Chapter 21

Friday, August 3, 2012

I get ready in the morning with a spring in my step, eager to see Edward today and make our plans for the weekend. Try as I might to settle myself, I'm excited about what I think happened yesterday and eager to see if it happens again. I'm like a schoolgirl with a goddamn crush. The voice in my head that says this is a bad idea is still there, but today it's drowned out by the thud of my heart against my ribcage and the hum that seems to permeate my thoughts.

I enter the room quietly to find Edward still asleep. He's not as peaceful as he was yesterday, though. Today, his brow is furrowed, and as I watch, he shifts and winces. He rolls his head to the side, away from me, but then he sighs and seems to settle. He doesn't look sweaty, but as I take his hand, he feels warmer than he should be. Shit.

"Edward, sweetheart. It's morning," I say, squeezing his fingers.

He wrinkles his nose adorably, which is the only hint he might have heard me. I don't think he really did, though. It seems he's not quite ready to wake up today.

I stroke my knuckles softly across his cheek. "Hey, sleepyhead, I'm not going to take no for an answer. If I let you sleep through seeing me this morning, I know you're going to give me hell later. Let's save us both the trouble, okay?"

A smile spreads across his face, and I chuckle as it lights up the room. Sleepy green eyes greet me next as he squeezes the hand that's still holding his.

"Good morning," he says, his voice all rough and husky from sleep, and I swear it's the sexiest sound I've ever heard.

While I'm recovering my power of speech, my eyes roam over him; my hand shifts from his cheek to his forehead. "You're warm this morning."

He frowns a little. "Yeah, I think I was a bit feverish through the night. I tossed and turned a lot and kicked the afghan down a few times. I'm all right, though. It's not going to be a really bad day. At least, I don't think so," he finishes uncertainly.

My hand moves from his forehead to stroke my fingers through his hair, and he hums in contentment. "Do you want me to let you get some more rest? I could have just let you sleep—"

"No, I'm glad you woke me up. Even though I didn't sleep that well, I can catch up with a nap later. I … like waking up this way."

My cheeks heat and I know I'm blushing, and his shy smile causes my stomach to flip giddily. "I'm happy to be of service, sir."

"Sweetheart," he corrects me.

"Sir sweetheart," I quip, and he laughs, but it ends abruptly in the usual pained grunt.

"I'm sorry," I blurt, but he waves off my apology.

"It's worth it," he declares, and I smile brilliantly at him. "Especially when you do that."

We're headed for another moment like last night, and although that makes my heart start racing again, I have a nine o'clock appointment to get ready for, and he needs breakfast. I also wonder if he's really not feeling as well as he's trying to pull off. Now's not the time. I bite my lip to hold back my grin, though, because I know I was right about last night.

"I have to go, sweetheart. I have patients to see today, and you need to eat then get yourself some more sleep so you're ready for me to come back at four."

"I think Jasper is coming by in a bit, but I'll make sure I'm ready and waiting for you," he vows, smiling again, but I can tell it's a little forced.

"Hey, if you're not feeling well—"

"I'm okay, really," he says quickly, but he sighs and smirks at me. "You can always tell, can't you? I'm just … a little bit off because of the fever. It's always that way. I have to force myself to concentrate to keep up with the conversation, and it wears me out more quickly. But it's no big deal."

"Well, if you're still feeling that way later, I'll tell you boring stories you don't have to pay attention to because I refuse to be responsible for wearing you out."

"Bella, you can wear me out any time," he replies, but he freezes and his eyes widen at the innuendo.

I laugh and shake my head, which relaxes him immediately. "On that note, I'm going to go. You have a good day and feel better by the time I get back, okay?"

"I'll do my very best," he assures me as I give his hand one final squeeze.

As I gather my things, he rolls his eyes and blushes in embarrassment, and I have to bite my lip to keep from giggling. It's going to be a very interesting weekend.

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It's three fifty-five and I'm sitting in my office, holding my phone as tears slide down my cheeks. I can't go see Edward this afternoon. I have nothing left to give. I need to go home, curl up in a ball, and cry myself to sleep. I need to find a way to make myself believe this isn't my fault. And, unfortunately, I need to let one more person down today.

