A/N: Well, now we're back to Edward's POV, which starts the day after his going-away party at the hospital. And then six months go by, where the last chapter (in BPOV) left off...Also, I hate separating my two main characters, so it won't last long.

And no, Jacob will not be making an appearance in this story. Ever. I understand love triangles, and can appreciate them at times, but overall I kind of hate them. That doesn't mean I don't like to toy with them for a bit, until I kill them with gusto. This is an Edward/Bella story, and...yeah. That's what this is.

Thanks as always for reading!! I didn't get a chance to respond to everyone, but thank you so much for your reviews!

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.

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Chapter 25: Cyclical Behavior

EPOV

I landed at the Seattle airport on a Tuesday morning, and Carlisle was waiting for me at the gate like I was a college kid again, coming home for the holidays. I had hired someone to move everything up here, including my car—I hated moving, and I had avoided the chore of doing so for years. I didn't give a shit that it cost a fortune; I could afford it.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and took a few long steps toward my father, whose expression was set in a tight, cautious smile. I shook his hand, and he pulled me into an unexpected embrace. Brief and awkward as fuck, but a sign of affection nonetheless. I wondered what the hell had gotten into my old man.

"It's good to see you, Edward," he said, his blue eyes warm and bright in the stark white lights of the terminal. "How was your flight?"

"Uneventful," I said, thankful that Carlisle had spared me an effusive welcome back to Forks. I already knew how pleased he was to see me; he didn't have to gloat that I had come back. And while the tension between us was definitely still there, I could see he had plans to diffuse it gradually.

"I'm parked this way."

I followed him down the terminal to the parking garage, and I immediately spotted his old, paint-chipped Saab. The thing was actually a piece of shit, but Carlisle loved that car. It was Esme's, and he had never parted with it.

"Still driving Mom's car around?"

"It doesn't give me any trouble," he said, in typical laconic fashion. We had that in common, at least.

We sat in silence for a while, as my eyes adjusted to the sight of endless pines and clouds in the place of hills and thick fog. Even after all these years, I still felt oddly comforted by the distinctive setting of the Pacific Northwest. It still felt like home.

As we descended deeper into the trees and rain, Carlisle suddenly broke the silence. I wondered how long he had been sitting there, working himself up to say something. Probably since the moment we got in the car.

"So I've worked out some ideas for your scheduling, if you would like to hear it," he said, his voice gruff but cautiously optimistic.

"Let's have it," I said, genuinely intrigued by the sudden 9 to 5 lifestyle I would be leading. Overnight call was still a reality—always was for doctors, even in towns as tiny as Forks—but I had a feeling I wouldn't be seeing a hell of a lot of drug addicts, prostitutes, and celebrities up here.

"Well, I spoke with the University of Washington hospitals, and they would like you to rotate there at least a few days out of the month. They are willing to work out a very flexible arrangement with you."

"I moved to Forks for a reason, Carlisle. I'm trying to live the small-town life." I was being serious, for the most part, but I wondered if he picked up on the mild sarcasm in my voice.

"I know that, but I think you'll feel more challenged in a city hospital. It'll keep you from getting bored around here. You may get tired of the typical Forks patient."

"Which is?"

"Hypertension, diabetes, high cholesterol…the usual things affecting old fogeys like me."

"You aren't old, Carlisle," I said, not as a compliment, but as a fact. "You could practice till you're 100 if you wanted to."

"Well, I could use the help. In any case, I thought you might want to think about the UW position. As for Forks, you'll have your own office in my clinic, and you can see patients there whenever you like. Twice a week I see patients at the Port Angeles hospital, which is where I refer people for emergency care."

"I see," I said, although my mind had already wandered to the image of my father's office the way I remembered it, its walls lined with books, his desk cluttered with charts and papers and random tokens of appreciation from his patients. And I remembered Esme bringing flowers in once a week, because she thought they had a calming effect on patients. She was right, of course. My father and I never worked a day in the office without fresh flowers in a vase by the window.

"And you'll see everyone, Edward. Adults, children, geriatric patients—"

"Children? I'm not a pediatrician."

"With kids, ninety-nine percent of the time it's a stomach ache or a bad case of the sniffles. I think you'll get the hang of it."

I opened my mouth to say something, but decided against it. I didn't like children, and I didn't really know why, but I would learn to deal with it. At least kids didn't cause their own health problems—for the most part, anyway. Then again, I knew the real reason for my reservations about pediatric patients, and Carlisle—like everyone else in this town—would never know about that.

"When do I start?"

"How does tomorrow sound? It's a good thing you know the governor—he expedited your licensing application."

I thought of the governor and a rather embarrassing incident involving body parts, and things too big to fit into body parts. That guy definitely owed me a few favors.

"Sounds good," I said. The sooner the better—what the hell else was I going to do to keep myself occupied? And I knew I had to keep myself occupied, because my mind always wandered to certain things when I had nothing else to think about.

