I don't think I've ever updated a fic so fast in my life, but this one is just bursting out of me. Thank you all so much for being along for the ride with me. I love hearing your reactions and hopes and dreams for these two. I can't tell you how much I appreciate and love you all.

Ali beta'd most of this chapter, but she fell asleep for the last fourth. Any mistake is mine.

xXxXx

Hearts Are Heavy Burdens

The phone rings while Bella is taking an online test. She glances over at the insistent thing, buzzing irritatingly against her nightstand. She watches it until the buzzing almost carries it off the table. She grabs it at the last minute and puts it to her ear.

"Yes?"

"What did you choose for number six?"

"I chose… hmm… do your own work, cheater."

"That's not an option…"

"Edward. I'm not helping you."

"Can I come over?"

"Are you deaf?"

"What? Repeat that?"

"Funny."

"Please, Bella. I can't find my book anywhere, and the old asshole has the Lockdown Browser on so I can't use trusty Google."

"It's a timed test. I only have a few more questions to go."

"I can pause it now and be over in twenty."

Bella thinks and gnaws on her thumbnail. It's ten o'clock on a Wednesday night. She hasn't brushed her teeth in about twelve hours and has a sheen on her face from the makeup she hasn't freshened in about as long.

"I haven't showered," she warns.

"Oh, well that changes everything."

"What?"

"Shut up. I'll be there soon."

She taps her nails against the silver keyboard of her laptop and blows out a long breath. Everything with him has felt different and new, and this is no exception. They've only ever hung out on weekends and coming over on a random weekday night seems significant. Important. Huge. Scary. Wonderful. Yeah… wonderful.

Smiling, she pauses the time on her test and jumps out of bed. No time for a shower, but there's definitely time for a toothbrush. And deodorant. And a new shirt. And some powder to stop her horrible T-spot glow. Maybe she should just wash her face and reapply – no. Too much effort for someone who invites themselves over… right? Maybe she should just wash her face so he can see the freckles he admires so much.

She deliberates for fifteen minutes while she chugs a bottle of water and watches half of an "I Love Lucy" rerun. After wiping her face for the millionth time, she decides to just take off the stupid makeup and stop being a psycho.

She's scrubbing her face when the doorbell rings. Cursing and choking on soapy water, she blots at her cheeks and runs to the door. Emily is asleep, and she doesn't want the bell to wake up her nosy roommate.

"Hi," she says, pulling open the door.

He grins at her, and then it turns into a full out laugh. "Did someone punch you in the eye?"

"No…" She steps aside and lets him in.

He swipes under her lower lid and black mascara comes off on his thumb.

"Ugh… um… excuse me for a second." She darts back to the bathroom. It looks like she's been crying in the rain. Great.

After she wipes it off, she goes to the living room, expecting to see him there. "Edward?"

"In here," he calls. His voice is coming from her bedroom.

She walks in with her eyebrow raised. He's propped up on a bunch of her pillows, lounging like a prince with his gigantic laptop resting on his knees.

"Just make yourself comfortable," she laughs, scooting up onto the bed.

He smiles at her over the top of his computer, more shy than she's ever seen him.

Bella opens her laptop back up and loads the page. Edward has done the same, and he's rifling through her textbook, muttering to himself. She leans back against her headboard, her hip connecting with his bony one.

"Did you figure out number six?" she asks after a few minutes of silence.

He looks over at her and tries to peek at her screen. She moves it over and repeats her question.

"No. It's stumping me." He pushes his laptop off his legs and rubs his eyes. "I'm so tired. I shouldn't have waited until the last minute to do this."

"I always say that to myself, knowing I'm going to procrastinate the next time."

He yawns and takes off his ball cap. She's shocked and tries not to show it. He's never done that so casually. He scratches his head, ruffling up the little tufts of hair between his fingers. The cap falls to the floor, and he doesn't bend to pick it up.

Instead, he turns to her. "Are you almost finished?"

She looks back at her screen. "Yeah. Only a couple more… so give me my book. You've been usurping it for the past ten minutes."

"No way. I have double the questions. You can just wait."

"Excuse me," she says haughtily. "It's my book."

"Excuse me," he mocks. "I'm using it."

