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The Practice of Love	By : belladonnacullen Category: Twilight Series > AU/AR > Het > Het Views: 2642 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or make any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
EPOV

I left Tanya sleeping in the bed, her wavy hair splayed out over the shiny white pillowcase, one arm over her head, more relaxed in sleep then she ever was awake in my presence.

No, that wasn't exactly true. Back when we were kids, running around with my cousins at their big old house in Mt. Airy, we were happy. Every summer, Sasha would bring her girls to spend a few weeks with Carlisle and his family. Year after year we'd run around playing tag, and SPUD, and running bases, and kickball. At night we'd play manhunt, which Alice would always ruin for us. We'd usually make her sit out, and she'd go running to Esme, crying that we weren't being fair. When we started playing truth or dare, I stopped biking to their house. It wasn't just the confusion about being turned off by Tanya's dares, (but that did leave me pretty fucking worried that I was gay.) It was because I was twelve, and the unfairness of the whole fucking world fell on me like a ton of goddamned bricks that summer.

That summer I realized that I hated them all: Carlisle's family and Sasha's, and most of the world, for that matter. It hadn't taken me five years to figure out my mom was gone, but it took me that long to realize that I was never going to have a life like my friends did: family vacations, trips to Rita's on hot nights, talking, eating together, kisses good night… a real family, a mother. Tanya's mom, Sasha, was tall, blonde, and loving in a very severe and proper way. She cared about her girls fiercely and wouldn't tolerate any of their shit. Esme was warmer and kinder; the kind of mom you'd go to when you tore open your knee and wanted to cry about it, even though you were too fucking old to act that way.

Taking my cue from my fucktastic dad, I dealt with my evolving hate by avoiding them all. Surrounding myself with love and family and comfort was a big joke; none of it belonged to me. No, what I had was an empty, dusty, falling down duplex in Germantown and a father that was either working, or passed out with a glass of whiskey in his hand. A dad that fucking hollered at me when I'd sit down to play the piano, or who would slap me across the face if I didn't stop playing when he said to. I did that more than once, for the contact. At least it made me feel alive, and not like I was a ghost. Sometimes I wondered if I were a ghost, whether I'd get to hang out with my mom there in the house. But in my heart, I knew my mom would never stick around that hellhole, when she had better things to do, like heaven and shit.

Maybe, looking back, I should be more magnanimous towards Edward Masen, Sr.. Mom died and dad got depressed, so it means that he cared for her, a lot. Apparently, coping mechanisms are passed through the DNA or something, because it's not like I'm all warm and fucking fuzzy either. At least I have the good sense not to drag a family into my shit.

I was momentarily shocked out of my thoughts when I caught site of myself in the bathroom mirror as I stepped into the shower. To this day, it still caught me by surprise. I may walk through the world with my dad's name and his fucked up disposition, but I look a lot like my mom. This had been even more obvious when I was a kid, without the five o'clock shadow and masculine jaw. I used to always see her when I walked by the hall mirror too fast, on my way out the door: her green eyes, her coppery hair, and her pale skin. I still remember the first time I heard Carlisle and Esme talking about this.

"He doesn't even look at the boy anymore. That's abuse, Carlisle."

"Ed says he can't. She's so present in Edward. You know what I'm talking about."

"But it's a reason to love him more. Like you do," Esme countered.

"What do you propose I say to Ed, Esme? You know he won't listen to me."

"That boy should be here, with us. It's time we hired a lawyer."

Back then I thanked fucking god that I wasn't 'there' with Carlisle and Esme, all of them rubbing it in my greasy face that they weren't my family, and that my father didn't care, and my mother was gone forever. But by twelve, I could get on my bike and ride, or take the train downtown. I did just that, and I stopped coming home. It made it easier for all of us. Except maybe my aunt and uncle, but I didn't belong to them, so what the hell did I care?

I took care of myself: I ate, I slept, I found shelter when I could. I never dropped out of school, though. In fact, I loved school; it reminded me that I was good at something. And then at night I'd hang out in parks, or squats or the occasional all-ages show, where sometimes I'd see Tanya. She was the closest to home that I could come by those days, and I'd take her out behind whatever cracked out building we were in, and I'd fuck her. Sometimes I even kissed her.

And then when I was seventeen, my dad had a heart attack. At his funeral, they said he died of a broken heart. More like he drank himself to death, but who the hell was I to argue? The shit I was doing was supposed to stop then. The court said I was supposed to live with Carlisle and Esme, and Carlisle tried laying down the law. Alice and Emmett didn't pull the crap I did, and I wasn't supposed to either, now. But I was in over Carlisle's head: stealing, dealing, using, cutting. A hell of a lot different than skipping football practice to drink beer with a girl under the bleachers, or whatever the hell Emmett was doing those days.

