Beta'd by Eeyorefan12
On Saturday, Bella parked in the furthest corner of the lot from the building. She'd tried to find parking even further away, but spaces were tight today. There was some sort of event downtown, and she was already late for her shift.
The group of protestors and escorts that ringed the entranceway to the clinic looked much as it had the week before.
She wondered if her luck would hold in not being spotted coming from her car.
Sadly, no. At some distance, Mr. Suit locked eyes with her as she moved to circle around the building, but he didn't alert anyone else, merely nodding at her when she came within a half block.
"Good morning," he said as she passed by.
She nodded, not wanting to engage with him any more than necessary, afraid it would encourage other, less desirable interactions.
Largely immune to the calls of protestors, Bella ignored the crowd's varied epithets in her walk towards the building. She wasn't so immune to the woman who bustled up to her aggressively. A pointed jaw and dark curls bounced as the protestor hissed, "Shame on you! You should be having babies, not murdering them!" Her sign was adorned with grotesque photos that documented the results of a very late-term abortion.
The woman couldn't know how impossibly deep those words cut.
Even more angered by the feeling that showed in her florid blush, Bella tried to skirt the protestor.
"Let her by," Mr. Suit said quietly. His words seemed to hold some authority for the woman, because she moved back a bit.
It didn't silence her, though. "We know who you are, Isabella Swan. Don't think you're anonymous here!"
"Good for you. Glad you can use Google. Maybe you can use it to read about Roe vs. Wade too," she said.
Mr. Suit walked her to the door, holding it open again.
"I don't need you to hold the door for me."
"No, you don't. It's simply a common courtesy."
"Yes, that you extend while picketing a clinic, harassing the people who work here, or use its services."
"Do you see me harassing anyone?" he asked.
He had a fair point. "No," she admitted.
"I'm simply offering an alternative to what you do here." His voice was even. Calm. He was the most dangerous kind of anti-abortion protestor there was. One who could earn credibility by virtue of demeanor alone.
"Yes. Your belief that a sack of cells overrules the bodily autonomy of a woman. Because she's a woman."
"All life is sacred," he countered.
"Yeah, right until it's born," Bella scoffed. "Then you could give a flying—"
"I care," he said softly.
They were standing in the doorway, he holding it open, she standing, staring. What the heck was she doing, engaging with a man like this? She knew better.
"Anyway, I'm sure you have appointments to keep, Dr. Swan," he said politely. "I don't want to make you late."
"Don't you?" she asked. "Mr., or Dr.—?"
"Cullen. And yes, there's a doctor in front of it." He shrugged, as if the title was inconsequential.
God, men and their privilege. She'd fought for the right to have those initials in front of her name.
Without saying goodbye, she turned and walked away, not looking back as she was buzzed through the security door.
- 0 -
Bellingham hospital was modest, much like the city. She knew she'd had a good chance of being hired there as it, like so many other small hospitals, had a hard time keeping its physicians long term. She also knew the job would mean being run between departments, covering for absences and adding extra hands as needed. Today had been no exception. She didn't mind. Her paid work there meant she could volunteer at the clinic.
Bella had pulled an extra shift, covering in the maternity ward for one of her colleagues. The last labor she'd attended had been a long one, ending happily, but not before she'd had to manage a sticky shoulder dystocia. She'd just managed to dislodge the baby's shoulder, catching the little girl, when the obstetrician arrived. He'd given an airy "Congratulations!" to the mother, and seeing himself not needed, left. Bella had been glad. Some OB's would've taken on the easier postnatal care, robbing her of those sweet moments to see mother and baby together. Maternity wasn't her primary area, but she loved the few times she got to see the happier end of the work.
She found the work emotionally draining, and she practically shuffled to her car, which she regretted parking at the far end of the parkade's lower level. Already thinking of a hot shower and her soft bed, she was barely aware of her surroundings.
The hiss of spray paint made her look up and around.
"Shit," she muttered, quickly clapping her hand over her mouth.
Several figures holding cans were gathered around her car. While they had initially been focused on defacing her windows, now they were looking at her.
They and Bella paused, as if not certain what the next step in this ugly dance was.
Bella's gut had a good idea what was coming next.
"Dr. Bella Swan," a woman's voice sneered.