We passed the familiar wooden sign signaling our entrance into Forks, and I wasn't prepared for the tightening in my chest at the sight of this little town, the one my parents knew and loved, the same one I had left without a second thought. It had hardly changed, like a place frozen in time. A steady, grey rain provided the backdrop to the little storefronts and parked cars, just as I remembered it.

"I looked into that property you mentioned on the edge of town, and Harry would like to talk it over with you tomorrow if you're still interested," Carlisle said, interrupting my thoughts.

"That sound be fine. Thanks for doing that."

Carlisle glanced over at me, his eyes wider, his expression softer; maybe he was still a little stunned by the drastic change in tone from our last visit. But this time, I just didn't see a reason for any hostility, especially since I couldn't imagine Esme coming up in conversation any time soon.

"Until then, you're of course welcome in your old house. I'm afraid I use your room as a study these days, so I made up the guest bedroom for you."

I said nothing, just nodded as he pulled up the long drive to the house I had grown up in. It was an old, regal house, with sprawling windows and a back yard that sloped toward the river. He loved this house almost as much as the damn car, and I knew he would never leave either one of them.

The familiar scent of oak and lavender struck me as I walked inside, and it boggled my mind how all these years hadn't changed the way this house smelled, looked, and felt. Carlisle had made a few changes—I could see that in the clutter that had accumulated in the living and dining room—but its essence was the same. He refrained from making a sappy comment about my long-awaited return, and again, I silently thanked him for it.

Carlisle disappeared into the kitchen while I climbed the stairs, and I ignored the door to my old bedroom as I headed toward the end of the hall. I found the empty guest bedroom there, along with two boxes I had shipped to Carlisle's address. The rest of anything I considered worthwhile was in storage, where it would stay until I talked to this Harry guy about his property for sale.

I looked outside at the grey, gloomy skies, trying to gauge what time it was. I realized I didn't really give a shit that it was the middle of the afternoon, and I was suddenly tired, and there was no one around to care that I felt like taking the first afternoon nap of my life. So I just lay there on the bed, staring at the ceiling, oddly pleased by the sound of the rain falling on the wet pines.

As my mind drifted, I thought of Bella, and of running away, and I wondered for the first time if leaving was a fucking cowardly thing to do. But I never second-guessed myself; I had made a decision, and here I was, and there was no point deliberating its merits. The best way to forget something is to get the hell away from it.

I had done it once before, and here I was. Right back where I started.

***

I woke up before dawn the next day, and I was shocked to hear Carlisle putzing around in the kitchen. I had never in my life met someone who rose earlier than I did; maybe the man didn't sleep at all.

He uttered a gruff good morning when I came in, and I sat at the table with my laptop and a glass of orange juice, feeling like Esme was going to walk in at any second and ask me about my track meet or prom date. It was kind of bizarre, but not altogether unpleasant. I just felt like I was in some kind of time warp.

I felt more like myself at the clinic, which was just a mile or so outside of downtown. Carlisle gave me the tour, which took precisely three minutes, including the small, messy room that would serve as my office. He said I was welcome to meet all of his patients for the day; I said I didn't want to cramp his style. We compromised by splitting up the schedule, and staying out of each other's way.

At 10 am, a tall, slim brunette with glasses and a clipboard came knocking at my door. She looked vaguely familiar, but in a mildly unpleasant way, like she was part of some memory I had tried to repress. She smiled nervously when she came in, and it all clicked when I saw her scrubs. A Weber girl. The nurse. But she wasn't sixteen anymore, as I remembered her—it almost surprised me that people in this town actually aged.

"Hi, Dr. Cullen? Can I come in?"

"Sure," I said, waving her in. "And call me Edward." I realized all my patients would have to call me Edward—I didn't like answering to 'Dr. Cullen' with my father around. I felt like I was stealing his thunder or something.

"I'm Allison Weber," she said in a timid voice, and I noticed the clipboard shaking slightly. This poor girl was having an anxiety attack—was I really that intimidating? Jeezus, it felt like I hadn't left San Francisco at all.

"Well hi, Allison." Her name caught in my throat a bit, as I realized I had the Weber girls confused. Angela was the older sister, the one I had taken to the prom—definitely a repressed memory. Allison was a few years younger, and I had only talked to her a few times, if at all.

"I work here," she mumbled.

"I can see that," I said, hoping a smile would loosen her up. It did not. "Can I ask what you do around here?"

"I'm an RN—I finished nursing school about a year ago. So I see some patients, and I help Dr. Cullen with whatever he needs."

"Well, I'm sure he appreciates the help," I said. She forced a smile, but she looked so damn nervous that it was making me uncomfortable. I would have to work on her.

"I can help you, too, of course," she added.

"Thanks. I'll be sure to let you know if I need any."

She nodded and backed up toward the door, clearly anxious to escape. But she froze at the sound of my voice, and her shoulders tensed at the sound of her name.

"Oh, and Allison?"