My dad was dead and I was fucking liberated. Carlisle couldn't have said shit to change anything then. But he tried to. He told me about my mom, Elizabeth, his older sister. When she was dying, she asked Carlisle to take care of me. She must have been a little delusional, because she asked him to save me. But I had a dad, and Carlisle didn't try to intervene until it was too late. He said that he felt guilty, and that he hoped I'd let him into my life now.

"What the fuck! Why would you tell me that?"

"I just wanted to explain myself, and to say that I was sorry, son."

"I am not your fucking son!" I wasn't about to put Carlisle's conscience at ease because he couldn't man up when he should have. I would have loved it to see someone, anyone, go toe to toe with my dad.

"No. You're Elizabeth's son, and you're my responsibility. You might think you can take care of yourself, but you're doing a piss poor job of it, and you're going to get yourself killed. I can't let you do that, Edward."

And now, at thirty-two, I was doing a piss poor job all over again, emotionally isolated with a big fucking lump on my ball sack, clinging to Tanya. I was in the same place I was when I was a teenager.

By this time I was showering, avoiding my diseased ball like the fucking plague, with a precision that emphasized that I knew its exact location and size. Instead, I forced myself to feel the prosthesis on the other side: smooth, hard, and unnatural. Damn it! I didn't want two of those. And this time it would mean hormones.

When I got out of the shower I felt lightheaded, and remembered that I hadn't eaten in almost twenty-four hours. I choked down a bowel of cereal, and promptly chucked it back up in the hall bathroom, so I wouldn't wake Tanya. I didn't want her walking in and seeing me holding onto the rim with my chest heaving, as I watched pieces of Cheerios splatter into the bowl.

After that, I skipped the gym and headed straight for the office, where I tried to review the notes for the morning's deposition, but really drifted in and out of daydreams as I watched the fountain in Love Park across the street. It was died yellow, for some inane fucking reason. I'd skated in that park when I was a kid, but they'd outlawed that shit now, in an attempt to project a wholesome, sanitized image of the city. I could relate; I tried my damndest to project a wholesome version of the jerk I was underneath, on a day-to-day basis.

Two cups of coffee and some Tums got me into shape for the morning. God knows Catherine Hannigan paid and arm and a leg for this deposition, so I made sure I was mentally present for it. Her ex was trying to hide assets, and after two hours I'd managed to tie down facts to impeach the fucker on the stand. Everything after that was a waste of my time, plowing through emotional bullshit that just added to the list of reasons for my client to pile on the Percocet, something that wouldn't fucking help me when we finally went to trial.

I was fried afterwards, and my stomach felt like I'd been drinking bleach all morning instead of coffee and water. I knew I had to eat, but I was scared to try that again, especially in front of Emmett. He'd have the whole Cullen clan on high alert. Esme and Carlisle would probably rush back from the beach, all because I fucking threw up.
I was toying with the idea of calling Emmett and cancelling, when Lauren stopped me in the hall.

"Mr. Masen, Dr. Swan called."

"She's on the phone now?"

Lauren looked worried. "No. It was about five minutes ago."

She was right to look fucking worried, I'd told her in no uncertain terms to find me, no matter what I was doing when that call came through. "What did she say?"

"She said to tell you that she called."

"Fuck! I told you to get me."

"She only called, like, five minutes ago, Mr. Masen. I knew you were about finished in there."

"All the more reason to have me paged, to text me… fuck!" I checked my watch. It was twenty to twelve. "I'll be back by one."

I had a window, and I knew it. Shelly Cope had been Carlisle's receptionist forever and she was like a fucking hall monitor or something. I'd never get passed her. But there was a weak link in Carlisle's system, and after years of meticulous medical monitoring on my part, I knew how to exploit it. Shelly took lunch for an hour every day at twelve noon, like clockwork. If I was about to hear that my cancer returned, there was only one person I wanted to be with when I got the news.

By the time I made it to Carlisle's office, I was damp and sweaty with my tie hanging loose around my neck. No one in the history of the city had ever walked from 16th and JFK to Fairmount in twenty minutes, in August. I wiped the sweat from my brow, and eyed Gianna humming tunelessly behind the front desk.

"Gianna?" I gripped the edge of the counter, and the intern jumped in her seat.

"Edward!"

"Uh, hi. Dr. Swan called."

"Oh." Gianna's eyes went wide, but she made no move to speak, or to get Dr. Swan, which is exactly what I was after.