Keeping her mouth shut, Bella trained her eyes on the voice's source and let her free hand fish for her pepper spray. Her keys were already in her other hand.
The several bodily shapes became distinct: a woman and two men emerging from the shadows.
"You kill the babies at the hospital too?" The woman's voice wore an ugly bravado.
Not good, Bella thought, so not good. Her hand still searched for the pepper spray.
It wasn't like it was the first time she'd run into trouble of this caliber. She just hadn't expected it so soon into her time here. The clinic had assured her that the hostilities were mild, compared to what she'd experienced in Arizona.
The trio were now moving purposefully towards her. Bella finally grasped the canister, pulling the safety catch and hiding the tube behind her back. She kept her keys threaded through her fingers. "Can I help you?" she asked, hoping to diffuse, or at least lessen the hostility.
"Help?" one of the men asked. "Is that what you call ending lives? Killing my baby?" His voice was strained by emotion.
The third member seemed to hesitate a bit, his posture uncertain. Bella estimated she had a chance at reasoning with him.
"I can see you're upset," she tried, moving her gaze pointedly towards her car.
There was no chance for more talk. The taller of the men lunged at her, followed by the woman.
Bella closed her eyes and sprayed indiscriminately, starting to scream when she felt the first punch to her shoulder. Another voice screamed, and she knew the spray had hit home with the woman. The second hit knocked the can from her hand, and Bella opened her eyes to try to find a target with her keys.
Something hard landed a breath-sucking punch to her stomach. Bella found herself on the ground, another thump driving painfully into her cheek. She curled into herself, hands over her head, expecting worse, but the grunts behind the kicks became panicked swearing and then the fading slap of fleeing feet.
"Hey, don't move!" someone called, as she began to uncurl, ready to defend herself again.
There was a security guard beside her, and then another. "Stay still, let me get someone here to help you."
"I'm fine," she muttered, getting up. Shaken, yes, but not badly hurt.
"Let's get you inside, get one of the doctors to look at you."
"I am a doctor, and trust me, I'm fine," she said.
"Then I'm calling the police," the man said.
"Sure," Bella grumbled, starting to tremble a bit. Shit, she was going into shock. Great. Just what I need.
When the police arrived, so did the paramedics, who she recognized.
"Hey Andy," she said, embarrassed by her situation. She'd been stupid to walk into the parking lot alone. She knew better from her time before.
"Hey yourself, Swan," Andy answered evenly, smiling gently. "Do me a favor and be a good patient, eh?"
"Yeah, sure," she mumbled. She knew exactly how awful it was to treat medical professionals. It didn't do anything towards making her any less cranky or impatient as he checked her over.
"Just let me make sure you're not concussed, okay?" Andy said.
Bella grumbled, "I didn't hit my head."
"Yeah, and concussion victims always remember hitting them, right?"
She glowered, but suffered what felt like his interminable assessment, and then finally, the last of his paperwork. "Yup, you seem fine, but you need to follow up with your own health care provider. Not your prescription pad, got it?"
"Don't worry. Nothing a good night's sleep and an ice pack won't fix."
"I'd say it's going to be more than that, but like you'd listen to a lowly paramedic," he grumbled.
She practically flinched. "Hey, it's not like that. You know I respect the work you do." Some doctors didn't, but she did.
"Do you?" he asked. "Never had a problem when I brought someone else in, but if I try to treat you?" He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.
He had a point.
"Okay," she mumbled. "I'll go see someone tomorrow."
"That's good, because aside from it making you one of the good doctors I get to work with, it's also required before you go back to work."
- 0 -
The receptionist took her paperwork and showed her to one of the small medical rooms. Bella appraised it with a professional eye. Tidy and well stocked. No files in sight. Good, confidentiality was being respected. The degrees hanging on the wall were impressive in their issuers, both the undergraduate and medical school—Johns Hopkins. What in the world had brought someone with that kind of credential to Bellingham? Maybe a local family connection? It couldn't possibly be the weather. That had been the one drawback in leaving Arizona: the lack of sun. This Dr. Edward Masen was a mystery for sure.
The customary knock on the door made her look up, and one Dr. Masen stood in front of her. Mr. Suit, from the abortion clinic.
"No way," she said, staring at him. She stood up, "I'll just go—"
"Please sit," he said, holding out a hand. He looked down at the notes in his file.