She crosses her arms over her chest and leans back. If he were stronger, she would be wrestling for it right now. But she's still kind of hesitant to be too rough, because he always seems so brittle and broken.

"That's a very pretty pout, Swan."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Pretty ineffective."

"You are such a – " He never finds out what he is to her. Instead, he finds out what he does to her. He leans over and kisses her quickly, like he's scared and unsure that he's able to do it. They haven't kissed since their fight in the parking lot a week or so earlier, like they both realized they needed to back up a couple paces and keep it more friendly and less friendly.

She's found out a lot about him in the past week or so, more than ever. He's always very quiet, letting her do most of the revealing. But the afternoon at Esme's and the argument after seemed to have opened him up, and he took to heart her plea to let her in.

He's twenty-two, just like her. He likes classic muscle cars – his first car was the same Trans-Am model used in "Smokey and the Bandit." He wrecked it two weeks later, and his parents bought him the super-safe Volvo as punishment. His favorite food used to be any kind of Indian food, but he hasn't been able to eat it since he got sick. His family lives in Chicago, but he won't say much more about them. He moved here about two months ago to live with his sister, a fashion buyer. He got his own place about a month ago and pays for it with his savings. He doesn't have a job because he's too exhausted to go to work and school, and he thinks his education is more important than living like a king.

She shoves him away slightly, their lips disconnecting with a plunger noise. She laughs, and he wipes his mouth.

"Cow mouth," he accuses.

"Book stealer."

"Bed stealer."

"This is my bed."

"Room on the bed stealer."

"This is my – "

"Done," he announces randomly, throwing the book at her. It connects with her side.

"What is your – that hurt!"

He looks contrite. "Sorry. As I slowly gain strength back… you know. I always forget. If I would have tried that a few months ago, it wouldn't have moved."

She rolls her eyes at him and takes her book back. He clicks his mouse a couple times, and then closes his laptop with a huge yawn.

"What did you put for number six?" she asks.

"B."

"That's what I got." She looks over at him, and his eyes are drooping. "You look exhausted."

He shakes his head. "I'm okay." He stretches out his legs and rises. "I'm going to go smoke and try to wake up. Where's your balcony again?"

"Through the kitchen. It's a sliding glass door – you can't miss it."

He nods and fumbles for his cigarettes. She watches him go. He's limping again – his whole body must be tired.

She finishes up her quiz in another ten minutes, and Edward still isn't back. Puzzled, she creeps into the kitchen and out onto the balcony.

He's asleep in one of their plastic chairs, snoring softly. Her heart aches for him. His cigarette is still burning, the cherry dangerously close to falling on his pant leg.

She reaches out her hand and runs it over his shorn hair. "Edward," she whispers.

He jolts awake, the motion causing the cherry of the cigarette to fall exactly where she suspected it would. He curses, blowing and wiping away the ash.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he groans, standing. "I can't believe I… I should go."

"You can't drive. You fell asleep on my balcony!"

"It's fine." But his voice is weak, like he's going to fall asleep standing up.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snaps. "Our couch is really comfortable. Come on." She leads him inside and forces him onto the couch.

"Bella, really…"

"Shut your stupid face."

It's dark in the living room, but she can hear his smile. "My face isn't stupid."

"Stupid and ugly. I can't look at you. Here." She throws a blanket in the general direction of his head. She hears the muffled noise, knowing it connected. "Do you need pajamas?"

"You have guy pajamas?"

"My dad left some…"

"Oh, that's a likely story."

"Shut up and go to sleep."

She finds her dad's pajama bottoms for him, but he's asleep by the time she makes it back in the living room. She places them by the couch and kisses his forehead, trying not to notice the medicinal smell to his skin.

When she makes it back to her room, her email icon is bouncing with one new message. It's from her mom. Smiling and surprised, she settles down to read it.

Hi, baby –

Can't write much. We're about to leave for a weekend in Vancouver, but I was thinking about you today. I bought the most beautiful dress for you in one of the vintage shops I found in Portland, but you're just going to have to see your dear mother to get it.

What do you say, darling? I know your semester is coming to a close soon, and Christmas is right around the corner. Maybe you can spend a few weeks with us? We're going to be at our house in Banff over the holidays… it's beautiful there. You'd love it. Bring Emily, if you'd like. Or anyone, if you're not still friends with her.