"I need to talk to her."

With that, Gianna grimaced like I'd just thrown up on the fucking counter, which was a very distinct possibility.

"I… uh, I don't… but -"

"Just tell her I'm here." I was growing impatient and I tapped my fingers on the counter. Gianna stared at them like she was seeing fingers for the first time. Admittedly, I was being a lot less persuasive than I had been yesterday, but that shit seemed beyond me, now that I was minutes away from a diagnosis.

"But, uh… there are no office visits available, now. It's lunchtime." I was about to raise my voice in a very ungentlemanly manner, when Gianna looked around the office and dropped her voice. "Edward, I really got in trouble yesterday."

With all of the time I spent going over my office visit with Dr. Swan, it hadn't crossed my mind that she was angry about seeing me.

Both Gianna and I jumped as we heard the light patter of rubber souls on tile, coming in our direction. "Gianna? Where was that -?"

Dr. Swan stopped speaking in mid-sentence and blinked at me with those big, doe eyes of hers. Suddenly, I felt so stupid. If the crazy hadn't come through yesterday during my improvised visit, well it was shining in all it's fucking glory right now, as I stood at the reception window, a perspiring mess, with sweat dripping down my forehead, my shirt clinging to my chest, panting for fuck's sake.

"Edward." And if she said my name again, I'd have to add an inappropriate hard-on to the picture.

When I didn't respond, Dr. Swan, with all the patience in the world, tried again. "Edward?"

Desire shot through my body in equal and opposite proportion to my fear of being diagnosed with cancer in another minute. Suppressing a loud groan, I bit down on my lip, hard.

"Ow! Fuck!" Blood gushed into my mouth.

"Edward?" Now she sounded really concerned. Or maybe she was planning on calling 911. I couldn't tell.

"Lauren didn't give me the message," I mumbled, wiping at my mouth with the back of my hand, hoping that I hadn't bit straight through. I was relieved when I didn't see blood on my hand.

Dr. Swan glanced at the clock and smiled, like she hadn't noticed I was acting like a lunatic. It was kind of her. "Well, Edward, it is about time for your usual, unscheduled twelve o'clock visit. Ben took an unauthorized break this morning, so he's still in the lab catching up. Why don't you come back to my office instead, and we'll talk about your results there."

Dr. Swan opened the door next to the reception window and ushered me down the hall. She walked a little ahead of me, and I noticed that she was wearing girlish flats today, no track shoes. It was a nice change. She had little feet, and thin legs - what I could see of them. Her lab coat hid most of her and I had the ridiculous hope that she's take it off when we got to her office.

"Here. Come in." Dr. Swan shifted a large stack of books from the seat next to hers, depositing them on the floor into a new pile. I say new pile, because there were already more than a few along the wall. I eyed her desk, where charts were stacked haphazardly.

"It's more organized than it looks," she explained, shrugging. "I've never actually worked with paper charts before. It takes some getting used to. Have a seat while I find your results."

She began picking through a handful of documents and came out with a piece of thin copy paper, distinct to lab reports. I'd seen enough of them to know by now.
I held my breath, which was a damned shame, because Dr. Swan's office smelled like her: flowery or something, but not in that artificial perfume-y way. Dr. Swan sat in the chair next to me, and I noticed that our knees were almost touching. I stared at her bare knees, calves, ankles, afraid to look in her eyes.

"It's not cancer."

"What?" I concentrated on the spot where her lavender cotton skirt met her knees. I could see just a hint of thigh.

"Edward, it's not cancer." I hazarded a glance at Dr. Swan's face, and she looked elated, like it was her that found out that… that she didn't have cancer. That I didn't have cancer?

"I don't have cancer?" It was inconceivable. I'd been so sure.

Dr. Swan shook her head and her smile grew bigger. She was beautiful. "No, you don't."

"You're sure?" I asked. Should I hug her?

"The radiologist is certain. And your blood work, well your white blood cells are normal, no anemia, the CRP and the sed. rates are close to zero. The tumor markers aren't back yet, but that doesn't matter. You're in the clear."

"I don't believe it."

"Believe it, Mr.- I mean, Edward."

The room was swimming, and I grabbed onto the armrests of the chair I was sitting in to steady myself. I still didn't believe it. It didn't make sense.
"If it isn't cancer, what is it, then?"

"Well, in about ninety-two percent of all males there's this little appendage that sticks up off of the testicle, called the appendix testis. Apparently you have a larger one than usual."

"And it can just come and go?"

"Uh, well, no. I mean, if you have one, and you do, it's been there since before you were born." Dr. Swan smiled like she had some inside track on the whole business.