"Yes, Dr. Cullen—I mean, Edward. I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"I don't bite."

Her expression softened just the tiniest bit, and I considered it progress. I didn't want to be the doctor that people feared, the boss that barked orders and didn't give a shit who followed them, so long as it was done. I wasn't even sure what I really wanted, but I knew I wanted something else out of my life as a physician. Something deeper.

***

Unlike my crazed existence in San Francisco, where I spent more time at the hospital than at home, the days in Forks passed in predictable fashion. I got up before dawn, went for a long run through the woods, caught up on research and new treatments, went to the office or the hospital in Port Angeles, and came home again. Twice a month I drove to Seattle, where I consulted on patients, and I usually stayed in the city for a few days, just to remind myself that life existed outside of Forks. I missed the pulse of the city—the sounds of the street at night, the crowded bars and restaurants, the people hurrying from one place to the next. But Forks was in my blood, and small-town life suited me in its own way. Somehow, I managed to strike a balance between the two.

I bought an old, rustic house off Harry Clearwater the day after Carlisle picked me up from the airport, and I used every spare hour I had to fix the place up. It sat on the top of a massive hill, and on a rare clear day, I could see for miles from its second-floor windows. I moved a grand piano into the house before I even acquired a bed, and it sat by the window in the corner room. I often played for hours, lulled into a trance by the gloom outside, the piano's rich, low notes mingling with the steady drone of the rain.

I adjusted quickly to the daily schedule of patients, if one could call it a schedule. People called up, came in, sometimes with actual physical ailments, but oftentimes not. A lot of them just wanted to talk to me, vent about their problems, reassure themselves they weren't dying of a lethal cold virus. Several people came in just to meet me, because they had heard about Dr. Cullen's mysterious son who had suddenly moved back into town.

And, of course, I had a fair share of matchmaking mothers come into my office, who had no qualms name-dropping their daughters. I always just smiled and nodded, and thought seriously about wearing a ring to get them off my back. But at the same time, I didn't care enough to do anything about it, although I had come to expect the unexpected. And if it happened, I wouldn't exactly want it, or need it, but I wouldn't care enough to completely reject it, either.

And as the months passed and the distance between my past and present life increased, I hardly thought of Bella anymore, unless Alice called or e-mailed or faxed her case file to my office. And even then, I managed to forget those brief interruptions more quickly, like any skill that is learned, honed, and perfected.

I spoke to Alice once or twice a month, not about Bella, but about her case. I approached it medically, scientifically—I removed her name from the file, and looked at the labs, tests, exam findings, and images objectively. And I kept coming back to the same thing, the same annoying little blip in her file that made me second-guess every other aspect of it. But I couldn't mention it to Alice, because I couldn't justify tests based on a hunch. That's all it was, and it wasn't enough.

So I sat on the file for six months, returning to it every so often late at night, after my fingers were raw from playing the piano. Sometimes I spent hours poring over it, other times, just a few minutes. But no matter how much time I devoted to it, the conclusion was always the same. I was just missing a piece. One piece…

Tonight I was sitting at my desk in my tiny office, staring at that same page in the chart, the one that had tortured me for months. When someone knocked at the door, I almost jumped out of my fucking skin; it took me a few seconds to even remember where I was.

"Come in," I said, grateful for the chance to take a break from this unsolvable beast. I rubbed my temples and stared out the window; my eyes slowly adjusted to the distance, and I felt my headache ebb just a bit.

Allison walked in, a shy smile on her face. "Hey," she said. "Still working late?"

"Bad habit," I explained.

"Mrs. Cope's blood pressure problems keeping you up with worry?" she teased.

Close, I felt like saying. But it wasn't Mrs. Cope keeping me up, and it was a hell of a lot more frustrating—and serious—than some mild hypertension.

"I think it'll be time to move back to the city if that ever happens," I said instead.

"Yeah," she agreed, her voice a shade quieter.

"Shouldn't you have gone home hours ago?" Allison often came in here just to chat, which was fine with me, but she had never taken it any further than that. And I didn't give her any indication that I would have reciprocated if she had, but tonight she seemed a little bolder. And it was late as fuck, which made things somewhat more interesting.

"I was helping with the electronic chart transfer," she explained. Every doctor's office in the country was going electronic; I had implemented that change in Forks the day I got here. I despised those paper charts.

"I see," I said, and now I was genuinely intrigued. She stood there by the door, obviously stalling. I was kind of amused by the whole thing, and I just let the silence hang there, waiting for her to execute her plan, whatever the hell it was.

"I was thinking of getting a drink across the street," she said finally. "Would you…um…would you like to come?"

"If I don't go, will you be drinking alone?"

"Oh," she stammered. "I guess…I don't know…"

"I'm just teasing you, Allison. Yeah, sure I'll go."

My own answer surprised me, but hell, I needed to get out of this office and back into the land of the living. And as shady as the neighborhood pub was, it served beer, and I really needed one of those.

***

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