I stare at my phone, but I just don't have the energy to call him. He'll make me explain, and I don't think I can go through it right now. And what if he's sleeping? He was feverish this morning, and I don't want to disturb him just to tell him I'm not coming. I'll just text him—that way he'll know, and I won't have to explain. I'll give him the full story tomorrow when I'm, hopefully, feeling better about myself.

Edward, I can't come by this afternoon. Something happened at work, and I just need to go home. I'll come by tomorrow. -Bella

I hit send, feeling like the total wuss I am, and begin to gather my things. Not even a minute goes by before my phone is vibrating across the desk. Dammit.

I could not answer it. Let him think I turned off my phone right after I sent the text. Hell, that's what I should have done—then I wouldn't be standing here having this argument with myself. What if something's wrong? What if he really needs me, and he's calling to tell me so? Oh, dammit all to hell! Are none of my choices ever right?

I swipe my phone angrily, and say "Hello" in a truly pitiful, shaky voice.

"Bella, I got your text. I'm sorry to call but I was really worried. Are you all right?" His voice is soft and gentle, and I can see the look that goes with it in my mind.

"I'm … fine … oh, hell! No, I'm not. I just … I need to be alone."

"Oh, now you're really scaring me. Won't you please tell me what happened? Did something happen to you, or is it something with a patient?"

"It's … a patient," I say, as my tears begin anew.

"Bella, please come up," he pleads. "You sound like you really need a friend. Let me take care of you, for once. I'd come to you if I could—" he sighs in frustration, "—but I can't."

I lean my head back against the wall and realize I really don't want to go home and be alone. I want to tell Edward what happened and let him comfort me. He already knows about Mr. Matthews from yesterday—it's not as if I have to recount the whole story. And he just sounds so eager for me to let him do something for me. "Okay, I'll be up in a few minutes."

"Thank you, Bella. Today, it'll be my turn to listen. I'll see you soon," he answers, and I know I've made him happy. That counts for something, doesn't it?

I trudge into Edward's room with my head down and fall wearily into my chair before I even look at him. When I finally do meet his eyes, he's looking at me with such tenderness and compassion that the dam breaks, and I burst into tears.

He can't really hold me because of all his tender joints and lymph nodes, so I bury my head into the side of his thigh as I sob. His hand threads into my hair, and he strokes it back from my face soothingly.

"Oh, honey, it's gonna be okay. Dammit, I wish I could hold you right now," he murmurs, and I'm comforted by the fact that at least he wishes he could.

We stay that way until my tears are spent, and as I sniffle, I turn my head and look at him. His eyes are glassy, and I can't tell if it's from fever or unshed tears, and their warm green depths are filled with concern and sorrow.

"I'm sorry," I say, pulling myself together. "How are you feeling? Are you still feverish?"

I raise my hand to touch his face, but he stops me mid-motion and clutches my hand in his. "No. Not today, Bella," he tells me firmly.

"But—"

"Yes, I'm still feverish, but I'm all right. I'm more concerned about you right now." He glances downward. "Will you tell me what happened?"

I take his hand between my two and run my thumbs over the back. He waits patiently, seeming to know that once I'm settled I'll begin telling him.

Finally, I force myself to look up. "So, do you remember the patient I told you about yesterday? The one whose wife died six months ago, and he seemed depressed?"

"Yes."

"Well, he attempted suicide last night."

"Oh, fuck. I'm so sorry, Bella," Edward says, his gaze warm and soft.

"Yeah, apparently he left his appointment with me then went home and took a whole bottle of Ibuprofen. He's very lucky to be alive."

"Did you see him today?"

"No. They have him sedated until the last of the drugs are out of his system. Then he's going to be transferred down to the psych ward, and one of the psychiatrists is going to start working with him."

"Will he be your patient again?"

"I don't know," I answer, trying not to get teary again. "I don't think he'll want to be, considering that I …" I trail off and look down at his afghan.

"Bella," Edward says, his tone authoritative. "Please come sit up here." He pats the spot next to his thigh as he looks at me solemnly.