"What's so funny?"

"Well, it's kind of, like, your vestigial vagina."

"What did you just say to me?"

"In women, that structure turns into a uterus and fallopian tubes and a vagina. In men, it never develops past a little blob."

"You're telling me I have a big vagina?"

"Umm…" Dr. Swan's laughter filled the office. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry. I would never have put it like that. It's all just a variation on normal. There's no evidence of inflammation or infection. The one possible complication is torsion, but yours seems to be pretty… firmly attached, so I wouldn't worry about that."

Dr. Swan let her hair fall across her face again, and was suddenly very fucking interested with something in her top desk drawer. If she did that with her hair one more time, I wouldn't be held responsible for pushing her it behind her ear. She was fucking begging me to do it. I closed my eyes so I could concentrate on what she was trying to tell me.

"Why did this thing suddenly get bigger?"

"I honestly don't know. I thought maybe I'd have Ben do another draw, just to test hormone levels. You did mention something about libido yesterday."

Her eyes met mine, and there it was again, that same blush, and she looked quickly away, like a kid that thinks that when they duck behind a chair, you can't actually see them.

"No. I should have said 'no' when you asked."

"Well, since you're here… let's get Ben."

Dr. Swan rose to her feet quickly, taking a few steps away from me, and bumped into a large stack of charts in the process. I caught them in my hands before they fell onto the ground.

"Wow, umm, nice reflexes. Thanks," she mumbled, flustered.

I shrugged, thinking it was surprising she was able to move around at all in there, with all the clutter. Dr. Swan took another hasty step backwards and walked out into the hall. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to follow.

I looked around the little office full of boxes of books and half-filled shelves. She hadn't had a chance to add any personal touches yet. There were no pictures on the walls, no photos on the desk, not that there was any room for that, with all the shit she had piled up. At least there weren't pink lace cushions, or stuffed animals with bows and fake flowers. Not like it should matter to me how my doctor decorated her office.

"Edward?" Dr. Swan called from out in the hall. I suppressed another groan at the sound of my name on her lips, turned and walked quickly out into the hall, like a trained puppy.

"I guess Ben finally made it to lunch. I'll just draw the blood and get it over with, so you can get back to work."

"You?"

Dr. Swan folder her arms across her chest. "I have a medical degree. I can draw blood."

She's your doctor, you sick fuck; of course she can draw your blood. I followed her into the lab, the scene of our… well, it wasn't 'our' anything. It was my office visit, where she'd palmed my nut sack. The ball without the cancer. Without fucking cancer. Holy fuck. I was cancer-free.

"Take a seat in the chair." I watched with an irrepressible smile on my face as she prepped her station with alcohol pads, a needle, a couple of tubes, a rubber tie, some cotton, and some other shit.

"There was one number that came back on your blood work that seemed a little off," she said, all off-handed. I immediately felt my smile disappearing, and my heart jumped into my throat. Nothing was ever off in my lab work. Carlisle laughed every time I asked to have blood drawn. I'd taken to paying out of pocket because the goddamned HMO wouldn't cover my frequent visits.

"Wrong?" I choked. What was she thinking by keeping this from me until now?

"I know, I know, I've looked through your chart, you know, Edward. It's hard to believe anything could be off," she chuckled. Was she making fun of me? I didn't know what to say.

When she saw that I wasn't laughing, she shook her head and worked to appear serious. "Your cholesterol is low. Really low, Edward."

"Isn't that a good thing? My father had heart disease, so I'm conscious about that shi-, I mean, stuff."

Dr. Swan grinned, and I knew that even without speaking to Carlisle, she was on to me. "Yes, low cholesterol is beneficial for cardiovascular health. But cholesterol is necessary for proper bodily function. It's one of the main building blocks for endocrine hormones. Too little could result in depression, sleep disturbance, low libido-"

"Dr. Swan, my libido is fine." There had been enough talk about my goddamned libido.

"I wasn't-, I just, well, I was just talking. Giving examples." She was flustered again, and looked away to grab an alcohol swab. I had the ridiculous impulse to apologize.

"Do you ever eat food that contains cholesterol?" she continued. "I mean, with an LDL as low as yours, it would be hard to believe. And uh, could you roll up your sleeve, please?"

"You're telling me I should eat fatty food?" I asked, folding up my damp and crumpled shirtsleeve.

"A bit of fat here and there. Just for the joy of it, if nothing else."

"The joy? The joy of eating, I don't know, a cheese steak?"

Dr. Swan smiled as she swabbed the crease of my elbow. I'm not sure if it was the alcohol or her touch that caused the light, tingly feeling. Probably both. "You don't like cheese steaks?"

