Happy Thursday! Not much to say here – the usual thanks to the awesome people (aka everyone reading this story, I love you), and my betas for making this pretty and acceptable for eyes. Ali and Shaina = win.

Also – just a note. I've changed my twitter URL. It used to be pinkeveningsky, but to help with FFnet to twitter confusion, I've changed it to _stellalunasky. Add me! Don't be daunted by the privacy; I just like to keep out the sexbots.

xXxXx

Another Chance to Live

"He's just wonderful, isn't he?"

Bella looks over her shoulder to where her mom is sitting at the table, sipping a mug of hot chocolate.

"Who's wonderful?" she asks, going back to kneading dough.

"Your Edward," Renee answers, standing up. She plays with Bella's tangled hair, twisting it up in a knot and securing it with a chip bag clip that was lying on the counter.

Bella's Edward is currently passed out cold on the couch, a knit blanket up to his nose. His snores are almost louder than the Christmas music playing in the background, and it makes her smile. She knows she won't always find Edward snoring in his sleep endearing, so she enjoys the cute snuffles while she can.

"He's exhausted," Bella says quietly, grabbing a rolling pin to flatten the dough. "I don't think he's ever done so much physical activity in his life."

"Well, it's Christmas Eve," Renee says after a moment. "He can rest all he likes. He can't sleep there, though – how will Santa sneak in the presents?"

Bella rolls her eyes. Her mom has never let go of the 'Santa' thing. "I'm sure Santa will just have to tell Edward to get his tired butt out of the living room."

"Santa isn't rude, Bella!"

Bella laughs loudly, which stirs Edward. He grunts and rolls over, his face getting pressed into the back of the couch. The blanket falls to the floor, and before Bella realizes it, her feet are carrying her across the open space to the living room area.

She picks up the blanket and tucks it back around him. He makes a blind grab for it, but snatches Bella's hand instead. He pulls her to him, crushing her against his back.

She takes her hand back and smoothes the blanket over him. He sighs, and she can't keep the grin from splitting her face. Her happiness in him is pure and uninterrupted. He's a bit of a jerk sometimes, but –

Her thoughts are cut off by her phone ringing. She takes it out of her pocket and stares at the unfamiliar number – it's not a Washington area code, and it's getting kind of late. Still, she picks it up, curious.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Bella?" It's a male voice, deep, with a somewhat familiar accent she can't place.

"Yes, it is."

"I'm very sorry to interrupt you, but I'm looking for Edward Cullen."

She sits down hard on the edge of the couch. "May I ask who's calling?"

"This is Carlisle Cullen, Edward's father."

She falls off the couch in an undignified pile. "Oh dear."

"Yes. I'm very, very sorry for this. My daughter, Alice, gave me this number to contact Edward. She said his cell phone doesn't have an international plan, and he'd be in Canada for the holidays. I understand you're his girlfriend."

"Yes, I am. I'm sorry, sir – you've caught me by total surprise."

"It's no trouble. I know it's late, but it's Christmas Eve. I'd like to talk to my son and wish him a Merry Christmas."

"Of course. Hold on, he's sleeping. I'll… wake him up."

"Thank you very much, Bella."

She puts the phone down on the hardwood floor and stares at Edward for a few seconds. She doesn't want to upset him, but – no, he needs to talk to his father. She doesn't care if it upsets him. This has gone on for too long.

"Edward," she whispers in his ear. She shakes him a bit.

He spins around, groaning. His eyes blink in the dim light of the candelabras. "Hey, sorry I passed out. What time is it?" He tips his face for a kiss.

She gives him a quick one. "It's about nine. Listen, there's…" She picks up her phone. "There's a phone call for you."

He takes it gingerly, looking at her with unease. "Who is it?"

She chews on her lips. "I – just… just answer it."

He keeps his eyes on her when he answers. "Hello?" He listens to his father speak, and his eyes droop immediately. She thinks he needs some privacy, so she squeezes his thigh and goes to rejoin her mom in the kitchen.

Edward shoots his hand out. "Stay," he mouths.