Send me a note to tell me if you're coming!

All my love,

Mom.

Her silly, flighty, loving mother. She used to think her mom didn't love her because she wasn't like the moms who made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and kissed boo-boos. Now, she knows her mom loves her very much, but she's just the type of woman who lacks a maternal instinct and makes up for it in friendship and adventure.

She wakes up before she realizes she's asleep, and it's still dark. It must be the middle of the night. Her laptop is still on her chest, and it's left a warm spot on her skin. Her mouth tastes fuzzy so she stumbles into her bathroom and brushes her teeth.

She's climbing back into bed when she hears the knock. Edward comes in quietly, standing by the door. The moon pours through her window, casting him in shadow and light. He looks ethereal and exhausted.

"I heard you up," he whispers. "I can't sleep."

She scoots over to the left side of the bed and pats the warm spot. "Come on."

He needs no further convincing. She notices that he's changed into the pajama pants, and they hang off his hips. The drawstring is nearly screaming with no slack.

He lifts up the side of her covers, and his cold feet brush her bare legs. They hover at their respective edges before she moves or he moves or they meet in the middle, but his head is suddenly against her breast and his short hair is tickling her chin.

"I would prefer you laying on me," he says after a moment, his breath warm against her skin. "But I know I'm not the most comfortable. All my bones… it's like resting on stone."

She's shoving him before his speech is finished. She settles against his chest and tells him to shut up and to remember their discovery that she fits here.

Her last memory of the night is the dampness she feels on her forehead when he presses his cheek to it.

xXxXx

"Dude, I'm not going anywhere."

Emily is not happy when this comes out of Bella's mouth. Emily is dressed in her club gear – tight shirt, tighter jeans and sparkles everywhere. Bella is dressed like she's not going anywhere – massive sweatshirt, cotton shorts and a zit on her forehead.

"Yes, you fucking are. You haven't been out with me in ages. It's a Friday night! What else do you have to do but go out and look pretty for boys?"

Bella rolls her eyes. "I was going to catch up with the episodes of Law and Order I TiVo'd."

"Oh, that's right," Emily says suddenly, clearly not listening to Bella. "You already have a boy to look pretty for."

"That's right," Bella replies blandly. "So pretty."

Emily levels a stare at her, and then disappears for a few minutes. Thinking she's won, Bella goes back to reading on the couch. She hears Emily's voice, and then she's back in the living room, standing over the couch, Bella's phone against her ear.

"Yeah, she totally won't go anywhere, Edward. I figure if you come along, we'll all win. She doesn't have to sit at home and touch herself – " Bella swipes for the phone at this, "- and neither do you. And I get my BFF just like old times."

"You stupid bitch," Bella snaps, bending over the couch to snatch the phone from Emily's hands. "I swear to God, Emily – take no for an answer!"

Bella's extremely agitated because she know Edward will agree because he's Edward but he's too tired and weak to go anywhere like a club where people will be drinking and groping and dancing and she can't stand the thought of him being anywhere like that.

But Emily doesn't know that, so Bella can't be too angry. Just… she's so fiercely protective of Edward, who keeps trying things he's not ready for yet. The night before he showed up at Esme's to take her to class, which left her smiling like crazy. Until he snuck a piece of her chicken curry take out and threw up violently until he was weak and clammy and shaking and she had to take him home, except he wouldn't let her take him there, so she had to take him to her house and it was just a mess. They both missed class and... and he can't go to a bar or a club tonight because he was so sick and she can't... it hurts. It hurts so much.

"Don't listen to her. It's fine," she tells Edward. "Emily just wants… she's stupid. I don't want to go out."

"You should go," he says after a beat. "I'm taking up all of your time. I don't want to hurt your friendships."

"Emily is doing that well enough on her own," Bella grouses. "It's not a big deal. I don't want to. Seriously."

"Will you go if I come along?"

"Don't." It's out of her mouth, curt and quick.

"Why not?" He sounds aggravated, like he knows exactly why not.

"Because… why don't you just come over here? You can watch TV with me."

"It's because of yesterday, isn't it?"