"I couldn't say," I admitted.

"Why not?" She asked, glancing back into my eyes. I think her breath caught in her throat. But the way my mind was working, I was probably imagining it.

"I've never had one," I gulped.

"You didn't grow up here, then?" A little crease formed between her eyes as she puzzled over my bizarrely healthy diet.

I shrugged again, and Dr. Swan made a face, like she was trying to remain composed. "I just never saw the appeal. Fried meat, white bread, and cheese wiz."

"There should be balance in all things, Edward. If your cholesterol's too low, you're not going to feel well, and if it's too high, well, you're right, it will shorten your life."

Dr. Swan knotted the rubber tie around my upper arm; her gloved fingers were swift and confident in their movements. "Here, squeeze this a few times." I mashed a little rubber toy in the palm of my hand, and Dr. Swan seemed to concentrate completely on my arm, drawing slow deep breaths as she patted and pressed the area, looking for a good vein, I guess. Something about the whole process made me want to pull her into my lap.

"Just a quick pinch," she breathed in a low voice, her breath tickling my arm. I shuddered in response, (she could pinch anywhere she wanted,) and Dr. Swan glanced up at me through her long eyelashes. "Afraid of needles?"

"No," I whispered. But I clenched that little ball thingy and closed my eyes, because another look like that and my semi-hard dick was going to spring to life in the lab for a second day in a row. With my eyes closed, I could smell her even better. I wished I knew more about flowers, because I was sure she smelled just like one. It made me want to visit a florist.

I felt the tiny sting of the needle, and opened my eyes, admiring the easy way the doctor held my arm and the submerged needle at the same time, so calm in her work. We both gasped a little when the deep red blood spurted into the tube, and there was something about her hand on my arm, her fingers wrapped a round a tube of my blood. Don't get me wrong, I'm not into that kind of kinky shit, (at least not with blood), there was just something so fucking vital and intense about it all. I would have let her drain me dry if she'd have asked.

With her other hand she untied the rubber cord, popped off the vial, and placed another on the needle contraption, like she did this shit every day, which, well, I guess she fucking did. My eyesight narrowed, as I focused on her gloved hand on my arm, how soft her fingers were, how neat her nails were, short and covered with clear polish. Everything was so quiet in that room, just my breath and hers creating a quiet syncopated rhythm that made my vision blur.

Dr. Swan popped off the next vial, slid the needle out from under my skin, and pressed a ball of cotton over my arm.

"Hold that for me, Mr., I mean, Edward?"

It was when I tried to move my other arm, that my stomach lurched, and my vision began dimming, going blurry and black.

"Edward? Edward?"

From a distance I heard a clanking, and suddenly I was reclined in the chair, my vision going in and out of focus.

"Has this ever happened before?" Dr. Swan's voice came from somewhere over my chest. I managed to shake my head in the negative.

"What did you have for breakfast?"

"Breakfast?" I croaked as I thought about the toilet bowel full of Cheerios. "I didn't eat breakfast."

"You haven't eaten since last night, then?" Dr. Swan's voice was full of concern.

"Not since breakfast, yesterday."

"I can't believe I didn't ask first. Wait here."

Without Dr. Swan's presence, there was no need to remain coherent, and I drifted into unconsciousness. Suddenly, there was a straw at my lips. "Here, sip," she said in a voice I'd heard moms use, the kind of voice you couldn't say no to.

Dr. Swan placed her hand on my cheek, tilting my head towards hers. I tried to focus on her heart-shaped face as I sipped orange juice feebly from a straw. I placed my hand over hers as she held the cup, finally feeling skin against skin and not that baggy, see-through glove she'd had on. Her hand was soft and warm, and her fingers were so thin. She wasn't wearing any rings. She let her hand linger for an extra second, I thought, but it was probably to make sure I wouldn't drop the cup. Then she pulled it away and took a few steps back until she was pressed up against the wall.

"I should have asked," she said again, more to herself than to me. But then she looked sternly in my direction. "Why aren't you eating?

I shook my head and turned away, not wanting to get into it. It was too much to explain after just blacking out.

"Because of the cancer?"

I stayed quiet, though. Fainting in front of her had been emasculating enough without getting into my girly eating disorder. It must have all been the effect of my new vagina, or whatever the fuck was on my testicle.

"You don't have cancer, Edward."

"I know," I replied. "I know I don't have cancer." And saying the words was a revelation all over again. I began to immediately feel better, and grinned at Dr. Swan. She smiled back, and she was one hell of a doctor, because she looked just as overjoyed as I was that my tests had come back negative.