So she does. She curls up next to him, listening to the muffled sound of Carlisle Cullen talking to his son for the first time in months, she presumes. Edward doesn't talk much. He asks about Emmett and tells his dad that he misses them, too. It chokes her up, and she has to hide her girly tears in his shoulder so he won't see.

"Merry Christmas, Dad," he says finally. He listens for a few more seconds. "Maybe we will. That's… a long way off. I know, but I'm okay. You don't have to count down the seconds anymore. I realize that I could – Dad, knock it off. I've been to my regular monthly check ups, and they told me… a second opinion? That's ridiculous. I need another doctor to tell me that I'm free of cancer cells right now? They told me not to come back for another three months after this last one, and then if I'm good, it's six months, and so on – you know this, so what in the hell – I'll use that language if you deserve that language! See, Dad? This is exactly why – yeah, Merry Christmas to you, too, asshole!"

He throws the phone across the room. Luckily, it bounces off a beanbag chair in front of the TV.

"Oh, shit, Bella! I'm sorry – I didn't think." He moves to get up, but she pats his shoulder.

"I'll get it. No big deal. Wanna come help me with the bread?"

He eyes her suspiciously. Sure, her tone is too casual, but she's pretty sure he'd rather die than talk about what just transpired.

She's wrong. "Bella, come here."

She goes back over to him, tucking herself into his side. "Yes?"

"I really appreciate how you walk on eggshells for me sometimes. Well… that sounds really fucked up. I mean, I appreciate how you don't force me to talk about things if I don't want to. That's great. But I won't talk about some things, things I maybe should, unless I'm forced. You know what I'm saying?"

"I don't want to pry – "

He shrugs. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said the first night we got here, about how you know me sometimes, but don't other times. It really bugged me."

She nods. "Yeah, it bugs me, too."

He blows out a breath. "Well, I didn't really realize what I was doing, you know? The push away and then the tugging back. Maybe it wasn't that dramatic, but I was definitely keeping you at arm's length, while you gave and give everything. Which is… shitty."

"It didn't feel that awful. You don't have to beat yourself up – "

"See, Bella? This is exactly what I mean. It's great that you don't automatically think the worst of me, but sometimes, I do fuck up. I mean, you call me on a lot of shit, but not the personal stuff, and I don't want you to grow to resent me for being a closed book. So…"

"I get what you're saying. I just…" Then an idea comes to her. "Come into the kitchen, okay? I just made dough… I was going to turn it into bread, but how does pizza sound?"

After setting the pizza in the oven, she takes peppermint Schnapps out of the liquor cabinet. Her mom has long since gone to bed, and even though she's legal, it still feels dangerous, taking shots with her parents (and makeshift parents) upstairs.

She offers a shot to Edward, who shakes his head at her, looking very amused.

"Are you trying to get drunk off peppermint Schnapps?"

"No," she protests. "Just… getting into the holiday spirit."

"I think your pretty red sweater is festive enough," he divulges. "With your green tights – you look like a walking advertisement."

"They're leggings," she protests, pouring herself a shot. "Well – here's to a Merry Christmas."

"I'm going to laugh my ass off if you're hung over tomorrow."

"I'm not getting drunk!" She tosses back the shot, wincing at the strong taste. "Unghhhhh, ew. Ewwwww."

Edward is making a face with her. "God, I almost felt that. That's disgusting."

She shakily pours another one. "I feel like I could breathe fire." She knocks back this one, and it's smoother this time.

Edward takes away the Schnapps bottle. "If you're going to get drunk in front of me – again – at least drink something respectable where I can get some sort of vicarious enjoyment out of it. You're just giving me heartburn with that shit."

"Fine, master." She opens the liquor cabinet. "I'll do anything… but brandy. I hate brandy."

He picks up the bottle of brandy. "If I had you do a shot of this ten-year-old beauty, you'd fall over dead." He sets it back down and grabs a small vile of tequila. "This will do nicely."

"I can't drink tequila!"

"Why not?"