A little confused, I stand up and turn around, sitting my backside on the edge of the bed next to him. When I turn to face him, he takes hold of my chin, and his eyes capture me. They are serious, fierce, and protective.

"This is not your fault. He made the choice, and you were doing everything for him that you could. Don't take this on yourself."

"But I didn't tell Dr. Weaver about him, and obviously I should have—"

"Hey, you made the best decision you could with what you knew, right? You did your best, and you were obviously concerned about him; you mentioned him to me yesterday."

"But—"

"It's done, Bella," he says in a tone that brooks no argument. "Don't waste your time on regret. You did your best, and you can't change it, so learn what you can and move on." He caresses my cheek, and his voice softens. "Do you believe it's not your fault?"

"I guess—"

"No, you need to be sure. Say it for me."

"It."

He gives me the most exasperated raised eyebrow I've ever seen, and I chuckle in spite of my sadness. He smirks at me for a moment, but then turns serious again. "Say the words for me, Bella."

"It's not my fault," I croak.

"Say them again. And believe them this time."

"It's not my fault," I say more strongly.

"That's better."

"Ugh, but I'm still frustrated, you know? I just don't understand making that choice," I say, shaking my head as I try to keep fresh tears at bay. "I've always had trouble with why people choose to die."

"Maybe he felt he had nothing left to live for," Edward answers as I watch his gaze grow distant.

I raise my eyebrows, a bit shocked by his response. I know he thinks he has nothing to live for—he told me so when he was delirious and thought I was his mother—but this situation is totally different. It makes no sense to me that someone like Edward, who has no choice but to die, could defend someone who would choose it willingly. "Maybe, but I still can't see it that way. There's always something worth living for—worth fighting for."

Edward looks down and away, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch the slight motion as he shifts his right wrist so it's flush against the blanket.

No. No fucking way.

I lunge across the bed, grabbing his arm and turning it so his wrist is facing me. He gasps in pain at the sudden, rough motion, but for once, I hardly notice. I'm too busy staring at the raised, slightly pink scar that runs atop the largest vein leading down his arm from his wrist. Without thinking, I unbutton the cuff of his nightshirt and let it fall. The scar is two inches long and runs parallel with the vein, not perpendicular, and I can see the faint dot scars left by stitches running on either side of it. Whenever he did this, he was serious about it.

I grasp his other wrist, but I can already see a similar scar before I even manage to turn his arm over. I can't believe I never noticed them because now they look so obvious, but he's always been so careful to keep me from seeing as much of his bare skin as possible.

Drawing in a sharp breath, I feel as if I've somehow been betrayed. It all makes sense now. This isn't the first time Edward has felt that he doesn't have anything to live for. Jesus Christ, I didn't know he had a psych history! This changes everything! I curse myself for not taking a look at his chart, but maybe it's not even in there, if it didn't happen here. Some small part of me knows I should feel sympathy for him, but anger is coursing through me instead. What the hell could have made the beautiful, incredibly talented man before me feel as if he had nothing to live for? I feel fiercely protective, but pissed as all hell that he could actually make that choice and follow through with it.

"When?" I force out between gritted teeth.

"It was … a long time ago."

"Why?"

"No," he snaps, his eyes suddenly brimming with anger. "And don't look at me like that! You didn't even know me then! Things were a lot different—I was a lot different!"

I realize I'm glaring at him, and I'm sure he can see the disappointment in my eyes. "I'm … sorry," I say tightly, but I force myself to dial it back a few notches. He's right; I didn't know him then. I don't know the circumstances, and I have no right to judge him.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and when he looks at me, the fire I saw there just a moment before is gone. The fire is still in my eyes, however, but he meets it with calm and steadiness.

"It doesn't matter why. It was a long time ago, and it was a poor choice, but things are different now. I'm different now. It took me a long time to move past … that, but I did." He takes another breath to try to calm myself. "But let's just say I … have some insight into why someone like your patient might do that."

I sigh heavily. I'm positively desperate to know when he did this and what caused it, but there's not a chance in hell he's going to tell me. At least not now, anyway. I'm still angry, but it's more at whoever hurt him or whatever caused him to feel he needed to end it all rather than at the sweet man in front of me.

