Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"It's one of those bizarre things we have to deal with. It doesn't happen to everyone."
Jacob Black, Eclipse, Chapter 5: 'Imprint'

➰

"Did it happen to you?" I finally asked, still looking away. "This love-at-first-sight thing?"
Bella Swan, Eclipse, Chapter 5: 'Imprint'

"Yes," he replies.

If Bella hadn't been sitting, Jacob's pretty sure she would have fallen.

Maybe she still might. Maybe she'll topple off the tree (their tree, once) and come crashing down onto the wet ground where he's sat by her feet.

Once—before—Bella's lack of balance would have had him throwing his head back and roaring with a laugh. Now, it has him more worried that she'll end up hurting herself. She's proven to be real good at that.

There's also a chance that her precious bloodsucker will want to avenge any injuries she returns home with, however minor, regardless of who is responsible for it. Cullen isn't exactly going to allow her to blame herself, is he? Of course it'll be the Pack's fault for not keeping her safe—from herself, from them, from the natural dangers of First Beach, from the whole damn world. Hell, Cullen would probably blame them all if she caught a cold from sitting in the rain.

Jacob waits one minute.

Two.

Three.

When the silence turns painful, Jacob hesitantly clears his throat and looks up at her. "Bells?"

She takes a deep, gasping breath at the sound of his voice, almost as if she's been holding it in. She scrubs at her face, wiping away tears that Jacob suspects began to fall almost immediately after he admitted the truth.

(It's not as if he's been deliberately keeping it from her, but still, he feels as if the last weight that's been holding him down has lifted from his shoulders. He's finally free.)

"Aw, Bells." He reaches out for her, but he lets his hand fall when she flinches. "C'mon, don't cry."

"I'm not," she lies, turning her head away. "Really. I'm . . . I'm glad. It's good, right? I'm happy for you."

He doesn't believe her. Especially not when she chokes on a sob and wraps her arms around herself, exactly the way she used to after the bloodsucker had left her. The bloodsucker who had broken her into pieces.

But—

No. It's not the same. Because Jacob doesn't belong to Bella. He has never belonged to Bella, not even after spending months putting her back together. Not when she had crashed her motorbike and called him sort of beautiful. Not when he had saved her from the water and fought to keep her breathing. And certainly not when she'd run off to Italy after he had begged and begged her to stay with him. To choose him.

Maybe she never would have.

Either way, it doesn't matter. She won't have the choice now.

Jacob still doesn't know how he feels about that.

Bella keeps her gaze fixed on the ocean, squeezing herself, holding herself together. It is a long while before she speaks again, and when she does her voice is hoarse.

"When?"

Chapter Text

(Leah)

In the days since her dad dropped dead on the carpet and her brother ran away from home, Leah has seen more of Sam than she has in the past year.

He is around all the time. Whether she wants him or not, needs him or not — which she most definitely does not — he is there. He is in the kitchen, he is in the living room; he is at the hospital, he is at the funeral parlour. He's everywhere she turns, perpetually hovering in her orbit as if his sole purpose in life is to drive her insane.

So, really, it shouldn't come as a shock when she sees him sitting at the top of the staircase. For the past two days, he has refused to leave her side for longer than a shower and a change of clothes, always returning before she can start appreciating his absence, but she still has to will her heart into a less frantic beat after being so startled by his appearance.

She closes her mom's door behind her with a scowl. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

It's not the first time she has asked him this, and it's not the first time he has answered with silence. He simply stands, brushing the trousers of his ill-fitting suit down, and waits for her next move. He looks as if he has slept as much as she has; there are dark rings around his eyes, and his movements are nearly as sluggish as hers.

She pushes past him and thunders downstairs, if only because she doesn't want him following her into her bedroom.

It's her dad's funeral in less than two hours, and she's late. They're all late. Her mother is practically catatonic — there's no other word for it — although at least she's been dressed for the day. Meanwhile, Seth is missing, and having to struggle with her mom means that she's not even had a chance to pull a brush through her hair yet, let alone find a change of clothes.

Sam clears his throat, never less than three steps behind her. "I'm here to help, Lee."

Leah pulls a face at her old name. "You're not helping, you're just in the way," she tells him, but she sounds more resigned than spiteful. And she hates it.

She hates him. Hates the way that she almost feels guilty for the flash of hurt that crosses his face, because hurting Sam isn't in her nature. Even if she hates him as much as she does the person she has become because of him.

It's an effort to hold herself upright — her legs are on the verge of giving way beneath her; she's so tired — but she keeps her feet moving. She hasn't made him at all welcome in these last few days, but she can't take her words back now. She's late, and she has no time for Sam and his hovering.

If Seth was here, she would be making him clean every room of the house whilst she gets ready. It doesn't matter that she has done it herself three times already when she couldn't sleep last night. The whole reservation is going to be here, probably half of Neah Bay on top of that.

Hell. She hopes some of them will bring food because she's not cooked a thing (that's what people do when this shit happens — right? It's what they did for Sarah and Mr Ateara, when they died), but there's not enough cutlery and there's no beer or wine or soda. There are not enough chairs. Where is everyone going to sit when they're dying of thirst and hunger? At a wake?

"Why are you still here? You've not been more than five minutes away from my family since—" She can't say what she wants and harshly swallows the awful words. Instead, she waves her hand at the front door which Seth broke three days ago as she passes it, gesturing wildly at the cracks in the frame rather than the carpet where her father had fallen. "That."

And she still doesn't know what that was about. Where Seth went, what he had become. Well — she does. She'd seen it with her own eyes but she doesn't want to believe it.

"I'll fix that," Sam tells her, following her as she storms into the kitchen.

"I don't want you to fix it—"

"It's fine. It's really not a problem, I'll do it—"

She spins around. Sam nearly crashes into her. "But it's not your problem anymore, is it?!" she yells. To hell with being quiet. "I'm not your—"

The noise which escapes him and cuts her words off is not entirely human. "That's not true."

It is, though. The fact that he carried her mom out of the hospital because she couldn't hold up her own weight doesn't make it less so. Him staying with her that first night, sitting up with her until dawn, seeing her through the darkest hours of her life to date hasn't changed a goddamn thing.

Leah means to scoff disbelievingly at him. After everything he has done and put them through — put her through . . . But her derision sounds a little bit off, a little broken, and she has to bite down on her lip to stop herself from giving anything more away.

He's a goddamn liar. If it were true, then he wouldn't have left her. If it were true, he wouldn't have walked away as easily as he did.

And it's not like he doesn't know how she feels. She's angry and sad and messy and exhausted all the fucking time. But then, it's not like she hadn't already been a mess before any of this happened.

Her life's defined by that word.

Before.

➰

Before, she had asked him if he could swing by her place. Emily was arriving in a few days and she was beyond excited to see her cousin-almost-sister; it was only natural that she wanted Sam to be there, too. Right?

All she wanted was a few hours with them all together. Her family. But only if Sam had the chance, because he'd been disappearing a lot lately and he'd suddenly become this sullen, unreliable person who she scarcely recognised. Especially after nobody had seen him for two weeks.

(Two weeks and three days, to be exact. Long enough to drive Leah absolutely, totally, completely crazy. Long enough for Sam to gain a few hard lines around his face which she feared she would never be able to smooth out. Long enough that, when he had finally come home, she only recognised him by the way he'd pressed his scorching lips against hers by way of hello.

He always did that.

Dirty and exhausted, he had wrapped his arms around her and she'd felt him deflate against her. He'd almost brought both of them to the ground. And . . . she'd forgotten her anger. She forgot her despair. It was Sam, after all, and yet it wasn't Sam — at least, not the boy who she'd been missing for so long — but finally, he had come home to her. He was alive, and as long as he held her like that then the world was a fine place to be.)

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Leah told him quickly, because he flipped so easily nowadays; she'd said less which had him storming off in a rage. "It's just — I mean, they haven't visited for so long, and I'd really like you to be there. With me. If you can."

Sam looked so sad. After those two weeks and three days, he was always sad or angry or both. Then he said, "I've been kinda crap lately, haven't I, Lee?"

"Yes," she admitted. She never lied. Not to him.

And Sam nodded, because he appreciated that about her. "Is your dad gonna be around?"

Leah blinked. "Of course he is. He's cooking."

"Okay." He cupped her cheek and kissed her head, the ghost of a smile on his face. "I'll be there."

➰

This is not like when Sarah Black died.

Leah will always remember those days after the accident, after the service. Her mom had cried and cried and cried, which she hadn't even done when her mom had died. She'd shut herself away upstairs, and Leah, Seth and their dad had lived on fish fry for a week because the man didn't know how to cook anything else.

After that, after losing her best friend in the whole world, Sue Clearwater had . . . drifted. There was no other word for it. There was a part of her missing — her right arm, her left leg, Leah wasn't quite sure.

Her mom recovered, of course. Eventually. But she was never really the same. She was harder. Fiercer. There was something within her that had broken and couldn't be repaired.

Sue is not drifting now. She's just . . . not there. She moves when Leah tells her to, she eats, she drinks, but otherwise she hasn't spoken. She hasn't cried, hasn't slept. She's not even said a word to Billy, who perhaps understands better than anyone here what she is feeling.

After it had happened, Billy was there. And like Sam, he's hardly left since. Neither has Charlie, or even the whole Reservation it seems. Everyone except Seth, and those who are still trying to coax him out of that cave Sam said he's been hiding in somewhere far, far away. Somewhere instead of being here. His seat on the other side of Sue remains empty; nobody has dared to remove the reservation sign.

Leah doesn't care if they do. She doesn't care about any of them — not her tribe, not the elder, not herself. She doesn't care about anyone or anything except for her mom, who hasn't said a word since her dad's heart gave out and Seth ripped the front door off its hinges as he struggled to escape only moments after.

He hasn't been seen since.

Not on two legs, anyway.

It's not that she blames Seth. Her dad had never really taken care of himself like he really needed to. He'd had a bad heart since before she was born — since he was a kid himself. But her brother exploding into a fucking wolf in the middle of the living room hadn't exactly done any of them a favour, let alone her father.

Leah wonders where her brother is now, wonders if he's still there. She wonders who is looking after him, because the last time she saw him . . . She will never forget that look on his face right before . . . no, she won't — can't think about that now. She'll have to face up to it soon. Just not now.

Not now, but after. After she thanks the elder, who is lamenting in Quileute about life, love, about death and despair. After she accepts his condolences, his wisdom, though she'll not understand any of it. She'll murmur in the right places, nod her head, try her best to remember what the old man says to her . . . even though she can't even remember whose family he belongs to. She's known him all her life.

What the hell is his name?

Leah looks around the congregation as if she'll find the answer in the faces behind her, but everything's passing in a blur and her attention is wholly elsewhere. It feels as if she's ten steps behind everyone else, struggling to catch up, her head foggy and body aching because she hasn't slept in two days.

Sam is two rows behind.

(Asshole.)

Beside him is Jared, and on the other side sits Emily.

(Bitch.)

Paul is there, too. At least that's something — that he's not watching over Seth, because Lahote isn't known for his sympathy, his kindness. Seth is petrified of the older boy. And yet . . . when Paul catches her dry eyes, his own look uncharacteristically soft.

She turns away from him. She can't bear more than her mom's sadness right now. She's barely managing her own.

That's not all of them, though. She recognises all of Sam's new cadre only by their short hair and their sharp jawlines, by the way their gigantic frames tower over everybody else even when sitting down. Everyone else who is not privy to the secret she has now been brought into.

Leah had thought that all the boys were on steroids when she'd first seen them. Before she'd known. They all look older, leaner. Even Jacob, who sits between Billy and Charlie with his head bowed, appears much older than his sixteen years.

Billy puts his hand on Jake's arm, and it has Leah wondering whether they are remembering the day they buried Sarah. Whether Jake wishes his sisters were here as much as she does.

Leah hasn't heard from Rebecca since a month after she got married, and she hasn't seen Rachel since before she started college. But she misses them, her sisters in all but blood. And she's angry at them for not being here for her, with her, like she has always been there for them. Leah's mom might need her, but she needs them.

When she finally looks away, everything seems to happen all at once. The tribal elder steps down, the pallbearers step up: her uncles Michael and Lucas, behind Jacob in his father's stead, and Quil in his grandfather's. At the back are Charlie and . . . Paul.

Leah sags. The relief she feels that it's not Sam holding her father up in these final moments is crippling. He was only holding her up not too long ago in her kitchen.

(It doesn't change a goddamn thing.)

And yet, as soon as relief registers, it's gone. Fleeting, forgotten. Because it's not Paul or Sam who are supposed to be carrying Harry. It's Seth. Seth is meant to be where Paul stands.

She pulls her mom up, and they follow the coffin. They walk past the whole tribe, hand in hand, row by row, Billy trailing them. It seems as if everyone is here for Harry Clearwater, saying their final goodbyes, grieving.

As Leah and her mom pass the third row, Emily reaches out to her.

Leah pretends not to notice. She pretends not to notice the tears streaming down her cousin-almost-sister's face, or how Sam's hands are on Emily's shoulders. Holding her, loving her.

Asshole. Bitch.

➰

Before, Sam had stuck to his promise. He turned up as she'd asked, clean, shaven, and wearing his best shirt. Despite his sadness, his anger, that rage that Leah did not understand, Sam had a smile plastered on his face and was ready to stand next to her and hold her hand.

She loved him for that.

She met him at the door and kissed him silly. Her family were gathered in the backyard, waiting, though she wasn't bothered if they saw the way she ran her hands through his too-short hair, or if they heard the way he moaned against her lips.

After long, long minutes, Sam finally pulled away. He tapped her nose. "Behave."

She grinned triumphantly — she loved the effect she had on him — and took his hand. "Come on. They're all here."

He squeezed her fingers and let her lead the way into the yard.

He left less than five minutes later. Leah didn't see him again for days and days and days.

Up until then, whether it was someone she knew or someone in a movie, Leah had always laughed at the person who played sad music because they thought it was genuinely speaking to their broken heart and their broken heart alone. Nobody else's, because the song had been written just for them and that moment.

She mocked the person who sobbed as they ripped up photographs of their ex-boyfriend.

She scoffed at the person who stared in the mirror, comparing themselves to another. The person who wondered what they were lacking that the other was not.

It was unbelievably dramatic.

Yet, the day after, there she was, in her room, playing the sad music. She ripped up photographs (and then burned them). She stared at her reflection in the mirror. And as her dad was yelling at her about fire and danger and "What the hell were you thinking!", it was with a feeling of horror that Leah realised she had become the person she used to laugh at.

➰

She is the last to leave the graveside. She stands there long after her dad is in the ground, until others arrive with their shovels and wait for her to go.

He would hate it, she thinks. Her dad. He'd seriously hate all of it. The service, the crying, the way his family's life has come to a ground-breaking halt without him.

He'd hate that she's still standing here, waiting for something that will never happen, waiting for people to leave her house where they have gathered to mourn and pay their respects for just that little bit longer.

(She's still here because she can't face them. The groundsmen can cough and fidget all they want — she's not going anywhere. Not yet.)

But after that, they'll leave. Probably when Billy clears his throat and makes some pointed remark about privacy. They will all leave and go get on with their lives.

Leah just isn't sure if she can do the same.

Chapter Text

(Jacob)

The rows of chairs are filled with Harry Clearwater's loved ones. And where they cannot sit, they stand. They line the walls, the aisles, standing wherever they might be able to hear Old Quil's gravelly tones.

Jacob listens to every word. He doesn't remember much about his mom's funeral, but he will make damn sure he remembers Harry's.

He will remember arriving within minutes, if not seconds to spare. He was just in time to help carry the coffin into the hall, past the rows and rows of people, past Sue and Leah and the only empty chair in the hall which has been left for Seth.

(It had been a Really Bad Idea to go and see Bella this morning. Embry and Jared had tagged along with him in the Rabbit to make sure that he didn't do something he would end up regretting, to make sure that he came back to the tribe who need him today.)

He will remember Leah holding her mother up without her brother, just as he holds his father up without his sisters. Billy is insistent that he will stand for his best friend when there are old Quileute songs to be sung. And so Jacob helps him to his feet each time and keeps him upright for as long as his father needs.

He will remember Charlie crying quietly on the other side of him. He will remember putting a hand on Charlie's shoulder to comfort him, knowing that things were only going to be a thousand times worse for the older man when he went home to an empty house.

(Jacob had begged — begged — Bella to stay. For him, for Charlie. That part, he does not want to remember.)

He will remember lifting Harry up and then lowering him into the ground.

He will remember Sue being picked up and carried by Sam, away from her husband's graveside with the Pack trailing closely behind, all the way to the Clearwaters' house.

He will remember Leah, her head bowed, refusing to follow.

And, above all, Jacob will remember the exact moment his heart stopped beating for Bella Swan.

➰

Two days prior, after leaving a shivering and already near-dead Bella to face her fate with the bloodsuckers (who had reappeared out of who-knows-fuckin'-where, probably to try and shatter the last piece of her heart which he had spent the last several months trying to save), Jacob had sworn to himself that he would let at least twenty-four hours pass before he went crawling back to her.

It was hell. But he'd suffered worse, and when he caught himself so much as looking in the direction of Forks he tried to remind himself over and over and over again that Bella had made her choice.

"There's a vampire in your house, and you want to go back?"

"Of course," she'd replied.

Of course.

So he'd left her, hating himself. But treaty or no treaty, right or wrong, she had wanted to be left even though she knew he wasn't able to stay with her. Instead, he had sprinted back to La Push and he'd let Sam know that the leeches were back. He'd told Sam that if Bella got bit then they all knew who to blame.

And then he'd called her.

(That did not count as crawling back to her, Jacob told himself, but he'd needed to know if they'd taken a good chunk out of her already. Because that meant he could finally take a chunk out of them.)

He half-wished she'd never answered. She sounded . . . different. Alive. More than she had in months, actually, and it had made Jacob feel so sick that he'd slammed the phone down and retched into the kitchen sink. He'd barely gotten out of the house in time before shedding his skin, barrelling into the shared pain and anguish of the Pack as they mourned Harry with their newest brother.

As if things hadn't been bad enough.

He'd spent that evening, and that whole night, unsuccessfully coaxing Seth out of the cave the kid had found solace in. Then, he went home and cleaned the garage from top to bottom — all before the sun rose. And when he was done with that, he yanked out the Rabbit's seven-week old timing belt just so that he could keep his hands busy by fixing it. And when he was done with that, Sam came looking for him. Jacob was almost surprised that it had taken the bastard as long as it had.

"I need to get back to Sue's," said Sam flatly. He was not at all sympathetic about the latest rejection Jacob had faced. Then again, the Alpha's patience had long since reached its limit when it came to Bella Swan and her love for the bloodsuckers. "You're back in charge of Seth."

Jacob simply stared at Sam as he tipped his toolbox upside down. He tried not to seem too pleased with himself when hundreds of nuts and bolts found their way into the deepest corners of the garage. It would take ages to tidy up.

"I'm busy."

Neither had he slept yet, and his eyes were burning.

"Unless you want to help Leah peel her mother off the floor, then you will look after her brother, Jacob. He is your brother now too, and he needs our help."

As Sam spoke, the hard tremor of the Alpha's voice slipped through the cracks. Levi Uley's great-grandson made a conscious effort to not challenge Ephraim Black's great-grandson if he could help it, and in turn, Ephraim Black's great-grandson tried very hard to not fight the authority he had refused to accept for himself. Anything else usually ended in bloodshed.

But, right then — while his brothers would have long since ducked their gaze — Jacob's heart was thundering with rage, misery, topped with a little bit of something else familiar, and he could not help but glare right back at his Alpha.

It was in his blood. Jacob's wolf reared at the challenge Sam presented every single day. And every single day he leashed that animal inside of him and refused to give in. He would never give in. He would never be Alpha.

That was what made him look away, in the end. That was what always made him look away.

(Once, a few days after his first phase when the Pack had all been adjusting to the new dynamic, Jacob had challenged Sam's authority without even thinking about what he was doing. It was an instinct he'd not known he had, and so Sam had beaten his ass into the next week until that new instinct had been all but extinguished. Until Jacob had yielded, and the rest of the Pack had breathed a sigh of relief.

It was still there, though. It would always be there.)

Jacob scowled and, hating himself for it, while hating Sam for everything else, he put down his toolbox before stomping out of the garage and back to Seth's stupid cave.

➰

There aren't many people left at the Clearwater's place.

Old Quil excused himself early, taking his moody grandson with him. Although Quil is way more than simply moody to those in the know — he is fuming; he still believes his best friends have turned their back on him to join Sam, after all, so there's been a permanent scowl etched into his face all day. But he's also hot to the touch, so Jacob knows that his best friend's anger will not last for much longer.

It's not that Jacob wants Quil to phase, it's just things are going to be so much easier when he does. It's not as easy being hated by a loved one as Sam makes out it is.

Sam knows all about being hated. Still, he's here (which is more than can be said for Emily, who had fled as soon as the service had finished). His flank is closely guarded by Jared whilst Paul is out swapping Seth-sitting duties with Embry.

Charlie is still here, too. Jacob had very quickly and very quietly told Billy what was going on as he'd wheeled him away from the graveside, and they've both been trying to keep Charlie with them for as long as possible since. He'd never forgive them if he knew, but Billy and Jacob remember how Charlie had been the last time Bella skipped town.

It's only when the Pack are beginning to help tidy the house, clearing plates and glasses and boxing up the food that Leah finally comes home.

Jacob looks up, and his world just . . . shifts a little.

It's almost as if the earth has titled a fraction of a degree — not enough for anyone else to realise, but enough that Jacob is left feeling as if the wind has been knocked right out of him. He reaches out to hold onto the back of his father's chair so that his legs don't give way beneath him, holds so tightly that he's probably made a new shape out of the handlebars.

Leah's wet eyes blink at him from where she's appeared in the doorway. And after regaining her focus, she gives him a funny, tentative little smile. It doesn't look right on her pale, tired face; it's forced, a little bit mangled, and yet Jacob just knows what's she trying to say — what she really means. That twisted quirk of her lips tells him that she's not okay, but she's trying to be, because what else can she do?

He knows that look. It's one of his own.

When he doesn't smile back, Leah's face slowly falls back into a picture of exhaustion. He knows that look, too, and it's not even because the legends demand it must be so. It's because he and his sisters looked exactly the same when their mother died.

Another second passes, and Leah sticks out her bottom lip ever so slightly. She probably doesn't even know she's doing it. Then she sighs and walks away, further into the house, away from him and his thundering heart.

A shift. A fraction of a degree different.

And nobody's noticed a thing.

➰

"Please, Bella. I'm begging."

"Jake, I have to—"

"You don't, though. You really don't. You could stay here with me. You could stay alive. For Charlie. For me."

Bella shook her head when the leech revved the engine. She pulled her arm free and he let her go.

"Don't die, Bella. Don't go. Don't."

Bella sobbed and threw herself at him, hugging his waist and pressing her tears into his burning chest. Jacob held the back of her head, keeping her close.

"Bye, Jake." She pulled away after only a moment, kissed his palm. She wouldn't — couldn't — meet his eyes. If she had, he thought, she might have stayed. Because he knew her better than anyone else, knew how to break that resolve of hers, that thinking-too-hard look. "Sorry," she said.

Jacob left before she did.

➰

Leah's in the kitchen, gripping onto the edge of the old breakfast bar and breathing hard.

Her head snaps up at the same time as her defences, eyes hard and her brow set. It takes longer than it should — longer than he'd like it to take for his imprint to realise he's not a threat — but eventually, she closes her eyes again and drops her head, dismissing him. Her long, loose hair falls around her and hides everything else.

"Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"I thought they'd be gone by now," she says from underneath her dark shield.

Despite himself, despite this new . . . thing, Jacob is smart enough to keep his distance and stay near the door. No matter how sad she is, no matter how angry, no matter how much he wants to reach out. He likes to think that he'd have to check himself and his instincts to comfort her without having imprinted — his human instincts, not wolf — but he can't say for certain. And he hates that.

He's changed so much that he barely recognises himself lately. Changed so much, lost so much. And this one thing was the last bit he had of himself, the last shred of free will, but now he's surrendered that too. It's not just Sam who rules his life now.

He knows it's the imprint talking when he can't be mad about it. The imprint is quelling his resentment and masking it as something else entirely.

"Can you—" Leah takes a shaky breath. Somehow she seems to stoop a little lower to the floor despite holding onto the counter as if everything depends on it. "Can you ask them to—"

"Sure. Will you be—"

"I'll be fine. I just need him — them," she quickly corrects herself, but Jacob knows who she means. "I need them to go."

"I get it."

He really, really does. And he can do this. He can. He can walk away and do whatever she needs, even if it's only to go back and tell them all to hurry up. He'll clear up the last of the food himself, wash plates and pick up the rubbish so that it's one last thing she has to do right now. And if she asks him to leave too . . . Well, he'll try.

He can do this.

"Jacob."

His wolf sings, turning him back without a thought. "Yeah?"

"Are you . . . Do you . . ." Leah pushes herself away from the counter and waves a hand at him, looking a little ill. There are shadows in her brown eyes which he knows have no hope of being understood by someone who still has both parents. "Y'know. Are you the same as Seth?"

"Yeah."

"And Sam?"

Shit, Sam.

Sam's going to fucking kill him.

At one point or another, Sam has looked at Jacob and his brothers and wondered what he'd do if any of them imprinted on his ex-girlfriend. They'd all seen the underlying panic, had felt their Alpha's fear as if it had been their own.

(That's just the way things are now. Their pain, his pain. Their joy, his joy. Sometimes Jacob dreams of Emily on top of him, dreams of Kim holding his hand.)

Only when Jared imprinted did Sam's breathing seem to loosen slightly, that pressure easing. But it hadn't meant they'd forgotten being aware of how Sam had hated them when he'd looked at them, even if had been for just for a split second.

Yes, Sam's going to kill him. But Jacob steels himself and says, "I really think he should be the one to tell you that."

The words pain him to say, almost as much as it does to think about leaving her on her own for the rest of the night. He knows it's not really Sam's responsibility to divulge this secret — at least, not anymore. It's his, whether he likes that or not, except he's not really ready for Sam to rip his throat out just yet. Not today. Not ever.

"He tried," Leah admits quietly, pushing her curtain of hair back from her face. Her fingers are surprisingly steady compared to the rest of her body. "I think. I don't know. Lots of people have tried to do something, say something today, and I didn't really let them."

"I can ask him to—"

"No," she says too quickly. Her eyes flare with sudden life that dies just as quickly. "Not him. You. You tell me."

They stare at each other for a moment, which is all it takes for Jacob to relent. His shoulders drop. "Yeah. Sam's the same. Jared, Embry and Paul, too," he tells her, aware that he's only confirming everything she already knows, everything that she's probably already thought. It's just nobody has said it aloud to her yet.

Leah nods, but she doesn't look away. "No girls?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Jacob admits. It's not like he's not thought about it. He'd been scared for his sisters, but then they hadn't been home in forever so there was nothing to worry about, was there? And none of the other girls on the Rez seemed to be burning up or had to duck when they went through a door, so it wasn't likely.

"Not Emily?"

"She's . . ." God help him. "No. She's not."

Leah doesn't look like she believes him. She scoffs as she finally turns away, reaching for an empty glass on the draining board and turning the tap on with a bit more force than necessary. "Is my mom upstairs?"

He is about to tell her that Sam carried Sue all the way back here and put her to bed when, as if called, Sam himself appears. Jacob can feel his Alpha at his back, that disapproval which seems to radiate off him all the fucking time.

"Jacob," Sam says, voice hard. Of course, he's heard every word his Second and Leah have said to one another. "What do you think you are doing?"

Very slowly, very deliberately, Jacob turns round. He's exactly the same height as Sam, unlike the rest of their brothers who are all an inch or two shorter. Maybe if he were Alpha he would be taller, but since he refuses he's going to have to settle with being able to stare right into his brother's eyes rather than down into them.

Sam's frown deepens. There's that disapproval.

"Who are you to tell him what he can and can't do?" Leah demands from behind him, but neither Jacob nor Sam look at her. They hold each other's stare, and Jacob vaguely thinks that he needs to stop his hands from shaking, stop his whole body vibrating in response to the challenge Sam will always present. He won't phase, can't phase, because if he phases then Sam is going to know exactly what he's done.

It's that thought which makes him break first. He always breaks first. He ducks his head and steps to the side, allowing Sam to pass.

"Save it," Leah says in response to whatever she sees in Sam's face. She pushes past them both and disappears upstairs.

And, never one to waste any time, Sam instantly rounds on him.

"What have you done?"

Chapter Text

(Sam)

If there was one female in the world who could be a wolf, Sam thinks, it would be Leah.

She stalks around her bedroom, kicking off her shoes and shrugging out of her dress as she goes, looking absolutely feral. Her long, black hair swishes behind her with every movement, grazing the small of her naked back, wild and untamed as the rest of her.

He stands just beyond the threshold of her room, but she doesn't shut the door, doesn't slam it in his face. Because that would mean that she has to acknowledge him, which she has so very pointedly been trying not to do since she'd prised herself away from him in her kitchen earlier that morning. But she knows he's there, of course, and parades around her room in nothing but her mismatched underwear with a type of anger he's only just begun to learn from this side of the fence. There's a line between them now, which has done nothing but grow since he left her.