Well, thirty minutes later, she's done with the tequila. She's pretty tipsy and keeps telling Edward this is the best pizza ever. She wanted it out of a box, so they found an old cardboard thing to set the pizza in. He agrees when she swears it tastes better that way, but she thinks he gave in because she was annoying the crap out of him.

They move into the living room. Edward sits on the couch, but Bella goes to the Christmas tree. Rummaging under it, she pulls out a present.

"This is one of your presents," she says. She thinks she's slurring a bit, but maybe not. "I really want you to open it now."

"Why?" he asks, taking the brightly colored package from her hands.

"Well… it's not really that emotionally significant, but I've been so excited to give it to you – I guess the buzzed side of me can't wait any longer."

He laughs at her. "Yeah, you're buzzed all right." He shakes the package. "You sure it's okay to open this? This isn't going to be a morning regret, is it?"

She shoves him slightly. "Shut up and open it."

He does, his fingers peeling away layers of wrappings and tape. She picks up a piece of pizza, chewing happily as he busts the box open to reveal the innards.

"Oh, geez, Bella…" He pulls out a White Sox baseball cap, with his last name embroidered in the back. "Holy shit, this is awesome."

"Yeah?" She's grinning so big.

"Yeah – my other one was falling apart. Half the reason why I stopped wearing it, really."

"I thought you stopped because your hair is growing back."

He touches the almost inch-long hair on his head. "No, I just… that cap was starting to make my head smell. I usually wouldn't care, but you…"

"You didn't want stinky hair because of me? Oh, Edward, so romantic."

"Shut up." He shoves the hat on his head. "It's a perfect fit – how did you know?"

"I stole the measurements off your stinky hat." She runs her fingers across his cheek. "It looks great. Plus, it hides all that ugly red hair."

He pinches her. "It's bronze."

She shrieks with laughter. "Oh, is it now? I clearly remember you calling yourself a ginger. Now it's bronze."

"Fine – I'll just shave my head."

"No, you won't," she giggles, grabbing another slice. "I think you're a little vain, Edward Cullen."

"Yeah," he agrees dryly. "Death has no power upon my beauty."

She sighs. "So morbid." She snuggles into his chest, and he wraps his arms around her tightly. "I have an idea."

"I'm sure you do."

"Let's play the question game."

"That's always a good idea when drunk."

"No, seriously. It's just about honesty. I ask you a question, and you have to answer it honestly. Then vice versa. You can say pass, but only once."

"I think I'm going to regret this, but okay."

She sits back, crossing her arms daintily. "You can start."

"Okay." He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "When did you lose your virginity?"

"About a week ago…" she whispers.

He nearly falls off the couch. "WHAT?"

She nearly falls off the couch, too, but for a different reason. "Just kidding. That was mean, sorry. You asked for it."

"Oh my god." He feels his heart. "Don't… that's not… Jesus Christ…"

"Okay, okay. Um… I was seventeen? Prom night."

He laughs. "Really?"

She shrugs. "I lived in a small town – I probably lived up to every stereotype there ever was about that. The first time I got drunk was in a barn."

"Wow."

"Yup. Okay, my turn. Same question."

"About a week ago…"

"Funny."

"I was fifteen. I was drunk. I was on a toilet seat."

"Oh my god, what?"

"Yeah, I was at a party, and this girl and I are fooling around. She sits me down on the toilet – yes, the lid was closed – and starts, you know… so my pants are off, and it really seemed like a good idea at the time. I at least had the sense enough to find a condom in the medicine cabinet."

Bella shakes her head. "I swear to god, the difference between a girl's first time and a guy's is so different. Girls are like, 'as romantic as possible.' Guys are like, 'as soon as possible.'"

The questions remain lighthearted for a while – first drunken experience, first kiss, favorite food, first car. But it's hard not to delve deeper, Bella thinks, knowing that she has the perfect opportunity to find out things she's always wanted to know and has been too sober to ask.

He goes to grab a piece of piece of pizza – it's the last piece. She snatches the piece of pizza from his hands at the last second. She's full to the highest extreme, but she loves irritating him. She can barely swallow her first bite, but his scowl is worth it.