Cradling his right hand, I re-button the cuff of his nightshirt and gently place his arm back down on the bed. I take his left hand between both of mine. "I know you're not going to tell me, but whatever it is, I'm sorry someone hurt you," I whisper, echoing the words he said to me just yesterday as I turn his wrist and place my lips against the scar there.

Edward tenses, surprised, but he doesn't pull away from me. His teeth latch onto his bottom lip, and he lowers his head for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut. Slowly, his brow unwrinkles, and he looks at me once more, but his eyes look glassy and tired. "Thank you, Bella. Dammit, I was supposed to be comforting you today, and somehow we ended up back with me again. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. You have comforted me today. I … know it's not my fault, but I'm still sad about it. It's just going to take me a little time to put it into perspective."

"I hate that it has you down, though," he continues, almost to himself. "You're such a caring and thoughtful person, and you help so many people in your practice—hell, you even help people you don't have to help, like me. It makes me feel …"

He trails off, and I eye him curiously. "Makes you feel what?"

His eyes are riveted to his afghan where his finger is tracing random boxes in the weave. "It makes me feel protective of you," he murmurs, glancing up at me shyly.

He feels protective of me? Here he is, dying of cancer, and his thoughts are of protecting me from things that make me feel bad at work. I don't think I've ever met a more selfless human being than the one before me. He has so many of his own worries, but all that seemingly goes out the window the minute I have a problem. For me.

I stare at him, and my eyes widen in surprise as I come to another realization—this is the first time he's admitted feeling anything for me. At least, when he wasn't high on morphine. Something is changing. Last week, he was keeping me at a distance, and I was struggling to get back into his confidence, but suddenly, the tides have turned and he's pulling me closer.

My surprise gives way to a warm smile, and he grins back at me, relieved. But suddenly, he rolls his head so he's lying flat against his pillow and closes his eyes.

"You're not really feeling that well today, are you?"

"No," he admits, his eyes still closed.

"Did Jasper come this morning?"

"Yes. He came around ten and stayed until almost lunch."

"And did you put on a show for him too?"

He frowns and opens one eye to peer at me, but he doesn't deny it.

I place a hand on his forehead and feel at least as much heat there as I did this morning, if not more. "I think it's time you take care of yourself. It sounds like you've been taking care of other people all day today."

"I'm all right. I just feel … detached. Like I'm one step behind everything that's going on. Like I told you this morning, I always feel that way when I have a fever."

"Well, you need to stop wearing yourself out trying to keep up," I tell him, squeezing his hand gently. "We're going to make our plans for tomorrow, and then I'm going to go."

Edward opens both eyes and begins to protest, but I cut him off.

"And,if you're not feeling well tomorrow, you're going to tell me. I'll still come, but I don't want you to feel like you have to stay awake for me or pay attention for me—if you're still feverish tomorrow, we're going to take it easy, all right?"

"But tomorrow's movie day!" he whines, his face scrunching up in an adorable pout.

"Yes, it is, but if you're not feeling well and it turns into Bella-watches-a-movie-while-Edward-sleeps-through-it day, then that's okay too."

He frowns as he ducks his chin, and I know he's disgusted with the situation. I can't fathom what it must be like to have given up so much already. He doesn't want to give up the few pleasures he has left.

"Hey," I say, capturing his chin with my hand. "I'm just trying to take care of you. We've got two days for movies. Odds are you'll feel better one of the next two days, so if it's not tomorrow, then we still have Sunday, right?"

"I guess," he huffs, but his eyes fall closed again; he's fading fast.

"So I'll come by around two tomorrow. I was thinking maybe we'd do a blast from the past this weekend. How do you feel about the Matrix movies?"

"There was only one, right?"

I frown at him in exasperation. "Okay, so the second and third were a bit of a letdown, but it's still awesome when the machines finally get to Zion, and I cry every time when Trinity dies."

"Sure, we can watch them," he agrees, while trying to stifle a yawn.

"Do you want me to tell Alice to keep your dinner warm for later? You look like you're not going to make it until six."

"Would you? All of a sudden I'm just exhausted … and a bit cold, too," he replies, shivering.