He's not stupid. He knows everything he had with Leah is dead with no hope of revival, because he will never betray Emily or the imprint. That, and Leah would never take him back even if he were somehow able to refuse fate. She's too stubborn and will never, ever forgive him. This line will just keep growing and growing. But she's in on this now. Minus a tail, she's all but part of his pack of ragtag teenagers.

He hadn't ever considered or entertained the idea of her knowing his secret. He'd resigned himself to a life of murderous looks from her, the tribe behind her and forever whispering behind his back. A life of people looking at Emily as if she's a homewrecker and as if he's no better than his father.

Then fourteen-year-old Seth had phased unexpectedly. It had been a miracle that he'd shredded the carpet and the door rather than his family, from what Sam has seen from the kid's mind.

Harry and Sue he would have been able to deal with. Harry is -- was part of the Council. With Billy and Old Quil, Mr. Clearwater had been the one to sit him down and explain everything after he'd phased for the first time. Sam would never forget it. And, naturally, Harry didn't keep things from Sue, who had Uley blood and seemed to know everything about everyone anyway. But Leah . . .

"Jacob shouldn't have told you like that," Sam says to her back. Jacob knows it, too. He'd sloped off without so much as a word, hadn't even bothered to defend himself after Leah had pushed past them. Sam is still undecided on whether that was a wise decision or not, but he'd not pushed it. Later. He'd deal with it later, like everything else he's put on the back burner.

"At least he has told me," Leah snaps back. "Which is a lot more than I can say for you."

Then -- with no misguided illusions about what she's doing, he's sure -- she bends down and bares her ass to him as she roots around in her bottom drawers for some pants. The glass of water which she's brought from downstairs threatens to topple over on top of her dresser with the force of slamming drawers.

Of course, Leah doesn't know that what she's trying to do isn't working. It will never work.

It's strange to be so unaffected by her now, compared to a time when he would have grabbed her hips and held her close. Now the wolf inside of him barks in protest with what it sees and forces his eyes elsewhere . . . but all the things in this room are a stark reminder of everything the wolf tells him is Wrong. Everything here is from the last three, four years of his life. Everywhere he looks calls to him with familiarity. He's climbed through that window, slept in that bed . . .

He trains his eyes on Leah's bare feet as they move. The imprint is only somewhat mollified -- it won't settle until he's back with Emily, but he's got no choice. He has to be here, not there. He has to tell Leah how important all of this is. It's his responsibility.

"Because you have done everything you can to not have that conversation," Leah continues, her voice rising with every word. "But it's over now, he's in the ground, gone. It's done. So whatever you're waiting for . . ." She huffs angrily as she shimmies into threadbare shorts, the kind she lounges around in whether the sun's out or not. "It's done," she says again.

Sam looks up, and she's staring right at him, eyes blazing.

He sighs, relenting after half a minute. He runs a hand over his tired face. "Please put a shirt on."

"Bothering you, is it?" She puts her hands on her hips, subtly jutting her chest out.

"Please, Lee. Today's been hard enough. I wanted to wait 'til all this was over."

Leah barks a laugh, a hard, unkind and frustrated sound as she turns away and reaches into her wardrobe and yanks a t-shirt off its hanger. She's a whirlwind in this space, moving so fast that once upon a time he would have had a hard time keeping up.

"Things were hard before," she says. "You didn't tell me then. You don't get to decide for me. Not ever."

He has never decided things for her, but he doesn't remind her of that. He's unused to this rage she has. He knows it's all because of him and losing Harry, maybe because she's had to deal with all of this without her brother, but still he struggles.

"If I want to know, Sam--" she spits his name "--it won't be on your terms."

That straightens his back. "It has to be on my terms."

This is the Alpha talking, not Sam Uley, not his imprint.

"You think too highly of yourself," Leah utters scornfully.

"There's rules, Leah. I need to keep everyone safe." Anything else is unacceptable.

"Why's it your responsibility all of a sudden?" she demands, pulling down her shirt and immediately reaching for her hair. "Why are you suddenly deciding who can and can't know what? Telling Jacob what he can and can't tell me? The legends might be true -- fine," she concedes at his look. "They are true, but you're not Taha fucking Aki, Sam."

He takes a deep breath, one, two. Her words sting, but she's not to know about the fight he and Jacob are having every single day. He's all but killing himself holding onto something that Jacob doesn't want, something that he's offered to Jacob more than once, and although Jacob has refused he has been subconsciously challenging him for it every single damn day since he phased.

"I'm the leader of this pack."

Leah rolls her eyes with a snort as she ties her hair back. "Pack."

"Yes, Leah. Pack. Which Seth is now part of--" she flinches at her brother's name, the only slip in her otherwise fiery facade "--whether you like it or not. You weren't meant to know about any of this, but now you do, and I've got to work around it."

"Sorry I'm such an inconvenience," she snaps.

He can't help the roll of his eyes. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Do I?" Leah flicks her high ponytail over her shoulder. It brings out the sharp lines in her face more than ever. "This morning was a mistake," she tells him, finding her resolve again. "I won't be so inconvenient again."

"God, Leah. You're not an inconvenience!" He throws up his arms which are in danger of shaking -- he's letting his temper get the better of him. "I just meant that not everyone can know about this!" he hisses. He's mindful of who is left downstairs. Most who came back to the house have left, but there's still keen wolf ears and Charlie Swan and who-knows-who else.

Leah scowls. "I'm not going to tell anyone, if that's all you're worried about. I think everyone who I might have wanted to tell knows anyway. One of them is in that room." She points over his shoulder. "So if you'll excuse me."

He has to tell her more. He's not going to get away with keeping her in the dark, knows that things are only going to spiral that much more out of control when she finds out the rest, but maybe -- maybe hard truths can wait. He didn't want to do this today anyway.

"Fine." He moves out of the way. "I just wanted to see if you needed anything before I go."

"Back to Emily."

He wants to say yes -- yes, Emily, always Emily, but knows no good will come of it so simply nods his head and watches as Leah takes the glass of water off her dresser and disappears behind her mom's door with it.

➰

That morning, he'd caught Leah as she'd crumpled to her knees in her kitchen. She'd fought him, at first, telling him over and over again that she was not his problem, sobs wracking her body as she cried her protests and obscenities until they finally dissolved into something which had her gripping the lapels of his ill-fitting suit. So he'd held on to her, because it was the break he'd been waiting for since that first night after he'd brought her and Sue back from the hospital.

He had known that Leah would rather cry in the confines of her kitchen with nobody else to hear her rather than in front of her father's coffin with an audience. He still knew her. That was why he'd pushed her too far. He had let himself into her house before she'd gotten out of bed and had followed her around all morning, pushing and pushing.

Leah had always been tough. But she'd become a little rough around the edges since he had left her on Third Beach and broken her heart. She worked differently now.

"Is this about college?" she asked that day. "I know I've been a little nervous, but it's only because--"

"It's not. I'm not going to college anymore. I can't." He couldn't even leave the Rez without his skin itching, almost as if reminding him of what -- who -- he was leaving behind unprotected. "I know you don't understand. And maybe you won't ever understand," he said, almost to himself as he stared above her head, anywhere but her already tear-stained face. "I'm still having trouble with it. But I know I don't feel the same anymore. I'm not the same."

"Nothing's changed--"

"It has. Everything has. I'm sorry."

He'd repeated that same word to her on the kitchen floor as he had on the stillness of Third Beach. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

It hadn't made anything better. It would never make it better, no many how many times he said it. To Leah, to Emily's scarred and lovely face. To his brothers, who understood just as much of this new world as he did, though he did his best to pretend otherwise. Sometimes it even worked.

Since Harry had died, Sam had found himself treating Leah as pack because she resembled his brothers so much. Her anger at everything, the sharp bite to her words. He'd reached for her a few times, if only to check that her temperature was normal and that her heart rate was steady. But she was still Leah. Mostly. Thankfully. She didn't feel warm to him, like only Emily and his brothers did these days.

Eventually she'd wormed herself out of his arms, had stood on her shaky legs and pushed him away. She'd swiped erratically at her wet, flushed face and muttered that she needed to get ready.

"We've got a while yet, Lee."

"I'm late. I've got to get ready," she mumbled again. "Leave me alone."

He'd not really left either her or Seth alone since the kid had phased and hidden away. He wouldn't make it to the funeral. Hell, Jared had taken three days to get himself back on two legs. Sam was almost sure that Seth was going to take even longer.

"Please go," she then asked quietly, and he hadn't been able to help but remember that she'd asked the same of him on Third Beach. Maybe she had remembered, too.

➰

Only his pack greet him when he jumps the last stair, anger fuelling his every move.

Except for Jacob, whose eyes are still downcast, they look at him and wait to be told what to do next. They all can't help but listen, though, to Billy and Charlie who are talking in quiet whispers on the other side of the door. The door which is still broken, courtesy of Seth.

Sam makes a note to fix it next time he's here. "Everyone else gone?" he asks the room.

"Jacob herded them all out," Jared says.

Sam's gaze turns on his tallest brother. He can't admonish him, he supposes. Leah had asked him to clear the house -- they all heard her. "Good. You should tell Charlie about Bella before he goes home, Jacob."

Jake grunts noncommittally. Hell, Sam needs to get better with his directives. Jacob is always finding loopholes.

"Go and tell Charlie. Now," Sam orders. He makes for the living room, not waiting to watch the boy slope off. "The rest of you, come and clean this up. I'll do the kitchen."

He can feel all of them behind him. Embry's hunger, having not eaten since before he'd left to watch over Seth. Jared's longing for Kim, the imprint still so new compared to his own with Emily. And, somewhere far away, Seth's heartbreak and Paul's frustration. Probably because he's babysitting. Then there's Jacob's . . . whatever that is. Jacob is a total freakin' mess. He's all longing and uncertainty and sadness and confusion and nerves. It spills over with his misery and angst over Bella fucking Swan.

Always Bella fucking Swan. A skinny pale wreck of a thing, nothing but a walking nightmare of complications, and always, always undoubtedly the source of any kind of pain Jacob was feeling. But she's not Sam's problem anymore, because the leeches are back. Well -- one of them. But the rest are sure to follow, of that Sam has no doubt. He'll soon have more than Seth phasing to worry about -- half of his pack will be thirteen, fourteen-year-old kids before he knows it when the leeches come back to Washington in full force.

Not if. When. The certainty has been constantly nagging him at the back of his mind since Jake brought him up to speed, all the way through the service. And the fact is that, when the leeches come back, the pack will have far too much territory to cover. On its own, the boundary line defined by the treaty -- the single line between their land and Leech Land -- is fifty miles long. Fifty miles for six of them.

As if the redhead isn't enough. As if Quil being a second away from becoming a new weight in Sam's heart isn't enough.

Because Sam can feel Quil, too. The sensation is like an itch he can't get to just yet, his anticipation steadily building. He'd wanted to crawl out of his own skin by the time Jacob had finally phased. Quil won't take as long.

Sam listens to Embry and Jared as he moves about the kitchen, hands busy as he contemplates everything. It sounds like they're eating everything in sight, but at least they're clearing up. Sort of.

"C'mon, man," Embry says around a mouthful. "You just saw her four hours ago!"

Jared grumbles, but whatever he's feeling only raises a similar yearning in response within Sam's own chest. Emily, Emily, Emily.

It had taken more strength than he'd had to watch her walk away from the service and back to her little house -- her grandmother's house, once, and now his too, he guessed. He spent far more time there than anyone else, barely went home to his own mom who was incoherent more than half the time. He only went back to pay the bills, to make sure there was food in the fridge. And that was only because Emily told him to. He would never have bothered otherwise. His mom has long since made it clear that he reminds her too much of his father, and she wants nothing to do with him. Especially since he's gotten a name for himself on the reservation by leaving Leah and all but moving in with her cousin.

Sudden yelling from outside lets Sam know that Jacob has done his job and told Charlie who his only child has run off with.

"Sounds like trouble," Jared mutters. He seems hopeful, though. As if it might get him back to Kim that more quickly, and that hope only jumps higher when an engine revs not too long before Billy is being wheeled back into the house by Jacob. Sam meets them in the hall, the kitchen clear of any evidence of a wake being held.

Billy sighs. The lines on his worn face seem deeper. "Good thing you didn't say anything about Italy, son. That girl is going to be the death . . ." He lets his words fade and glances warily towards the ceiling, where he knows Leah and Sue are. "Well," he says gruffly. "You know."

But Jacob's not listening, it seems. He stares up at the same spot on the ceiling as his father, his hands tight on the handlebars of the wheelchair.

Longing and uncertainty and sadness and confusion and nerves.

Sam frowns. What is that? "Jacob?"

"Are they asleep?" the boy asks, still looking up.

"Doubt it," Sam says. He would know. Their breathing might be even but Leah's not slept for more than two hours straight since Harry died, Sue probably even less so.

(He has to get Seth home as soon as possible.)

Another sigh from Billy. "Let's leave them for tonight, kid. C'mon."

Something even Sam can't quite catch flashes over Jacob's face, pulling at his mouth. "We'll come back tomorrow?"

"Sure, sure."

Jake looks reluctant, but eventually jerks his head and starts wheeling his father out. Maybe it's because he's lost his mom, maybe it's because he needs to jump on another crusade to keep him busy whilst Bella is probably getting her throat ripped out. Sam isn't all too sure. He's hardly ever sure when it comes to Jacob. Too many problems, too difficult to even try and pick apart. Whatever this is, though -- it's in danger of turning out to be yet one more problem.

Which, undoubtedly, will become his problem, too. It always does. Emily and these ragtags are all he has.

"You're with Seth tonight," he reminds Jacob before he leaves. "Take over from Paul at ten."

And for once, Jacob only nods. No questions, no defiance, no snappy retorts.

Definitely a problem.

Chapter Text

(Jacob)

Jacob and Paul handover wordlessly. Sometimes it's better that they don't speak; they might be brothers, but their dislike for each other has reached new heights since Jacob took over as Sam's Second.

When Jared had been in the position by default, Paul was close to assuming it for himself before Jacob turned up. Not long after that (less than a day, in fact) Jacob had been offered the top spot, and when he'd hastily refused it Sam insisted that he at least take on second-in-command instead -- if only because they all knew that anything less wouldn't have soothed Jacob's unbearable need to take take take.

Fucking bloodlines.

So Jared had stepped down, all too happily accepting Third instead, meaning that Paul's nose had been pushed further out of joint. It gets under his skin something fierce, that he'll never be given the chance to flank Sam's right side. It has his grey wolf loping off with a disdainful snort, refusing to look back.

Jacob lets it slide, wishing that the world was as easy-going as Embry as he usually tends to do when his most volatile brother is around, and he sits down at the mouth of the cave. The kid's in there, somewhere, whimpering and shivering. He can almost feel Seth's bones rattling, and knows that it's not from the cold which he cannot feel.

"Hey, kid."

Seth lets out a low whine into the night.

"Don't worry. Just figured you could do with some peace and quiet, is all," Jacob lies. The peace and quiet is for him, not for Seth, who is undoubtedly listening to the mindless hum of Embry's thoughts, the angry tint of Paul's. Poor kid. At midnight Jared will take over from Paul, and after an evening of having Kim underneath him he will probably make Seth so sick that it might even force a phase.

Here's hoping.

Jacob stretches his legs out over the uneven ground. Paul will probably rat him out to Sam about being on two legs the first chance he gets -- not that any of them know why, though they will soon, and he's undoubtedly seven kinds of dead when they do. He won't be able to get away with not phasing for long. Soon he'll have to take a patrol or the redhead will show up again or Bella will come back with blood-coloured eyes . . .

It was an odd feeling when he'd told Charlie about her taking off with Alice. Like he'd cared, but not really -- at least not like before, because his heartbeat is different now. Le-ah, Le-ah, Le-ah.

It's all wrong. He'd had a plan with Bella, which is ruined beyond belief. He's imprinted, and she's been whisked away by that pixie of a leech. She's probably dead already. The thought of which doesn't have him pieces like it once would have. It doesn't have his heart in his ass like it was when she threw herself from that cliff.

Well, shit.

This imprint has sealed more than just his fate. Because whatever Leah chooses, whoever she chooses, whether that's him or Sam's ghost or even nobody at all, Jacob's got about as much luck of turning his back on her as Sam's got of leaving Emily for her. And Bella . . . well, she can't have made her decision any more clearer to the world than she has. She's not the type to pick herself, even Jacob knows that; it would have always been him or the leech. Now it's just the leech -- that's the only option she'll see with him out of the picture. Being with a leech, becoming a leech.

Jake wonders whether he'll be able to look Charlie in the eye when he's forced to kill her. If the leeches break the treaty . . . if Bella becomes a threat to the reservation -- to Leah -- then she'll have to die. Again. He's got no choice.

The rational part of him knows that thinking like this, even considering it is not right. Bella is still human -- for now. She is his father's best friend's daughter. She is his best friend, and he loves her. Granted it's not in the same way anymore. Whatever he felt has twisted and morphed and bent into a love like the one he has for Rachel and Rebecca, but still. It's not right.

Or is it? The other part of him, the imprinted wolf part, vividly imagines tearing Bella's head off and howling victoriously.

It's sick, yeah. But if it ensures Leah's safety . . .

Jacob tears at his hair, his two bodies in a battle of wills, painfully conscious of the fact he's steadily losing sense of what is right and wrong. Maybe it's already gone.

Seth whimpers.

"S'alright, Seth," he replies with a ragged breath. "I'm alright." He straightens his back, if only because he knows that his other brothers will be able to see what Seth sees. "How are you doing? No. Scratch that. Stupid question."

A huff from the darkness.

"I know. Sorry."

Jacob pulls his knees up. He's just about settling in for a long, long night ahead of him when he hears Seth inching closer, crawling along slowly on his belly until he can be seen properly -- at least by Jacob, with his new ability to see and smell from miles away. He's still adjusting to these heightened senses.

Seth's not quite at the cave's entrance, but it's closer than he's been since he scarpered into it. From here, even in the dead of night, Jacob can see the kid's tangled sandy-coloured coat and the hot breath escaping from his long muzzle. His paws are freakin' ginormous, nevermind the rest of him. He's like an oversized colt with shaggy hair, unsure of his footing.

"You need a haircut."

Seth bares his teeth.

"Yeah, I know. It sucks. I cried like a bitch when Sam cut my hair off." It had been his pride. "But you'll rip it out when you run and it'll hurt."

Seth holds Jacob's eyes as he lowers his head to the ground, in between those massive paws. He's trembling.

"Bet it feels like you'll never stop," Jacob tells him. He holds up his hand. "But it does, see? The shaking. Unless you get mad and lose control . . ." His hand drops. "That'll happen a lot. It gets better. Phasing back for the first time is the hardest bit."

The most important bit, as well as the hardest. It's the one time that an Alpha can't force a phase, because the body hasn't learnt how to do it yet. It's why Jared took three days to fall back on two feet and why Seth's been here for nearly as long. Thankfully he didn't go too far out. After he'd taken off he had mostly run around in circles, whereas Jacob had passed Sacramento his first time. Regardless, nothing else can happen until Seth decides that he's ready.

Jacob believes he's ready, though. He's got an extra pair of shorts because he's so sure of it.

This is the third time he's sat with the kid, the first time that he's not tried to coax Seth out mind-to-mind. It's a lot harder than he thought it would be, but he's going to hell if he lets Seth, of all people, hear his mind as it is right now.

"S'pose the guys have all been imparting their own bits of wisdom since I last saw you, huh?"

Seth huffs again at that, but Jake continues anyway. "Just take a breath, kid. Shut your eyes and tune them out. Think about what you want to do, what you want to be instead of focusing on what you don't want to be. The rest will follow."

The sandy wolf keeps staring at him, body vibrating.

"It's alright. It'll come to you, I know it."

➰

Eventually it does. An hour or so later, the wind is whipping at Jacob's ears, bitingly cold to somebody who might be able to feel it, when Seth's form on the rocks starts blurring. He's trying to phase, willing himself to shed this second skin. He whimpers and whines, grunts and growls, but -- there, there's the patch of skin Jacob's been waiting for. It's quickly consumed with fur again as he coalesces back into his wolf, but Jacob will take what he can get. It won't be long now.

There's nothing worse than an audience than somebody blathering on pointlessly to fill the silence. Jacob can't do much about the first part, so he keeps quiet and occasionally turns his eyes to the moon, acting as if he's got all the time in the world.

As if something's not calling him to go back, to leave his post and--

It's fine. He'll wait.

➰

Another hour. Two. More skin, appearing and disappearing, taking longer and longer each time until finally, finally Seth is sprawled face-down and naked on the rocky ground, gasping for breath. Jacob is at his side instantly.

Far in the distance, howls immediately fill the air. Embry and Jared. They'll wake Sam and Paul, though they don't care about that. They're happy, and Jacob lets himself smile even as Seth moans from underneath his blanket of wayward hair.

"Hey. Hey. You're fine. You did real good, Seth. Real good." But he needs to keep the momentum going, keep himself in the here and now, so Jacob says, "Come on, up you get. You'll catch a cold." Not likely. "Come on."

He wrangles Seth into the pair of shorts he's brought with him and stands him on his unsteady feet.

"My fault," the kid mumbles over and over through his clacking teeth. "All my fault."

"Hold on to me. We're gonna walk, 'kay?"

"It's my fault."

"Seth, focus." It's not quite an order, but Jacob is Second and Sam's not here. He doesn't like doing it, but he can force what he needs if he decides. Seth needs direction. "Work with me," he says more gently. "One foot after the other. Easy does it."

Seth's knees wobble with effort. "I can't."

"Sure you can." Jacob pulls Seth's arm up and over his shoulders, and slowly but surely Seth starts walking. "Good. Let's go."

It's only a two-hour walk south back to the reservation. Now is as good of a time as any to start Wolf 101. And with every passing mile, "It's my fault, all my fault," turns into questions as Seth is drawn back to reality. He asks about his mom, Leah. Then Sam, and Paul, all of his new brothers.

He never asks about Harry.

➰

" . . . giving us the runaround since, but I think she's caught on that the others turned up. Well -- one of them at least. We haven't picked up a trail for a few days," Jacob explains as they walk through the reservation. Seth is walking on his own now. "She'll be back, though. Probably."

"Because she wants to eat Bella."

"Yeah. Mate for mate, or something."

"Which wasn't the leech with the dreadlocks you said you killed."

Just over two weeks ago. It feels like two months, two years even, not mere weeks. He had emptied his guts afterwards until there'd been nothing left and it'd not just been because Bella had been a hair's breadth from piercing, venomous teeth.

"No."

Seth nods. He's getting it now his head is his own again. "Do you think she'll come back? Bella? I mean . . ." He looks a bit awkward, and Jacob realises that the kid thinks he's got his pants in a twist over her still. After all, he hasn't heard any differently. "I wouldn't come back, if something like that was after me."

"If she survives whatever it is she's gone off to . . ."

There's a very good chance that they will eliminate us all, the small and strange leech had said very casually to Bella. Too casual for his own liking. Though in your case it won't be punishment so much as dinnertime.

"Then yeah. She'll come back."

Things will either become exponentially harder or easier when she does. It doesn't feel like there will be an in between. There never had been for him with Bella.

Seth frowns. "But she'll bring back all the other vampires when she does."

"Yep," Jake replies, lips popping.

"But that . . . that's so unfair!" Seth suddenly explodes, and despite himself Jacob takes a few long strides away from the boy who has begun to blur around the edges.

He splays his hands in surrender as Seth takes deep, gulping breaths, his body heaving. Jacob's own heart starts thundering at what might happen -- at what could happen. "Seth. If this is too much . . . If you can't deal, then you can't go home, okay? Not yet."

The idea of Seth exploding too close to Leah . . . Jacob can't stomach the thought. And Seth doesn't know that Jacob's now bound by some stupid sacred law to retaliate if Leah's ever hurt.

He's not sure he's got the stomach to kill her brother -- his brother, now, too.

"What if I can't . . ." Seth's looks at his trembling fingers with undiluted horror before crossing his arms and burying his fists into his armpits. He swallows audibly and squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to regain control. "Jake, I might not be able to stop."

"You will. You won't hurt anyone." You can't. Because if you do I'll have to hurt you.

"But . . ."

"You're fine, kid. Trust me." Jake crosses the distance and slings his arm over Seth's shoulders, pulling him close and ruffling his tangled hair. "You got this."

Seth cracks an eye open. He doesn't look like he believes him. Shit, Jacob doesn't believe himself, but he's gotta try.

"Well. Perhaps more night won't hurt, though, y'know? There's no shame in it. I've got a hammock in the garage."

Seth glances at the house across the road where his mom and Leah are sleeping. It's several minutes before he shakes his head, all of which Jacob feels like he's holding his breath.

"No. I can do it."

The kid will probably break if he thinks nobody believes in him, so Jacob says, "Alright," and does his best to sound more sure about it than he feels.

They walk along the pathway, through the door and up the stairs without incident. The door really needs to be looked at. It's not like anyone will try and break in; La Push tribal Officers have a near-perfect crime rate -- zero, especially since the most temperamental boys (Paul) have phased -- but still . . . Jacob's nerves are shot to pieces as it is. He doesn't need to be worrying about an unlocked door to his imprint's house.

At the top of the stairs, Seth looks back and forth between his mother's and sister's doors.

Jacob clamps down on a rising challenge -- it smells like Sam up here -- and says quietly, "They're fine."

He chances a glance at one door in particular anyway, listening closely. It would be so, so easy to wedge it open and . . . What? Whisper her name, and freak her out? Yeah, no. She'll see the dirt Seth has trailed through the house soon enough. Until then, Jacob will let the kid sleep for a few hours before his family comes crashing down on him.

"C'mon, kid. Sleep time."

Seth doesn't move. "It was today, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

What little light is left in Seth's eyes vanishes. "I missed it."

"Yeah," Jacob says again. It's all he can say.

"They wouldn't show me. The others." Seth's shoulders drop impossibly lower. "Every time they thought about it, they stopped."

Another one of Sam's finest Alpha Orders. Not. But Jake doesn't tell Seth that. "It would have upset you. We had to get you back," he explains instead, pushing at Seth's back and herding him into his room. He doesn't want to answer anymore questions in the hallway, lest they wake Leah and Sue up. From the looks of them at the service today, the look of Leah when she came home, she and her mom have been getting even less sleep than the pack. "C'mon."

"What was it like?" the kid asks after Jacob's forced him to lie down on his unmade bed - which, Jacob can't help but notice, smells like Leah, as if she's lain upon it at some point in the last few days.

"Jake?" Seth prompts.

"It was . . ." Jacob tries not to breathe in through his nose and thinks of Sue's vacant eyes, of Leah's face at the graveside as she'd watched her dad being lowered into the ground. She'd not looked away, not even as her mom had been carried away by Sam. "Nice. It was real nice, Seth. Old Quil held the service."

"Did anyone read? My mom?"

"No. But your sister picked a poem, which Old Quil translated."

"Which one?"

Jacob blows a breath. The kid's clearly not going to get some rest until he knows. "If I tell you, will you go to sleep?"

Seth immediately shuts his eyes, and Jacob almost smiles. "Okay," he says then. This is the reason he'd paid such close attention, after all -- not because he can barely remember his mom's funeral, but because he'd felt the weight of Sam's Order in his chest as Old Quil had droned on and on and he knew that it hadn't been fair. He hadn't wanted Seth to feel the same way about his dad's funeral as he feels about his mom's. That it was slowly being forgotten.

"Okay," Jacob says again. He has a wolf's memory now. He sits down on the carpet, his back against the wooden bed frame. "Do not stand at my--"

"Can you do it in Quileute?" Seth whispers. "Please."

Jacob tilts his head back to the ceiling and looks at the sunlight from outside which is starting to creep across it.

"Do not stand at my grave and weep," he begins again -- in Quileute, this time. "I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain, the gentle autumn rain . . . When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifting rush -- of quiet birds in circled flight, the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there. I did not die."

Seth is quiet behind him, but Jacob can hear the tears that are there.

"She picked good," Seth says, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah. She did."

Seth falls asleep pretty quickly after that, but it's five minutes or so until Jacob is able to force himself to his feet and leave. Force himself to put one foot in front of the other as he had urged Seth to do, because it's the only way he's going to get out of this house and get Leah's scent out of his head before he does something that will be out of this world kind of stupid.

But she's there. Sitting just by Seth's door, head against the wall with her legs crossed and looking straight up at him. Her ponytail hangs limply to the side, loose and messy as she tilts her head and wisps of her hair fall over her face like she's been tossing and turning. A suspicion only confirmed by the way her shirt is crumpled and riding slightly up her back, exposing the smallest stretch of smooth skin. And those goddamned shorts she's wearing are--

Out of this world kind of stupid.

"I didn't hear you," is all Jacob can think to say, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Hairspray."

He gapes at her. Shit, shit, shit. "Huh?"

"For the hinges," Leah explains like it's obvious. "Stops them squeaking. Haven't you ever snuck out before?"

"No." He can't stop looking at that patch of skin. "But I guess it explains why Dad never caught Rach and Beck."