"It's your turn," he reminds her. He lies back against the couch and runs his hands over his face, bumping the brim of his ball cap.

She swallows the tepid pizza and hands him the rest. He shakes his head at it, so she throws the half-eaten slice back into the empty box.

"Were you scared?" she asks quietly, looking at her chewed fingernails.

She can feel his eyes on her, but she refuses to look. She doesn't want to know if he's lying or not when he answers.

"Nah," he says finally, grinning at her from between his fingers. They are still rubbing his face, so she knows he is lying without even having to look.

"No?" she asks anyway, letting him lie if he wants to.

"Nah," he repeats. "What was there to be scared of? If I lived, I got to live. If I died, I got to hang out with God. Or not feel anything at all. At that point – it was a pretty attractive option."

"That's awful," she scolds. She kicks at him a little, but her heart isn't really in it. She understands as much as she can without actually being empathetic. She doesn't know, but she knows what he's told her. That's horrifying enough. Sometimes, though, she thinks she'll never know him, despite everything. He's dark, with his humor and his laughter and his stupid jokes about morbid things that aren't funny.

"Yeah, it was," he responds finally. "No, Bella. I wasn't scared. But I think…"

"You think what?"

"That if I would have known you then… yeah, I would've been fucking terrified."

She cocks her head at him. He's good at saying things he means. He doesn't say much, but when he does, she listens with all of her heart.

"I guess that answers my next question," she says, scratching at a scab on her knee.

"That's not fair – it's my turn to ask."

"Whatever. I thought of my next question. I wasn't going to ask it – "

"You might as well. You're ruining the spirit of the game with your preemptive question thinking – "

"I was going to ask you if you loved me." She rushes it out, afraid it'll disappear if she takes too long. "And I'm just saying, that it sounds like… it sounds like you do."

He shifts and sits up. He doesn't respond. He scratches his head and rubs his eyebrows. She's embarrassed. She's really embarrassed.

"I guess… if that's what you think," he starts after a minute. "I guess… you would know better than I do."

It's not a yes. But she wasn't expecting one. She doesn't expect anything from him, so when she gets a little, it makes her happy. Even if it shouldn't.

"That's what I think," she repeats.

"Then, yeah… maybe, I do."

She nods, her heart pounding out of her chest. Can he hear it? It's so loud. She crawls over to him. He cups her face in his large hands and kisses her soundly. It's sweet and it's soft and it rots the marrow in her bones and leaves her useless against him.

"I didn't think anyone would ever want to love me," he whispers against her cheek. "The disease – it's not pretty. A relapse could happen any day. Any time. Right now, there could be cancer cells reforming. Love isn't easy to begin with, but when you put this into the equation, it can be impossible."

She shakes her head and kisses him again. She feels so fragile, like the air around them is going to shatter if she breathes too loudly. He groans quietly against her lips.

"This is going to sound cheesy… but it was never an option for me," she says quietly. "I knew, going into this, that I would love you. That you would change my life. That you would teach me."

"What could I teach you, Bella? You have everything at your fingertips. You're beautiful, healthy, really fucking intelligent. You're so… talented, with dancing and cooking and photography… and with people. You're gentle. You can handle anyone. Me, Emily, your mom – we're all different people, totally different. But you care for each of us, and never try to change us. You just – you just care. What can I teach you?"

She kisses him again because she can, because she's so overwhelmed with this moment. "You teach me why all of that is important."

xXxXx

"There's no way I'm stepping out on that thing," Edward tells her.

Bella turns on the spot. "Come on, you big baby. It's not going to give." She jumps up and down to make a point.

He looks green. "Get back here right now."

She rolls her eyes at him. "Leukemia, no problem. Heights? Acts like a giant toddler."

"I prefer my death to be dignified – as in, I don't want to be splattered all over downtown Calgary."

"I'm pretty sure no one has died by observation deck."

"Get. Your. Ass. Back. Over. Here." He yanks her arm and walks them briskly away from the glass floor of the Calgary Tower.