"Why don't you come with me to the break room? You need to eat, we have plenty of food, and you'll be doing me a favor, because then I won't have to talk to the rep."

"What?"

"It's lunchtime, and apparently, all of these unscheduled visits have interfered with your health. As your doctor, I can't have that. When I took my oath I said I'd 'do no harm.'" She made those little quotation mark things with her fingers, the effect was adorable, when usually I hated that crap.

I thought I should probably turn down her offer. I felt sure there was some reason that I shouldn't have lunch with Dr. Swan. But if there was a reason, I couldn't think of it. Anything to spend some more time with the woman that made me faint, for fuck's sake.

When I didn't answer right away, Dr. Swan bit her lip. I wondered if she'd picked that up from me. But, who the hell was I kidding? We'd spent all of twenty-five minutes together over the past two days. She hadn't picked up on my fucking habits. I was oddly disappointed with that thought.

"Maybe it was a bad idea," she said, turning to clean up the lab station.

"No, I mean, sure, of course. Thanks."

I saw Dr. Swan's shoulders relax just a little, and when she was done cleaning, she turned back to me with the hint of a smile on her face. "Can you stand?"

"Yeah, sure." I still felt light-headed as I got to my feet, but I'd already been told I had a vagina and fainted. There was no way I'd do anything else to act effeminate in her presence.

I think she was on to me again, though. She seemed to see right through me every time. She watched me like a hawk as I walked towards the door. "Well, we'll take it slowly anyway. I don't know if I could hold you up if you fell."

There was no reason to worry, really. The break room was all of ten steps away. It had four white walls, a countertop and sink, a refrigerator, and a round table set in the middle. There were only two other people there: a smarmy looking idiot in a cheap suit, making small talk with, fuck, Angela. Carlisle's nurse turned when she heard Dr. Swan and I walk into the room, and her face went immediately red, then very white. Cheap suit's eyes lit up when he saw Dr. Swan, and he fucking leered at her. I wanted to slap that look right off his face, but managed to hold myself back. I was already in enough trouble as far as Angela was concerned.

Dr. Swan looked between Angela and I. "I guess you two already know each other since Ed-, I mean, Mr. Masen is in here often."

"Yeah, you could say that," Angela grumbled, giving me her best 'go fuck yourself' glare. I deserved it. Angela looked back and forth between Dr. Swan and I, and then shook her head at me. "Excuse me, I've got some paperwork to finish before the afternoon shift."

She stomped out of the room, not giving anyone a second look. I gave it about ten minutes after I left before Angela pulled Dr. Swan aside to tell her what a prick I was.
"Hey Frank," Dr. Swan said to the cheap suit, ignoring Angela's performance. "Where'd you get 'em?" she asked, glancing from the man to the countertop behind him. I peeled my eyes off of the guy to glance at the food. Oh no.

"Primo Hoagies, where else?" he answered, moving closer to her.

"Italian hoagies? Isn't this supposed to be a doctor's office?" I asked, watching with relief as my words appeared to stop cheap suit in his tracks.

Dr. Swan glanced back at me, looking positively delighted. "You don't have a problem with eating a hoagie, do you, Mr. Masen?"

The grease glistened on the preserved lunchmeat, piled into each doughy white roll. "I, uh…"

"I tell my patients to eat healthy ninety percent of the time. The rest of the time, they should take joy in their food. They should live. Perhaps increase their cholesterol a little."

"And if that's the case, Lipitor can lower cholesterol by about twenty-nine percent, while simultaneously decreasing your chances of heart attack or stroke," Frank chimed in, with no hint of irony in his voice. Idiot.

Dr. Swan smiled conspiratorially at me. "Mr. Masen here, has managed an enormous reduction in his LDL with diet and lifestyle alone, without any of those pesky side effects of rhabdomyolysis and liver failure."

Frank blanched and seemed to look around for support, but after the way he'd eyefucked Dr. Swan, he wasn't getting it from me. "If you look at the studies, it was Zocor that had the most damning side effects -"

"Yes, yes, I know Frank," she interrupted, piling her plate with food. "I'm just giving you hell." I couldn't see the way she looked at Frank, because her back was to me, but with one glance from her his face lit up like she'd just flashed her tits or something. I scowled at Mr. cheap suit, but as far as he was concerned, while Dr. Swan was looking at him, I didn't exist.

