when she came to visit him in the hospital. He says she was so shy around him that she hid behind her mom the whole time, but that Mr. Lowery seemed absolutely taken with her.

When we're done eating, we throw the trash in the bag and set it to the side, along with our empty wine cups. I ease between his legs and rest my back against his chest. His hands slide beneath my jacket and shirt, resting on my bare skin, and I squeal and complain about how cold they are. Finally, I give in and let him warm them against me.

We talk about Carlisle for a moment. "He's hard-headed," Edward says. "I know he appreciates you calling him the other day, but he probably won't say anything. Too much pride."

That's kind of sad, I think. I can't imagine being so absorbed in my own God-complex that I can't thank someone or be nice to my son's girlfriend, who, might I add, has been nothing but awesome. All things considered.

"Did he really find this spot?" I ask doubtfully. It's hard to believe Carlisle has a romantic bone in his body. I could easily picture him finding a beautiful location and trying to destroy it with his ugliness. Maybe by petitioning to have a landmine set up back here or something.

"Yep, he really did," Edward says with a sigh. "Mom told me about it. They used to come out here a lot, but I don't think they have in a while."

"How come?"

"They both work a lot. Plus, they're getting older. A good night to Mom is sitting on the back porch while it's raining with a cup of coffee and a trashy romance novel."

I gasp in surprise. "Your mom reads trashy romance novels?"

"My God, they're the one vice she could never get rid of. I used to be forbidden to touch them when I was a kid. When I was ten, I stole one and read it in the middle of the night in my closet." He chuckles and says, "That's how I learned about the birds and the bees. The talk was never necessary after that."

I laugh, turning my face to bury my cold nose against his chest. "I would've never taken you for a trashy romance novel reader, Edward."

I feel him shrug against me. "'Forbidden fruit' and all that," he replies with amusement.

At my request, Edward tells me all about Chicago, about some of the people he knew and the places he worked. In return, I tell him stories about when I lived in Florida, revealing bits about Alec here and there if he asks. He grows tired of our position and eventually lies on his side, pulling me against him, and we spoon on the blanket while facing the view of the city. His breath is hot on my neck, and I seek his warmth while his hands slide up and skim beneath my jacket once more.

"Do you ever miss it?" he asks, and I sigh.

"I miss my mom. I'm happy here, though."

"Do you ever miss him?"

He pauses, as if surprised by his own question. Or maybe he's afraid of the answer. He doesn't have to be, though.

"No," I assure him. "It was weird at first, getting used to being on my own again. To only think about myself and not him too, you know? But… no, I don't miss him."

His nose skims along my hair. "Good," he breathes in relief. "I know I shouldn't, but sometimes I worry… you were with him a long time…"

I reach for his hand beneath my jacket and squeeze. "You don't have to worry, Edward," I try to assure him. "I'm with you now."

"I know." His voice is quiet, and he squeezes me a little tighter.

"And I'm not going anywhere," I promise. "If you don't."

"I won't." He kisses the back of my head. "Not without you."

I smile, my heart fluttering at the thought of this declaration. Sometimes, when I'm with Edward, I feel so happy I could burst. His sweet words and light touches make it impossible to feel any other way. His vulnerability, hidden just below the surface, makes me want to wrap my arms around him and hold on tight. I never want to let him go.

He pushes my hair aside and places a solitary, light kiss on my neck. I sigh and lean into him, enjoying the serenity of the moment.

"Bella?" he whispers after a few minutes.

"Hmm?"

"I…" He hesitates, then says, "I care about you a lot, you know."

I smile. "I care about you too, Edward."

"I haven't done this in a while," he goes on. "It was different with everyone else. But with you… fuck, I think about you all the time. I really do. And I get scared to death that I'm going to push you too fast or too far, but then you've been so good about everything that happened with my parents and other people seem to think I'm just overanalyzing things and that I need to just go with the flow. But relationships are supposed to be more than that, right? It's not as easy as just going with the fucking flow, otherwise everyone would be great at this shit…"

I frown and twist my body around to face his, my heart instinctively speeding at his words. Maybe Mr. Lowery was right.

Edward tries to keep talking, but I press my lips to his softly, silencing his ramble.

"It's okay," I murmur. "I have no idea what I'm doing, either. But I care about you more than I've cared about anyone else, so… I'm with you. We'll get through everything together."