She laughs the whole way. "I'm telling everyone what a big chicken you are. Bawk bawk bawk – "

"So cute, Swan. All dressed up for dinner, bawking like a chicken."

"So cute, Cullen. All dressed up like a man, crying like a baby."

He opens his mouth to protest, but she kisses him instead. "I'm just kidding."

"You've unmanned me," he grumbles.

She rolls her eyes, straightening his dinner jacket. She gave it to him last night, a present from Renee and Phil. He balked at first, but she explained that they were going to a somewhat fancy restaurant tonight, and he would need more than just the jeans and t-shirts. Well, he was still in jeans and a t-shirt, but the dinner jacket dressed him up beautifully.

She feels pride in being on his arm. She's never really felt that before. She doesn't feel jealous or spiteful when women cast Edward admiring glances. She knows she deserves the place right next to him. She is his person, and vice versa. They belong to each other, and that's that.

They are seated at a table, and a wine list is placed in front of them by a simpering server. The Calgary Tower restaurant rotates slowly, so the diners can enjoy a different view every time they look up. The setting sun over the mountains and the laughter of patrons with their clinking glasses set the backdrop.

It's lovely.

And boring.

She feels this rush under her skin, like if she doesn't do something to save herself quickly, she's never going to get out from under the water. She loves her mom dearly, but Renee Dwyer lives for these social niceties. Bella abhors them, rebels against them – any day of the week, she'd rather be in her pajamas, eating some sort of fattening homemade meal. She's not going to just conform… she feels ridiculous, because she's done this a million times, but right now, she wants to break free. Do something on impulse.

She asks her mom and Phil to excuse her, takes Edward's hand and pulls him with her.

"Where are we going?" he asks, tripping over his feet to keep up.

"The bathroom."

"I don't need to – "

She shoves him into the woman's restroom. "I cannot stand the uppity society that congregates here. And you're really, really gorgeous. I want to make out, right now."

His eyes bug out, but she pulls him by the lapels into a stall.

Five minutes later, her legs are wrapped around his waist, and he's slamming her into the wall. His mouth is attached to her neck, and she's grinding against his hips. She's pretty sure there's someone in the next stall who is very offended, but she's way past caring. She's got him so worked up, and she's drunk off the power and his lips and his fingers, pinching her nipple underneath her expensive silk dress.

"You drive me insane," he whispers into her ear, his breath hot against her.

There's a sharp rap against the stall. Bella drops to the ground and opens the door to find a very displeased security guard staring at them.

Ten minutes later, they're walking the busy streets of downtown, towards A&W. She texts her mom to let her know what happened – they were kicked out – but she can barely stop laughing to breathe. They look ridiculous when they stroll into the fast food restaurant, dressed in their eveningwear.

"So, recap," Edward says, leaning against the counter as they wait for their food. "I was invited to a fancy meal, but my girlfriend couldn't keep her hands off of me, so now I'm reduced to eating chicken strips at a fast food joint with a boner."

"Don't forget the lecture the security guard gave you," Bella reminds him, licking ketchup off her finger. Getting the ketchup out of the little dispenser always makes a mess.

"Oh, right. He would never believe it was your fault – that you were the one molesting me."

"You are bigger and stronger," she points out helpfully.

He shakes his head disapprovingly. It would pack more of a punch if he could keep the grin off his face. "You're really proud of yourself, aren't you?"

Bella kicks off her heels when they sit down at a greasy booth. She dunks her chicken into the honey mustard and takes a big, fatty bite. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He opens his mouth to retort, but then shuts it with a snap. He grabs her feet and places them in his lap, tickling her toes a bit. "You're exactly right. You should be very proud of yourself."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. That big grin on your face? That's called happiness, Bella. That's called living."

She shakes her head at him. She loves when he teaches her lessons she knows he had to learn the hard way. "Are you living?"

He stuffs a bunch of fries in his mouth. "I'm finally alive."

The identical big grin on his face says so much more than he could ever articulate, but she understands perfectly.

xXxXx

Chapter title comes from "Rain" by Patty Griffin. Her voice cuts me deep.

See you next Thursday!