But Dr. Swan turned away from the pharmaceutical rep. and smiled in my direction. I'm sure I looked just like he had a second ago. She must have had this effect on all men. "Mr. Masen, would you like to take these back and eat lunch in my office?" Dr. Swan was biting her bottom lip again, and she looked worried that I might turn her down. Like I wanted to hang out with Frank or something. Like anything could keep me from spending more time with her. I glanced at the hoagies on the countertop. I guess I would do, or eat about anything to spend time with her.

"Sure, um, doctor," I replied, smiling at the formality of it all. It seemed like a game now, as if we knew each other so much better than all of the Mr. Masens and Dr. Swans indicated. But we didn't. Again, I was disappointed.

Frank grinned at Dr. Swan, but I could tell that he was pissed as fuck that I was the one on the way to her office. I chose a sandwich without looking, plotting to make up for it with a salad for dinner.

The trip back to Dr. Swan's office was a blur, probably because I was still starving and reeling from blood loss, and maybe because I was staggered at the thought of simply eating a hoagie with a woman. I couldn't remember that last time such a little thing had felt so… big.

We sat down unceremoniously in her office and Dr. Swan dug right in. Watching her eat the hoagie was borderline indecent, and I couldn't look for very long, before I had to turn away. I took a hasty bite of my own sandwich and grimaced at the taste of salt, fat and empty calories. "You said this gives you joy?"

"Of course. It's the way we're programmed."

"'We' as in, you and I?"

She chuckled a little, and pushed a shred of iceberg lettuce covered in cheap oil neatly back in the corner of her mouth. "No, as in humans."

I laughed out loud at that one and had to put the sandwich down.

"It's not a joke. For thousands of years we were hunters and gatherers. We lived on food that was low in calories, and high in fiber, and it was a fu-, a really hard way to live. When we came across food that had lots of sugar, or fat, or calories, it was a bonanza. We felt joy, and we, well, excuse me, but we ate the hell out of it."

Two things here: I think Dr. Swan was about to say fuck. In my head, I could almost hear her say fuck, and I fucking liked it. A lot. The other thing that had my attention was that she was arguing intelligently, and I absolutely loved it. I guess any attorney would.

"So, you're trying to tell me that the key to happiness is junk food?" I challenged.

"No, there are other keys."

I raised my eyebrows in silent question. She pressed her lips together, put the sandwich down on her desk, and wiped her hands on a napkin.

"Music."

I thought about the times I'd sat on the piano bench and listened to my mom play. I couldn't argue. "But how does that fit in with your evolution theory?"

"It draws people in a community together; facilitating bonds, bringing the group closer. There have been studies that show, when people participate in music as a group, they always smile. And they come together again and again for the experience. Joy."

"Are there other keys to joy in your theory?"

"Well, family, that's obvious. We need to support our family in order to survive as a species. So, family is supposed to bring us joy. And umm, well, the other key is kind of… obvious, too."

I waited, not speaking, and Dr. Swan studiously avoided my eyes.

"Procreation," she mumbled.

"Of course," I said quickly.

Silence fell thick and lovely in her little office, as we chewed on the disgusting food, and made awkward and fleeting eye contact. If I wasn't careful, I could lose myself in her eyes. Fucking procreation. I had no doubt that would bring me joy. I thought about Dr. Swan saying fuck again, and made an unintelligible noise, much to my embarrassment.

"What?" she asked, startled.

What the hell was I supposed to say?

"So, I guess you have it all figured out."

"What?" she asked, confused. That little crease between her eyes made another appearance.

"Joy."

"Oh, right." But instead of a witty reply, or another argument, Dr. Swan leaned against the back of her chair and looked down at what was left of her sandwich. "No, sometimes the things that are supposed to make you happy just don't. It's not foolproof, I guess."

Before I could think about what I was doing, I reached across the messy desk, and lightly brushed her fingertips with my own. Dr. Swan looked up at me through those long lashes again, and I pulled my fingers back before I could try anything else stupid, but I didn't look away.

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. Some people live their whole lives and never really try, even."

Dr. Swan's eyes narrowed and she tilted her head to the side. She licked her lips and looked like she was about to respond, when my cell buzzed in my pocket and I jumped in my seat, the connection between us somehow shattered. I took the phone out to turn it off, and without thinking, I glanced at its face. Emmett's ugly mug smiled back at me. "Fuck!"

"Is something wrong?"

"I fu-, I forgot about my lunch date."

"Oh." I thought I heard Dr. Swan sigh, and she quickly looked over my head at the doorway. The phone that had gone momentarily still started buzzing all over again. He wasn't going to let this go.

"I'm going to have to take this."

"Of course. And I should get back to work. If you don't hear from me about the blood draw, it means that everything's fine. And if I do call, you uh, don't have to respond in person, next time."