His smile is slightly strained. "So… would you completely freak out if I told you I love you?"

My heart stops.

And then it starts again. Slowly. One quick, hard thump at a time.

What kind of question is that, really?

"Are you asking this for future reference, or…" I let the question linger, hoping he'll elaborate. Now that my heart has restarted, it's pumping erratically, trying to make sense of exactly what he's implying while hoping for the best.

He sighs loudly and covers his face with one hand. "Yeah, I just completely screwed that up. I'm sorry," he groans. But his confession brings a smile to my face. A smile so big, it hurts.

"No, I wouldn't freak out," I say softly. "If you love me, that is. Would you freak out if I said it?"

His hand travels from his face to his hair. Then he reaches forward and rubs his thumb across my cheek, his eyes softening, his smile wide and breathtaking.

"No, not at all." He chuckles lightly. "I'm sorry I screwed that up."

"It's okay. You still haven't said it, though," I remind him.

His smile falls lightly, but then he leans forward to kiss me, his lips soft and gentle. "I think I loved you since the very first day you infuriated me," he says seriously. "You've been on my mind ever since. And I'm positive I love you now."

I grin, pulling his lips to mine again. "I'm positive I love you, too."

"Good," he breathes against me, and a weight lifts with our relief.

We kiss a bit longer, my hand running over his neck and through his hair. I hold him to me, scared that this perfect moment will slip away the second I loosen my hold. I can't recall ever feeling so content, and I can't help but ponder the fragility of relationships and how easy it is for feelings to fade.

I hold on tight, praying that this is our forever.

I eventually turn around again, pressing my back to his chest while he holds me snugly against his body. We both watch Seattle, the city that's full of life below us, while our own world seems to stand still.

Time passes. We may have laid that way for hours. It felt like only seconds, like no amount of time with him would ever be enough. He tickles my leg and I ignore it at first, but when he does it again, I jerk against him.

"Stop," I lightly scold.

"What?" He sounds confused.

He does it again, further up my outer thigh. "You're tickling me," I complain. I reach down to swat him away, only to see the biggest fucking spider in existence crawling up my leg, probably preparing to launch an attack and suck the blood from my face. It's too dark to see the details, but goddamn the thing is beastly.

I don't think – it's a reflex reaction, but I immediately scream and start slinging elbows and kicking legs. I hear Edward let out an "Oof!" behind me as I scramble from the blanket, dancing around and patting myself and literally going crazy. I look all over for the blasted spider but don't see it anywhere. I start feeling around in my hair, still frantic.

Edward is on the ground clutching his stomach, looking pained.

"Edward! Get off the ground! There's a giant spider! Get up, get up!"

"Are you craz—"

"No! Get up!"

I tug on his arm, and he eventually humors me and lets me pull him from the ground. He doubles over slightly.

"You knocked the breath out of me," he accuses.

"Did you not hear what I said? There was a giant spider. It was bigger than my goddamn hand. I probably saved your life!"

"I highly doubt that," he grumbles.

"It could have been poisonous, Edward. Oh my God, I can't go near that blanket. We need to go home and throw it in a tub of bleach. What if it's still in the blanket?"

Edward suddenly grabs my face in both of his hands, forcing me to look straight at him. His grip is slightly rough. "Breathe," he demands, his tone forceful.

I'm panting, but I nod and struggle to take deep breaths.

He kisses me on the lips. "Thank you. You're gonna be the death of me, I swear it."

"Not if the spider gets you first," I say seriously, and he laughs.

"I'll be careful," he promises. "If you get the trash, I'll take care of the blanket."

"Okay." I timidly begin picking up the paper and the wine bottle, still shaken. Spiders usually don't bother me that much, but holy fuck that thing was like an insect on steroids. It needs to be in an exhibit – I've never seen anything like it. And it was touching me.

I shiver.

"Hey." Edward pulls me to him, and I happily sink against his chest. "Try to relax, alright? It's more afraid of you then you are of it."

I highly doubt that. If it was afraid of me, it wouldn't have been doing a tango on my outer thigh.

"I'm okay," I say. "It just surprised me for a second." That's the understatement of the century.

"You're never going to want to come out here again, are you?" He sounds a little disappointed.

"No, no, I am. Just maybe during the day for a while? And maybe we should start bringing a gun or something."

"A gun?" he repeats, surprised.