Leah snorts with the barest hint of a smile. "Who do you think bought the hairspray? I didn't."

(He bets his sisters didn't think of spraying it over their doors, though. That's all Leah.)

"Was this around the time they turned my room into their hair salon?"

"Yeah. Think so," Leah replies absently. She turns her head and peers through the doorway, over her shoulder and at her brother who is now deeply asleep.

Jacob stares at her bared neck as she stretches round, stares at that tempting column of her throat which tests what little he has left of himself.

"Is he okay?" she asks, voice uncharacteristically soft.

Jake tears his eyes away, but meets her own when she turns back. "He will be. What about you?"

"Have to be." She shrugs and begins idly wrapping her ponytail around her wrist. "Thank you. For bringing him back. I wasn't sure . . ." She stares at the loop of her dark hair and runs her slim fingers over it. "You know."

"Sure. No problem." It vaguely registers that this is the part where he should leave. This is the danger zone, not so much the point of no return but pretty fucking close to it. Yet he can't pull himself away, can't help saying, "Hey, Leah, I--"

"Are you hungry?" she asks suddenly. "I'm hungry."

"I . . . Uh," he starts lamely, but she's already on her feet and waving at him to hurry up. "Okay, then."

He shuts Seth's door before he follows.

Out of this world kind of stupid indeed.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

(Jacob)

It's almost noon by the time Seth rouses and drags his feet downstairs with red eyes, looking for all the world as if he is carrying the weight of the tribe upon his back.

Jacob sends the kid a brief smile from where he's kneeling in the doorway, surrounded by the few tools he's pilfered from Harry's shed. (It pales in comparison to the collection he has in his garage, but he's long since learned to work with the hand he's been dealt — fixing a door and its frame is nothing after everything else that's happened in these last few months of his life.)

Seth barely lifts his head in acknowledgement. If he is surprised to find someone else here — someone from the Pack, that is — then he doesn't show it. Maybe he even expected it. "What're you doing?"

At this point, Jacob has more or less resigned himself to hanging out at the Clearwaters' house until he's forcibly kicked out. And so he says, "Come sit. I'll show you."

He spends the next twenty minutes or so guiding Seth through what he's managed so far. He's not all too sure if Seth is absorbing the lesson, but it's a distraction nonetheless. He might not be ready to leave, but he reckons that listening to the sound of his own voice has to be a better use of his time than counting Leah's heartbeats above him.

"Okay." He sits back on his heels and studies his handiwork with a critical eye before handing Seth a clamp. "I'll do the wood filler, then you start clamping."

Remarkably, Seth listens, his face set with concentration as he watches how Jacob seals the cracks. Then, as instructed, he places the clamp and starts twisting its jaws together.

"Wait — gently, okay? You'll break it."

"It's already broken," Seth mutters, frowning with the barest hint of frustration.

Jacob rolls his eyes, though it's mostly at the look Seth gives him from underneath that untamed hair of his. It looks like a damn haystack. "The clamp, dummy. You're a lot stronger now."

Something loosens in the kid's face. "Oh." He immediately relaxes his fist over the handle, looking suddenly wary of himself; he's hesitant as he starts tightening the clamp again. "How'dya learn to do this, anyway?"

"I broke the door on the garage once. Split the frame just like this," Jacob explains. "Well, actually, your dad did. But my dad still blamed me."

Seth presses his lips together as tightly as he's winding the clamp, evidently trying not to react — and failing miserably.

"Billy showed me what to do," Jacob continues, pretending not to have noticed, "but he said I was the one who had a hissy fit and locked myself in; I was the one who forced him to get Harry over to break it down in the first place . . ." He passes Seth another clamp. "Here, let's do the top next. Anyway," he says with a huff as they both stand, "it was my fault, so he said I was the one who had to fix it."

Seth has secured the clamp and reached for another by the time he finds his voice. "I didn't know he did that."

Jacob keeps his voice purposefully light. "I think he enjoyed it — I remember he looked real pleased with himself when it all came down, standing there like he'd just won World's Strongest Man or something. My dad laughed himself stupid . . . but maybe that was at me, 'cos I probably looked like a thirteen-year-old who'd just shit his pants."

"He scared you?"

"Oh, yeah. I called him Mister Clearwater for like a month after. Until he told me to stop, anyway — he said I made him feel like he was eighty."

None of this makes Seth smile like Jacob had hoped it would. If anything, it does the complete opposite. "Won't he be wondering where you are? Billy?"

"Probably not." Jacob's smile drops. "Sorry, kid, I didn't think. D'ya want me to go?"

"No," Seth says all too quickly. "No, I don't. I just thought — doesn't he worry about you?"

"Nah."

(His father may be a bit . . . cantankerous, especially when it comes to being persuaded to go to a doctor about his feet — even though the head bloodsucker doesn't work at the main hospital anymore, Billy will never be convinced to step foot inside of the place — but he is nothing short of proud that his son has joined the Pack.)

"I reckon Charlie will be keeping him pretty busy today, anyway," he adds quickly.

Remembering yesterday, he wonders what Charlie had thought after finding the bullshit note Bella left him. After he'd learned the bare details and had torn off in his cruiser to race home.

Please, please, please take care of Charlie, she had begged.

Jacob feels a fleeting moment of guilt.

Maybe he should go home. If Charlie is there . . .

No. No — this is more important.

It's become a little startling to realise Bella has not been crossing his mind as much — and only even then with a little prompting. He's hardly been thinking of her at all, when less than two days ago he was thinking of nothing but Bella. All. The. Time. When he was patrolling, when he was in the garage, when he was lying awake in bed and staring at the ceiling and—

Well. The Pack Radio is going to be broadcasting a totally different kind of show now, that's for sure. Although . . . Jacob doesn't think his brothers will miss The Bella Show too much.

Or maybe they will. Especially when they learn that another one of them has found their imprint.

"Oh." Seth looks uncomfortable. "Right. Sorry."

By the time Jacob realises that Seth has misinterpreted the expression on his face, it's too late to school his features into something somewhat neutral-looking. "S'fine," he says instead. "I'll catch him in a bit, see if Charlie's calmed down any."

"Can you tell Leah about Dad, later, before you go?" Seth's lips twist in some semblance of a smile as he works. Talking about his big sister is easier. Jacob has noticed the same thing about Leah whenever she talks about Seth, too. "I think she will really like that story."

"Yeah, sure," he says, doing his best to sound amused whilst he ignores the way his heart just skipped. It's automatic, involuntary — exactly the same as being unable to stop tilting his head a fraction towards the ceiling so he can listen for the sound of her breathing, of her heartbeat.

(Gentle — even and steady, much like Sue's across the hall, he thinks. Still sleeping. She's been out for a while.)

Damn it all to hell.

He had sat with Leah for at least two hours before deciding that he had to move, that he had to get out of her room. Already she is tightly woven into everything he is and what makes him who he is, all he will be — this brand new person. And whatever she feels in return, his wolf will always return in kind; it is supposed to do and be what she wants, after all, and, apparently, they're all going to be deliriously happy about it.

Apparently.

Regardless, the wolf wants it. Real or not, mirage or not. The wolf demands that he — they have to have it all, otherwise they'll die.

Well — not really, but something pretty close to it.

Fucking imprinting.

It hadn't been easy, leaving her room. Jacob hadn't been able to smell anything that didn't belong to her. She's all warm amber, summer wind and something wild, and her goddamn scent has been driving him absolutely crazy since she brushed past him and Sam in the kitchen yesterday. He can still smell it now. And yet, being there with her as she'd curled up in his lap and rested her head against his chest after her crying jag, finally at ease . . .

Jacob had known then that he had to move before he put himself in danger of doing something really, really stupid. So he had set her down on her bed and pulled the covers over her, already missing her warmth, and he'd left.

Somehow.

(Nothing is warm to him anymore — except for the Pack. And now Leah. The world turned into a horrible, cold place after he phased; his temperature now pushes a whopping whole hundred-and-nine degrees, and he has to tell himself every time he lifts his dad that the old man still has a pulse.)

It had gone against the grain to leave Leah. The new grain, he supposed. But if he had stayed and she'd woken up . . . He has a feeling he would have told her everything. About the warmth, about the imprint, about Sam, about him. About them. She likely would have been declaring her disgust towards him by now.

Keeping something like this from her will do neither of them any good. He knows that. In time, he's going to do or say something which she won't understand and he won't be able to explain it away.

How can he possibly tell her this final part? How can he tell her that the thing which took Sam away from her has now irrevocably taken her away from him, too? Because Leah might never forgive Sam, or Emily, but it's obvious to anyone with a brain that she still loves him — her reaction to what she has been told already has proven as much. He'll only be taking that away from her if he tells her the truth, and then he'll have as much of a chance as Sam does to win her forgiveness.

(And that will only happen when hell freezes over. Not before.)

Tell her. Don't tell her. Tell her. Don't.

He is in deep, deep shit either way.

After a while of working in silence, Seth's eyes quickly scan the quiet street. (It's not the first time, and probably not the last.) "Will we see the others today? You know," he adds, self-conscious now. "Sam, Embry . . ."

Jacob doesn't laugh. When he hasn't been acting as if he can see through the ceiling and into Leah's room, he has also been staring down the driveway. Waiting. Like he's expecting to be caught in the act, to be seen somewhere he shouldn't be.

"I guess." It's well past noon by now — someone is undoubtedly going to come looking for them at some point. "We can always go to them, if you'd prefer. They're mostly always at Emily's."

Seth's eyes bulge. "Emily's? No. I can't. She'll . . . She's going to hate me," he whispers, horrified.

"Of course she won't! Sometimes she hits us with her spoon or her towel, sure, but that's—"

"Not — not her."

"Oh. Leah?"

Seth nods rather morosely.

"Well — yeah, probably," Jacob concedes. "For like half a second, though, kid. S'not your fault, you know. She knows that. She'll understand."

Seth over-tightens the clamp, breaking it. His hands shake, his breath coming in frightful fits and sudden starts.

"Seth—"

"Don't. Please." The kid's voice breaks on the last word, almost as if he's about to choke. "I gotta — I have to—"

He takes off like a bullet, barely hidden underneath the cover of the trees across the way before splitting his skin. And whilst Jacob knows there are some things that he can't fix — things like Seth thinking everyone hates him and blames him for Harry's death — he so badly wants to go after his brother, but he's a coward and he can't make his feet move.

Coward.

The single world chants at him as he finishes the work alone. Coward, it taunts as he rolls up the rug in the living room. He rolls it so tightly that there are no holes, no frayed threads to be seen or to betray what happened upon it, and sets it outside. Out of sight, out of mind. Then he sands the door frame down, screws the hinges back in, tests the lock, that one word echoing off the wood and back at him all the while.

Coward, coward, coward.

➰

There's nowhere else to go, so he goes to his garage where everything once made sense.

Parked exactly where he knew it would be, Jacob looks at Charlie's cruiser with something like cold shame before he slips through the side door.

Charlie is kind of predictable when there's trouble with Bella and he doesn't know what to do: he seeks Billy out — because Billy has two daughters, which means that he's supposed to know what to do during times of crisis. Charlie hasn't yet seemed to have figured out that Billy is absolutely clueless when it comes to these things. Rach and Becca are proof of that.

Jake doesn't blame his dad. He hadn't known what to do for his sisters, either, and leaving the Rez for the big wide world was something they'd always planned to do even before their mom had died. But maybe they would have stayed a little longer if Billy hadn't been at such an obvious loss. Maybe they would visit more than they did, which was, suffice to say, never.

Becca always blames the price of plane tickets; Rach always has some big test, or some project she just can't get out of — not even on Thanksgiving, which they don't celebrate on principle alone but still get together for so they can watch the football and gorge on food all the same. The past few Christmases have gone by without them, too, just like his birthday, Billy's birthday, Easter, their birthdays, the Fourth of July . . . This year's holidays will be no different.

By the time Charlie figures this all out, Bella will probably have a dead heart and crimson eyes and will already be on her way to forgetting them all. It's why Jacob won't go in the house. She might already be dead (because that's what bloodsucker means: dead — no, worse than dead) and this could be the last time that Charlie comes over to beat the world and his daughter's decisions to rights with Billy.

It usually takes a while for his dad to calm Charlie down. This time last year Charlie had come over for the same reason — Bella taking off without warning — and Jake had slept here in the garage, in the hammock, just to escape the yelling.

Only now, with his new keen ears and heightened senses, Jacob can hear every word from inside the house. He whacks his beaten stereo to life in an attempt to drown it all out and starts picking up the nuts and bolts he'd tipped out of his toolbox two days ago.

It takes ages, just as he'd predicted. He wears through the same album in the stereo thrice over, volume rocketing as he practically rearranges his whole damn garage so he can get every single piece of metal he'd so carelessly set free. He doesn't care. It's keeping him busy, keeping him away from doing Really Stupid Things and away from Facing The Consequences.

When he's gotten everything back in his toolbox (and has rearranged that, too — twice), he even kills the music and tries sleeping in the hammock, which he hasn't done in forever, but twenty minutes of restlessness has him pretty damn sure he's never going to sleep right ever again. The imprint has gotten him all bent out of shape. It's not right. He's not right; he's exhausted — he's not slept for days — so it only makes him that more frustrated when he can't shut off. If he were still a normal teenager he would have definitely passed out by now.

He has to tell her. He can't live like this forever. He can try and distract himself all he wants — hell, he could rip out the head gasket of the Rabbit and keep himself busy for a whole day — but sooner or later he's going to have to patrol. He's probably only gotten away with not taking a shift for so long because they all think he's still looking after Seth, but they're all going to find out. And someone (three guesses who that will be) is going to spill the beans. Better he do it first.

And he's about to get up and face his fate — honest, he is, he swears he's going to — when Seth barrels through his door red-faced and stark naked. There's twigs in his hair.

"I didn't know where else to go," he says, as if he's surprised to find himself here. "I went back home and you weren't . . . I couldn't—" He swallows thickly. "I'm sorry."

Jacob gets to his feet and throws Seth a pair of shorts from the small stack he keeps for emergencies only. They're all mostly worn, faded cut-offs which have seen better days and are way too tight, but it's better than going into the house in his birthday suit in front of unsuspecting visitors. "It's fine." He did offer his hammock up, after all. "Don't worry. You hungry?"

"Starving," Seth breathes.

Jacob smiles wryly. "You'll get used to it." He strains an ear to the house, but hears nothing. "Is Charlie's cruiser still out front?"

"Nobody's in. I knocked. Well, sorta," Seth admits sheepishly, which Jacob takes to mean that the kid just let himself in, "but then I heard you in here."

"S'fine," he says, shoving at the kid's shoulder and herding him out of the garage while resolving to give the kid the haircut of his life as he eats. "They're probably at yours."

"I saw the door. Thanks."

"Sure, sure. You didn't go in?"

Seth focuses on his feet as they walk up to the house. "My mom was crying. I wasn't even on the drive and I could hear her and I . . . Leah — she was trying to . . . I can hear everything, Jake."

"It turns into background noise soon enough. Trust me."

Seth's sigh sounds like something it shouldn't for another few decades: weary, all-too knowing, a bit deprecating. They all have the same sigh now. "It's annoying."

"If you think that's bad, wait 'til you start patrolling with Jared. Dude sings hair-metal after a night with Kim because she doesn't want him thinking about — well, you know."

"Does it work?"

"Nope."

Seth sighs that sigh again. "Great."

➰

Emily is ecstatic when Jacob arrives with Seth two hours later. She waves them in excitedly, her smile stretching all the way up the left side of her face where it meets the corner of her shining eye. Tears, Jacob realises, but wisely keeps his mouth shut as he pushes Seth and his new haircut into her home.

"Hi, Emily," Seth says quietly.

"I'm so glad you're here. Well, not that — you know, but you're here, I'm so pleased," she babbles. "I didn't think you'd come but I baked some muffins just in case because Sam said that you might but he didn't know when and I wasn't sure if it would be today or tomorrow or—"

"Jeez, let the kid breathe, Em," Jacob says, forcing a laugh. He can feel Seth's tense shoulders underneath his palms as he steers him forward. And whilst he is suddenly feeling like a traitor of the first order, he knows it is nothing compared to what Seth is feeling. His nerves are rolling off him in waves.

Her half-smile twists into bashful embarrassment. "Sorry. Sorry, Seth. Would you like a muffin?"

Seth looks back at Jacob, to Emily, then at Jacob again, completely out of his depth.

"They're blueberry," Emily says, as if it helps, and Jacob tilts his head with the permission that Seth is asking for.

"Uh. Sure," he eventually replies.

Emily grins and rushes into the kitchen.

"She's . . . different," Seth whispers, watching her go.

Jacob chuckles and drops his hands. "She's just happy to see you, kid," he tells him just as quietly.

"I haven't seen her in months. Not even after — I didn't realise how bad—" he starts to say, but quickly shuts up as he hears Emily begin to hurry back and reappears with a whole tray of blueberry muffins, smiling wide.

Dutifully, Seth takes one, and then another, with her encouragement.

"Jake?" Emily offers the tray up to him, all but bouncing on her feet and unable to keep still.

He suspects the muffin will probably taste like betrayal might, but takes one anyway. Emily grins.

"The others have been in and out all day," she tells them. Seth is looking around. "Sam and Jared left about an hour ago."

"Any word on Quil?" Jacob can't help but ask.

"Not yet. Sam thinks it will be really soon," she says. "Come and sit down, Seth."

As with everything, Seth looks to Jacob before he does anything. And Jacob really, really hopes that it's not going to last, because as familiar as it is from his days before pack-life, when Seth hero-worshipped him a bit even then, it's going to get old pretty quick. Still, Jacob nods, permission given, and wills the kid on.

He's not sure whether it was a good idea to bring Seth over with nobody else here. But it had to happen — Seth is going to be spending a lot of time here, as they all do. Even Kim (who is no better than a frightened mouse and barely speaks a word to anyone but Jared and Emily) appears every so often to make camp at the kitchen table and catch her boyfriend up with his homework. She calls it their den, because her wolf has been here since the beginning when it was just him and Sam holding the lines together, while Paul eats most of his meals here and Embry has all but claimed the couch in the corner for himself — if only because it's a place he can sleep without his mom shouting at him.

Point is, they're all here so often that it feels strange to not have Paul and Jared fighting over the last piece of chicken or Embry flat on his back and snoring, but then, Jacob has usually been wherever the pack is over the last month — and Bella during all the weeks before that. He has become used to it.

And Emily loves it. She positively beams when Seth takes a chair and reaches for a third muffin five minutes later. Jacob's not even eaten his first.

By the fifth muffin, Seth is starting to look like he belongs. By the sixth, he's talking to his cousin without prompting, apparently glad of someone else familiar who he can talk freely with. And by the seventh, it eventually seems he has relaxed enough that Jake sinks onto Embry's couch.

"You know, if you're that hungry," Emily says, "I can make you something else. Something hot."

"I don't know why," Jacob grumbles, leaning back. "He ate me out of house and home only a few hours ago."

He slings his arm over his face, trying to settle — but his wolf has its back up, prickling in protest. He locks it down and stamps on its tail for good measure; he is so goddamned tired. Please, he begs it, let me sleep.

Traitor, it howls. Judas.

He ignores it and focuses on Emily's laugh, Seth's half-hearted protest, before he mumbles something of his own which is incoherent to even himself and then — finally, finally, thank you — succumbs into uneasy unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

(Jacob)

He feels as if he's barely closed his eyes when a hand shakes his arm. He groans, twisting his face into the worn back pillows of the couch which smell of wolf and boy and pack. It's reassuring, familiar, and more than likely the only reason he managed to fall asleep at all.

There's only one other place in the world he would have managed such a feat.

Sam pushes at his shoulder. "Wake up."

"No."

The long-suffering sigh that follows is one only ever used when he's around — not even Paul manages to give Sam as much trouble as he does — and Jacob thinks that if he opens his eyes he will see Sam pinching the bridge of his nose for added effect. He might even possibly be silently throwing up a prayer for help from Taha Aki himself.

Jacob ignores it and turns away again, burrowing into the mixed scents of his brothers. He doesn't care.

"It's almost sundown. Get up."

"No."

"Jacob." Sam draws out his name with frustration. And Jacob, damn him, feels a chill run up his spine, his body unable to do anything else in response to the order which threatens in his Alpha's throat.

Fine. Fine, he thinks, slowly uncurling himself. Every inch of him aches. The familiarity of the couch might have sent him quickly to sleep but it hadn't stopped him from being plagued with dreams he's never had before. He can feel just how fitful, how restless his sleep has been. Those dreams had been so real, so vivid . . .

"Any time today, Jacob."

"C'mon, Jake!" Seth calls, his voice far too close for Jacob's liking. It yanks uncomfortably at the new thread which has latched around his heart and recognises Seth for who he is. Family. Brother. Something more. "Time to go!"

Jacob reluctantly cracks an eye open to the light. And sure enough, there is Sam holding his nose and there is Seth bouncing on his feet, both looking prepared to tip him onto Emily's carpet without apologies.

Jacob groans again, and though he knows the answer, can feel it wickedly taunting him, he asks, "Where are we going?"

Seth grins. "Patrol!"

Of course.

"Kill me," he tells them, tone entirely devoid of any kind of humour, but his bad luck seems to be on a running streak because they only roll their eyes at him, not able to take him seriously. "I mean it."

Seth just turns his grin to Sam. "Now?" he asks.

"Now," Sam agrees, and they pull him off the couch.

Assholes.

➰

The redhead must have caught wind of Bella's tiny, psychic leech, Sam tells them, because she hasn't come anywhere near their lands since. He's keeping the pack on red alert, of course, but he seems so certain that she won't appear again until Bella does that he's given everyone the night off.

Everyone except for Jacob and Seth, that is.

"You're in charge," Sam says, "so we'll wake up and be right there if you call. Have fun."

The bastard has the nerve to smile at them before he shuts the door, but Seth only laughs before he turns to Jacob. Expectant, waiting, all too eager to get going.

He can't pull a face at the door when Seth's looking at him like that. So instead he takes a deep breath and trudges off the porch, setting off towards the forest which encompasses the house. Sam won't be smiling for much longer when he finds out — and neither will Seth, whose own smile seems to be splitting his face as he bounds after him.

He bounds. Damn kid is going to drive him to drink.

Well, he would if they could get drunk. Paul took one for the team a few weeks back to find out how much it would take for their senses to be impaired, but he'd had to guzzle two crates of beer at an alarming rate before he felt so much as a buzz. And that had only lasted ten minutes before his body had burnt it straight off.

It had been a solid attempt. Even Jacob was willing to admit that, while Embry had been so impressed that he'd hurried right back to the store to buy three more crates so he could try the same thing himself, scraping quarters out of Emily's swear jar before he went.

He'd belched for hours and hours afterwards, but it had proved a point: they couldn't get drunk. Which was probably a good thing, considering, but Paul had been annoyed all the same.

He and Embry were both probably doing something just as stupid with the night off they'd been given. Jacob tries not to think too much about what he would have done with his.

Not this, that's for sure.

Seth's arms are swinging, his strides long when he catches up. Jacob suppresses a roll of his eyes.

"You seem . . . happier."

"I like Emily," is all Seth offers as an explanation. He kicks out his right foot, and Jacob sees the bit of leather cord hanging from the kid's ankle to be used for tying his clothes up before he phases. His smile is still a mile wide. "She made me this — just like the one you have."

"Yeah, we all have one. It saves a lot of time."

Time which Jacob does not have. It has run out, stretched as far as it can go, and has left him stranded. He'd tried to give himself a little more by stalking around Emily's kitchen and grabbing all the food he could find, chewing slowly as he made painful conversation with everyone until Sam had pushed them out of the door.

He couldn't pretend to be sick, because they didn't get sick. Nobody had caught so much as a damn cold since they'd phased, their immune systems too efficient now, their healing abilities from all things too rapid. And nothing like exhaustion or plain fear was a good enough reason to not patrol in Sam's eyes. They had to be dead or dying to be excused.

Dead or dying . . . or retired. He'd thought about quitting — he had been thinking about it continuously ever since he'd first seen Leah, had really seen her, and had realised that she'll never accept him. He had almost handed in his resignation there and then, in that kitchen. But his temper is still too unpredictable to guarantee he'll never phase again, and he's not sure even that would be enough to stop the inevitable. It might put some sort of dampener on it, maybe, if he stops phasing, but he's pretty sure an imprint is a permanent thing. And control like that, control to stop, will take years. Sam doesn't even have a hope of retiring yet.

He could carry on trying to hide it from them, he supposes. It's a fool's shot, but maybe . . .

No. Definitely a fool's shot. Even if it were possible, what about Sam, who feels and hears and sees everything? It's a miracle he still doesn't know. A miracle that, even if he has felt something, sensed something, he's not asked or pried too deeply about it.

Jacob can't hide that Leah is in his head. All. The. Time. Even now, right this minute, whether she knows it or not she is pulling at his subconscious, calling him, shredding and clawing at every bit of self-control he has fought for over these last weeks.

And Jared and Sam — when they patrol, their imprint is a steady beat in their head, an underlying pulse along the foundations of the pack. Imprints are important — they are sacred, not something to be ignored. Sam and Jared could never have hidden it if they wanted to. Hell, Jared had imprinted during second period and spilled his guts to Kim by the end of the school day.

But Kim, Emily . . . they had both already harboured secret crushes for their wolves. Kim had tacked Jared's name onto hers in her diary, for God's sake, and Emily had always looked at Sam from afar ever since the day he had been introduced to the family.

(That offering of information about Emily was something they'd only found out after Jared brought Kim home for the first time.)

They'd wondered, then, if there was always this predetermined pull. But while Jacob has always thought Leah a force of nature, he hasn't ever wanted her like this before. She is strictly, strictly off-limits; they've grown up together and his sisters would have teased him stupid if he'd ever shown something towards her, because she and Seth are practically family. It would have been weird.

He blows out a breath. He is absolutely done for.

"Kid. Before we do this—"

"I know. Make sure nobody can see, don't hurt anyone and save your clothes, yeah?" Seth says excitedly, already stepping out of his shorts. "I think we're good, though. Nobody's here except for us."

"Hang on a minute. I want to talk to you."

But what he wants to say flies right out his head when Seth smiles like that, and Jacob understands what he has to do.

There can be no mental disorganisation in the pack. Not if the redhead is coming back. Not if they are going to have to fight the Cullens. They have to be one solid, indestructible unit, with no pretences between them. They won't be able to function otherwise.

It's the only reason Jacob hadn't faked death in Emily's kitchen, because he knows this. Deep down, he knows that he will have to come clean because the pack has to be together on everything. Sam will stand for nothing less.

And it's that thought which makes him say, "Seth, you don't have to be okay with this—" he waves his hands about stupidly, a little bit manically "—or anything, you know. I mean, we couldn't even get you to phase back twenty-four hours ago. Twelve hours ago you were barely speaking. And now you're all excited and stuff, and it's . . . well, it's weird, kid."

"So what?"

He's never hated himself as much as he does right now. He's such a fucking hypocrite. "So I'm saying you don't have to be."

Seth frowns. "Why not? You're okay with it. Sam's okay with it. The others seemed fine—"

"I'm not. This is . . . It's insane, Seth, that we have to do this, you know that, right? It might seem fun at first, but it's really anything but. It's real hard, kid."

"I — I know," he says, dropping his shorts. "I know that. But — Jake, what else is there?"

Jacob doesn't have an answer for that. "It shouldn't be this way," he says instead of replying. "You don't have to pretend that it's okay, because it's not. You're not going to be able to keep pretending when you phase. You can't. You're going to throw everyone off, so trust me when I say it's better to stop now. Stop pretending."

"I'm not—" Seth starts, but he can't finish. He gulps, and what composure he has been keeping together finally fractures. Because no — Seth is not okay with this. Seth is just trying to get on with it, because he doesn't want to — can't think about anything else. And he's taking his lead from everybody else because he doesn't know what else to do. Because nobody's shown him a better way.

Seth's throat bobs again. And then he erupts.

"I don't know what else to do. I can't . . . You saw what I did, Jake! I killed him — killed him, he's dead — I did that, it's my fault! And now everything's so messed up and I can't think anymore and I — I thought it was a bad dream and then it wasn't but there's nothing I can do about it so I have to pretend, Jake, I have to—"

He crumples to the ground, his breathing ragged. But it's not like the hot gasps before a phase takes hold. It's just pure . . . brokenness, and Jacob cannot help but fall with him.

"Seth, you didn't kill Harry. Look at me." He grabs Seth's shoulders, his face which is streaked with tears. "Look at me. Hey. It's not your fault. You know your old man had a bad heart. Billy said he'd been taking pills since he was a kid, that he hadn't been taking care of himself like he should have been. Look at me, Seth."

Seth drags his eyes up, the whole action a struggling effort. And when his eyes — Leah's eyes, Jacob thinks with a pang — meet his own, they are flat. Cold. Empty.

"You didn't kill your dad, Seth," Jacob tells him again, throat tight, "just like I didn't kill my mom after Billy let me help him change the oil two days before, okay? It just . . . happened."