My chest tightens as I lift up the blankets for him so he can get his arms under the covers, and I pull them all the way up to his chin. "I'll tell her to let you rest for a while, and I'll stay with you until you fall asleep, okay?"

"Thanks, Bella," he mumbles, moving his head restlessly and wincing as shivers wrack his frame.

I stroke his hair, and he sighs, seeming to settle a bit. He's asleep in a few minutes, but I stay until his shivering stops.

As I'm leaving, I run into Alice just outside Edward's door, his dinner tray in hand. "Hey, Alice. Actually, could you keep that warm for him for a while? He's still feverish, and he fell asleep about fifteen minutes ago. There was no way he was going to stay awake until dinner time, so I told him I would ask you to keep it for him until he got a little more rest."

Alice frowns at me. "Sure, I'll keep it for him, but I need to at least go look in on him. Hey, are you okay?"

"Bad day at the office. I'll be all right, though. Edward managed to cheer me up a bit," I tell her, smiling as I recall the last half hour.

"I'm glad. I popped in just before you came, and he seemed really worried about you. He said you were on your way up, and you needed a friend."

My smile grows even wider.

"So, not only is he telling you things, he's also trying to do nice things for you?"

I nod, knowing where this is going but powerless to stop it.

"Uh huh," Alice says smugly.

"What?" I demand, my voice a little sharper than I intended.

"He's more than just attracted to you, Bella. I can see it plain as day. He really cares about you, and as he's starting to open up to you, his feelings are getting stronger. He wants to give to you, just as you are giving to him."

I blush because what she's saying is true, but I don't know what it means. I was so sure I should keep my feelings separate and out of this, but now that I'm seeing how he feels about me, I'm not so sure. The last thing I want to do is hurt him, and if I pulled back from him now, it would certainly do that. If I'm honest with myself, it would hurt me too. I feel like I'm in the middle of the ocean, flailing around and unsure which direction will lead me to land. But I know now that whatever way I go, it's going to be to make him happy rather than to protect myself, because in my mind, his happiness has now become more important than anything else.

"I know, Alice. I can see it too, and I'm trying to figure out how I should handle it. He's just so … different than anyone else I've ever known, and I've never been in this situation before."

"Do you want some advice?"

I raise an eyebrow at her, but I know that even if I say no, she'll continue anyway.

"Don't 'handle' it. Just let things happen without a plan, and let your feelings guide you. And I mean your feelings—Bella the woman, not Bella the psychologist."

I chuckle as I shake my head at her. "What's your degree in again? Because I seem to be having pro bono therapy sessions with you, and I think I'm going to need to see your references."

Alice laughs. "My degree is in being a good friend and in trying to help two people who can't seem to help themselves. However, I accept payment in the form of wine and chocolate."

"I'll keep that in mind," I tell her. "Thanks, Alice. You are a good friend, and I appreciate the advice. Sometimes, I think I analyze a little too much—"

Alice covers her mouth in mock horror. "No! You? How can you—"

Before she can get any further, I punch her in the arm, almost making her drop Edward's tray. We both scramble to keep the thing upright, and between the two of us, we manage it, grinning and laughing.

"Okay, I'd better go. I still need some wine and book therapy to get past this day, and you need to go check on Edward."

"Of course," Alice says, still grinning at me. "And are you coming tomorrow?"

"What else would I be doing?"

Her smile widens. "Have a good weekend with him. And call me if you want to talk."

"Thanks, Alice," I call as I continue down the hallway.

As I drive home, I realize I really am in a much better mood than I was before I went to see Edward. I'm still upset about Mr. Matthews, but I know I did my best with him, and if I had it to do over again, I would make the same decisions. Edward's right. I can only do so much, and people are free to make their own choices. Wine and a good book are still the order of the evening, however.

A/N: So many of you got the Lord of the Rings reference in the last chapter! LOTR was my first fandom, and you all made my geeky little heart sing! Thank you! Pictures for the chapter in Shadow Fics today, teaser in Shadow Fics on Thursday, and Chapter 22 will post on Monday.

Music for Chapter 22: Kiss Me by Ed Sheeran. The link can be found in the Come Back Tomorrow playlist on YouTube and in Shadow Fics.