"That spider was huge, Edward," I reiterate passionately. "It's going to take more than a little boot to bring something like that down."

He laughs loudly and says, "I love you, Bella." I'm surprised by how natural the words sound. He kisses me hard and not even giant, interfering spiders can disrupt the perfection of this night.

-x-x-

"Where have you been?" Jessica accosts me at the entrance to the nurses station, her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. "I've been calling you for fifteen minutes. The pump in 405 is beeping."

I roll my eyes and push past her. She's been sore ever since Edward had flowers delivered here two days ago. They were a combination of lilies and pink roses, and they were gorgeous. To add insult to injury, Edward has brought me coffee nearly every day he works and he ignores Jessica every time she tries to subtly flirt with him.

Yeah, it's pretty awesome.

"Someone else could have fixed it," I say dismissively. "I was doing an IV."

"Everyone else is busy."

I just shrug, and this irritates her even more. She's grumbling something under her breath as she moves to answer the phone. "Mr. Lowery is ready to come back from dialysis," she seethes as soon as she hangs up. Since the dialysis unit is right down the hall, it's our job to transport our patients back and forth.

"Call the tech."

"They're busy."

"How would you know if you haven't even called?"

"Trust me, I know."

Right. That's real assuring.

I go fix the beeping pump. On my way, I run into the tech and ask if she has time to go get Mr. Lowery, and she does. I catch up on giving out medications, and when Mr. Lowery gets back to his room, I check his blood pressure and make sure he's feeling okay after dialysis. All he requests is a lunch tray and a cup of ice.

Edward has taken to texting me dirty things while we're working. I guess it helps the time pass – I know it certainly gives me something to look forward to, though time usually passes slower once I'm all worked up and anxious to go home. But it's become an effective form of foreplay; we can barely keep our hands to ourselves when we see each other.

Just now, I'm trying to ignore a text from him. I want to read it in private, not around Emmett, nor under Jessica's lethal gaze. But privacy is hard to come by around here unless I sneak to the bathroom for the dozenth time. It's occupied right now, however. I already checked.

Emmett will probably accuse me of having a "problem" soon. Perhaps he'll imply that I'm ingesting too much cafeteria food. That should be nice and embarrassing.

I'm just about to attempt a bathroom break again when I hear Mr. Lowery's voice on the call-light intercom.

"I need Bella in here. Quick!" He sounds strained and short of breath. I alter my course and head for his room.

When I get there, he's lying back on the bed, his hand grasping around his chest and his eyes wide and panicked.

"I don't feel good," he says immediately. "I need you to call my kids. I need to see my granddaughter."

I'm alarmed. "What do you mean, Mr. Lowery? Are you hurting?" I grab a machine to take his blood pressure. He shakes his head when I approach him, but doesn't fight me when I take his arm.

"No, no, no, no, no! I need to see my kids, Bella. I'm about to die. I need to see my kids." He's moving his legs around in the bed, restless. The blood pressure cuff is inflating when he pushes me aside and tries to get out of bed, obviously distressed. I've never seen him act this way before, and his erratic behavior has my heart racing.

I push him back down. "I need you to tell me what's wrong, Mr. Lowery. Are you having chest pain? Are you hurting?"

"I can't breathe. I need to see my kids. I need to see Carla."

"Here, let me check your oxygen level. You may need some oxygen."

"I need you to call my kids, Bella!" His voice is pleading more than demanding. I wrestle with him until he allows me to put the oxygen sensor on his finger and then hit the call button. His oxygen level is 100% on room air - probably better than mine.

Jessica's dull voice drones over the intercom. "May I help you?"

"Hey, I need you to page Dr. Cullen," I answer quickly.

"What for?" she responds suspiciously.

"Just do it, Jessica!" I snap.

I don't hear from her again. Mr. Lowery is trying to get out of bed again, still arguing that he's going to die. His blood pressure is stable and his heart rate is mildly elevated, though I'd attribute this to his obvious anxiety more-so than his supposed death sentence. After a few minutes of trying to calm him, Angela sticks her head in the door.

"Dr. Cullen is on the phone. Is there anything I can do?" she asks, her eyes apprehensive.

"Yes, can you stay with him while I talk to Ed—Dr. Cullen?"

"Of course." She slips into the room to take my place.

"Call my kids, Bella!" Mr. Lowery bellows after me.