"No."

"At least respect me enough to be honest."

"It's not just about yesterday, Edward. It's about all the days. Don't push yourself."

"I know my fucking limits."

"Obviously not." She's getting irritated with him. How can he just act like… it's like now that the chemo is over, he's done with the whole thing. He smokes and pushes himself and a lot of other things that really piss her off, but she can't call him on it because she doesn't know if she has a place to yet.

She waits a couple seconds to speak. He hasn't replied. He's mad, she knows it.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. He doesn't respond. She pulls the phone away. That little – he hung up on her!

She dials him back furiously. He answers on the first ring. That cocky son of a – he was waiting for her to call back. He knew she would. She's furious.

"You can scream at me, call me names… but don't you dare hang up on me. Ever."

"I'm not going to sit there and listen to someone… someone who has no idea about what I've gone through – or, or… or anything! You're not my mother… don't coddle me. Don't."

"I'm not coddling," she hisses. "I'm caring – there's a difference! Why are you so stubborn? Why are you so – never mind. Never mind. You know what? Fine. I will go out. Why don't you come? Be an idiot like every other guy your age."

"Bella – "

"But we're picking you up from your place. The club we're going to is on the other side of Seattle, so it's on the way."

"You are not picking me up here."

"Then you are not coming with me, and I'm going to get really drunk and make out with who knows what – " She's raving. She's raving and stupid and mad as hell and saying anything she can that will upset him because she's fucking upset, too.

He's silent, and she can almost feel the steam leaving his ears. He says his address really quickly. "I'm not giving you directions. Enter that in on that fancy fucking GPS of yours."

He hangs up again, but she's smiling triumphantly.

xXxXx

Several hours later, Bella is being supported as she stumbles through her front door. Emily has one arm and Edward has the other, and they're both talking over her head about bed and baths and Jagerbombs.

Emily lets her right arm go, and Bella falls into the foyer table. She knocks over the bowl full of keys and coins, laughing as Emily curses at her.

"Dude… whatever." She's slurring, but she makes sense. Right?

"I'll pick this up in the morning," Emily says, rolling her eyes. She's pretty drunk herself, but Bella is wasted. "You got her?"

"Yeah," answers Edward. "Night."

"Good luck," Emily grimaces.

"I'm thirsty," Bella whispers, totally ignoring their exchange. "Do we have any margarita mix?"

"I don't fucking think so," he grumbles. He's been so testy with her all night and ugh, it hurts her feelings. She kind of remembers why… kind of. It doesn't seem important.

She pushes on his mouth with her fingers. "Smile."

He shakes his head, but one side of his lips quirks up. "You need some water."

She shakes her head. "No. That'll make me…"

"That's the point."

"Ugh. Nooooo." She tugs on him as he goes to her fridge and pulls out a bottle. "Bed. Bed sounds goooooooood."

"Thank god," he groans. "Let's go."

He gets her to her room, and she starts undressing. Rummaging through her drawers, she finds a big t-shirt to sleep in and turns to look at Edward.

His eyes are wide. He's staring at her legs. Her panties. Her stomach. Her breasts that are bare save for the arm she has thrown across them. "Bella…"

She grins. "Yes?" Boys are so easy.

"You… go put some clothes on."

"I'm trying."

"Away from me."

"Why?"

"Because…" She can tell he has no good reason. "Just… go do it."

"But, Edward…" She doesn't want to get dressed. She hasn't felt this alive in her own skin in… well, time isn't important right now. But she swears she can feel every place his eyes drag over, like he's branding her.

She drops her arm from her breasts, but her long hair mostly hides them from his view. Still, he can't look away. She wraps her arms around his neck, bringing her hair high enough where her nipples are scraping against his cotton t-shirt. She sucks in a breath. It feel so good.

"Kiss me," she pleads, her mouth so close to his.

"Please stop," he whispers.

"I really… reeeeeeally want you." She kisses him on the corner of his mouth. "You're so beautiful – do you know that? How beautiful you are? Every bit of you. I want to feel it. I want to taste it, smell it – "

He unlocks her death grip. "You won't be happy with me in the morning if I do that."