He's never shared that before, not willingly. The reason why he'd holed himself up in the garage and had blamed himself for years and years, why he hadn't faced any of it until his sisters had gotten on that plane to Hawaii without looking back. Leaving him. But not, he'd finally learned, because he had been the reason their mom was dead. It was not his fault.

"My dad knows that. Your mom knows that. And so does your sister, okay?"

Seth's tears pool again, but recognition flares in his face against them. Faintly, but enough of it that Jacob feels a glimmer of hope that he'll be able to get the kid back on his feet.

"I'm sorry," he says after a long moment. God, he's such an asshole. "Just — it's really important. For everyone. I don't want you to fake it, okay? Don't even bother. It'll only make it worse, trust me. Trust us. We're pack."

Seth takes a breath as if he's about to say something, but after a thought swallows it back. He nods, and swipes lamely at his eyes, taking another lungful of air to steady himself as his hands drop in his lap.

He sits like that for a while, and Jacob is content to give him as much time as he needs. Sam's right — the redhead won't come back, not until Bella does. Patrol can wait, and not only because he's frightened to fall on four paws and let everyone see into his mind. He doesn't think Seth particularly wants him listening in right now, either.

Shit. He truly is a hypocrite. Nothing was worth breaking Seth in like that.

Fuck the greater good. Fuck the treaty. He'd thought the same when he had punched Sam, after Sam had pried some of his deepest secrets from him too. And Sam had beaten him right back, all the way into the ground until he was a sobbing mess.

He kind of wants Seth to hit him now. But he knows he won't, even if he asks.

So he waits.

Eventually, when darkness has finally set in, Seth stretches his legs out, his sigh just as long.

"Okay?"

"Yeah." Seth rubs at his face and sighs once more. "This really blows."

Jake bumps his shoulder, his smile small. "Attaboy." He stands, his hand offered out, and pulls Seth to his feet who dutifully ties his shorts to his ankle.

When Seth squares his shoulders again, new resolve clearing in his eyes, Jacob can see why Leah had so vehemently refused her little brother to be part of this. He could kill those bloodsuckers — no, he will kill those bloodsuckers for the way this fourteen-year-old has to steel himself. That treaty is going to be torn to shreds when he's done.

"What now?" Seth asks.

"Well—" I don't know, kid, I'm kinda making this up as I go along "—you can go home, if you want. I can take this one."

Seth frowns. "On your own? No. I mean, I gotta start somewhere, right? If this is what we have to do, then . . . let's do it."

"Right."

Silence falls enough as Jacob stares into the depths of the forest, towards something even he can't see, that Seth clears his throat. "Jake? You okay, man?"

"Sure," he says, but he doesn't stop looking, searching, and it's with a faint sort of horror that he realises what exactly it is — who it is he's looking towards. Without even realising. Just like Sam, and just like Jared . . . There is that thread which is reeling him in and in without him even being aware of what's happening until it crashes down on him.

It takes everything he has to not put a step in that direction and go running towards where that thread ends.

Hell.

It's going to disrupt everything. It's going to throw Seth off any kind of training and guidance which Jacob has been appointed to give. Because these first days are the most important, after getting a new wolf back on his feet. It's make or break. If he himself hadn't been put in his place by Sam, he knows he would have been so disorganised that he wouldn't have known which way was up for weeks and weeks. And though he hadn't intended it, he has most certainly become that person for Seth now.

"Jake?"

"Yeah, kid." He shakes himself. "You ready?"

Seth stands to attention. It's almost funny.

"Okay." Jacob shucks off his own shorts, if only so he can give himself something to do. Anything other than having to look at Seth's face as he starts to wrap them up and says, "We've got a lot to go through."

"I can do it."

"I know you can, Seth," he assures him, gut twisting as he ties his shorts to his leather cord (he's going to rip those leeches to pieces, burn them until they are ash in the wind), "just . . . keep an open mind, yeah? It's going to be easier because it's only going to be me and you, but that means there's a lot more to hear."

Seth shrugs. "You heard everything already."

"Yeah," he agrees easily, taking four steps back, "but you haven't."

"Like what?"

But Jacob has already summoned the fire in his belly, heat flooding through him within an instant. It's very, very easy — easier now that he's determined and knows what he has to do. The oncoming phase runs up along his spine, pushing out towards his arms, his legs, and within a second he is digging his claws into the earth.

So, so easy.

"Wow," Seth says.

Jacob snorts, shaking out his red fur as he stretches out, dipping low, feeling every joint respond and work together. He is glad for the relief it brings. Like he's been caged, and is now free to roam. But the silence is strange. He's not been alone like this for as long as he can remember, and it's almost like being in his own head again. Safe, private.

Daringly, he casts out a forbidden thought to make sure.

Silence.

It's fantastic.

Jacob sits back on his heels and cocks his head at Seth. Come on, then.

It takes a while. Three scrunches of Seth's face which has lost all the puppy fat he had at Christmas and looks six, seven years old than it really is. Five grunts of struggling effort. But Jacob just waits, because this is another one of those things which Seth has to learn on his own. It's his body, his will alone which invokes the change now rippling over his body and has him standing as tall as a horse.

Phew. Seth shivers. Thought I'd never do it.

It gets easier, he replies, valiantly trying to keep his thoughts clear. Focused. He watches himself through Seth's mind, which never stops being seventeen kinds of freaky, looking a little larger and imposing than normal — but perhaps that's because Seth's the smallest of them, the youngest, a child looking at a grown-up despite the huge growth spurt he's had.

I'm not a child. Seth bristles, his sandy-coloured tail flicking in response. I'm fourteen.

Jacob squishes the memory of Leah standing in front of him at the stove, barefoot and defiant and beautiful with her lopsided ponytail as she had reminded him they're all teenagers, really.

Sure, kid. He huffs. Let's get going.

If Seth has noticed anything, he doesn't comment. He's too wrapped up in himself, staring down at his surprisingly steady feet as they prowl through the woods, marvelling at how huge his paws are, what colour they are, how easily he can retract his dark claws, how sharp they are, how he can feel with them.

Wow, Seth says again, surprise coating his tone now that he has finally taken the time to look at himself this way. Before it had just been running and hiding, trying to escape himself. This here is acceptance, of sorts, learning himself as he goes.

It's a good start.

Jacob begins making for the river, keeping his mind focused on Seth the whole way, and begins to show Seth the boundary lines which define their territory.

As they move, he can feel Seth's suspicion that he's being watched to make sure that he's acting okay, that he's not about to slip up and do something wrong. And Jacob, more than happy to pretend otherwise, doesn't let him think differently.

Here? Seth asks when they get close to the slippery riverbank.

You can smell it? Jacob asks, and Seth nods, thinking about the faint smell of sweetness he has caught and the way that it slightly burns his nose. Good. It doesn't get so bad here, with the water and it being so damp, and what you can smell is all mostly the redhead anyway. With the Cullens gone, they haven't retraced their lines in months.

Seth eyes the invisible border with hesitancy. What happens if you cross here?

You can cross, Jacob tells him, just don't do it on four legs.

But they can't cross into ours? Into La Push? His thoughts instantly fly to his mother and sister, a deep need to protect them seeping into his bones as he comprehends what he has been made for: to keep his tribe safe and defend them until his last breath.

Never. We kill them if they do. We have killed them — one of them, the one I told you about. They knew him, but he wasn't part of their . . . coven. The redhead knew him, too. I think they were together.

Jacob thinks of Bella, and allows the memory of her revelation to play out across his and Seth's shared link. Laurent. Victoria. James. That scar on Bella's—

They bit her? Seth is horrified; his ears flatten against his head as he recoils from the memory in his disgust.

("What's that?" he hears himself say. "This is your funny scar, the cold one."

"Yes, it's what you think it is," Bella's echo whispers. "James bit me.")

Seth growls, unable to stop himself. His teeth, as sharp as his newfound claws, gleam against the moonlit water as the wildlife around them scatters in fright until there's nothing, nobody around but them, not even the fish in the river.

I know, is all Jacob can reply.

How can you stand it? That they got that close to her?

Jacob remembers how he had barely kept himself in his skin as he turns his back and starts heading for the edge which separates La Push and Forks — the one which has more of a distinct smell of them on one side and home on the other: the official treaty line.

The boundaries aren't so invisible, if you know what to search for, if you press your nose close enough. Sight alone isn't enough, even if they all think their territory is more beautiful and can be defined by its vibrancy — if only because they are in it, because it's theirs no matter what the government or any bloodsuckers might say. Their lands are full of trees and mountains and rivers which flow into the ocean and beat against their cliffs; they are fifty miles of stretching and rolling, plush lands, and far, far too big for a pack of this size to cover so thoroughly on their own.

There will be more of them soon. Quil is so close it's becoming unbearable. But that will only make seven. Still not enough, even if it will put them on a level-playing field with the Cullens when they all come back. Odds which will tip out of their favour again if Bella returns to Forks with crimson eyes and brings her new family's number to eight.

How many more? Two, three, four?

Maybe we won't see them again, Seth says with quiet hope. He doesn't want them anywhere near his family, and Jacob is inclined to feel the same.

They will.

He picks up their speed then; they've got a lot of ground to cover, a lot of markers for Seth to learn and become accustomed to, but he's not worried. The kid's confidence is sky-rocketing and as long as he focuses on now, he'll do okay.

At the treaty line, he has Seth try and pick out the different scents of the bloodsuckers. What is Cullen, and what is the redhead, which is easier with one being more fresh than the other. He has Seth guess at the different sounds around them, and soon realises that whilst he might be the strongest and Jared might have the best eyesight, Seth definitely has the best ears of the pack.

Seth stands taller with the compliment, and starts working even harder. He recognises the next border after only a second, all without help from Jacob's thoughts which he purposefully kept as clear as possible for the test.

Good. Really good, Seth, he says, and Seth's pride washes over him as if it were his own. Okay. Perimeters next. Embry's been digging out a new route a bit closer to home — see if you can find it.

And so they go on, and on and on and on without rest, not even a moment to pause, and towards the end of it Jacob is so drained — mentally drained, from keeping his secrets in favour of giving Seth the guidance he desperately needs — that he finds a spot not too far from the Rez and thinks that even in the mud he could take a decent nap, right there. . .

It's difficult to keep his focus, but he's managing. Barely, but he is, by some blessed miracle. It will be worse when more phase in, providing more tangents of thoughts to pick up and bleed into his own, because he'll be damned the second he feels Sam and Jared's quiet, unrestrained pining for their imprints and he latches onto it with his own wishful thinking. When they want, he wants, and just like that the rest of the pack will want, too. They are one.

Who will be the first to feel exactly what he wants when he looks into Seth's eyes and sees—

What's that? Seth asks, curiosity spiking as if he's heard his name but has been too engrossed in something else and missed part of the conversation.

Jacob shuts down. Nothing. Just thinking about the hive mind thing.

I wondered about that earlier. Before — when Sam was trying to get me out of the cave. Why can he hide most of what he thinks? Like he's got his own private space, or something.

Because he's an ass, Jacob thinks, but he can't do anything about it because he has settled for being second-in-command. Because he's Alpha. Think about it. If he was freaked or something, then the rest of us wouldn't have a chance in hell. It would be pure chaos. What we feel has an effect on everyone else. Him the most.

Huh. Makes sense, I guess. Seth falls into trot beside him. Can you do it? You're in charge, aren't you?

I don't think so. I'm Second. And if neither of us are around, he can leave others in charge like Jared but the orders don't work right. Not so much weight to them.

So you're like . . . Beta?

Yeah, that. Can't switch off the same, though, Jacob says, and he knows the jealousy he feels towards Sam about it slips through whatever barriers he has managed to erect. Would be nice if the rest of us could have some privacy, too.

Seth readily agrees as Jacob silently chokes the life out of another stray thought, fixing his eyes on the thinning trees above. Dawn is not far away. They've been at it all night, and it's becoming harder to shield his lies.

Go home, kid. Get some rest. You did good tonight.

You sure?

We're only a mile out from the Rez. Go. It's fine.

Okay. He can feel how uncertain Seth feels about it, but eventually his exhaustion wins out and he nods his massive head. Are you coming?

His heart leaps, and he knows Seth has heard the skipping beat. Huh?

I thought . . . I dunno, I feel weird. I thought it was you and that you wanted to come, too. You can, if you want. They won't mind.

Maybe I'll swing by later. You go, Seth. Sleep. That's an order.

Thankfully, Seth doesn't need to be told twice, and Jacob collapses the second the kid is on two feet and out of sight. He listens, though, as Seth runs towards the place they both want to be most.

He is the worst person ever.

Chapter Text

(Leah)

"You look stupid," Leah tells Seth plainly, running her fingers through the too-short strands of his thick, midnight hair. "You look like one of those troll dolls with the sticky up hair. You might as well have dyed it green."

Seth smiles sleepily into his pillow, his eyes closed. "I like it," he says quietly, entirely content. (He always turns into a sack of shit when someone touches his hair — that's why she's doing it, if only to prove to herself that she's not completely lost him.) "Jake cut it for me."

Leah purses her lips together and keeps her hand steady as it brushes along his forehead. Since Seth walked in half an hour ago it has been Jake this and Jake that, and she doesn't like it. It's almost hard to believe that there was once a time it used to be Leah this and Leah that.

When did it change? Before, or after?

She knows she should be grateful; twice now Jacob has brought her brother home, and he seems to have become her unlikely ally in keeping Seth emotionally stable enough that he can bear to be on two legs, if her little brother's ramblings about his night are to be believed — because after Jacob had told her about their tempers and instability, she expected endless tears and heated arguments and possibly another explosion of fur. But Seth is . . . not quite at peace, no, but something which seems quite close to it.

And, yeah — she's just a little envious that all of this means that Seth now more or less worships the ground Jacob Black walks upon.

Seth nestles further down into the comfort of the bed he's now too big for, the echo of a smile still on his face.

And damn if it doesn't tug at something deep inside of her as she watches him. She loves this kid. More than her own life. More than anything. "Sleep, Seth."

"Mm-hm," he hums.

His breath evens out almost instantly, his mouth falling a little slack, but Leah doesn't stop coursing her hand through his hair for the longest time, not until the morning's light finally dips behind the greying clouds and she's reminded of the shadows she'd seen in Jacob's eyes.

Damn Jacob Black. He's going to be the end of her.

Leah sighs and lets her hand fall. She takes one last, long look at her brother — at his stupid hair, the way he is frowning even in his sleep — and quietly eases herself up from the edge of his bed and out of his room.

Leah Clearwater has absolutely no limits when it comes to her little brother. And if by some mysterious reason the world doesn't know this already, then it is damn well going to learn: Seth will not be involved in this bullshit. He's out all night, sleeping all day, leaving him barely a second to spare to grieve for Harry — he couldn't even attend the funeral, for God's sake. And he's going to be missing school.

Leah might have very well thrown her own plans for college out of the window because of Sam Uley, but Seth is going to graduate high school and he is going to go to college — somewhere far, far away if she can manage it.

Sam and his pack can go to hell.

And that's that.

Despite her lethal air of calm, Leah is composed as she pulls on her shoes and her jacket — the perfect picture of calm before a storm. And when she steps outside, the surprised jump of her heart is the only thing which slips through her otherwise cool facade.

Quil Jr. is just as surprised, betrayed by his nervous smile which looks wrong on his face. Wrong, because everything about him is harder, more angular and defined than she's ever seen, and that is when she realises: of course Quil is one of them. He's an Ateara. And save for the ponytail tied at the nape of his neck, he's a spitting image of them all.

"Hey, Leah." He lifts up a wrapped dish in some sort of explanation, a thousand apologies ready to fall from his lips. He's always been a bit shy, she remembers. "My mom wanted to . . . Oh, uh, is it a bad time?"

"If you're here for Seth," Leah begins icily, "you can shove that up your ass and go right back the way you came. Tell Sam — no, actually, why don't you tell Sam to come here himself?"

That will save her storming over. But, then . . . she doesn't really want Sam anywhere near her brother. That's the whole reason she's headed out. Knowing that he's on the same reservation is just about enough, although with a bit of luck Emily will hopefully have him move back to Neah Bay with her soon enough. And when they're gone, Leah won't have to think about this 'imprint' shit Jacob told her about ever again.

Quil just blinks, his bewilderment at her unfriendliness clearing as it's replaced by shock. "Seth? They got Seth?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Quil Ateara. I know everything." She crosses her arms and hopes she looks like her mother. Stern and reproachful. "Why don't you go and let Sam know I'm coming? I'll even be nice and give you a head-start. Not that you'll need it."

Quil's bushy eyebrows pull together tightly. "Why would I do that?"

Slow realisation sets in and, suddenly, the casserole he's holding drops to the floor, glass smashing noisily and food quickly puddling around his feet, but Quil doesn't so much as look down at it.

"Wait," he says. "You think I'm one of them, don't you?"

"I know you are," she replies, resolute, but he's not really listening as he furiously shouts over her, "Why does everyone think that?!"

"Uh — because you are?" Leah gestures at him, undaunted by the fact he looks closer to seven feet than six and is struggling to rein in his temper as he tarnishes her doorstep. He's just like the rest of them: angry and all hard lines.

And imposing. Quil seems to think nothing of it as he braces a hand against the door frame and leans in closer, his face set with a bitterness she's seen before.

"I don't have anything to do with them," he huffs hotly, "why can't you see that?"

"I can see just fine."

"Obviously not. You don't know a thing."

"I do," she tells him, feeling no particular pride about it. "Seth's my brother and—"

"So ask him!" he yells, his hot breath blowing over her.

"—and I don't care what Sam orders you to do or what game he's got you playing, because I swear on my life, if you don't get out of my face then it'll be Charlie Swan who drags you away," she threatens, if only because he's the first person she can think of. "Mom said he's already gunning for you. He'll be here in seconds."

(Okay, maybe that's a stretch, and they all know Forks cops have no jurisdiction here — not even their Chief of Police — but that won't stop Charlie coming if she asks. She is absolutely certain of that. Charlie is good people. And he is most definitely on the warpath when it comes to Sam Uley and his gang, if her mother is to be believed.)

"Sam doesn't order me to do anything," Quil says, his face turning as murderous as hers. It would almost be convincing if she didn't know better. "None of them do."

Leah scoffs derisively, half expecting him to stamp his feet and throw a tantrum — though one of his tantrums probably looks a whole lot different than she's prepared for. "Yeah. Okay, Quil."

"Why do you — how can you . . ." He snaps his head to the side, breath shaky as he closes his eyes for a brief second. "You know what? Fine. I don't care. You're just like everyone else," he spits, finally pushing himself away. The casserole from his feet flies everywhere as he all but leaps off her porch. "They all think the same thing, and you . . ." He looks entirely hopeless as he turns back towards her. "You do too, don't you?"

Refusing to break his stare, Leah blindly reaches for the door. "Bye, Quil. Tell Sam what I said, won't you?"

"Wait—"

Quil lurches forward, impossibly fast. Glass shatters loudly underneath his shoes as his palm slaps against the door to force it open. And, damn it, he looks so hurt by those few words, so pained, so like the boy he should be, that she hesitates.

Maybe . . .

She sighs, raking her long hair away from her face. "What, Quil?"

"They got Seth?" he asks again. "Are you sure?"

"What do you mean, am I sure?"

"If they got him . . ." Quil's hand drops listlessly to his side, and in that moment he's just the kid who tags along with Jacob and Embry everywhere, the three of them thick as thieves as they tear across the reservation. "Everyone keeps . . . looking at me. Even my grandpa acts like —" He swallows thickly. "Like I'm one of them. Or like I will be and he's just waiting for it."

"Quil—"

"If Seth's with them now . . ." He shakes his head in disbelief. "If he's . . . I'm next, aren't I?" he whispers, horror-struck. "What do I do?"

Oh, hell.

She doesn't have an answer for him. If Quil isn't part of Sam's little cadre, then it sure looks like he's going to be — and soon. He is huge, and she's pretty certain that if she puts her hand on his head he'll feel as hot as Seth felt when she'd brushed his spiky hair back upstairs.

It's the memory of her little brother arguing with Harry like this, of him exploding in the living room and disappearing for days and days that has her taking a step back, and it is with sudden clarity that she realises perhaps the scars on her cousin's face were not actually caused by a bear. It's only taken her four days to twig.

. . . Did Sam do that?

Quil, mercifully, snaps her out of that thought.

"Please," he begs, yet more glass shattering as he steps with her, his face twisting at the wariness he can see in her eyes. "I'm not one of them, Leah. I'm not going to hurt you, please, please, please believe me. I hate them. I hate him, I do, I swear—"

"Okay, okay, I believe you! Jeez!" She wants to look like she means it, she does, but still she can't stop herself pulling further away from him. "Just . . . have another deep breath, or something. Calm down."

Amazingly, he listens. Quil eyes shut as his chest heaves — once, twice, and thankfully something seems to have evened out when he looks at her again. He takes another step, hands outstretched, but the broken glass on the concrete porch finally grabs his attention.

"Oh, man," he moans. "Mom's gonna go nuts."

Leah bites her lip, suppressing the delirious urge to laugh at him and his suddenly normal problems.

"Give me your shoes," she says, sticking her hand out before she can think about what she's doing.

"What?"

She rolls her eyes and snaps her fingers. "Just give me your shoes. Make sure you step over the glass and stuff when you come in, okay? I don't want to be picking bits out from your feet, too."

➰

She's at the sink with Quil's spoiled sneakers when he pads into the kitchen. There's casserole all down his shirt and dirt on his knees, and his ponytail is coming loose.

Who will be the one to cut his hair? She curses herself for thinking it, for not realising it sooner.

"Where should I put this?" he asks.

"Did you get it all?" He nods, looking a little nervous again, and she jerks her head towards the bin before turning back to the sink. "Trash. Do you know what the dish looked like?"

"Uh . . ."

Boys. She tries not to sigh. "Have a look in the fridge," she tells him a little distractedly, trying to concentrate as she eases out a shard embedded into the sole of his left shoe with her fingernail. She's got casserole all over her now, too. "I don't know what belongs to who, so if you think you'll get away with it then you can take whatever you think is best. I'm sure Joy won't notice."

"Uh," he blurts stupidly again, "I don't think she expects me to come back with it."

"So tell her you stayed. I invited you in and we had it for — ow!" Leah hisses as her finger starts bleeding. "You mother . . . fudger."

Quil snickers. "You can swear, you know."

"Can't," she argues back half-heartedly, peering at her finger with narrowed eyes. "Joy would kick my ass. You're like, what, twelve? Yeah, good example."

"I'm nearly seventeen."

"Sure you are," she says all too agreeably, gingerly sucking at her injury around her smirk. It stings like a bitch. "Pass me a knife, would you? Second draw."

Quil looks somewhat amused as he hands it over. "I can do that you know. I mean, I broke it."

"Children shouldn't play with knives," she replies gravely.

"I told you, I'm nearly seventeen!"

"Mm-hm, okay, kiddo. Why don't you start looking for that dish while I do this?"

Leah bites back a smile as Quil grumbles a bit about children and seventeen and opens the fridge. It's always been so easy to rib the younger boys — her mom used to reprimand her something rotten for it — but . . . maybe it's not really such a wise idea to poke fun at him, given the circumstances.

Having to be so careful with what she says is going to start getting old real quick, she thinks as Quil whistles lowly.

"Shit," he remarks. "I forgot what this looked like. We lived off this crap for ages after my dad died; I told my mom you'd have enough, but she wouldn't listen . . ." he muses almost absently as he ducks down to get a better view of all the shelves which are still packed to the rafters. "You won't have to go to the store for weeks."

Leah swallows a little uncomfortably. They'd buried Quil Sr. exactly a year after they'd buried Sarah Black. To this day that storm is the worst they've ever had.

It doesn't seem fair, really. Any of it.

"I hate casserole," she admits, because she knows Quil will understand she's not trying to be ungrateful — she just wants normality and her dad back, like he did. Like he still does.

"Tell me about it," he sighs woefully. "I still can't eat it without feeling like I want to cry."

Quil freezes, realising what he's just said. He flicks her a quick look over his reddening cheeks. "Uh — don't tell anyone I said that. The guys would . . . well, maybe not them, but y'know, still. Don't tell anyone."

Leah rolls her eyes and resists the urge to throw his shoe at him, handing it over instead. "One shoe for my secrecy."

He grins, turning a little daring as he braves asking, "What do I get for the other one?"

"You'll be lucky if I don't hit you with it," she retorts easily, though she's unable to hold in her astounded, choking laugh.

Quil simply stretches his grin and turns back to the fridge.

"Do you miss him?" She's aware she's treading in risky territory as she idly picks at his shoe, but can't stop herself from asking. "Your dad."

"Every day. You?"

"Every hour," she says, keeping her eyes trained on what she's doing. She's not sure if they're suddenly watering from the strain, or . . .

If Quil has noticed the sudden onslaught of tears, she's grateful he doesn't mention it. "Sucks, huh?"

"Yep." Another bit of glass drops into the sink as she clears her throat, quickly wiping her face in the crook of her shoulder. "You found anything yet?"

"All looks the same to me, if I'm honest," Quil huffs.

"So just pick the casserole that looks most disgusting."

"It all looks—" he starts to retort, but he's cut off by the phone ringing at the wall. "You want me to get that?" he asks, nodding to her busy hands

Everyone she loves is upstairs and there can't possibly be any real emergency; the worst she could have imagined has happened, after all, so she shrugs. "Sure."

Quil answers the phone so brightly that it makes Leah wondering whether he might be able to get away with staying just Quil and not becoming something else at all. She's surprised to find that she's actually starting to kind of like him. Troubles aside, he seems like a surprisingly uncomplicated kid, if a little goofy. He's funny.

That is, until, his face darkens and his mouth presses into one long, thin line. He covers the receiver tightly with his hand.

"Sam," he mouths. And when she pulls a face, God love him, he seems to straighten his back a little and says quietly, "I'll get rid of him."

But she shakes her head and holds a wet hand out for the phone. "It's fine," she mutters as he warily passes it over. She's not forgotten that she's supposed to have given Sam what for by now. And if she has to do it over the phone in front of Quil, then, well. So be it. The kid will probably appreciate it, if anything.

"What do you want?"

"Leah? Who was that?"

"None of your business," she replies, the words dripping with every bit of venom she can muster. No. She's not forgotten. But she thinks that, if she listens closely, she can almost hear his teeth grinding at her tone. Good.

"Is Seth there?"

"No."

Quil looks questioningly at her as she drops his shoe in the sink and stretches the phone cord. He looks a little mad, too, and she has the vague sense to know that if this carries on much longer that she's going to have a wolf in her kitchen before long. Most likely.

"Jacob says he sent him home." A beat. "Before the next shift turned up," Sam adds disapprovingly, and she can picture the frown on his face, the hard press of his full lips.

It seems she has something else to thank Jacob for. He hadn't just sent Seth home, he'd sent him home before he was supposed to.

Damn Jacob Black, she thinks again.

"Not my problem."

"Leah—"

"Bye."

Quil flinches when she slams the phone back in its cradle. "What did he want?"

"Seth," she says simply, just as the phone starts ringing again. She snatches it back viciously. "What, Sam?"

Sam sighs like her father used to when she was being purposefully difficult. It's maddening. "Where is Seth?"

"Not here," she snaps, and slams the phone down again. If she had the strength, she'd laugh at Quil looking mildly in awe of her, impressed and perhaps a little pleased that someone else seems to hate Sam as much as he does.

"Well — that told him."

"He's such an ass."

"Hey, you don't have to tell me. How long has Seth been running with him anyway?"

"If I have anything to do with," Leah mutters darkly, all but stabbing at the second shoe now, "he won't be. Just wait 'til my mom gets back on her feet."

"I hope so, because my grandpa thinks he shits sunshine." Quil scoffs, but it's not as unkind as it probably should be. It just sounds like he can't believe that Old Quil has taken Sam's side and not his. "Nobody believes me when I say otherwise," he carries on. "Embry and Jake used to, but . . . I haven't spoken to them in so long . . . Weeks, actually."

He sounds so sad, but somehow she doesn't think it'll do any good to tell him that his friend was standing in the same spot only yesterday. Before she'd had something close to a nervous breakdown and he'd—

Well.

It's probably best to try and put a lid on the whole thing and forget about it, but for some reason Jacob's warmth and the way he'd carried her to her bed as if he cared, murmuring to her with so much . . . kindness in his voice — that's something she's sure she is going to remember for a long time. She keeps being reminded, keeps thinking about it. She can't forget.

She tries to push it away all the same.

(Damn Jacob Black.)

"I shouldn't have lied to him," Leah finds herself admitting. "Sam's been coming over a lot lately. He might come and check."

Quil grunts, entirely nonplussed as he leans against the counter. "Let him."

"What about you?"

"What about me?" he asks, and Leah thinks she'd probably be flattered by his sudden show of chivalry if she wasn't imagining Sam storming into her house. Everything she'd been trying to avoid by going to him. And if he comes here, then . . . it feels like a bad idea to let Quil stay, considering how mad he had been before.

She shrugs. "It wouldn't be fair, would it?"

"Too bad. We gotta stick together now, you and me. And Seth," he says, nodding to himself as if he will help protect her brother. "We can't let them win, can we?"

If only he knew.