Dr. Ellis is in the nurses station when I walk outside. She gives me a wry smile – one which I don't return – before I quickly pick up the phone and relay everything I know to Edward, not even bothering with a friendly hello. He asks me a quick round of questions: Is he having chest pain? What's his oxygen level? Heart rate? Is he coughing? He finally hesitates, as if considering, then tells me to order a stat V/Q scan along with some labs and an EKG. He promises to be here quickly. I order them myself, not willing to put any aspect of Mr. Lowery's life in Jessica's hands, then call the department to make sure they're ready for him so I can take him for the scan myself. We usually have people who will transport patients, but this feels like an urgent situation and I don't have the patience to wait.

Angela looks positively stricken when I reenter the room.

"He keeps telling me he's going to die," she says worriedly. As if I didn't already know this.

"I know. Will you go find Kate for me, please? And I need someone to help me take him for a V/Q scan."

Mr. Lowery turns at the sound of my voice. "Bella! Did you call my kids? Are they coming?"

Fuck, I forgot.

"What's their number, Mr. Lowery? I'll call them now." I pick up the phone in his room and he slowly rattles off a number, going back over it several times, as though he's too short of breath to complete it in one go. The sensor says his oxygen level is still 100%, his heart rate in the one-twenties. No one answers the call, so I leave a message saying that Mr. Lowery wants them to visit today – trying not to alarm them, as I still have no idea what the hell is going on – but he yells above me that it's urgent they come immediately and to bring Carla. All the while, there's a nagging in the back of my mind.

What was it we learned in school about feeling a sense of "impending doom?" I can't remember it now, and I've never had a patient actually tell me he was going to die. It's worrying the hell out of me that I can't remember.

Surely Edward knows what the heck is happening. Where the fuck is he?

"Alright, I called them," I say calmly, returning the phone to its cradle. "We're going to go for a test real quick, alright? Do you need something for pain before we go?" I figure I can give him something while we're pushing him down the hall if I have to. Maybe it will help him calm down.

He shakes his head, big turns from side to side, but then says, "My chest…my chest is tight. It hurts."

Angela returns a few seconds later with Kate, and I leave to quickly retrieve the pain medication. We decide to put him on oxygen for the trip downstairs, despite his perfect oxygen saturation, and Angela volunteers to help me make the trip. I raise the side-rails and Angela unplugs the bed as we get ready to leave. Kate is talking to Mr. Lowery, trying to make sense of his rambling. He's repeating "I want to see my granddaughter" and "Lord help me, I'm gonna die" over and over again in a strained, weary voice. He finally confesses that it feels like someone is sitting on his chest and that he can't breathe. Kate proposes that it sounds like he's having a heart attack. Something in my gut says it isn't so, but I don't question her.

I poke my head out of the room, desperately hoping to see Edward before we leave the floor. It feels like it's been forever since I've spoken to him, but in reality it hasn't been more than a few minutes. But at least I can trust him to actually come.

I grab the foot of the bed and begin maneuvering it out of the room while Angela pushes. I'm facing the hallway, pulling the equipment behind me, when Angela lets out a very loud and very uncharacteristic "Holy shit!"

I turn around to see Mr. Lowery sprawled on his back atop the bed, his mouth gaping wide and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He's perfectly still, without even the slight rise and fall of his chest to indicate he's still breathing.

Holy shit, indeed.

I don't give Angela any sort of warning; I yell out into the hallway that we need the crash cart, then I push the bed back into the room with all my might and nearly run her over. She jumps out of the way just in time, and as soon as the bed is no longer blocking the door, I hit the code button and check Mr. Lowery for a pulse. He doesn't have one. Edward enters the room right as I'm about to start CPR, his eyes widening at the sight of Mr. Lowery's lifeless form, and Kate comes barreling down the hall with a crash cart immediately after.

Everyone who says time stands still during a crisis is wrong. It speeds up. It goes so fast that you nearly get left behind, and the chaos that ensues is enough to overwhelm and frighten. I do chest compressions, concentrating on my solitary task, counting in my head to stay focused, and Edward barks out orders. He seems confident, but a glance into his eyes reveals a trace of apprehension that no one else can see. Because in the end, no one wants a doctor who isn't completely confident in everything he does. Yet in the end, it's the same fear for your patient that drives you to second-guess yourself and make educated, realistic choices. Choices which will save your patient's life.