Her desire turns to danger. "Fine. You probably really… you probably suck and have a small – "

He grabs her hand and places it against his… his… she's wrong. Small is definitely not the problem. "Now go to sleep. And put a shirt on."

"Stay?" she asks softly, her shirt going over her head.

She thinks he means to be cutting or something, but what comes out is tired and defeated.

"Where else am I going to go?"

xXxXx

She wakes up in the morning with the worst headache ever. Oh my god – is the sun always that bright? This is ridiculous –

She smells food. Her body doesn't like food right now. At all. Her stomach is churning and she's running and she's puking and she's going to die.

Edward is behind her suddenly, holding her hair.

"Better out than in," he says. His voice is rough and soft at the same time.

"Go away," she moans between sessions. "You don't need to see this."

He laughs. He actually laughs. "As if I'm going to be squeamish about vomit. You ridiculous girl."

She's wiped out when she's all done. Her whole body is sweating. Edward flushes the toilet for her as he helps her up.

"Sorry, it's my fault," he says suddenly, looking extremely sheepish. "I made you eggs… they always make me want to throw up, too. I don't really like them, but my mom told me once they help with nausea."

She hugs him tightly around the middle. "Shut up. Thank you."

He hugs her back, pressing his face against her hair. "Welcome. I'll go throw them away…"

She stops him. "I'm starving now. Nothing in the tummy." She pats her stomach. "Did you make toast, too?"

He did. She eats her eggs on top of the toast and chugs a glass of orange juice. He smiles at her the whole time, like watching her eat his food is the best thing he's ever seen.

"I'm glad you stayed," she told him as she washed the pan in the sink. "Really glad. I was awful to you on the phone yesterday."

He shakes his head, leaning against the counter next to her. "It's not your fault. Like I told you, I'm just not used to straight talk from anyone. Even doctors. You tell me how it is – or at least how you think it is." He grins at her. "You may not always be right, but I appreciate your honesty either way."

She shrugs. "I shouldn't have spoken to you that way, and I'm sorry. I have a bit of a tempter." She realizes she hasn't apologized for her temper in forever, and that makes her smile. Something has stirred in her, making her want to feel angry and passionate and alive.

"That's a very sincere apology, with that shit-eating grin on your face."

She clamps her lips together. "Sorry. Just… happy."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He moves her hair out of her face and kisses the side of it. "Me, too."

"So," she starts after a couple minutes of comfortable silence, "I don't really remember last night. I remember getting to the club…"

"You started downing shots to piss me off, and it worked. You looked… not like you. Made up and slutted up."

She crinkles her brow. "That's not nice."

"Let me tell you something, Bella. Nothing makes a guy happier than catching an inadvertent cleavage – or even better, nipple – glimpse. So when you wear shirts like that, where it all hangs out… totally takes the fun out of it."

She flushes. "Well, I'm just so sorry."

"Well you're just so forgiven."

"I wasn't really apologizing!"

"Good, because you're not really forgiven. Seriously. You don't have to wear that to get my attention. Or any guy's attention for that matter. You're fucking beautiful, okay? Right now, you're beautiful. With your vomit and eggs breath."

"That's disgusting!" She shoves him.

"With your makeup all over your face because you were too drunk to wash it off. With your hair a rat's nest. It's just you. You're a mess sometimes, but you're beautiful all the time so just… knock it off."

"Yeah, okay." But she's swelling on the inside. How he can insult and compliment her at the same time is beyond her, but she loves it.

"Did I do anything else embarrassing when we got home?"

He smiles a secret smile. "Nope. Just went straight to bed. Well, you snored like crazy, so that's pretty embarrassing."

"Whatever. At least I didn't try to seduce you. Like you could have resisted my charms." She wiggles her eyebrows at him.

He rolls his eyes. "Oh yeah, so charming. Stumbling all around, being an asshole... a regular beauty queen."

She grins at him. "Come here and kiss your beauty queen." She hopes he doesn't mind the your part. But she feels like she's his, and that's what matters.

He doesn't mind. "I would love to… right after you brush your teeth."

He's such a jerk. She stomps off. He catches her arm and kisses her, bad breath and all.

Has she mentioned how much she really likes jerks?

xXxXx

This chapter title is from "Goodnight, Moon" by Go Radio.