"I guess not," she replies, wishing that she didn't have to keep things from this kid. Quil is nice. His easy offer of friendship has these half-truths sitting so uncomfortably in her heart. She doesn't have that many friends anymore. "I was actually getting ready to go kick his ass when you showed."

"Really?" Quil brightens a little. "That's awesome. I'm almost sorry I got in the way of that."

"Sorry I accused you of — uh, you know."

"Hey, don't worry about it." Quil leans across and bumps his fist lightly against her shoulder. "We're friends now, right?"

"Right," she agrees. But it makes her feel awful, and it doesn't help any when Quil grins at her so triumphantly. "Friends."

Chapter Text

(Leah)

Quil spends most of the afternoon chattering on and on (and on) whilst she picks every wayward piece of glass out of his shoe. He is so pleased to have someone to talk to that he can hardly stand still, and he doesn't even seem to mind that he's more or less carrying the conversation by himself. He babbles at a million words a minute, talking about everything and nothing, almost as if she's been away for a month and he's taken it upon himself to bring her up to speed with everything she's missed.

(Not what she's missed, Leah soon realises — what Jacob and Embry have missed.)

She's going to have to bite the bullet and shove him out of the door at this rate, and she's not looking forward to it.

How upset will he be? Though with the way he keeps looking at her, with that smile which stretches from ear to ear and makes her kind of hate herself . . . Leah has this sinking feeling that the kid might just about forgive her for anything, so long as she just promises to be his friend and have his back.

And she does want to be his friend, because he's so obviously in need of one and because she'd want somebody to do the same thing for her if she needed it. Quil has clearly been too lonely for a long while now and, of all people, Leah knows what that feels like. With no Rachel and no Rebecca, with no Sam and no Emily, it had started to feel like there wasn't anybody left who she could rely on.

So she lets Quil stay, just a little longer, because she understands what it is to be alone, to want company; she understands how it feels to try and fill the silences by yourself; and she knows what it's like having nobody to lean on when it hurts.

It's not that she resents looking after her mom or her little brother — she'll do that to her dying breath — but sometimes . . . sometimes she thinks it would be nice if somebody could just maybe look after her for a little bit. Even if that somebody has to be Jacob, who will be there to carry her upstairs when her knees give out, or Quil, who could quite possibly explode into a wolf at any given moment.

It had been a close call on her front doorstep. She knows that. And the thought of Quil's reaction should Sam turn up and start demanding to know where Seth is makes her feel sick, if only because she knows that Quil's smile is going to dip into something which resembles betrayal when he realises she's been playing him for a fool.

The phone rings and rings and rings as he talks. They both ignore it; she stares at the shoes in the sink whilst Quil raises his voice over the shrill sound until he's almost shouting, continuing to tell her about pointless things — things like what happened gym class when Natalie Locklear said something to Ruth what's-her-face that nearly caused a cat-fight the likes of which Tribal School has never seen — which quite frankly Leah doesn't really care about, but it really is nice to listen to somebody else's voice for a change . . .

. . . until the phone starts ringing for what might be the seventeenth time, or maybe the thirtieth, and Quil emits this sort of growl from behind his teeth that makes the hairs on her arms stand up on end, and he unceremoniously yanks out the landline with such force that the receiver rattles.

Leah tries not to look too surprised at Quil's sudden boldness, but then she's never really gotten to know him all that well before. Maybe he's like this all the time. Or maybe it's something new, something to do with the thing which is slumbering inside of him, waiting for the perfect moment to let itself loose — she can't tell. But what she does know is that she doesn't want to be around when it happens, because if this goes on for much longer then Quil is only going to hate her more.

And still . . . she can't send him away.

She sighs, more at herself than anything, and says, "Quil, really, anyone would think you want Sam to come."

"Why not?" His grin is slightly feral. "I'll hold him, you punch."

"Quil."

"What?" he asks innocently, eyes bright. "It's a solid plan. And if he turns up with the others, then I figure you can take him and I'll take the rest. If one of them is around then the others usually aren't far behind, right?"

(Funny — people used to say exactly the same about her and the twins. But she hasn't spoken to Rachel or Rebecca in weeks, and she hasn't remembered to charge her cell since the night before the world went to shit.)

He sounds like he's joking, but Leah knows better. He's probably been begging for this argument to happen for ages, and now he thinks he's got a little back-up there's nothing really stopping him from giving his best friends a piece of his mind after they've treated him like shit. And they have — if it was her, she wouldn't have stood for it either.

"Quil," she says again, desperately trying to swallow her anguish, "I understand, I really do. I mean, there's nothing I want more than to rip Sam into pieces — but not . . . not when Seth's only upstairs, okay? If they storm over here and things get too out of hand then it might make him worse, y'know?"

Quil blinks, and his recklessness descends into something apologetic as his eyes flick to the ceiling and back. "I didn't — you didn't say that."

"I thought you realised," she tells him, suddenly feeling like she's the one who needs to apologise to calm whatever's brewing underneath his skin. "He's sleeping. He was out all night."

"With them?"

"I think so. Yes. I don't know," Leah says quickly, because offering anything more than that means that she'll have to tell more lies and half-truths, and she hates the sudden look of loathing which has crossed Quil's face. "I don't know where he was, but if they come—"

"They won't get him," he promises, and he says it with such conviction, such determination to keep Seth safe that she knows this kid would honestly do it if she asks — that he'd protect Seth, because he's just that loyal to this friends with no questions asked. "Honest, Leah, between the two of us, we won't let them, okay? It'll be fine. Don't worry."

"Look, I appreciate it, you've no idea, but my mom's up there too, and she's still not great and — and I think it'd be best if you just . . . go, you know, just in case."

Quil struggles with it for a moment, looking as if he's trying to search for an argument which might allow him to stay and fight this battle with her. But then he sighs, slightly deflated, defeated, and Leah knows she's won.

"Okay. Yeah — yeah, you're right."

He turns back to the phone and plugs the cord back in, though the damage has probably already been done. It wouldn't surprise her if Sam turns up in the next ten minutes or so, and then they'll really be in trouble. Because two days ago Sam followed her into her bedroom to make sure that she would keep their secret, and when he sees her with Quil he will know that she's recognised the kid for what he is — what he's going to be.

(Emily's face springs to mind, and no — that definitely wasn't a bear attack.)

It's such a mess.

Leah wishes that she could tell Quil. In all honesty, she feels no better than she did when she thought Sam and Emily were carrying on behind her back. She hates secrets, and always has, if not more so since she realised that Sam was keeping them from her. They wreck everything. And she's frightened that this secret is going to wreck Quil, as surely as it has almost wrecked her brother.

Leah passes Quil his right shoe, now free of glass and casserole but looking slightly stained still, and knows her face is a mirror image of his. "I'm really sorry."

"Yeah. Me too," he says glumly, reluctantly slipping on his shoes. "You'll be okay?"

Leah can only nod, but Quil doesn't seem all that sure. "I don't have to go, you know. If you're worried—"

"I'm not. I'll be fine."

He still doesn't believe her. "I promise to be on my best behaviour if they come knocking," he says earnestly. "I won't even talk, if that's what you want. Just . . . let me stay in case they come here."

But Leah just wipes her hands on her jeans and shakes her head. She's being selfish; he needs to go, for his own good.

She opens the fridge and reaches for the first casserole she sees, quickly dumping its contents in the trash before washing out the dish as Quil watches in uneasy silence. He's not happy, but she has nothing left to offer him.

"It'll be okay," she tells him. She hopes she sounds convincing enough. "I'll call, yeah?"

"If you're sure," he replies, sounding anything less than — but he seems to have gotten the hint all the same. Thank God.

So why does she feel so bad?

Leah sighs over the sound of the sound of running water and the phone which has begun ringing again. "I'm sure."

➰

A familiar, little red car is driving down the street when they step outside, and Leah feels Quil tense beside her as he recognises it at the same time she does.

"On second thought," he says, his mouth tight as the car seems to speed up, "I think I might stay."

"What happened to your best behaviour?" she teases, but the words don't feel quite right on her lips.

The car comes to a ground-breaking halt before them, its door swinging open before momentum is completely lost, and when Jacob leaps out Leah knows she's in trouble.

She straightens, almost defensively, rallying what feels like forgotten strength as Jacob's blazing, possessive gaze roves over her. He's looking for something, searching as he takes in every inch of her, and it's the strangest thing but it's almost like she can feel his disapproval, his radiating fury . . . and a little bit of something else.

Leah lifts her chin, and refuses to baulk underneath his stare.

"Do you want me to stay?" she hears Quil ask, but he sounds a bit far away even though she knows he's right beside her still. "I can stay. I don't mind."

Jacob's eyes lock on Quil, and possession morphs seamlessly into malice. And it's frightening.

Quil growls.

Their only saving grace from this — she hopes — is Billy is in the passenger seat, who mercifully demands Jacob's attention at the same time Quil puts his hand on her elbow with surprising gentleness. "Leah?"

"Huh?"

"You want me to stick around?"

"It's fine. It's just Billy, right?" she says, suddenly a little bit too weak for her own liking.

Quil scowls. "And Jacob."

"And Jacob," she agrees, turning her attention back on him. He talks quietly, furiously with his father as he lifts him out of the car, arguing about something or the other — though she thinks she can take a pretty wild guess as to what they're so heatedly discussing.

"I'm gonna stay," Quil says firmly.

"No!" Leah whirls on him. "No."

"What?" Quil looks both outraged and offended. "Leah, he was . . . looking at you. Like you're something to eat. That's not okay."

"He's probably just mad because he had to drive his dad or something, and—" (fuck, she is such an awful person) "—and, well, if he's running with Sam now then he's not going to like me, is he?"

"I'm not so sure," Quil says lowly, eyes narrowing as he looks back at Jacob.

Jacob glares right back and lurches a step forward, halted only by Billy who shakes his head and holds up a hand, as if to say, Wait. And Jacob — he balls his fists as his sides and shifts his hot gaze back onto Leah. He looks utterly livid — but at her or because of his father, or maybe both, she can't work out.

Leah tries to remember herself and pushes the empty, clean dish into Quil's chest. "It'll be fine, I promise. I bet Billy just wants to see how my mom's doing, and then they'll go. Any funny business and I'll kick his ass, okay?"

Quil manages a snort. "Right."

"Your confidence is flattering."

"I didn't—"

"I know, I was kidding," she says with false amusement, all but shoving the dish at him now. "Go on."

Quil's fingers curl around the dish and he looks down at it, at Jacob, and then back to her — and then, God damn it, he shakes his head and pushes it back into her hands. "I'll come back for it. Later."

Leah knows better than to fight, to do anything which will keep Quil on her drive for a second longer, so she just nods and says, "Alright."

"You'll be okay? You'll call?"

"Sure I will. Yeah."

Quil chews his lip, and for a second she really thinks that he's not going to leave, but then without warning he wraps up in his arms and almost lifts her off her feet. She has to put the dish flat against her stomach, and it digs in.

"Quil—"

"Thank you," he whispers quietly.

Leah can't help but huff a laugh into his shirt, thrown off by his sudden surge of affection. "What for?"

"Believing me." He gives her a funny little squeeze. "Be careful," he mutters then, and just as quickly he's gone, all but tearing across the driveway and down the street. He very purposefully shoves past a stone-faced Jacob before he breaks into a run and disappears completely out of sight.

Leah stares after him, her skin burning in his wake, and feels like she might cry.

But then Billy clears his throat, breaking her miserable train of thought as he pushes himself steadily up the path towards her. He doesn't need to admonish her — it's written all over his face; she knows that look, she's grown up with it, and it's almost as bad as one of her mother's reprimands.

Almost.

"You're going to have to help me inside, kiddo," he grunts out.

Leah looks up for Jacob, but he's nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Text

(Leah)

Billy Black has known Sue Clearwater since they were children. He was Harry's best friend, his best man. His brother. He is Seth's godfather. So Leah believes it stands to reason, surely, that if he hasn't learned by now the Clearwaters live by their own rules then he never will.

She has been watching — spying — rather inconspicuously through the window as the man tries his damned best to coax Sue back into some semblance of living, but even after an hour or so he's still apparently unable to understand that it's only something the woman is clearly only going to do when she's good and ready.

And Sue is not ready. At the moment she just looks unnervingly fragile, like a light breeze will easily knock her over and shatter her into pieces.

Ordinarily, Leah would have stood her ground and let her mother be. She would have told Billy just where exactly he could stick his nosy interference, but . . . well, it's been four days since Harry died, and not even having Seth back in the house has changed anything.

Leah hasn't said it out loud, but it's Sue's lack of awareness of Seth which has her worried more than anything else. The little punk has always been the light of their family; he is the favourite, the brightest, and Leah had really believed that he was going to be the game changer once he came home again. And yet Sue had barely blinked at his return.

So Leah is willing to let Billy try. He is the Chief, after all, and the Chief should know what to do when nobody else does. She will let the man soothe his own ego, let him fulfil his incessant need to try and fix things within his tribe, even if it only results in her mom telling him to leave. At least that would be something.

Sue has to snap at some point. It feels like they're all on tenterhooks, waiting for it, waiting for some kind of dramatic reaction. And it'll happen soon — it just has to. Maybe not for a few days yet, and only on Sue's own terms. Not anyone else's. Not hers, not Seth's, and certainly not Billy's.

The man is being very, very careful, as if he anticipates the very same — a snap. Leah watches the way he handles her mom like she is a frightened kitten, and what might be worse is that the comparison is accurate. Leah can almost hear his sage, quiet tone from the patio, can see her mother's discomfort in the way she shies away—

—but it's Jacob who Leah can feel behind her, quietly watching her just as closely as she is watching their parents.

He's not made a sound and she doesn't understand how she just knows he is there — she just does — and quite frankly, it frightens the living shit out of her. Enough that it's a small mercy she manages to keep her eyes trained on her mother and her voice steady as she speaks.

"Where did you go?"

Jacob's gulp is audible, but something (a sixth sense?) tells Leah that it's not because he's afraid. "If we get too angry . . ."

"It gets ugly," she finishes for him, remembering his cautionary words — only yesterday, in this very room. Leah thinks maybe she should start getting out more; since Harry died she's only left for his funeral and it feels as if she has been cooped up in this kitchen since. It's starting to drive her insane.

"Yes," Jacob says hoarsely from behind her.

There's a heavy pause, and she knows he is watching with her as her mom buries her face in her hands. She knows that he, too, can see how suddenly so very small Sue seems in the bathrobe she was wrapped up in before being brought downstairs. It does less to hide those awful pale, sharp features than Leah had hoped, though, and somehow makes all those meals which her mom has refused a little more obvious.

Leah briefly closes her eyes. She's failing. She needs to do better, be better.

She breathes deep, steadying herself and listening as Jacob shuffles on his feet like he wants to take a step closer but doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know, either.

"Are you okay?"

God. She wishes his voice didn't wash over her like that. When did that start happening? She wants to turn around and face him, but she knows what she will see. He will have that look. The one she doesn't know what to do with except stand her ground and hope that he breaks first. The one that burns and burns, that feels like Jacob is seeing her more deeply than she usually allows the naked eye.

It means something, the way he has been looking at her. It's more than him watching out for her little brother, more than him whispering poems in Quileute and sharing secrets in this kitchen. It's more than him being a second away from tearing poor Quil into pieces on the driveway.

And just like her mom, she is not ready. For this, whatever it is. And she wishes it would just . . . stop. Whatever this is, whatever it threatens, she wishes that it would just stop.

"Leah?"

"No," she answers honestly. There's no use in lying. She has a feeling he'll know. "Are you?"

"No."

She's pretty sure at this point that she'd know if Jacob lied, too, and she finds herself grateful that he doesn't. She doesn't need or have time for more dishonesty on this reservation.

He takes a ragged breath. "Leah—"

For the first time that day, she is relieved for the interruption of the ringing phone. Relieved that, when she finally spins around, Jacob has fixed his heated gaze on it instead of burning holes in her back. He glares at the phone as if it has ruined something somehow, his expression halfway between desperate and murderous.

"It's for you," she says.

Jacob's jaw tightens. "Sam."

"He's been calling non-stop."

"Why?"

She shrugs, wanting to pretend she doesn't care but also wanting to keep her nerve as Jacob turns his eyes back on her. "He seems pretty mad. He said you sent Seth away before you were supposed to."

"Good," is all Jacob grunts out before he finally reaches for the phone.

His answer surprises her, but then, she thinks, maybe not. After all, Jacob has become her unlikely ally, she reminds herself, apparently having appointed himself Seth's advocate in, well . . . everything, really: finding him, bringing him home, sending him home again — even knowing it would piss Sam off.

He seems to be on her side, too, though she can't help but wonder whether the solidarity he's shown might come with conditions. It's not as if Quil looked at her like that, did he? He didn't make her squirm when offering the same thing.

Nobody makes her squirm. And yet . . .

"Sam," Jacob answers. "Yeah, it's me. He's upstairs, I can hear him. I told you he would — no, that was Quil."

Sucking in a breath as he listens, his argument building, Jacob looks furious again — more so, if it can be believed. "He's gone now, don't worry. I know. Yeah. I know—"

He looks at her suddenly, their eyes meeting. "She's here. Wait a sec," he says, and holds the phone out.

"Tell him to go fuck himself."

Jacob presses his lips together, fighting a smile. It's a nice change from the frown. "She says no. Jeez, she's fine, Sam. Chill out."

Leah scoffs nastily. Really? Like Sam is honestly worried about her! For all he was around before the funeral, following her around and waiting for her at the top of the stairs, Leah hasn't seen hide or hair of him since.

"Yep, 'kay, fine. I'll be here. Bye."

"You edited," Leah accuses when Jake puts the phone back with a grunt.

"Do you want him to come here?" he asks, and nods when she doesn't answer. "I didn't think so. He told me to tell you to stay away from Quil. And charge your cell."

She's torn between laughing or scowling in her outrage. Sam might think he rules Jacob's life, might even think he rules Seth's life, but he does not rule hers and he never has. "What's he gonna do about it?" she asks hotly. "The kid's absolutely terrified that he's next."

Jacob sighs, but doesn't look away. "He is next."

"So you're gonna make it worse by isolating him? I feel like shit for lying to him. What do I say when he comes back, huh? That I kicked your ass, like he asked me to?"

"If it makes you feel better," Jake offers with a small, unsure smile, "I think he'll believe you. You're pretty good at the whole ass-kickin' thing when you want to be, and he did look like . . . well, you know. Like that."

"Like what?"

"Like —" Jacob's voice dips a little, his eyes turning a little more wild than she expects. "Like he likes you."

Another strange laugh bubbles inside of her throat. "Problem, Jacob?"

"No. Of course not," he says, but it's a little too quick, a little too automatic, and in spite of her frustration she can't help but smirk.

"I didn't think you cared," she croons, unable to stop herself even as he accepts the challenge in her voice and pushes himself away from the wall.

He begins to stalk across her kitchen, his scowl etched deep into his face as he moves closer and closer towards her. Everything about him says that he is not fazed by her taunts, her bitchiness or her temper. These horrible, nasty traits which have always been hers in one way or another but feel like they have manifested into something all the more terrible since her life began careering in a downward spiral.

(Did it start when Sam left? Or when Rebecca didn't come home? Before? Will she always be this way?)

He is so close than Leah can feel his breath when he warns, "Quil is dangerous, Leah. You shouldn't—"

"More dangerous than the rest of you?" she snaps, holding her ground. "Quil is frightened, Jacob, not dangerous. He's your friend!"

Jacob has the decency to look a little ashamed and her words seem to bring him up short — enough that he stops in his tracks, and the . . . burning look in his eyes which she is quickly becoming all too familiar with fades into sadness.

He swallows thickly, silent for a moment as he tries to find his next words. For some reason, he looks a little hurt. And then, "You . . . You don't think I'm dangerous, do you?"

"No," she answers honestly, because that's not what she meant or why her heart is hammering so. "And I don't believe Quil is, not really."

"Aside from the possibility of turning into a wolf at any given moment and ripping your face in two," he remarks, deadpan, and Leah knows without doubt now what really happened to her cousin.

She ignores the rolling of her stomach, the sudden sympathy she feels and extinguishes just as quickly. She wonders if that makes her truly heartless, if she is as cold and unforgiving as people are starting to believe despite it being Emily who is the traitor.

"Aside from that," Leah agrees, throat dry, but it only seems to frustrate Jacob further.

"So why," he demands, pleadingly enough that she is again wondering what has changed between the two of them that makes him care so much. "If you know you could be hurt—"

"He's lonely, Jake. I know what that's like, and it's not as much fun as I make it out to be."

Although Jacob looks like he wants to protest even though he knows that it's true, he doesn't have an immediate answer. He ducks his gaze and she finally pulls away from him, focusing back on her mom sitting in the yard still with Billy, idly wondering if the Chief has learned his lesson to not push a Clearwater yet.

Jacob comes to stand beside her by the kitchen counter and sighs deeply as he leans against it, closing the distance between them again. "Quil . . . Sam reckons it will be really soon. He can feel it, he says. He'll know the truth soon enough."

"Yeah," Leah mutters. "And when he becomes like you, he's going to hate me when he realises that not only did I know but that I didn't tell him."

"He won't hate you. Nobody hates you."

Jacob's words are quick, automatic, meant to appease her quickly rather than agree with anything she says. It's irritating, like a parent soothing their child even if it means they have to lie just because of a natural instinct to comfort.

"Maybe. Maybe not. It doesn't matter. In the end . . . people just stop bothering when all you do is bite their head off. I'm sure you will too, soon enough."

"Nah. I kinda like it," he says, apparently shocking himself as much as he does her with the admission. And then, with an embarrassed look down at her, he adds, "What I mean, is . . . You're honest. A bit brutal, sure, but at least I know what's really on your mind, how you really feel, y'know?" He scratches the back of his neck, still embarrassed. "That's what Rach and Beck always used to say, anyway."

She scoffs next to his shoulder. "What do they know. I'll be surprised if they remember who I am."

Leah misses the twins something fierce, her sisters in all but blood. And she might understand now — better than she ever has before, anyway — why Rebecca's put three thousand miles between herself and La Push in order to breathe right, why Rachel keeps her college-life and her Rez-life as separate as possible . . . but she is angry with them for not being able to come for just one day to hold her hand at Harry's funeral like she'd held theirs at Sarah's seven years ago.

Jacob simply grins down at her as if he's single-handedly discovered a worldwide problem in her response. "See?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Leah rolls her eyes and looks away, wondering if he can tell that it hurts to look at him and be reminded of her friends. She often sees them winking back at her in his face. She sees Rachel's sheer nerve and her wilfulness; Rebecca's sincerity and her compassion; both of their wit and their humour. And he is so, so like his sisters that sometimes her chest aches when she pays enough attention to him to be reminded of that.

Still triumphant, Jacob nudges her with his arm which is as hot as when he carried her up the stairs and held her in one piece whilst she cried. She doesn't recall him leaving afterwards, but she knows he stayed until she succumbed to her exhaustion.

"Are you staying?" Again, she adds silently. Not to be unkind, rather because she is wondering if she needs to thank him although though she's not certain exactly what it is she'd be saying thank you for.

She feels him tense, he's still that close. "You want me to go?"

"You said to Sam you'd be here—"

"Oh." Jacob relaxes, leaning his weight against the counter. Their backs are to the window. "He asked me to stick around."

"To keep an eye on me?"

"Something like that," Jacob admits with an air of guilt.

"Because of Quil or because of what you told me? About this imprinting thing?" Knowing Sam, she thinks, it would make sense why he seems so pissed after spending so long keeping his betrayal a secret.

"Actually . . . he doesn't know I told you that."

"But how?" Leah frowns. "What about the wolf thing? Reading each other's minds and having no privacy?"

"He hasn't caught me yet," Jacob says, but his show of cocky arrogance is a little shaky and has her frowning again when her mother shuffles through the back door, looking for all the world as if she wishes she could hide completely in that robe.

They both immediately push away from the counter, and Jacob's warmth is a sudden loss at her side as she goes to her mom and he goes to his dad to help the wheelchair over the threshold.

Billy's heavy, concerned eyes tell Leah that he hasn't made any progress; he's disappointed and frustrated, lips in a thin line. She kind of wants to say I told you so, except she didn't really tell him and he's never appreciated her impertinence. (Billy has always believed she is the bad influence on his daughters, not the other way around. And — fine, he's not wrong, but she's not going to tell him that.)

They don't speak, but they do sigh together as Sue starts making her retreat back up the stairs. At least she looks like she's still breathing underneath that robe.

Feeling Jacob's eyes on her again, Leah thinks her mom might be the only one who is.

Chapter Text

(Jacob)

"You gonna tell me what that's about?" Billy asks quietly. His eyebrows are high as he looks pointedly between Jacob, standing at the side of his wheelchair with his arms crossed, and the doorway which Leah disappeared through after her mom.

"What's about what?" Jacob replies with as much innocence as he can muster. He feels shaky, but not like he does when he's trying to fight a phase triggered by his temper. This is something else — something much more akin to the feeling of standing on the edge of the cliffs before he dives into the grey waters below.

(Adrenaline, he vaguely recalls with some difficulty. Being so close to Leah, so . . . familiar with her in a way he's not been for years has his heart in his throat and blood singing.)

"You run off when Quil's standing on her doorstep with his arms around her—" his dad begins, and it's an effort for Jacob to keep a snarl leashed at the reminder "—and now you're staring after her like you'll never see her again."

His eyes snap back to his father. He knows he really needs to leash more than a single snarl, especially if he's going to try and keep this a secret for much longer. He can't afford to be defensive.

"I'm not," he says in spite of himself, arms still crossed over his chest and his fingers curled right in his armpits.

Billy's smirk is uncomfortably all too-knowing and, Jacob thinks, slightly smug. "You can't fool this old man, son."

"She's having a hard time. I know what it's like. That's all."

"Is it really?"

Jacob scowls, dropping his hands. "You get all weird and intense when you're being cryptic. Kinda reminds me of when you were trying to tell me your superstitious nonsense wasn't really nonsense at all — and doing a bad job of it, too," he replies hotly. Unkindly. Defensive again. Damn it all to hell.

Nonplussed, Billy sits back in his chair and folds his hands in his lap. "Nonsense or not, I know what it is to keep a secret. And for what it's worth—"

"You don't know anything, Dad." He really, really doesn't. He might be on the Council, might be held in a higher regard than the rest of the men that sit there, but Billy knows nothing of what it is to be . . . this.

"I think you'd be surprised."

Calming his face into something a little less hostile — and doubtful that he'll be able to manage it — Jacob changes the subject before he gets himself in deeper waters. Billy has raised two daughters; he knows how to get information if he really wants it, especially from their brother who always covered for them, and Jacob refuses to fall into any kind of trap his dad might be trying to set.

Jacob blows a breath that betrays his frustration. Too bad. "Do you need me to take you home?"

"Why, where are you going?" Billy asks quickly, jolted from his private conspiracies. "You were on patrol all night."

Yes, Jacob thinks, and I was less than an hour into my sleep when you woke me up for a ride here. But instead he says, "I'm coming back. Sam wants me to stick around. Keep Quil away."

"How long will it be?"

"Soon," Jacob tells him, knowing what his father really means. "A few days, maybe. Less. So if you're going home—"

"I wanted to head over to Charlie's, actually," Billy says, and he sounds a little apologetic about it now that he knows Sam's orders are involved. Billy might be the Chief, but only in name — Sam is the real Chief, the real Alpha, for as long as Jacob refuses the title. It would be kind of weird, anyway, Jacob thinks, to have his dad looking at him for direction if he assumed the job.

"I was hoping you might come, too," Billy continues within the quiet of Clearwaters' kitchen. Jacob doubts that his father can hear Leah talking to Sue upstairs like he can, nor that he can hear the stutter in Seth's low snores as though the kid is dreaming. "Charlie's been going out of his mind, and considering you were the last person to see her . . ."

Bella. Has she saved her bloodsucker yet, who she is so willing to die for? Maybe she's already dead.

Jacob swallows uncomfortably, feeling more terrible for Charlie than he does himself. It's a far cry from the mess he had been in his garage two days ago, and the sudden change might have seemed jarring if the imprint hadn't completely obliterated his growing feelings for Bella.

"You know she might not come home, right? We'll be going to another funeral within the week, only this time it will be a sham."

He regrets the words as soon as he says them, hearing Billy's sharp intake of breath. He also feels like he's betrayed Leah somehow, saying something he knows she'd hate, using her father to drive his point home about Bella and the choices she's made. It feels wrong, too.

Jacob swallows, appropriately shamed. "Sorry."

His dad reaches up and pats his arm. "Don't worry about it," he says. "You know, maybe I'll just call ahead first and see if he's home. Don't think Sue will mind if I use her phone, do you?" he asks then, but he's already pushing his chair over the tiled floor and towards the wall where the phone sits in its cradle.

"'Kay. I'm gonna check on Seth, see how he's doing."

Billy turns his head back. "I think Leah might have that one covered, Jake."

"All the same," he mumbles, shrugging. He can't tell anyone that the silence upstairs worries him, that it's not really Seth he's worried for. That after standing so close to Leah without her protesting, her scent in his nose and her warmth against his side . . . it hurts now, her absence.

