*taps mic* Anyone there?

Sorry isn't enough. Thank you for reading if you're still around. No Beta's around here, all mistakes are my own. Characters owned by SM.


I block everything out for the next 5 hours.

I'm running on fumes, but it's enough to distract my from the harsh reality that I no longer have him.

"Time of death 04:03."

My hands tremble as pull away from this lifeless body. My body heaving with all sadness- both my own and the people that this person has left behind.

"Are you okay?"

A warm hand touches my shoulder. Angela. My eyes meet hers and I shake my head and I know, I know that she knows what I've done. What decision I've made.

And my mind goes back to a time when things were easier.

***POC***

1 year earlier.

"Bella, I have one more for you, and then you can go home."

I sigh. It was times like these I didn't really enjoy what I did. The long hours, the barely there sleep, the intense pressure to always perform one hundred percent.

Because; you know, a life depends on it.

Literally.

I nod my affirmation and haul myself up, gathering my bleep and stethoscope in the process. I walk over to the tray and pick up the file, looking at the name.

Cullen, E.

20/06/1986

I quickly flip through the pages, noting that there were no triage notes, and no previous history or admissions.

Because this was exactly what I wanted for the end of my shift.

But he's young, supposedly only older than me by a few months, so I guess he would be easy to talk to.

"Ange, what room is this patient in?" I hold up the notes for her to see.

My one close friend, and nurse looks up and mouths the number one- a wicked, excited gleam in her eye. I don't think much of it, choosing to ignore her antics for the moment to get the job done.

I make my way to his room and knock once, before entering. I take in the young man before me, his eyes closed and his left arm cradling his right.

"Hello Mr Cullen, my name is Bella Swan and I am one of the doctors here. I've come to speak to you about what's brought you in, if that's okay?"

His eyes open and settle on me, slightly dazed and blank before actually registering. He was…beautiful. All sharp jaw and tousled hair. My heart lurches at the perfection of him; his lean form slouched in the chair, long legs out in front.

He nods his ascent, and I push my girly tendencies aside and continue, pulling up a chair to sit in front of him, pen out- ready to go.

"So can you tell me what happened?"

He sighs, long and tired- much like me. "I was working on set doing a stunt. I fell and landed on my hand. Now I'm here."

So he was an actor. Interesting. He looked familiar, but his tone was terse, and I felt my throat quiver as it always did with disgruntled patients.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Can you tell me if you're hurt anywhere else?" I try to sound as empathic as I can, but I fear it comes out strained against my fatigue.

"No. Nowhere else."

I look him over, eyeballing him quickly. His head has a gash on his head. Small now, but likely to bruise over his alabaster skin.

"You didn't lose consciousness or anything when you hit your head?" I motion my pen over the general vicinity of his forehead.

He sighs, again. "No."

"Okay then, just a few more questions. Any past medical history? Anything you see your doctor regularly for?"

"No."

"Any surgeries?"

"My tonsils as a kid."

"Any allergies? Medication or otherwise?"

"No."

"Do you smoke?"

"Occasionally." I hated smoking, and mentally judge him for doing so. On the surface, I just nod and move on.

"How many a day? And for how long? "

Five to ten a day. For the last five or so years."

"Any recreational drugs?"

"What has this got to do with my hand?"

I knew that was coming, it always did.

"I'm sorry, its just protocol. We ask all our patients these questions."

"Fine. The occasional joint. And before you ask, no. I wasn't under the influence of anything."

I wish I could tell him to stop. That smoking ages and causes cancer and even impotence. Not to mention that it would slow any healing of broken bones. But this wasn't a family clinic and even if it was, I wasn't sure he would appreciate my doctor tendencies. I jot down all the information and continue.

"Do you drink?"

"Occasionally." He seems exasperated, so I move on swiftly.

"And what is it that you do?" I ask, desperately wanting to get this section over. It was always the one I struggle with when talking to patients.

He laughs at me, his eyes taking on a disbelieving look.

"Seriously?" He asks, as if I have grown two heads. I nod slowly, confused.

"I'm an actor." He says, slowly, enunciating every word.

I flush. "Oh yes, sorry. You did tell me you injured yourself on set."

Deciding to cut the question and answer session short, I move onto the examination.

"Okay then. I'm just going to have a look and feel if that's okay?"

He raises one eyebrow in suggestion and I blush, looking away to find my composure in front of him.

I feel his hand first, slowly bringing it toward me to see where the swelling was.

A little static passes between us, and he jerks his hand back, wincing as he does so. I want to move my hand back too, but fight against it, applying pressure. His eyes close with discomfort.

"Sorry." I say quietly, feeling a tad bit scared of his reply.

He shakes his head and I stop. I rest his hand back down and move to look at the gash on his head. He looks startled as I move forward.

"I'm just checking the knock on your head." I clarify. He relaxes slightly and nods, allowing me to move forward. It was pretty deep, but looked fairly clean, nothing a few stitches wouldn't fix. Good thing it was right on his hairline.

I move backward again, sitting back down on my seat.

"Can you follow my finger with your eyes please?"

He obliges, disinterested but indulgent- his forest eyes follow my movements, before settling on back on my face. I look away before he can say anything. Not that he would, of course.

"Can you look straight ahead for me? I'm just going to shine a light into your eye."

Checking his reflexes, I watch as the green in his eyes gets bigger and smaller in reaction to the light.

Suddenly, his eyes move and lock onto mine. I lower my pen torch, meeting his gaze.

And I'm lost. In a sea of greens. As if I was swimming in turquoise waters. As if I was gazing at golden coral reefs, just under the surface of a sea of-

The loud, obnoxious knocking on the door brakes me out of inappropriate trance.

I move back sharply and clear my throat, quietly apologising as I make my way to open the door.

But it opens before I even reach it, and through it came another beautiful example of the human form.

She's tall, taller than my five foot two and-a-half inches anyway. She has curves in all the right places, accentuated by the tight fitting jeans and hooded tee.

She pushes past me, no note of apology on her lips, and rushes toward Mr. Patient. Her hood comes off her head as soon as I close the door, and a thick mane of strawberry blonde hair falls down.

She touches him with care, almost cooing at his injuries, and I know that she's more than a friend.