In the end, we're all just humans. Some of us are better than others. For some, working in healthcare is a lifestyle; for others, it's an obligation, just a job in which they find no pleasure.

Edward is the former. And this is why, in the end, Mr. Lowery regains a pulse. It's why he preserves his pulse, strong and steady, for the whole trip to ICU. It's why his heart is still beating when he's transferred to another bed and hooked up to lines and a ventilator.

I stay and help out until the unit nurses make it clear I'm in their way. I call Mr. Lowery's children again; this time someone answers and informs me they're already on their way to the hospital. I tell them where to go when they arrive and assure them they'll get an update when they get here.

Edward hangs around writing orders, and I timidly make my way over to him.

"Do you need anything from me?" I ask softly. He looks up, his eyes weary and sad, but I think about the relationship he had with Mr. Lowery and wouldn't expect less.

"I'm fine." His tone is short, and he immediately turns back to the chart. Feeling dismissed, I wander away slowly, trying not to let his tone sting. I glance back one last time before leaving, but his head is still down, his hand tugging the strands of his hair anxiously as he scribbles something on a page.

The rest of the evening passes slowly. I never read Edward's text – I don't want it tainted with his bluntness from our last encounter, even if his mood had nothing to do with me. Instead, I spend the time catching up on charting and taking care of my other patients, lamenting over the fact that it's proven to be another unpredictable, busy day of work. Except this time, an ill feeling looms.

This time, before shift change, Kate calls me into her office. Jasper is with her, his presence strange, his smile strained and apologetic. I sit down in a chair and they both remain standing in front of the desk. Their figures are ominous as they loom before me, each tall and threatening.

Kate looks at Jasper, clearly waiting for him to begin. He sighs.

"Bella… I'm going to need to ask you a few questions." His slight accent isn't as soothing as it once was. There's an edge to it, something I can't quite figure out. "According to our records, at two fifty-three this afternoon, you accessed the narcotic drawer for Demerol in the Pyxis. Did you remove any Demerol?" His demeanor is uncharacteristically professional.

I think a moment. "Yes… I took some for Mr. Lowery. Kate, you were there when I gave it to him." I look at her, wondering what the hell he's getting at. But her face is a blank mask; she even stares at the floor, purposefully avoiding eye contact.

"Well," Jasper finally goes on, "It says about twelve minutes later you accessed the drawer for both MS Contin and Vicodin, and both drawers were emptied. There's a total of fifty-two pills missing." My mind whirls with this information – the only way to get in the Pyxis medication cart under my name is to put in my code and press my finger onto a sensor for fingerprint verification. Half the time, the damn thing won't take my own fingerprint, much less someone else's.

So how did this happen?

Jasper bites his lip and looks down, but when he raises his eyes again, his gaze is steady. "What I need to know is if you took the pills, Bella." His voice is strong and unwavering. A part of me wonders if he really suspects I did this. If there's an underlying accusation hidden in his tone. "If you admit to it now, the repercussions will be less severe. Otherwise, we'll have to start an investigation until we figure this out."

I was strong during the code. I was strong during Edward's brief bout of indifference afterwards.

But now, for the first time during this incredibly shitty day, I feel like crying.

References:

Demerol, Vicodin, MS Contin - narcotic pain medicine

V/Q scan - a lung perfusion scan that evaluates the perfusion of blood and air throughtout the lungs

EKG - an electrocardiogram, which evaluates the electrical activity, or "rhythm," of the heart

Pyxis - a machine that holds medications, usually narcotics. As Bella said, this one is accessed by typing in a code and scanning your fingertip.

-x-x-

I tried to answer all your questions last chapter - there were more than usual, about different things - but if I missed you please feel free to ask again. Actually, hitting me up on twitter is probably easiest, cause my inbox is a scary place at times.

Thanks to ms-ambrosia and passionmama for all they do for this story! Also, this story was nominated in the Twinklings Walk of Fame Awards for the Hot Lips category - big thanks to whoever nominated it! You can vote for your favs here: http : / / twinklingswfa . blogspot . com / p / voting . html - just remove the spaces.

So, what do we think of Edward's behavior at the end? To the "I love you?" What the heck happened to Mr. Lowery? And for the love of Pete, where have the narcs gone? I love hearing what you think!

I'm mybluesky1 on twitter. I'll update again as soon as I can.

xoxo