The piercing look Jacob receives from his father is just a raised bushy brow shy of curious, but he ignores it and escapes from the kitchen before he has to explain himself. It would be just the damn pinnacle of his life if his father really knew what was going on.

Was that what the smug look had been? Shit, Jacob hopes not. The Council, Sam, the pack — they will all know before the sun has set, if Billy has figured it out.

Jacob's gut clenches as he takes the stairs two at a time. His father is a proud, traditional old man; he was damn near triumphant when his son phased for the first time, and he will be freakin' euphoric if he's ever able to announce that same son has imprinted. God knows what he would have done if Jacob had asked Sam to step down and returned home as Alpha.

It doesn't bear thinking about.

So he doesn't. He listens for Leah, for Seth, and stops short just before he reaches the top of the stairs when he hears the kid's sleepy, muffled voice.

"Leah?"

"You're okay," she murmurs, and Jacob cranes his head around the banister, feeling like an intruder.

Her back is to him as she sits on the edge of Seth's bed, the door slightly ajar and blocking the kid's face from Jacob's view. She shushes her brother, her hand reaching out to soothe him. "You were just dreaming. You're okay."

"It . . . It was so real . . ."

Seth gulps, his breathing coming in fits and starts, and Leah keeps up her constant murmur of nothings and smoothing his hair down as he slowly but surely calms down. Jacob can't bear to imagine trembling limbs and how close Seth might've been to—

No. He refuses to imagine it. Not after just barely getting over seeing her with Quil, who could have cracked at any God given moment.

Jacob wants to trust Leah. He does. He's going to have to if he has a chance at surviving being away from her, because she'll surely kill him herself if he hovers around her for any longer — not without him being able to provide her a better excuse than Sam being concerned for her safety. He's sure of this, because he has known her for all his life; he has long learned that she likes her space. When they were younger, she had a habit of going off for hours on her own until Harry started calling around the Rez, looking for her, only to find her sitting in a tree or on one of the beaches.

And yet . . . Seth is young. Quil hasn't even been broken in. Does she even realise what could happen to her if—

Jacob sits at the top of the stairs and takes a quiet, steadying breath, painfully aware that it's the imprint which has him so concerned and frightened that she'll be hurt like Emily. Worse than Emily. No wonder Sam's tail is so bent out of shape after what happened, what he did.

"Come on," Leah says, her voice the kind of soft which Jacob knows it only ever is when she's talking to or about her brother. "Try and go back to sleep, yeah?"

"It was so real," Seth whispers again. "I thought . . ."

Leah doesn't ask, but Jacob can feel her worry. "Sleep. It's okay," she says instead.

He sniffs. "Lee?"

"Yeah?"

It takes a minute for Seth to speak again. And when he does, his words are hesitant. "Does Mom . . . Do you hate me?"

"No!" The sharp sound from Leah is just on the edge of a yell. "No. I don't hate you, Seth. I hate what's happened to you, but I don't hate you. Never."

"But if I hadn't—"

"You couldn't help that," Leah tells him firmly. There is a long, sad moment of silence, and then, "Seth, you know it's not your fault, right?"

"But—"

"No, Seth. He had a bad heart since he was a kid, way before he married Mom. And he didn't look after himself like he should have. You know that. He liked fish fry too much."

Either realising that he's fighting a losing battle or he's too upset to answer, Seth is quiet again. Jacob, meanwhile, shifts his body quietly down several stairs. Partly because he is an intruder on this moment, and partly because he doesn't want to be found so blatantly eavesdropping.

"It's not your fault," Leah says again. "If anything, you should have been told. Warned, I don't know."

Seth's harsh gulp is audible from where Jacob sits with his keen ears. "They didn't know. I remember . . . they all thought I was Quil." There is a prickle to the words, and Jacob recognises it as the same automatic defensiveness the pack has for one another whether Seth intends it or not. It's instinctual for him, now, and Jacob is proud.

It doesn't lessen Leah's resent, even though she's already more or less been told the same thing. That they weren't watching or waiting for her little brother because he is so young. "Would it have made it easier?" she asks. "If someone had told you?"

"I wouldn't have believed them."

"If they had," she persists, "and then you realised it was all true. Whether you believed them or not. You think you'd feel differently now?"

"Dunno," Seth mumbles. "Maybe, I guess, if Dad had been the one to . . . but—"

"But he didn't," she finishes for him.

"Doesn't matter now, does it?" Seth sighs with what sounds like hopelessness, and Jacob hears a shuffle on the bed as though the kid is rolling over, turning his back to the world.

Leah stays with him a while after that, long enough that Billy has finished his phone call with Charlie and has pushed his chair down the hallway from the kitchen. Jacob stands on the stairs and squares his shoulders, meeting his father's gaze, ready to be told that they need to leave and drive to Forks.

But Billy shakes his head and, after what he's been listening to, Jacob can't care less if his relief shows.

"Gonna coast it home," his father says, weathered hands on the wheels of his chair. "Charlie's gonna meet me there."

"Is she home?"

"No. He hasn't heard anything, but it's not doing him any good sitting at home and waiting for her."

Charlie will be doing a lot of that, Jacob thinks, if Bella's eyes are red. But this time he doesn't voice his bitter remarks and instead he dutifully helps his father over the doorstep before waving him off down the drive.

When he turns back into the house, Leah is sitting on exactly the same stair he'd been on not two minutes ago. There's some sort of twisted satisfaction in it, where she sits and stares at him, and it belongs wholly to the imprint. The reasonable part of Jacob — however small it might be, now — resents the sense of possession. The other part of him revels in it.

Leah purses her lips together thoughtfully as she considers him. Jacob finds that he quite likes that, too. "I want to do something you're going to think is stupid," she says in response to his questioning look.

"You want to tell Quil."

She's not even a little surprised that he knows what it is she wants to do. Instead she nods, her resolve clear and bright in her tired brown eyes.

"You're right," he agrees, sounding a little resigned about it even to himself. "I do think that's really stupid."

"Are you going to stop me?"

"Since when has anyone ever been able to stop you from doing what you wanted?" Jacob almost laughs, and a small smile plays at her lips. But she seems pleased, either with herself or what he's said. Perhaps even both.

"I thought it might fall into your whole 'sticking around and keeping Leah out of trouble' thing," she says. "You're not even going to talk me out of it?"

"Nope." He might have known what she was planning to do as soon as he'd heard her question Seth, but she doesn't know what he's going to do. "I'm coming with you."

Chapter Text

(Leah)

Jacob simply smirks in the long moment of silence which follows, evidently amused that he's managed to catch her so off-guard.

"What did you expect?" he asks after watching her blink stupidly.

"Well . . . a fight, honestly," Leah admits quietly. After having been building herself up for an argument she wasn't going to back down on, the last thing she expected was for him to so easily agree with her — let alone for him to announce that he plans to tag along, too. "What happened to it being a terrible idea?"

"It is a terrible idea," Jake says all-too-agreeably, that smirk still on his face which makes him look closer to his sixteen years than it does the rest of his body.

"So remind me again why you're not going to stop me?" she asks, frowning in her disbelief and confusion after he's so vehemently insisted that Quil is dangerous. Not forgetting that he has been given his orders from Sam (the bastard), who has essentially made Jacob her babysitter to stop her from doing exactly this.

(Because as much as she hates it, as much as she hates him, Sam knows her. He knows how she hates secrets and being kept in the dark, which makes it ridiculous to suggest that Quil is the one who he's really worried about. After years of living in one another's pockets, Sam would quickly have put two and two together and known exactly what it is she wants to do before she managed to figure it out for herself.)

Jacob shrugs. "There's really no point. As soon as you're out of my sight you'll just go and find Quil anyway."

(And apparently Jacob knows her too, which surprisingly — or rather unsurprisingly, given how the rest of this day is going — doesn't piss her off as much.)

"This way I can at least make sure you don't get torn to pieces while you do it," Jacob continues in the same light tone despite that he is talking about placing himself between her and certain death — or permanent disfigurement, Leah thinks as her cousin's face comes to mind once again.

"You don't need to say it quite like that," she mutters. She wants to tell Quil, she has to tell Quil, otherwise this secret is going to eat her up and swallow her whole . . . but now she can't help wonder if she's doing it for the right reasons. She might think it's the right thing to do, but will Quil see it that way?

Jacob's shit-eating smirk turns slightly grim. "Doubting yourself?"

She narrows her eyes accusingly. "Now I am."

"Don't. It's the right thing to do. I would have told him myself already if I could."

"What do you . . ." she starts, then she suddenly remembers their conversation yesterday morning — before she'd had something close to the meltdown she still won't (or can't) acknowledge. "Oh. Right. Alpha."

"Yep," he says, lips popping. "Can't breathe a word about it, so you're going to have to do most of the talking. The first part, at least. I'll be choking on thin air otherwise."

"That's if he doesn't explode first."

Jake shakes his head, eyes rolling. "It's called phasing, you know." He steps closer and holds his hand out, which she reaches out for almost instinctively, allowing him to hoist her up from where she sits on the stairs. "And even if he does, which I kind of think he will, then I'll have to tell him all about it anyway. So no big deal, right? Just . . . make sure you're not standing too close to him, okay?"

"Right. God forbid you have a coronary or something," she says without thinking. She freezes on the last word, her fingers slipping from Jake's and her eyes flickering over the banister towards the living room where Harry fell, and she swallows thickly.

"Hey," Jake breathes softly after what might be a minute. Two. Longer. The whole world is spinning. "Look at me."

Leah casts her eyes down towards where this annoying kid she's known forever (and who both confuses and frightens the living shit out of her) stands at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her, and she gives a shaky smile that even she wouldn't believe if she saw herself in the mirror.

"That was a bad joke, huh?"

Jacob returns her smile. It's steadier than her own, yet sadder and softer. "I took out the rug, you know. It's outside."

"I didn't notice," she says quietly, oddly touched underneath how sick she feels with herself. She is no less off balance, but . . . sure, somehow, like there's something to hold on to and right herself with even as everything else goes to shit. She doesn't know what exactly, and yet she's certain of it all the same.

"I can put it back, if you want."

"No." Leah recalls how it'd looked: shredded, ugly, its patterns near unrecognisable as she'd picked up the scraps of Seth's clothes afterwards. "I mean, it's ruined anyway."

He nods. "That's what I thought."

"I . . ." Leah sucks in a quiet breath. "Thanks."

"Sure, sure," he says, as though it's nothing at all. He offers his warm hand out again, and she finds herself taking it not just because she wants to walk down the last few stairs feeling somewhat steadier. "You wanna leave a note or something?"

"No. They'll be fine." Her mom is staring at the ceiling again and Seth is doing his best to feign sleep. "Are we walking or driving over?"

Jacob considers her for a few seconds, his fingers still wrapped around hers. "Better drive. If shit hits the fan then I don't want you to have to walk back."

She blinks. "You'd let me drive your car?"

"Why not?"

"You love your car," she says. "You spent all of Christmas dinner trying to tell Bella how amazing it was. The Coolest Car in the World, remember?"

Jacob's eyebrows shoot up. "You were listening to that?"

"I think everyone except Bella listened to that," Leah says tartly, thinking back to three months ago when he'd sat across from the Swan girl at the makeshift dinner table they'd put together to accommodate their three families. Bella might have well as not been there at all with her dead eyes and broken heart.

The reminder of Charlie's daughter has Leah freeing her fingers from Jacob's, because she remembers more than last Christmas — she remembers the huge crush he has on the girl, too, and for some inexplicable reason there is a flare of anger in her chest at the thought.

Leah tries to reason with herself that it's because Jacob deserves more than a pale-faced girl who barely uttered a word to him at Christmas, who has spent months becoming his friend and has instead chosen the vampires and Italy and blood and death. Jacob is a good kid. Kind, even when nobody gives him good reason to be.

"Have you heard from her?" Leah asks then, unable to help herself. She reaches for her jacket hanging off the peg on the wall, plucks her house keys from the bowl on the side, and pretends she's asking for a reason other than morbid curiosity as she slips her arms into her jacket.

"No," Jacob answers, and when Leah snatches a glance at his face there is a scowl upon it which he's directed at the floor. "Why?"

Leah tips her head back, freeing her trapped hair from the collar of her jacket with a swipe of her fingers just so that she doesn't have to meet his eyes. And, hoping her tone is casual enough, she says, "No reason. Just wondering when I need to kidnap you and Seth before war breaks out."

"Me and Seth?"

"Why not? I'll take Quil, too."

Jacob snorts softly. "Okay, Little Engine That Could. Let's see if that works against Sam."

She tilts her chin in a show of bravery. "You just leave Sam to me."

"Happily," he says before gesturing to the door, a wide and sweeping motion. "Lead the way, Little Engine."

Leah skips past him with her head high, throwing a particularly rude gesture over her shoulder her mom would kill her for as she goes. Jacob only laughs.

➰

In the car, Jacob's hulking frame seems to take up every inch of free space even with his seat pushed back as far as it can go and then some.

He grins when he catches her staring in bewilderment that he can fit, let alone drive the thing looking as comfortable as he is. His huge, solid arm keeps bumping into hers when he changes gear. "I had to kind of break the seat," he explains. "It was like sitting in one of those red and yellow toy cars."

"Kind of?"

"Ripped out the suspension assembly and made my own." He grins again with a small colour of self-consciousness tinting his cheeks. "And the seat pan," he adds. "I had to weld that."

"Too bad for anyone sitting in the back," she remarks, covering how slightly awed she is that he actually seems like he knows what he's doing around cars. Most boys pretended just to save face. "Seth and Quil will be really cramped. We'll have to get a new car. Bigger."

Jacob's eyes widen with mock horror. "That hurts my feelings."

"Feeling," she corrects.

"Rude. I was going to say that we should just tie Quil to the roof, but I think you can take that honour."

More than happy to take the distraction and play along, Leah simply laughs. "You can try." There's something easy in being able to joke with Jacob even if it's obvious their hearts are not quite in it. "Don't suppose there's anyone else we need to make room for, is there?"

"Embry," Jake answers automatically. "He can go in the trunk. The rest of them can stay behind and sort it out for themselves."

"Poor Sam," she says with as little sympathy as she can. It's not difficult.

"He'll be furious. But, hey, whatever. I'm already a dead man. What can he do?"

Leah can't think why he's in any kind of trouble, especially when it's not as if he's done anything wrong. Except for maybe sending Seth home before he was supposed to, but then Jacob has been saying a lot of things which don't make sense lately — almost like he can't stop himself from doing it.

"How dead?" she ventures with slight hesitancy. "What have you done?"

"Sam will probably say it's what I'm doing rather than what I've done," Jacob mutters, hands tight on the steering wheel and voice so low that Leah knows he's talking more to himself than he is her.

"You know, I think you forget that I don't have unbidden access to your mind," she reminds him lightly, "so I don't know what you mean."

"I know," he says with a slight sigh Leah has a feeling he wanted to hide. "I guess that's my problem, isn't it?"

"I guess so."

With a suspicion that they're talking about different things which aren't entirely related to Sam now, Leah brushes his words off along with everything else she doesn't want to question. Like how Jacob rests his arm against hers instead of the gearshift, how he leans a little closer over to her side rather than the window. Like how she doesn't really care.

Jacob clears his throat. "So," he says, loudly enough that she knows he's deliberately changing the conversation, "how did you think this thing was going to go down? You telling Quil?"

She accepts his evasiveness easily. "Well, I wasn't really banking on you being around, so . . . I don't know." There's a beat of silence as she imagines Quil rearing back as a gigantic wolf and howling. "Tell him and run?"

"Run," Jacob repeats slightly disbelievingly.

". . . I'm fast?" she offers, knowing that Jacob will laugh at her. He does, exactly as she expects, and she pulls a face at him. "I am!"

"I bet I'm faster," he says. "Gonna have to be, when—" Jacob stops abruptly, his amusement flying away with the sound of his breath and she thinks he might be imagining exactly what she was not one minute ago. "Well. You know."

She sighs. It's almost like he wants her to ask what is on his mind, and yet she knows that he likely won't give her a straight answer even if she does.

"No. I don't," she says. "Is this about how dead you are?"

"Yep."

"You wanna talk about it?" she asks in the same tone that suggests she wishes he doesn't. All the same, despite her reluctance, it feels like the least she can offer after the emotion he's had to endure from her.

"Nope," he says, and Leah hopes her relief isn't too palpable. Obviously Jacob needs to talk about it, but he doesn't want to. Perhaps it's just because she's not the person he wants to talk about it with, and that's fine by her. Besides, she's the last person in the world who could push someone else to talk when she refuses to share her own problems. She might have turned into a bit of a hypocrite as of late, but she's not usually one for such double-standards.

The drive doesn't take much longer after that. It seems like the car is quiet with thoughtful silence for only a heartbeat before Jacob is announcing that they've turned into Quil's street, and he points to the one-storey house where she knows Old Quil lives with his daughter-in-law and grandson.

Jacob pulls in at the bottom of the Ateara's drive, his movements methodical but relaxed as he parks and cuts the engine before ducking his head a little to look clearly through the window on her side. His breath blows over her cheek.

"Is he in?" she asks, following his gaze and refusing to shiver.

"Blasting that stupid band he loves from his bedroom. Jimmy Eat someone-or-something, I don't know, but he always brings their CD to the garage whenever we're working on something with Embry. He knows how much it annoys us."

"Not eighties hair metal?" she asks, meaning to be funny, however her voice sounds a little weaker than she expected. She can't hear anything coming from Quil's house, and she's still unused to everyone else around her who can apparently hear everything. It's a little disconcerting, knowing Jacob hears the nervous beat in her chest.

"Nah, that's all me." Jacob huffs and slaps his hand lightly against the steering wheel, his joke falling flat. "Whelp. Come on, then."

"We can't do it in there, Jake. What if Mrs. Ateara or Old Quil are in?"

"They're not," he says with certainty. Even still, he takes a few seconds to deliberate, his brow furrowing in thought. "But you're right. How about you get him out to the yard? I'll go round the back."

It's a better plan than tilting Quil's world on its axis out here on the street, so Leah says, "Okay," and takes the keys from Jacob, jumping out of the car before she has a chance to lose her nerve.

Chapter Text

(Leah)

The blaring music of Quil's favourite band doesn't lessen any until after a full minute of pounding her fist on his front door. It's what Leah calls Fuck Off And Leave Me Alone Music — the kind she herself played in the following months after Sam, if only for the mind-numbing beats which drowned out her family's unwelcome advice and drove away the rest of the world's sympathetic looks — and she takes it as a warning of what is to come.

After all, she reasons, if she were Quil then she'd be in a pretty foul mood too after what happened earlier.

The blaring music from inside quietens a fraction. Knowing she has been heard she knocks again, a little more politely this time, and then the music stops. And when the front door finally swings open, Quil's face swiftly morphs from a mix of anger, frustration and general unhappiness into pleasant, cheerful surprise.

"Leah!" His blinding grin splits his face. "You're alive!"

She can't help herself from smiling back at him. "Were you doubting me? Me?"

Quil's laughter rises as she fans her face with her free hand, a picture of arrogance as she leans against the doorframe and blinds him with her best smile.

"Can you blame me?" he asks lightly, barely recovered from his amusement. "I was getting kinda worried when you didn't call. Jake looked so mad that I thought I'd have to avenge you or something. . ." His voice trails off, his eyes having flickered over her shoulder, and Leah realises with a dull pang of dread that he's seen the infamous Rabbit parked behind her.

She didn't think to ask Jacob to park it down the street, out of sight, although she supposes that there's not much of a difference between Quil being angry with her now rather than in five minutes time. Less.

"Woah," he says, jaw dropping comically. "Did you kill him?"

"Not yet," she replies sweetly. Innocently. Jacob is eavesdropping, after all.

Quil blinks. "Shit. He's not tied up and gagged in the trunk, is he?"

It is her turn to laugh. The feeling sits foreign in her throat because she's not laughed for days and days — not properly, not without it being forced, not without feeling good and guilt-free about it. Her dad's not even been dead a week.

"Seriously," Quil protests, torn between chuckling and dark suspicion. "How did you get the Rabbit?"

"Borrowed it."

"Right. Sure you did."

Leah doesn't answer. Everything that Quil says will only force her to tell yet even more lies, so she simply keeps her smile and hopes with everything she has that he will one day forgive her for all she's said so far. "Can I come in?"

"Oh. Sure."

He steps aside, and she catches a glance of his casserole-stained shoes by the doormat. The sight almost makes her smile again until she remembers why she'd been picking glass out of his sneakers in the first place.

"Really," Quil insists from behind, "why'd you borrow his car? Did he let you?"

"Not exactly," she says, hating the way it sounds as if she's asking a question.

"You know that'll really piss him off, right? I mean, he wouldn't even let anyone help him work on it."

She shrugs as if to say, I don't care without having to actually say it, and another smile quickly splits Quil's round face.

"You're brilliant," he declares, shutting the door behind them.

"I think so," she agrees amiably — lying again, because she's anything but brilliant in this moment. It's nice that he thinks so, though. In another life, they might have been good friends. Maybe they could be still after she ruins his life. He's a sweet kid.

"What happened? Truthfully. Did you kick his ass?" Quil asks hopefully.

She bites her lip for show, thoughtful but wicked in a way she's mastered. "Well. I might have yelled at him a little bit," she says. That's not a lie.

"Awesome." He drags out the word, entirely impressed. "You want a congratulatory soda or something?" he asks, waving towards the kitchen. "We'll make a toast, start a club. Figure out a secret handshake. Maybe I'll even teach you the one we used to do when we were kids — that'll really piss him off."

"I was right. You do have a death wish."

"When did you say that?"

"I didn't. But I thought it," Leah tells him, and they both grin. "I actually wanted to talk to you, though. Can we . . . Can we go out in the yard? It's kinda nice out."

"Uh — sure, if you want."

Quil's confusion shows, but he follows regardless as she invites herself further into his house and finds her own way through the hall and into the kitchen, through the back door and out to the yard. It's not really nice out; it's a typical cloudy, cold Washington day in March, nowhere even close to the spring weather they're all waiting for, but at least it's dry. Open, too, with no chance of his house being demolished.

She sees Jacob standing in the middle of the yard straightaway. He gives her an imperceptible nod of understanding — solidarity, even — before shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts with a slightly grim expression.

"So what's up, Leah?" Quil asks before the thin, white weather-worn door has swung shut behind him with a snap.

And then he sees Jacob.

Everything about her would-be-friend tenses: his back instantly straightens and his mouth presses into one thin, angry line; his shoulders go rigid, his eyes harden, and for a few fraught seconds it looks as if he's forgotten how to breath. Impulse has Leah putting her hand on his chest, even if doing so is exactly what Jacob meant about not getting too close.

"It's okay, really, I asked him—"

"What the fuck, Leah?" Quil glares down at her, the betrayal in his expression like a knife in her side. "This some kind of ambush?"

He's not wrong, but she pushes her hand more forcefully against his chest and wills him to remain intact. "No. Please, just listen. Trust me."

"I do," he says immediately, without thought. The sentiment doesn't warm her like it should. "It's him I don't trust," Quil then spits, his chin jerking over her head and towards where Jacob stands to attention.

"Leah," Jacob says slowly, just loud enough that she can tell his voice is full of worried caution.

She ignores him, ignores the heat searing into her palm through Quil's shirt and the pounding rhythm of his heart against it, and she holds her ground. "Please. I need to tell you something, okay? And I need you to hear me out."

"So why's he here?" Quil all but growls from behind his teeth, his trembling fists curled into tight balls at his side.

"Because — because he can explain how you've been feeling better than I can, and—"

"Okay, that's enough," Jacob says, his voice closer now and on the cusp of full-blown panic. His strong, too-warm hands quickly set themselves on her shoulders, gently coaxing her away.

"I've got this," Leah snaps, whipping around, just at the same time Quil barks, "Get your hands off her!" and then she both hears and feels the rush of Quil's fist careering over her head and into his best friend's jaw.

Jake staggers back a few steps and Leah sags heavily into his chest as he pulls her with him, holding her with his arms which have now locked tightly around her waist. Her breath leaves her — not from his strength, but rather Quil's.

"You okay?" Jake asks immediately, already recovered as if he were merely pushed.

"Fine, Jake," she huffs, both her hands splayed over the forearms which keep her in place. But she doesn't push him off, not even as he straightens himself to his full height, lifting her with little effort and supporting all of her weight — high enough that the tips of her sneakers graze the grass.

Leah is by no means short, nor heavy, but these boys are huge. Jacob is closer to seven feet than he is six, and Quil is not far behind that.

Quil, who boils with rage and spits his aggravation throughout their exchange, but Jacob pays his friend no mind.

He sets Leah gently back on her feet, his fingers sliding down her waist and over her hips as he manoeuvres her whole body quickly and effortlessly behind him. His touch is firm yet gentle, insistent, either too strong or too focused (or both) to even feel her pathetic resistance to stay right where she can see Quil.

He doesn't speak until all she can see is the black shirt on his back. "Quil, man," he says, pleading, "I get it, I do, but you gotta calm down or someone's gonna get hurt."

"You think I'm going to hurt her?" snarls Quil, his anger sounding beyond anything Leah thinks they might be able to tame. "You're the one holding her back! It's you. You and your fucking friends, that's who she's scared of, not me!"

"Jake, move." Leah pushes, but Jacob only steps back, his fingers digging deeper into her skin as he puts even more distance between them and Quil. She huffs out her frustration. "No, move. Let me talk to him."

"See!" Quil insists angrily. "She doesn't want you!"

Leah can't read Jacob's face; she can't see what it is he struggles with during the terrible moment it takes for him to find his voice, but she can feel the strain he's under to keep his temper even. And she knows she should be scared, terrified as the day she saw Seth phase for the first time, except she refuses to give that terror even an inch of space. Because if she starts believing now that she will be hurt — that they will hurt her — then she will be ruined.

"We came here to help you," Jake eventually says instead of answering after a huge breath. "Will you just listen to us?"

"I've tried to talk to you for weeks, Jake! I've been shouting like a moron in the goddamn trees after following you, trying to get your attention, and you didn't care then!"

"I know," Jacob replies guiltily, "I know, but please—"

"And if you think I'm going to join you — if you think you can make me one of you," Quil ploughs on, trying for all his might to not stumble over his words through his rage, "then you've got another thing coming, because I won't. I don't care, I don't want it. Whatever it is you and Embry have got going on with Sam — I'm not — I won't be next!"

"That's why I'm here! You don't think I've wanted to tell you? If you'd let me—"

Leah pushes against Jacob's back again. "Stop it! Just shut up!" she screams, and — almost as if he'd forgotten she was there — Jacob's iron-tight hold on her relents in his surprise. It is just enough for her to pull away and dart underneath his arm and face Quil herself, who opens his mouth—

"Both of you!" she snaps. "Just listen."

Quil doesn't so much as flinch. He only crosses his arms that continue to quiver, tucking his fists tight into his armpits, and lets his teeth show. "I'm not listening to anything he has to say."

"Then don't. Talk to me, okay?" She reaches out, hands splayed in surrender — in peace — and pretends not to notice when she feels Jacob's heat curling around her shoulder again. "A minute, that's all I want. Can you give me that?"

He looks dangerously at the hand on her, his lip still curling, but eventually Quil meets her gaze again and nods stiffly. "One minute. Then he better take his hand off you, or I swear to God—"

"He's not hurting me. He's just . . . worried."

"Because of me?"

"Because of me, actually," she says, smiling tightly when Quil frowns. "Apparently I'm not very good at listening either."

"Did he tell you that?" Quil demands.

"No! Jeez. It's not —" She sighs loudly before looking over at him again, and Jacob's fingers press into her collarbone as if he knows that she wants to move closer to Quil. "It doesn't matter. He came with me because I need to tell you something, and you're not going to believe me and you're going to get mad, but I couldn't lie anymore—"

Quil's hands slip from his armpits before he quickly clamps down on them again. "You lied? When?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do. It's not my secret. I couldn't—"

"You're in on it, aren't you?" Pained realisation crosses his face, just as bad as it was when he dropped the casserole over her doorstep and turned away from her. "I . . . You? They let you into their secret? Sam?"

"No! He wasn't going to tell me. Nobody was going to tell me," she protests, unable to help but think back to when Sam had stood in her bedroom, and then when she'd pushed and pushed Jacob for details in her kitchen — twice. "I wasn't supposed to know. Believe me, I'd given up wanting to know what had happened to Sam, and then Seth . . . That day, when my dad . . ." She shakes her head. "Seth couldn't help it. He . . . phased." The word feels strange on her tongue still. "That's what they call it. When they turn into — into wolves."

Quil simply stares. And then he says, voice flat, "You're crazy."

Leah rakes her fingers through her hair, tugging on it at the back of her neck in frustration.

"Quil, she's not —" Jacob starts, and then promptly gags. "You're a — Leah," he gasps painfully, a hand clawing at his throat. "I can't."

"The legends," she blurts, jerked into action by Jacob's suffering. She feels a dull ache in her chest, affected by it, and knows deep-down that it is more than sympathy. "Those stories your grandpa tells, the blind faith he has in Sam, all those secrets. The legends are real, Quil. The Cold Ones, the wolves — Yut — Utlapa and Taha Aki. All of them."