Her little, almost-smile was back, along with the sparkle in her eyes, but it fucking stung being un-invited back.

"And I think you should follow up in a month, just to make sure the mass isn't still growing."

"Another exam?" I think I sounded a little too excited about another exam. Dr. Swan's eyes met mine, but they were all business.

"No. It would be much more accurate to have a repeat ultrasound. I'll get you a script for the lab." Dr. Swan had finished speaking, but she continued to stare at me, all cool and business-like. I suddenly realized that I was being dismissed.

I nodded, standing to my feet, glancing between my buzzing phone (I was going to kill Emmett) and Dr. Swan.

"Good-bye, Edward."

I gave a half wave and a half smile, ducked out of her office and walked quickly down the hall, bringing the phone to my ear.

"Emmett?" I growled.

"Just like you to prove a point about the meaning of being stood up," Emmett grumbled. "And I drank your beer."

"Sorry, Emmett. I forgot. I, uh, had a last minute meeting and it completely -"

"Edward!" I spun around to see Dr. Swan walking quickly in my direction, catching me just as I was about to leave the office.

"I almost forgot to give you these." Dr. Swan dropped two, folded prescriptions into my palm. "Have a good afternoon, Edward," she smiled, before biting her lip and turning to walk back down the hall.

"Dude, that wasn't Tanya."

"I had a meeting, Emmett."

"Who was the chick?"

I stepped outside before replying, and the hot and heavy August air pressed down on me in greeting. "Damn it, Emmett. I was at Carlisle's office. That was Dr. Swan, Alistair's replacement."

"Jesus, Edward. You were at the doctor, again? What in the hell did you think was wrong this time?" He was laughing, but I heard the edge of concern in his voice. If nothing else, I'm sure he was worried that I was insane. I though about explaining about the bump on my ball, but I knew he'd ask what it was, if it wasn't cancer. No fucking way was I coming close to telling Emmett I had a giant male vagina. And I had to think about what had happened in there, before I could talk about it with anyone.

"Just the same old shit."

"Well, the next time you get the hankering for a check-up, do you think you could call first? I looked like I was being stood up by a girl, or something."

"And fuck knows that's never happened before," I laughed. Honestly, it probably hadn't. Emmett was a big teddy bear when it came to the opposite sex, and girls ate it up. But, somehow, it never worked out in the end. Emmett was a master of letting them down easy, though. You wouldn't believe his shtick; something about not wanting to string them along when he was looking for 'the one', and how he wanted them to find their 'one' too, because he really cared about them. The thing about it all was that I was about one hundred percent sure he meant it. When word got out to the girl's friends about the sweetest break-up in the world, they just about lined up for the opportunity to try their hand at being the one. I think Emmett could have dated every eligible woman in Philly, if he wanted.

"Can I make it up to you, Em? Dinner, tonight?" The more it sank in that I didn't have cancer, the less I wanted to go back home after work.

"Can't dude, got a date. Tomorrow?" Of course he had a date.

"Sure, tomorrow," I agreed, saying good-bye and clicking the phone off.

I didn't have cancer.

I glanced at my watch, and it was passed the time I should have been back at the office. Lauren hadn't called. She was probably afraid to. Not without reason. I fired assistants as often as some people cut their nails, although admittedly, not as often as I cut mine. I should have hurried or caught a cab, but I walked slowly, looking around at the late lunch crowd like I was seeing Philly for the first time. Everything looked brighter and more distinct.

I didn't have cancer.

There was no one I could tell at the office. And I didn't want to have that whole heart to heart with Alice over the phone. And Tanya, fuck.

There was only one person I wanted to talk to about it all, and she was back at Carlisle's office. My steps slowed as I tried to figure out why I was walking in the opposite direction of where I really wanted to go. Because she'd pretty much told me to leave. I didn't have cancer, so I had no business being there.

I didn't have cancer.

On an impulse, I kept walking passed the office, and crossed the street into Love Park, and sat down at the edge of the yellowed water fountain. That's when I remembered the papers Dr. Swan had handed me. She'd mentioned that I'd need one for the ultrasound, but she'd handed me two. I unfolded them one at a time to draw it all out. The first one was for a repeat ultrasound at the lab. Then I unfolded the second paper:

Isabella M. Swan, M.D.
Fairmount Family Medicine
2428 Fairmount Avenue
Philadelphia, PA 19130
Phone: (215) 555-5595 Fax: (215) 444-4494

Rx:
Joy:
Indulgent food, in moderation
Music, to auditory tolerance
Family, as needed,
Procreation (or the practice thereof), always using proper precautions

Fuck.
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The Practice of Love