"Thanks, but no. You can't treat me. We have a personal connection—" She needed to be cleared for work, but she'd be damned before she let some anti-abortion freak—
"And what would that personal connection be?" he asked, interrupting her silent diatribe, meeting her gaze.
Did he not recognize her? And what the hell was with the fake name he'd given?
"You protest the clinic I work at?" she answered, almost incredulously. "Under a different name, apparently?" She looked at the degrees on the wall and then back at him.
"Cullen is my adopted name. What kind of personal connection would that create between us?" His voice was even, as was his face. The model of a physician's interested, yet level professionalism. A handsome face too.
And infuriating. She felt herself blushing. She went to speak, opening her mouth and then closing it again. She had no idea how it made them connected. It just irked her, the idea of someone like him treating her.
"I treat everyone, Dr. Swan, regardless of origin, circumstance, belief, preferred hockey team, or ability to pay. My door is open. But if you feel my beliefs are an impediment to appropriate treatment, I won't be offended by your prejudices."
"I am not prejudiced," she growled out.
"I'm glad to hear it," he said. "So my treating you won't be a problem?"
Oh for fuck's sakes.
"I suppose not."
"Good. Could you tell me what happened, please? While I take a look at those bruises?"
Her heart was pounding when he examined her arms. When his fingers reached for her jaw, she flinched.
"Sorry," he murmured. "That must be sore."
"No—I mean yes, I'm just—just a bit shaken by what happened. That's all."
"I can imagine," he said gently. "Were you hurt anywhere else?"
"Yes," she said, hand to her stomach.
"May I?" he asked.
She'd already stood, nodding and moving to the exam table. She lifted her shirt to bare her midriff, steeling herself for his response to her scars.
"Can you rate your pain with the bruising?" he asked.
"Minimal," she said, shaking her head.
He lifted his eyebrows. "You must have a high pain tolerance."
"Guess so."
"You have quite a few scars. Is there anything I need to know about possible internal damage?"
"Nope."
She'd put down her shirt by this time, sitting up. He glanced back, looking at her, obviously weighing the response she'd given. Finally, he nodded.
"You reported the assault to the police?"
"Of course."
"Any idea what precipitated it?" This question was all bedside manner, but dang, if the irony of it didn't make her want to laugh bitterly.
"Yes. My work at the clinic." She didn't break eye contact as she said it.
His hand paused for a moment over his notes, and he nodded, eyes down. "I'm so sorry. I hope you know that my own beliefs preclude violence and that I speak and act against it wherever I can."
"Sure," she said. She told herself she didn't care. What did it matter, that he didn't believe in violence? He certainly didn't believe in a woman's right to choose.
The rest of the appointment passed unremarkably.
"If you feel any dizziness, please come back. No driving, of course, if you feel that way."
She shook her head. "There hasn't been any, and I think we both know I don't have a concussion."
"I'd be remiss if I didn't say so," he added.
"Of course," she said quietly. "No offense, I'm sure you're qualified, but I'd appreciate a referral to another GP in the area, if you have one."
"None taken. I'll get you some cards and your clearance letter, too."
True to his word, he returned with these in hand.
"Thank you," she said, accepting the envelope he passed her.
"You're welcome, Dr. Swan. It's a pleasure to help a colleague."
She noted the difference in language and nodded, leaving the small room and moving to the receptionist's desk.
Glancing at the insurance and credit card Bella held out, the woman shook her head. "Oh, there's no charge, Dr. Swan. We waive services to medical personnel."
"But I'm not—"
"Aren't you a doctor?" she asked, suddenly looking suspicious.
"Yes, I am, but—"
"He doesn't charge colleagues." Then she added, in a low mumble, "Or a lot of people." Her twisted lips communicated her obvious disapproval at this habit.
"Alright then," Bella said, feeling strange, walking away without paying. When she got back to her car, she opened the envelope. Sure enough, there were cards for several other physicians, most of them female, and a letter, clearing her for work. The wording in the note was odd, though, It stated she'd been seen as a colleague, as a professional courtesy, and not as a patient. Why would it matter?
Perhaps he's not so unbiased after all? Doesn't want a known abortionist on his roll?
Maybe.
Tucking the envelope and these questions away, Bella started the car and began her drive to work.
DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.