Quil's cold stare breaks into a laugh, a hard and scornful sound which cuts to the bone. "Yeah, right."

"They are! The spirit wolves — that's you. It will be you. Jacob's one, too, and Embry and Seth and Sam and—"

"You're crazy!" he repeats with a yell. "Everyone — everyone talks about what a bitch you've turned into but I thought . . . and I . . . I trusted you about this!"

Tears pool in her eyes, Quil's words settling deep within her. And Jacob growls his warning, but his friend doesn't stop.

"I thought you believed me. I thought you liked me! And now you've just — you — how can you . . . Fuck!"

On that last word, several things happen very, very quickly: Jacob's shout of warning has her heart leaping as Quil finally loses whatever shred of control he's managed to hold onto thus far and cries out; it's a strangled, awful sound which horribly mangles his face, which has her stomach dropping but her hands reaching for him—

—just as Jacob flings his arms out, shoving her with bruising force. Pain radiates across her back, her shoulders, her elbows as she collides with the ground—

—and suddenly a whirl of colour explodes in her vision against the lush green, scraps of fabric floating around it and towards the ground—

—but Jacob — for all he's done to keep her out of the way, he doesn't move. He just stands there on two feet, his arms wide as he braces himself against the oncoming wolf whose snarl drowns the sound of her scream out.

She screams and screams, struggling to push herself up on the grass as the chocolate brown wolf — Quil — throws himself into Jacob, who rebuffs him with an inhuman, deafening roar. And she swears she sees the lines of Jake's body blur out of shape for a second before he coalesces back into himself, every inch of him trembling as he defends himself. Defends her.

Quil scrabbles on the grass, finding his feet again in only an instant before crouching low with an earth-shattering snarl, ears flat against his head. But he's so huge that Leah can see how unsteady his legs are, can see the tremors along his tangled fur and the way his massive eyes dart around the scene before him uneasily, and she realises with a strange sense of hysteria that Quil . . .

He's not trying to kill them. He's scared.

This is what Seth must have looked like.

It is that thought which somehow has her managing to stand. It feels like every part of her is bruised, maybe even cracked in parts, broken and crying in pain, but she manages. Somehow.

Jake and Quil move towards her at the same time as if to help, but it is only the first who reaches her. Quil stops short, remembering himself, and a low, unending whine escapes through his sharp teeth before he whirls on himself and runs. If she'd blinked, she would have missed it.

Sweaty hands are at her cheeks, her jaw, her neck, her shoulders. Shaking. Touching her, turning her.

"I'm okay," she breathes before she dares look into Jacob's eyes and see the panic there. It is worse — worse feeling it from him than as if the panic were her own. She can feel it alongside his anxiety and his shame, the inexplicable need to be here together. But she pulls away from it, her bones groaning, because — "Quil."

Another whine comes from deep within the trees. Mournful.

"Quil," she says again. "Help Quil."

"You're hurt — I hurt you—"

"Jake. He needs you. This is —" She sucks in a painful breath, flinching as Jacob folds her into his embrace without warning. She wants to say, This is why you are here, help him, go now, please, but words fail her. She can only lift her arms up.

"I can't," he moans, the stammer still there. "The others — they'll find him, hear him. I can't leave. I can't phase."

"I'm okay," she says again as Jacob drops his head and starts mumbling a litany of apologies into her hair, because it's true. She is hurt and tired but . . . whole. Okay. Alive. "Go on."

It takes a minute, or an hour. She's not sure for how long it is exactly that she has to reassure Jacob she will live, that he has to go, but eventually he nods. It is not without shame or fear, not with any certainty that they have truly helped Quil instead of making things worse, but finally he understands.

And he leaves. He follows the trail of destruction his best friend has left where the trees meet the grass, his head bowed, and he does not turn back.

She is glad. Glad that Jacob does not see her picking up Quil's shredded clothes, piece by piece, fighting her tears.

Chapter Text

(Jacob)

A thousand years of instinct gifted from Taha Aki himself tells Jacob he should not leave Leah.

He goes anyway.

Every step is painful. And by the time he is within the cover of the trees, out of her sight, he is all but crawling over the deep track marks Quil has left behind. It is only because Leah has told him to go that he's managed this far, but knowing that she is hurt and in pain — by his hand, no less — has the wolf inside yowling to go back to her, to get on his knees and beg her forgiveness.

And Leah would — she would forgive him for what has just happened. Already she has been affected by the imprint. Is being affected by the imprint. Jacob is as certain of this as his hands are when they build engines, when they replace the timing belt in the Rabbit. It would take a man stripped of all his senses to not notice the difference in her.

As if it's not bad enough that his whole life has been upended by the imprint, has to be ruled by it, but for Leah . . .

Maybe she'll find herself easily forgiving him for pushing her, bruising her . . . (Shit, Emily has forgiven Sam for worse.) But once Leah finds out why that is, why it is that she can't blame Jacob for what he did . . . She won't forgive him for changing her. That's something else entirely.

She's something else entirely.

Different from Emily and Kim. Everyone who knows them is entirely aware that Kim worships the ground Jared walks upon, while Emily would walk through fire and earn new scars without hesitation if it meant she could spend one more day with Sam. They have both accepted their fate. Welcomed it, even.

Leah, however.

No. Jacob can't even comprehend telling her. Not yet. Not ever. If the imprint means that he now solely exists to protect her from harm, if it means that he will always do right by her, then he cannot tell her. He won't.

Jacob sinks closer to the ground. He doesn't move again. Even the sound of Quil howling half a mile away fails to stir his wolf, not when it knows that Leah is closer.

(He decides there and then, sprawled face down in the dirt, that he will never roll his eyes at Sam and the Alpha's dramatics ever again.)

Less than a few days ago he was dancing along a dangerous line, that point of no return. Now he's blown right past it, leaving it for dust. He tries to think about when exactly that happened: was it when he'd held her whilst she cried, or was it watching helplessly as someone else wrapped his arms around her?

Perhaps it was her screaming half an hour ago. Not because she was scared of Quil or because she'd been hurt, but because she believed he was going to be. Even if Leah hadn't understood it, even if she hadn't figured it out yet, the fear she'd felt had been for him. For the soulmate she didn't know existed.

It might even have been Jacob wrapping his arms around her after Quil's first disastrous phase, pulling her close if only because he knew that following his newest brother meant that the world was going to learn the truth. That Sam is going to learn the truth. That Sam is going to kill him.

It's pure luck, not skill, that Sam hasn't found out so far. That Seth hadn't found out. The kid had been too wrapped up in learning everything, seeing everything for the first time to pick up on a thing. Dumb luck — that's what it was. Jacob knows he won't get away with it again; he's not strong enough, not clever enough. The moment he phases, they're all going to know.

He's so tired of fighting it. So tired.

And so it's almost a welcome relief when Sam's sudden piercing howl stretches for miles and miles. Almost. Except . . . it's a summons — an order. The kind that will leave Sam with a throbbing headache for an hour afterwards, what with the effort it takes to demand such things from somebody who was not born to follow. Sam's order is for him, and for him alone. He is calling for him. Jake can feel it in every fibre of his being as the fire begins to burn inside of him without permission, the fire an Alpha can invoke if they so wish it.

Does Sam know?

The idea terrifies Jacob. This is exactly what he has been trying to avoid. He wants to do this on his own terms. But in avoiding Sam and the pack, especially now that Quil has finally joined them, it's obvious that his efforts haven't gone unnoticed. He's called attention to himself like a fucking homing beacon.

Sam howls again. Orders again.

And when a chorus of low howls fill the air in response, Jacob's is the loudest of them all.

He stretches his massive paws out, the fire still raging in the pit of his stomach from being forced to phase. There are several reasons Jacob hates Sam, and this is one of them: Sam leaves his brothers very little room to make their own choices, to remember their freewill. Jacob would have quite easily laid in the dirt for another hour had he been given the chance.

By all means, Sam begins, the tone of his mental voice clanging through Jacob's head, if you think you can do better, Jacob, you are free to make that choice.

The suggestion settles heavily over the pack's shared mind, and the wolves hold their breath.

Jacob merely snorts, his breath visible before him. The day he becomes an Alpha is the day that hell freezes, the day the world spins west. And they all know it — but still, sometimes, his brothers tense. They scent the challenge in the air and they wait to see if the gauntlet will be collected.

Do you think you can do better, Jacob? Sam asks. His thoughts are laced with a quiet, simmering rage as he furiously stalks the banks of Hoko River, flanked by Jared and Paul who were on patrol when Quil phased. They are closer to Neah Bay than they are La Push — and, Jacob thinks, deep enough into their territory that Sam can risk decimating the forest around him should that rage boil over.

It is an effort for Jacob to hold his position and not rise to the challenge. It would take less than ten minutes to meet Sam head-on, and even far less than that to be rebuffed by the wolves who would come between them in defence of their Alpha.

Jake holds firm, because he suddenly realises exactly what Sam's anger is about: Quil. Not Leah.

(He clamps down on that thought as quickly as it comes.)

Quil. And now Sam is looking for a fight, feeling the sudden need to battle his most difficult brother into submission.

Jacob bristles.

Quil deserved to know, he shoots back by way of an answer. And, sure enough, as if in response, Quil's fearful train of thought is heard, the feeling behind it snaking along Jacob's spine. Embry is with him, the first to reach the edges of the reservation before their friend had managed to cross the boundary line. But Jacob doesn't dare acknowledge them — not yet. Just as they do not dare acknowledge him.

Sam snarls from the river. Jacob doesn't hear it, but he can feel it — he feels it within his chest as if the emotion is his own. That was not your call to make.

I didn't make the call.

You didn't stop her, Sam snarls back, picking through Jacob's memories now that they have risen to the surface and are on display for the whole pack. Exactly as Sam wanted. And the Alpha is not alone as he watches the scenes play out: Leah making her decision, Jacob following, the drive over to Quil's—

Quil rearing back, Jacob's panic, Leah falling, screaming, yelling—

Every single one of Jacob's brothers cower as Sam's snarl reverberates through both their minds and the forest around them, feeling it as if they are all at their Alpha's side rather than miles away. Embry, Quil, Jared, Paul. Only Seth is unaware, still in his bedroom and safely asleep for all they know.

You hurt her.

Jacob pushes the crippling guilt away and stands tall. Nobody can see him, but that does not matter. I protected her.

What right do you have—

Then Sam sees it. Hears it. Everything. Every thought, memory, and feeling of Jacob's which has been encouraged by that half sentence. There is no use in fighting in, no point in trying to deny it any longer. Jacob cannot lie. He does not want to lie.

So he opens himself up the pack completely, and he does not hold back.

Against the onslaught, he focuses on one memory in particular. The most important one. The one which has plagued him since the day he brought Seth home.

Leah leaps from her seat, her heat thundering a dangerous rhythm. 'I've heard just about everything now.'

'It's true. It happened to Jared, too, and . . . Well, trust me. I've felt—' He can't say it, won't say it. 'I've seen it. You just know.'

'Nope, I changed my mind. That, right there — that is the most disgusting thing I've ever heard,' she rages, and he has to lower his eyes so that he doesn't have to watch the angry colour pool in her cheeks — if only because the beast inside of him wants to watch, wants to bask in the heat of her fire and claim it for its own. Mine, mine, mine—

Sam snarls without end, his mind beyond coherent thought. The tether which ties him to Jacob is strung tight, fraying at either end. It has always been at breaking point between them, their connection fragile, but for the first time Jacob truly thinks it might snap.

He knows the pack would think the same, if they were able. They are frozen in their shock, unable to do nothing except watch through Paul and Jared's eyes as Sam's knees buckle, as the shock threatens to paralyse one of the strongest in their pack. They have been sucked into Sam's trance, a deep whirlpool of agony and fury and panic and sadness.

!

Silent shock. Unfocused confusion, jealousy, outrage.

!

Their Alpha's heart is a thundering mess of being in love with Emily but still loving Leah; of craving Emily to the point of pain every second of every day even though he still misses Leah, too.

When they recover, their thoughts start moving together at the same time Sam's paws move. He is hellbent on closing the distance between him and his new enemy with impossible speed, and Jared and Paul barely remember themselves in time to keep up with him.

Leah!

Leah?

Leah.

Embry shakes himself free of the vicious loop. Jake. Run, man!

Why should I?! This isn't my fault! I couldn't — Sam, he thinks, pushing everything he has to break through his Alpha's unbroken determination to kill kill kill. He only has a few minutes left. I tried to stay away, you know I did. I didn't want this.

If you die, can I have the Rabbit?

Shut up, Embry.

Jeez, do you ever take anything seriously?

Sam, listen to him.

I didn't choose this! Jacob continues over them.

Dude. How long were you going to keep this a secret from us?

He was never going to tell us!

Seth's gonna freak.

Jake's not even going to tell her. Are you?

Nobody's going to tell her, Jacob growls.

Paul growls from beside Jared, both of them chasing Sam's tail. Nice to know imprinting hasn't made you any less selfish, asshole. It's the leech-lover all over again.

I told Kim after six hours. I couldn't do it.

Nobody cares about you and Kim.

Sam doesn't say a word throughout.

And then there is Quil, quiet and overwhelmed by his different body and the excruciating pain of so many different emotions which do not belong solely to him — and yet still he manages to feel concern. To feel crippled by his guilt for the harsh words he had thrown at Leah.

I'm sorry, he whispers, only now making sense of every single one of Jacob's actions up until this point.

Me, too, Jacob replies.

He does the only thing he can. He braces himself, digging his claws deep into the ground, muscles locking into place, and waits. He was never going to be able to do this on his own terms. He knows now, as he always has, deep down, that this was a battle he was always going to lose. This isn't something he could have escaped forever.

But it's not Leah who he wanted to escape. It's not the imprint. It's Sam. Always Sam. Because fighting Sam . . .

This fight is what Jacob has been trying to escape ever since he phased for the very first time. Ever since that day Sam had beat his ass into next week until his need to dominate, to lead, had been very nearly extinguished. But Sam would never be able to expel it completely, no matter what he did, because Jacob's refusal to become Alpha did not take away from the fact that he had been born for it.

Sam hears all of this, of course.

It does not stop him. It has never stopped him before.

Quil's overriding sense of guilt is the last thing Jacob feels before Sam takes aim and bursts through the trees.

Chapter Text

(Leah)

Leah doesn't see Jacob the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that.

It's not that she expected . . . Well, okay, perhaps that was a stretch. She did expect. Perhaps not immediately, but, even if he only ended up making a flying visit to reclaim his beloved car, Leah had honestly thought she'd see him soon.

But he hadn't visited. And the Rabbit was still there, four days later.

She tried not to look at it too much. Its polished, red gleam in the sunlight of Washington's early spring had her feeling like it was taunting her whenever she looked out of the window and saw it in the same place she'd parked it, tucked neatly at the bottom of her driveway. And as the days passed, it only served as a constant reminder that maybe, just maybe she had not been right in wanting to tell Quil the truth. Not when he'd only split his skin so soon afterwards anyway.

But she had been right about one thing, at least. Quil was never going to forgive her. What he had said . . .

She'd sat in the car for a long time afterwards, outside of Quil's house, her head against the steering wheel and tears falling from her face. Only the sudden panic that his mother, Joy — or worse, his grandfather — would soon arrive and find her there in such a state had forced her to find the courage and the strength to gather her wits and make the drive home.

An hour later, her face dry and her shoulders straight, Leah had let herself in, tired and defeated. Drained. Worried, even, because she had convinced herself that she was going to be met by Seth's accusing gaze (she'd already played out the conversation in her head) . . . but he was nowhere to be found, and, when she looked in on her mom, Sue was still in her bedroom and bundled in that dressing gown, staring up at the ceiling with no indication that she was really taking in the world around her. Who knew if she'd even absorbed a thing Billy had had to say to her.

After a while of sitting on the edge of her mom's bed, Leah had then spent some time fumbling around looking for the charger to her cell. She'd waited for the screen to brighten with a feeling of dread, but the only messages which appeared a few minutes later were the ones left from Sam — and one from Jacob. Voice messages left when Quil had disconnected the phone line.

She didn't listen to them. She hadn't wanted to hear either of their voices, fearing one particularly more than the other. Instead, she'd absently flicked through her texts, hovering back and forth over two most recent names in particular and wondering which of them it would be to answer first.

Rachel or Rebecca?

The two of them were so busy now, but they had always known what to say, how to deal with their friend's unforgiving temper. They would have known what to do about Sam, how to rid him from her life once and for all.

Rachel would have snorted. She would have told Leah to go and hit something but then distract her so effortlessly that she would forget what it was or who it was she wanted to hit in the first place. And Rebecca would offer sage advice and calm her down by trying to talk it through with her. Because Rebecca was the ice to Rachel's flame, and Rachel the hurricane to Rebecca's calm waters. They were two sides of the same coin, Leah's beloved twins.

No. Not anymore. Not hers.

Leah had snapped her cell shut and tossed it to the side then, suddenly angry.

There was no-one. She had no-one.

And she had nobody but herself to blame.

➰

On Saturday, Leah finally decides that she can no longer stomach looking at the red car. It's now been five days since she's seen or spoken to anyone except her mom and Seth, and Seth is out of the house more than he's in it. Leah is sick of being alone, of having nobody to talk to.

Or, at least, having nobody talk back to her. One sided conversations can only go on for so long, even with her mother. And talking to herself has gotten Leah nowhere yet.

It's not that Sue isn't trying — because she is. The woman gets dressed in the morning; she eats whatever Leah puts in front of her, she drinks; she breathes, blinks; she moves about the house with slow but renewed purpose, and yesterday she was even brave enough to wander into the yard and look at the array of flowers Harry planted two summers ago.

She hasn't cried yet — at least, not that she has allowed anyone to see — and Leah isn't sure whether her mom coming back to her senses is down to Billy or the woman's own determination, or maybe even both, but it's something. It's going in the right direction. And Leah feels hopeful enough about this progress that, even though Seth isn't home to keep an eye on things, she has enough confidence to pluck Jacob's keys off the hook and escape for a while.

She has to do something. Needs to see the sun peeking out from behind the clouds, to feel the rain, to make herself move. Anything except any more crying of her own, else she'll go mad. Not one person has come to visit or has even called the phone since Billy's shameless intervention. Not even Charlie. The Clearwater house has never been so quiet.

Leah sits on the edge of the Rabbit's front seat and stretches her legs to the pedals. It's an uncomfortable drive with the modifications Jacob has made to it in order to accommodate his hulking frame, but she'll never admit it to him; she knows he'll never hand over the keys so easily again if she complains or insults the damn thing.

He's weird like that.

But who has managed to seem even weirder (if she can believe it, because Jacob has been super weird as of late) is Charlie. He was Harry's best friend as much as Billy.

As she drives, Leah reasons why. It's not as if Bella is dead, is it? Everyone would have heard by now, one way or another. Right? News like that spreads like wildfire, especially across a small reservation. Either the selfish bitch is still missing (because that's what she is, for what she has done, and Leah has no problem with calling her such. It takes one to know one, after all), or she's brought a shit heap of trouble back with her which has kept everyone away.

Or maybe, Leah thinks, she's just over analyzing everything. Death makes everyone uncomfortable. Maybe the tribe (and Charlie) just want to give her family space and get their own heads around what has happened. Who they have lost. They've paid their respects, left their casseroles and their lasagnes, their stews and their condolences, and that's that.

Except — no. That's not who the Quileutes are. It's not who Charlie is. Leah has known them all her whole life. She knows Jacob, his father. Quil. She knows Sam. Sam, who had barely left her alone in those first few days. And Jacob, who she'd seen every day after that.

Fucking Jacob Black.

Leah yanks on the handbrake with a little more force than necessary and jumps out of the driver's seat. She's parked a little haphazardly, but he deserves it. It's just unfortunate that he's not the one who sees it first.

"I wondered where that blasted car was," Billy calls out by way of a greeting as he rolls out onto the ramp which stretches up to his front door. Then he shakes his head, smiling to himself. For a moment, he looks more like the man Leah knew as a child. "I should have known, really."

She holds up the keys for show as if to say, Guilty. They dangle precariously from her middle finger by the leather cord Jacob keeps them bound to. She presumes one of them will open the garage, but she's too much of a coward to ask if she should open it up and park there instead. The outbuilding is Jacob's sanctuary. His church. It would probably go up in flames if she walked inside.

Realisation sinks in, then. Her hand closes around the keys in a kind of strange, protective way, and they dig into her palm just as sharply as Billy's admission hits. She frowns belatedly. "You didn't know?"

Billy shrugs. "Don't know much of anything these days, kiddo," he says, and he seems resigned about it. "How's your mom doing? I would have come over, but it's getting harder to push myself up that hill without help."

Could have called, Leah thinks, but instead she says, "She's fine. I thought we would have seen Charlie by now, though," because she has never been one to beat around the bush.

Neither is Billy. His worn face creases a fraction further, no traces left of his youthful smile. "That would be because of Bella, I would think. She turned up not too long ago."

It is an effort for Leah to not twist her lips with annoyance. Jacob's explanation of disappearing on her now that Bella is back shouldn't have really come as a surprise. "When?"

"Day after Quil phased. Charlie let me know that she was back, but I haven't heard from him since. I'd imagine he's been wanting to keep a close eye on her," Billy replies. He does not hide his own disapproval, and it secretly pleases Leah that there is another person in the world who objects to Bella's hold over Jacob as strongly as she does — perhaps even more so. "Not that it's stopped her calling here. Twice a day, sometimes. She's quite insistent."

Leah scoffs nastily.

Billy's thick brows shoot to the heavens. "You know, huh? How much did Jake tell you?"

"Enough," she says. She'd already seen with her own eyes during Christmas dinner to figure out the basics. "Italy, right?"

Billy nods, and Leah thinks she can see something close to suspicion rising in his eyes as they consider one another. She doesn't say anything to defend herself, lest the man thinks she's jealous or something equally as crazy. Because she's not. Jacob is her friend; he has proven himself as much and he has earned her loyalty — so she is not about to stand by and watch him be treated like a complete fool. Least of all by Bella fucking Swan, who has so clearly toyed with his feelings for months and months.

"And she's back with the —" ('vampire' hangs on Leah's lips, but the word still seems too outlandish to say. She's only just about gotten used to swallowing around the sound of 'werewolf') "—that Cullen kid."

"So Charlie said."

"Good for her," Leah says without any kindness. Although if compared to what she really wants to say ("Her funeral, I guess"), her words are actually kind.

Billy makes no effort to conceal his smirk. "Always liked you, kiddo. You want to come in?"

"Liar," she snorts, thinking of all the times she's gotten Rach and Beck into trouble, but she follows his chair inside anyway.

She's not been inside the Black's one-storey home since Christmas. She spent so many years here as a kid, Sarah watching over all of them whilst the other parents were at work (or in Billy and Harry's case, fishing), and she finds comfort in that it never changes. It's almost like she's stepped back into her childhood.

That's probably why the twins hate it so much.

"Jacob home?"

"No. He's been, uh—" Billy reaches over for the television remote, resuming what Leah suspects he had been doing when he'd heard the car pull up "—busy, y'know, what with Quil's boy finally joining them all. Out all day, out all night. You know the score."

Unfortunately, she does. Seth has been around far less than she would like. Far less than she swore to herself she was ever going to allow. But Billy doesn't sound too concerned about it, and Leah once again reasons to herself that surely she would have been told by now if something was really wrong.

Perhaps she has been over analyzing the whole thing after all.

Perhaps.

Leah looks around for a brief moment, and her eyes catch the open pizza box on the kitchen table not too far away. Grease still clings to the inside of the cardboard. Honestly.

"You should have called," she says in the best imitation of her mother's admonishing tone — and not just because her own house has been quiet and she feels like her family has been forgotten, but because the whole Rez knows that Billy relies on Jacob for a lot more than just the extra money he earns from fixing cars up in his spare time. "We have better leftovers."

"If I hadn't thrown it all away, I would still have leftovers from seven years ago," Billy mutters, angling his chair towards the old sofa with the remote upon his lap. Leah is aware that this is a conversation her mother has had with him — and had, with her father — too many times. Harry had a congenital heart disease; Billy has diabetes. One had a wife to lecture him, the other doesn't.

For that reason, she asks, "What else have you eaten?"

Billy doesn't look away from the screen, not even as he braces his arms against the couch and hoists himself onto it with impressive strength, but Leah has a feeling he's rolling his eyes at her. "Now you really sound like your mother."

"Good," Leah says. "Someone needs to."

A huff is all she gets as a reply, so she sticks her tongue out at the back of Billy's head and continues her survey of the house.

Well. It's not as if she has never needed an invitation to do exactly as she likes before, so Leah rolls up the sleeves of her sweater, and she gets to work.

It's no real hardship to spend the rest of the morning picking up laundry, and, unbelievably, candy wrappers from around the house. She avoids the bedrooms with determination, but she dutifully straightens out the bathroom and the living room; she wipes down the kitchen; she washes the only two dirty plates in the sink, shoves all the disgusting takeout boxes in the trash, and she offers to drown Billy in a few gallons of water (for hydration, of course), ignoring his grumbling all the while.

It makes her feel useful, even if she did only start to work out her frustrations. Besides, it's not anything she hasn't been doing at home — shit, all she's done for the past week is clean and tidy and clean some more. But for all her own grumblings and her fraying nerves, she has been raised better than to leave the Chief rolling about in his own filth.

Leah even chances her luck at asking if he wants something to eat. He refuses, if only because he quite rightly knows that she will put something green and leafy on his plate. It's not as if there is anything green and leafy in the house (she's checked), but all the same: he doesn't trust her sudden generosity or the interest in his appetite. And the Littlesea's store is only just down the road.

(Billy might not be her father's favourite best friend, but the stubborn old goat has always been the smartest of the two.)

"I've been doing fine, thank you very much," he says tartly.

"Tell that to your feet," she mutters, quiet enough that he won't hear. Billy might indeed be a stubborn ass, but he's still the Chief. So Leah holds her tongue from saying anything further.

When she calls home, but she doesn't expect anyone to answer. They don't. She's just about to walk away from the phone to load up a second pile of laundry when it rings.

She picks up without thinking. "Black residence."

The line is quiet for a moment, and then a soft, almost simpering voice (which, honestly, Leah has always found rather irritating whenever she's heard it before) says, "Oh. Hello. Is Jacob there, please?"

Leah looks at Billy staring back at her over his shoulder, and somehow she manages not to roll her eyes. "Hi, Bella. No, he's not here at the moment."

Another pause. "Sorry," Selfish Bitch says, caught off guard by the familiarity she's been addressed with. Leah smirks wickedly. "Who am I speaking to?"

"Leah Clearwater."

"Leah," the other girl says, and Leah can hear the dip of sympathy at the end of her name. A breath of sadness, a little uncomfortable, awkward.

Here, she thinks, is the part where she is about to be offered some words which are meant to be comforting. As if Bella knows what kind of man Harry Clearwater was after having lived in Washington for all of five minutes.

The thought enrages Leah until she's blind. She does not need Bella Swan's condolences. "He's not here at the moment," she says again before the girl can offer anything of the sort. And then, with as much ice as she can muster, Leah adds, "I'd suggest that you wait for him to call you."

Bella's gulp is audible even over the phone. "Oh. Okay. I, uh . . . Will you . . . Would it be okay if you'd let him know, please?" she asks, her silly voice wavering.

"Let him know what?"

"That — that I called."

"Why? So you can torture him some more?" The vicious words are out of her before Leah can stop herself. "No, I don't think so. Leave him alone, Bella."

It is only out of respect for Billy that Leah does not slam the phone back into its cradle.

"That's one way to do it," the man chortles from his spot, already turning back to watching his reruns of the same highlights over and over on SportsCentre. The noise of the programme fills the small space as it has all morning, familiar and comforting; it's exactly what her dad used to watch on weekends when he hadn't been out on the boat.

"You can speak to her again this evening, if you want," Billy adds, still humoured.

Not if she can help it. Leah has no intention of speaking to Bella Swan again in this lifetime. "Maybe Jacob should just speak to her himself."

Billy's responding hum is extremely noncommittal. And that she is so annoyed by it only aggravates the hell out of Leah even more. So much so that she can't help demand, "What? You don't think he will?"

"Why should he? I mean, it's not like . . . I don't think he really cares what that girl does anymore."

Leah is only slightly heartened. "What does he care about?"

Billy leans forward, solely focused on the screen again. Over his shoulder, Leah spares it a glance and recognises a familiar logo. "They've announced the Draft for next month — look!" he says. "I've been waiting for this all day."

Overcome with a horrible urge to ball up the freshly laundered shirt in her hands and throw it at her Chief's head, Leah has to count to fourteen and a half before it passes.

He watched that announcement an hour ago. Anyone would think that Billy just doesn't want to answer her questions.

Stubborn old goat.

After that, Leah only manages to stick it out for another hour. Eventually she looks at the clock and concedes defeat; it is well past mid-afternoon and there has still been no sign of Jacob — or anyone else, for that matter; do people honestly not care? — so she finally calls it a day and heads home. The NFL Draft is all Billy suddenly wants to talk about, anyway.

(That is, until he himself has his own realisation that she is about to leave and probably starts planning to order his next pizza.)

"I'll come back tomorrow," she says, and hopes it sounds more like a threat than anything else. "With all the casseroles I can carry."

Without warning, Billy snatches the keys off the coffee table and throws them at her. Leah only just manages to snap her hand out in time to catch the familiar leather cord she'd handed over earlier. "Take that wretched car," he says.

And rather bizarrely, she doesn't protest. Not even though it means another uncomfortable drive or that she will have to stare at it for yet another day.

Huh.

"Drink some water," she calls on her way out.

She has a funny feeling that this time it is Billy who sticks his tongue out at her back.

Stubborn old goat.

➰

Sue is in the yard, staring at the flowers again when Leah finds her.

She sits cross-legged next to her mom on the grass and rambles about her morning, as she always does to fill this dreaded silence. It's usually done in the quiet of her parents' bedroom, perching awkwardly on the end of their bed while Sue stares up at the cracks in the ceiling, but Leah reminds herself: progress. Hell, her mom's even put on clothes which match today.

She talks about Seth, mainly, and a little bit about Billy. How she's going to feed him up with all the food they have in their fridge, that maybe she'll throw him some fruit and vegetables before getting him into a hospital for a check-up even if he yells at her. And when she finally has nothing more to say, she pushes herself to her feet.

Except Sue grabs her hand and looks up at her with shining eyes, and Leah's heart skips two beats.

"He —" Sue swallows thickly, her voice hoarse from lack of use. A lone tear escapes her left eye. "He likes your dad's fish fry. I could . . . I know the recipe."

Leah feels herself blink stupidly at her mother. Once. Twice.

She wants to protest that the whole point of offloading the casseroles and lasagnes is so that Billy doesn't end up the same way as her father, but the shock that her mom has finally spoken in nine days has Leah saying something else. "We don't have any fish in the freezer."

Disappointment visibly crushes her mother. It's like nothing else, and Leah scrambles to stop it in its wake.

"Charlie," she blurts. "Charlie will have some. I know it. Wait. I'll call him. Wait."

Sue's smile is shaky. The hope within it has Leah begging to herself, Please, please, as she all but dives through the back door and into the kitchen, please, let Charlie answer the goddamn phone.

He does, thank God.

"I'm sorry I haven't been over to see you all, kiddo," he starts quickly, immediately launching into apologies Leah does not care for. "Things have been — well, there's no excuse."

"It's okay, really."

"No, it's not. How is your mom holding up?"

"Uhm. Better. I think. Actually, the reason I called is because she's talking about fish fry. And we don't — there's none in the freezer," Leah warbles, almost manically. She doesn't care if she sounds desperate or rude or both. "I was wondering if you did. I know it only lasts a couple months, but Dad taught me to fish a bit — he needed a fishing buddy when you started going to California for those two weeks every summer, see, so I can replace it. It's just — this seems really important to Mom—"

"Woah, sweetheart, slow down." And damn if Leah doesn't want to cry at the gentleness in his voice, because he sounds exactly like Harry when— "Of course you can, whatever you want. It's yours."

Her eyes burn as she clutches the phone to her ear with both hands. "Really?"

"Yes," Charlie insists. "You'll have to come and get it, though." He sounds apologetic about that, but Leah does not give a shit. She will run miles if she has to. "Is that okay?"

"I'll be right over. If now's a good time, I mean."

"Then I'll see you in a bit, kiddo," Charlie says, and Leah can hear the smile in his voice.

➰

Later, she thinks she probably should have told him that he's always been her favourite — but he would only have snitched on her to Billy anyway.

Chapter Text

(Leah)

Leah has always considered Charlie Swan as good as family, and she has no doubt that many more people on the Rez think exactly the same. Granted, Charlie might not have exactly seen eye to eye with Billy on a lot of things over the years (they fight like brothers, for God's sake, especially when their kids are involved), and maybe he has never been invited to their bonfires. Maybe there will always be things that they will disagree upon, and perhaps he won't ever understand certain traditions the tribe hold — but that's exactly what he is to them all anyway. Family.

Besides, it's not as if there are any other pale-faces who are a permanent fixture on the reservation. Charlie has spent every major holiday and family celebration in La Push for the last eighteen years. Birthdays, weddings, funerals — he always shows up for them. Every single time.

So maybe that's why Leah feels a little guilty as she soars down the one-ten towards him: his blue blood would absolutely kick her ass for speeding.

Shit. He'd not only kick her ass for speeding, but he'd probably find some way to ticket her for all the modifications Jacob has made to this damn car — family or not. Having to hang a little perilously off the edge of his driver's seat just so she is able to reach the pedals doesn't exactly scream safe. Charlie is a man of the law. He's still hellbent on nailing Sam for starting up a dangerous cult of Natives, no thanks to Bella.

Leah is imagining herself being arrested and hauled down to the station along with the rest of them — maybe, if she's lucky, they'll stick her in the same cell as her brother so she can finally spend some time with him — when suddenly her piercing scream erupts from within the car.

She throws all her weight down onto the brakes and the Rabbit jerks violently underneath her, its tyres squealing painfully in protest as she grips the steering wheel, her white knuckles in a desperate bid to keep it steady. A blinding surge of panic rises. She can't breath. And — and —

— the world comes to a grinding halt. There is a moment wherein her vision whites out in crippling relief, just as Embry Call's voice rings out across the empty highway.

"See! Told you she'd stop!" he yells cheerfully. "You owe me ten bucks!"

Leah slumps in the seat, her breath coming hard and fast. Just off the side of La Push Road, she can see Quil looking at the scene as if his stomach has dropped right out of his ass. She could swear his legs wobble — in relief? — but perhaps that's just her vision still.

Embry laughs at his friend (or at her, she's not sure, but either way he is clearly unfazed that the Rabbit's gleaming red hood is only a few mere inches away from his legs — that, if she had been a second too late, he would be roadkill right now) and Leah screams again. She lashes out at the steering wheel, beating it with the palm of her hands, ignoring the sparks of pain which flash through her left wrist.

"The fuck, Embry!"

As if the words are a summons, Embry lopes over to the driver's side with that triumphant, shit-eating grin still stretching over his broad features and leans down, his arm arm braced against the roof of the car as he all but sticks his head through the open window.

He clears his throat, announcing himself. "Licence and registration, please, ma'am."

"The fuck are you doing!" she yells over him. "I could have killed you!"

"Nah," he says, beaming still. "Wouldn't have even broken a bone. Might have hurt the Rabbit a bit, though — you would have wrapped around me like a tree! . . ." The smile falters slightly, his only sign of remorse. "Well, it would have been Jake who killed me in the end — not you. Don't worry about it."

"You're insane."

"I haven't seen you around in a while," he says instead of replying — or maybe he's just choosing not to listen to reason, as crazy as he is. "Where are you off to?"

"Forks," she replies tightly. "What's it to you?"

"No reason." He shrugs, unoffended. "Just thought you might be running away or somethin', speed you were going. Jake would have freaked. Hey — Quil, come over, man! Come say hi to Leah!"

Leah wants to tell him to leave him alone, but the words don't quite come out right. "What are you even doing, Embry?"

"Heard Jake's car," he chirps, oblivious to the tightness still in her voice. "Spent enough time watching him build it to know the sound of this engine." A large hand pats the red paintwork with a sense of pride. "Anyway, we thought we'd catch up. Y'know, just in case you were skipping town."

Leah very much doubts there being any kind of joint decision — not when Quil so obviously feels about her the way he does. She looks through the windshield at him as he drags their feet toward them, staring unblinkingly at Embry all the while, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Leah thinks that maybe Embry is not the only one he is mad at.

"I'm not skipping town," she says. "I told you — I'm going to Forks."

"Cool. Shotgun."

Leah watches helplessly as Embry bounds over to the passenger side, her mouth hanging open as he opens the door and collapses the front seat in on itself before beckoning Quil in before him.

"What — no. You're not coming with me."

"Why not?" he asks over the sound of Quil clambering into the back. Leah glances over her shoulder, but her would-be friend still refuses to look at her even now. "Forks is dangerous territory."

"Neutral territory," Quil mutters, spreading his huge legs as far as they can go. His knee digs into the back of Leah's seat, which she knows will not move an inch with the way it's been welded. Petulantly, she pushes back on the lump sticking into her spine. Take that.

"Infested," Embry corrects blithely, closing the door. He slaps his thighs. "Let's go!"

Leah glares at him. "I'm going to Charlie Swan's," she says as if that will force the boys back out of Jacob's car.

Embry whistles. "Even worse. You're gonna need someone to watch your back." He doesn't even bother reaching for the seat belt, but instead looks at Leah expectantly, waiting for her to get the car moving again. And when she makes no move to put the Rabbit into drive, he has the audacity to say, "You wanna switch places? Looks like you can't even reach the pedals."

She straightens in her seat, indignant and frustrated beyond belief. Boys. "I can drive this car just fine."

"She reached them in time to stop crashing into you," Quil says from behind them. "Jake is going to kill you for that move. You could have really hurt—"

"Nothing happened, jeez. Lighten up, man. Say what you need to say and get over it."

Leah watches in the rear view mirror as Quil shrinks down on the back seats and crosses his arms with a scowl. "Shut up," he mutters.

Embry snorts. "Whatever, dude."

Leah narrows her eyes at the mirror. "Say what?"

"Just that he's really sorry, aren't you, Quil? That he'll never speak to you like like that ever again, and he's actually really, really grateful for what you did because he loves—"

"Shut up, Embry!" Quil shoves the passenger seat. "God. Don't you ever shut up? I can apologise for myself, you know."

Embry twists in his seat and looks over the back of the headrest, extending a hand to Leah. "Go on, then."

"I agree with him," Leah says, but it's Embry who she's still glaring at and Embry who will be the first person to be thrown out of this goddamn car — if she could manage it on her own, that is. Maybe if Quil really wants to make it up to her, he will help. "Don't you ever shut up?"

Embry grins. "No."

She presses her lips together and exhales forcefully through her nose. "You are so annoying, do you know that?"

"I know," he says with that same self-satisfied expression, and Leah can't help but huff a laugh in spite of herself. "Are we going, or what? You're kind of blocking the road."

It's not tourist season and the weather is turning miserable, so there's no other cars — probably not for miles. But she coaxes the car onwards anyway, sneaking more glances at Quil in the rear view mirror the whole way.

He looks like himself. Well, mostly. He looks like Embry. And Jake. And Seth. And the rest. His face is older and his hair is cropped short, and he's got an intensity about him which was never there before. Leah is not surprised. This is what all of Sam's little . . . pack looks like. It's practically a prerequisite.

But it's still Quil. Taller and sharper and broader, but still Quil. She can see him in his roundish face, his wide nose. And in spite of his bad mood, there is still that suggestion of mischief in his eyes, that boyishness which has always made her think that he is the real troublemaker out of Jacob's friends.

"I'm sorry," he says when he catches her fourth glance. He clears his throat uncomfortably. And then, louder, "I am. I'm really sorry, Leah. I didn't mean any of it, I swear."

"I know," she replies quietly, hands tight on the steering wheel. But she didn't know — because his words had hit home, and she is still convinced there was some truth in them. Like a drunk spewing sober thoughts, and all that. Quil only said what everyone else has been thinking ever since Sam left her.

"And . . ." Embry eggs on, ever-oblivious to the awkwardness around him.

Quil scowls at the back of his friend's seat, but says, "And I'll do anything you want. I'll — I'll eat all the casserole in your fridge even though I hate it. And after that I'll boycott Emily's food for a week—"

"A week!" Embry cries.

Quil twists his lips, suddenly hesitant. It almost makes Leah laugh. Almost.

"Well, maybe not a week," he begins backpedalling, "but a few days. I'll do it. I — Leah, I feel awful. Truly. Please. Please please please, please say you'll forgive me."

Her reflection arches into the image of an unimpressed eyebrow which she has perfect from years of suffering it from her mom. Now it is Quil's turn to suffer. "What else?"

He blinks and fumbles for his words. "I'll walk your dog!" he exclaims suddenly, clearly clinging desperately to his bright idea. "For a whole month."

Leah's eyebrow rises higher still. "I don't have a dog."

Quil mutters underneath his breath, but she hears enough to know the words are obscene. Fantastically so. And she thinks that if she wasn't trying to make him squirm, if she wasn't trying to focus on the road, she would have offered a high-five.

Embry snickers. "You can babysit Seth."

"He does not need babysitting," Leah snaps. "And neither do I, for that matter."

"Aw, c'mon. We're not babysitting you, it's just Jake would lose his shit if he found out that we let you just walk into Forks with no protection—"

"Let me? And what does he care, anyway?" she demands hotly, reminded of her conversation with Billy. "I haven't seen him in nearly a week. I don't think he's even been home for his dad at all—"

"He hasn't."

"Em," Quil warns in a low tone.

The car speeds up along the one-oh-one underneath her touch, but not one of her passengers seems to notice. "What do you mean, he hasn't? Where the hell has he been?"

Embry fidgets in his seat and turns his attention to the road markings blurring along it. "Nowhere." And then, "I can't tell you. Quil can't either, before you ask. So don't."

Leah's foot slips off the gas, bringing them back to an almost normal speed. She has recently understood the difference between can't and won't when it comes down to these boys telling her the truth, and she knows what it is that Embry is trying to say. "Sam. He's ordered you not to say anything. Or," she spits, "specifically, not to tell me. Hasn't he?"

"It's not —"

"It's just Alpha bullshit," Quil jumps in. Leah has the distinct feeling that he has just saved Embry from something, what with the way the other boy blows a breath and drops his shoulders in the corner of her vision.

"I'm going to kill him."

"Who?" ask both boys. "Jake?"

"No. Sam."

"Right," Embry scoffs. "Sure. You just missed the turning for Charlie's, by the way."

Leah barely remembers to check her blind spots and swears underneath her breath as she waits for another car to pass before swinging the Rabbit back around. "You don't believe me?"

"No," Embry says plainly as they turn into Charlie's short, curved street. "But we'll help you, if you want."

"Thanks. Although, I'm not sure you could even if you wanted to."

"You'd be surprised."

Leah raises an eyebrow but chooses to let the comment slide. Instead she follows the road leading to the house, because she knows there's no use in getting angry when she's about to see Charlie. Not when he's about to do her a solid like this.

The red truck on the police chief's driveway, with his cruiser tucked behind it, reminds Leah for the first time since pulling away from her own house that she's probably going to have to come face-to-face with Bella, too.

Great. Just great. So much for not getting angry.

Both Quil and Embry recognise the beaten truck; their breath hitches almost comically and their faces set in a way that makes Leah think they just might hate the girl, too. Until—

"God, it stinks around here. Roll your window up, Leah."

"Won't make any difference," Quil comments. "You'll just have to leave them down for the rest of the day when we get home."

"And they say that wolves mark their territory," Embry says, wrinkling his nose.

Leah frowns. She can't smell anything.

"Her bloodsucker's been back for all of five minutes," Embry continues, "and it's almost like—" He turns his nose towards the open window, takes a deliberate lungful of air and turns back again. "—ugh. It smells worse than it did last week."

"What the hell were you doing here last week?" Quil demands, his voice pitching along the edge of a whine like he has missed out on an adventure.

"You know, when that little leech whisked Bella off to Whereversville, the day we buried . . ."

Leah finishes the sentence for him, her throat dry. "Harry."

"Yeah. Sorry." Embry reaches out to her, looking chagrined as he begins to awkwardly rub her arm in what's probably the sweetest but most apology she's ever received.

"S'fine." Leah takes a deep breath and schools her face into the best look of indifference she can muster. She will never live it down if she cries anymore than she already has — especially in front of these kids. "So this smell issue. It's one of your werewolf things, isn't it."

"Yup," Quil says. "We can smell everything, hear everything." It sounds like something he's happy about, maybe even excited — at least, if it wasn't for whatever's plaguing his nose right now or the sense of awkwardness which fills the car after Embry's half-mention of Harry.

"Great," Leah drawls. She's going to have to start taking two showers a day, isn't she? But at least they're not in her head. That would be insufferable. She doesn't envy them in that regard. "Can you hear who's inside?"

Both boys are quiet for a moment, considering. Embry even cocks his head. "Just two people," he says, letting his massive hand fall from her shoulder. "And the scent's not that strong — I mean, not like there's one here or anything. Just traces of them."

Shivering, Leah braces herself and opens the door. She really doesn't want to have to deal with Bella twice in one day, but she feels better than none of the girl's vampires are around, not that it had even crossed her mind before putting the phone down on Charlie and high-tailing it into the car. If there had been any of . . . them about, then Embry and Quil probably wouldn't have let her out otherwise.

Babysitting, she scoffs internally to herself. She's very nearly nineteen-years-old, for God's sake. "Wait here."

"No way!" Quil half-yells. "We're coming, too!"

Halfway out the car already, Leah cranes her head over her shoulder and looks back at the boy-wolves, her feet on the concrete and her hand on the door. "You're not wearing any shirts."

"So? Bella won't mind. Jake used to go without all the time."

"Idiot," Quil groans.

"I mean . . ." Embry continues underneath Leah's level stare. "Well, he did! I think it made her really uncomfortable, actually, but you know Jake, he probably misinterpreted that for something like—"

Leah sighs, more for show if anything else — because suddenly she doesn't mind all that much if the boys want to follow her, but she's not about to admit it. She's not that stupid. "Fine! Come on then, you two."

Quil and Embry scramble out of the car like Christmas has come early, pushing and shoving one another and leaving Leah shaking her head at their playful antics. She has to bite back a smile all the way up the steps of the Swan's house.

Babysitting. Honestly. More like she's babysitting them.

But she does wish that she could see herself with them when she rings the doorbell. With Embry on her left shoulder and Quil on her right, towering over her and using up every free inch of space on the porch — and shirtless to boot — it's no wonder that Bella Swan's jaw drops when she opens the door.

Chapter Text

(Leah)

Bella gapes like a fish out of water at the three of them standing on her front doorstep. Her wide eyes pass back and forth over the boys, roving from their heads to their toes – to their hair, their ripped chests, their brazen smiles – and then to Leah, who stands in between them and stares back at Bella with a level of disdain she usually only reserves for Sam and Emily.

"Is that Leah, Bells?" Charlie shouts from somewhere inside.

Her hand tight on the door, Bella jumps and only just manages to tear her eyes away from Leah's at the sound of her father's voice. Leah snorts – I win – and receives a hard nudge from Embry for her efforts.

Embry gives her a Look when she stares incredulously back up at him. A Look which only makes Leah wants to roll her eyes and snort again. Honestly, as if Embry is telling her to behave!

"Uh – yeah," Bella calls back.

"Well, let her in then!"

Bella nervously steps to the side, pulling the door wide open along with her. It doesn't help, much; Leah imagines that the boys will still have to duck as they enter, the way she's noticed Jake has to duck wherever he's walking. It's a wonder the boys' balance is in tact with how much they've shot up.

"How goes it, Bella?" Embry chirps as he takes the lead and steps past her. "Heard you went away. Get a tan?"

For the first time since he stepped out in front of the Rabbit, Leah finds herself inherently grateful for how annoyingly juvenile the kid has proved he can be — because the way that Bella flushes is absolutely sublime. Truly. And Leah really hopes the girl turned that colour when they spoke on the phone, because it'd make her feel a thousand times more triumphant than she already does.

"Where is Jacob?" Bella asks instead of rising to Embry's jibes. The words sound more like a demand. "That's his car. Why are you driving it?"

"He gave it to Leah," Quil casually answers for them all, and Bella's eyebrows sky-rocket as he, too, steps past her.

But she's not staring at Quil. "He gave it to you?" she blurts, her wide brown eyes on Leah once again.

"Yes," Leah answers tartly, not caring to clarify that it was only intended to be a short-term thing. Let the girl think what she wants, assume what she wants. Maybe it'll even get her off Jacob's back if she's that upset about it – who knows.

You've made your choice, she wants to tell Bella Swan, so why are you still so hung up on him?

Or more to the point, Leah then asks herself, why do you care so much, Clearwater?

It seems she's not done such a good job of convincing herself that Jacob is just her friend as much as she thought she had. But she does have some self-awareness, at least. Enough to know that people find her unkind at times, if not downright rude. So she smirks unkindly at Bella, triumphant, and follows Embry and Quil into the house.

(Harry had always said that such behaviour was unbecoming, but, well, Harry didn't exactly approve of Bella's life decisions either. So maybe he would have turned a blind eye to his only daughter's . . . impudence. Just this once.)

Bella still looks uncomfortable when her father rounds the corner from the living room, and when Charlie's eyes fall on Leah they seem to light up with a large smile. She finds herself smiling back with genuine feeling.

"Hey, kiddo, it is you! You made good time. I hope you weren't speeding otherwise I'll have to . . ." He trails off, only then taking in the two extremely large boys who have positioned themselves behind her. His face instantly falls.

" . . . You two," he says flatly. Embry and Quil have had that much of a growth spurt that Forks' Police Chief has to pull his head back to look up at them. "You're friends with that Sam Uley boy."

Leah remembers that Charlie wants to throw these boys behind bars for what his daughter has told him. It forces her to find her best smile for her dad's old friend in an attempt to change his mind, because really — they're annoying as hell, but Leah's actually really starting to like these kids. Over the years, it has always been easy to be mean to them, but it's also becoming just as easy to be nice.

"Charlie. You know Quil Ateara," she says, gesturing behind her. The boys look as if they are ready to flee; they can all see Charlie's gun hung up on the hook, not too far out of reach. "And Embry. Jacob's friends."

Charlie isn't appeased. "And your friends?"

"And Seth's," she says pointedly.

"Mr. Swan." Quil extends a hand. "Nice to see you again, sir."

A polite man, Charlie shakes Quil's hand — though he looks reluctant to do so, and Leah wishes that she could throttle Bella for whatever she has told her father. If Charlie starts treating Seth differently . . .

"They were out running when I passed them," Leah explains as Charlie begins shaking hands with Embry. She readjusts her features into nonchalance and tries to ignore Bella entirely. "They asked if they could tag along so they could catch up with Bella. I hope you don't mind."

Charlie, busy scrutinising Quil — who obviously looks like a completely different person to when they saw each other last, at the funeral — frowns. "I didn't realise you were all so close," he remarks carefully.

"They're Jake's friends, Dad," Bella says with the barest hint of frustration. But it's clearly not her dad who she's frustrated with — at least, to everyone except Charlie, that is. "I told you — it was just a misunderstanding."

"Hmph." Dissatisfied, Charlie looks away from his daughter and attempts to give Embry and Quil his best show of authority. "I'm afraid that Bella's grounded — for the rest of her life," he tacks on in a mutter, eyes glancing dangerously to his daughter. "You're all welcome, of course, but she won't be able to socialise for long."

"That's okay, Mr. Swan," Embry says. "We just wanted to make sure Leah was alright, in all honesty. We can wait outside and see Bella another time."

"Well, that's —" Charlie nods once, his expression softening just a little, and Leah knows that they have won. "That's really nice of you boys. I'm sure Sue appreciates that."

"It's no trouble, sir," Quil assures him earnestly.

Embry salutes Bella with a lazy flick of his fingers. "See ya, Bella. Bye, Mr. Swan. Thanks."

"Yeah, thanks, Mr. Swan. See you around, Bella."

"Bye," the girl mutters.

Embry and Quil brush Leah's shoulders reassuringly as they turn back the way they came. She swears that Embry even gives her another Look, warning her to keep her attitude in check. "We'll be by the car. Take your time."

Leah nods, watching them go, but she still can't help notice that Bella is staring at the Rabbit again when Charlie shuts the door behind them.

➰

"Those boys," Charlie says five minutes later, jerking his head towards the kitchen window through which Embry and Quil can be seen loitering on the end of the driveway. Bella has scurried upstairs and is probably watching them from her own window, too. "One of them your boyfriend?"

Leah's eyes widen, and then she laughs. Loudly. "Really? Them? No. They're just . . . friends. Sort of."

Ever the cop, Charlie questions, "What do you mean, sort of . . . ?"

"I've only just started hanging out with them, really. They're nice kids."

"Kids. Right." Sceptical, Charlie opens the freezer. "I thought they were Sam Uley's friends."

"They are."

"Oh." Scepticism turns to confusion. He presses further on. "But you and Sam, you're not—"

"God, no. It's a whole separate thing."

(Separate in that Leah still very much wants to murder her ex-boyfriend but will let Embry and Quil live — that is, if they stop keeping their secrets and tell her where the hell they have been all week. Where Jacob has been.)

"Right," Charlie says again. Then he shakes his head. "Sorry, kiddo, I guess I'm getting a little bit — well, you know, with your Dad gone now, I feel like I should . . ." Charlie has never been a man of too many words, never one for emotion or speeches or affection. He shakes his head. "As long as you're okay, I guess, that's all that matters."

Leah shrugs noncommittally as Charlie wraps up the fish and begins rooting around for an old grocery bag.

"And your mom?" he asks. "Seth? Are they . . . okay?"

"Mom hasn't . . ." Leah struggles to find the right words. She knows Charlie better, perhaps, than even her blood-uncles, better than the two boys who are dutifully waiting for her outside. Charlie is a practical man, not an emotional one. "She hasn't been great, but she's getting better. Thanks so much for doing this again — it's the first thing she's shown any interest in since . . . well, you know."

Charlie hands over the bag with a look of shame. "I am sorry that I haven't been to see you all. What with Bella and all, I've not been the greatest friend to your family."

"S'ok. Once she gets this —" Leah says, holding up the paper bag and trying not to think too much about what is exactly inside (she may have been her father's replacement fishing buddy during those summer weeks Charlie spent with Bella in California, but she didn't exactly enjoy it — especially not the part which came after) "— then I'm sure she'll want you to be the first to taste whether she got the recipe right or not."

Charlie nods, still looking apologetic. "I hope so. I'll visit soon, I promise."

"Must have been bad," Leah hedges shamelessly, her chin lifting slightly to the ceiling. She wonders if Bella is trying to listen in on the conversation, or if she's just too busy staring at Embry, Quil and the Rabbit from her bedroom window.

"You've no idea," Charlie sighs. "She skips two states — she went all the way to L.A. I kid you not, just to chase after a boy who left her without a care in the world!" His cheeks turn a little red in clear anger. "But of course I didn't know that until she came home two days later with that same boy in tow, all because of a misunderstanding or something. I don't know. It doesn't sit right with me."

Leah has a feeling that Charlie hasn't had a chance to vent to anybody else about this yet. She wonders how mad he'd really be if he knew the truth. How can he not know the truth? Or rather, how can Bella lie to him like it? Leah doesn't know much about vampires (and, she thinks, she doesn't really have the inclination to learn — not after what they have done to the boys, and her ancestors before that), but she's not all too sure she'd be able to let her boyfriend around her parents if she knew what he really was.

"Is that you talking as Chief, or her dad?" Leah asks.

". . . Both," Charlie decides. "He left her dangling without a word for all those months. I mean, you saw it at Christmas, and you can bet that I told that sister of his as much before she took off with Bella — it was like the night of the living dead around here," he continues, though it sounds like he's ranting to himself now, more than anything. "And the nightmares! . . . No. I don't trust it. I don't trust him."

"Wow, Chief," Leah butts in before the man can explode. He's positively purple. "Come to the Rez for a bit. Seriously. You need to get out more."

The colour from Charlie's face slowly starts to fade, and he smiles a little ruefully. "Sorry, kiddo. I bet you didn't give your old man this much trouble, huh?"

Leah smiles back, if only because it's nice to hear someone talk about Harry without apologising for it afterwards. Her father died nine days ago and it's already starting to feel as if he never existed, as if people are frightened to acknowledge that he ever did.

"I wouldn't be so sure. I nearly set the house on fire burning old things of Sam's once, photographs and stuff, you know. I'd never seen Dad so mad. Except for when I told him that I wasn't going to college anymore, maybe."

Charlie chuckles. "I remember him telling me about that."

They share another smile. And though Leah's chest feels a little tight, at least she's not on the verge of tears. It means she's able to turn away without feeling awkward, and wave her free hand in the general direction of Quil and Embry. "I better go before the children get into any trouble."

"Children," Charlie scoffs, but he follows her out of the kitchen anyway.

They find Bella sitting at the bottom of the stairs. "Are you going?" she asks, and Leah nods warily, wondering how long the girl has been there for. Not that she particularly cares. In fact, she hopes Bella heard what her father has had to say about her. "Okay. I'm just going to wave them off, Dad."

Charlie sighs. "Edward's on his way, isn't he?"

"Probably. It's nearly time."

Leah blinks innocently. She can play dumb, if she wants to; Charlie didn't specify that they were back together. Probably because he doesn't want to acknowledge it even if they are. "Oh. Is he back in town for good, then?"

"He is." Bella raises her chin with what's probably meant to be pride — or defensiveness, perhaps — but it has the opposite effect: Leah has to press her mouth in a tight line just so that she doesn't laugh.

"That's nice," she says, her words polite enough that she couldn't possibly be accused of being rude.

"Yes," Charlie says with no small amount of displeasure about the fact that the Cullens have returned. "But you're still grounded, Bells — just because I let him into this house —"

"Dad," Bella moans. She pointedly looks at Leah. "Not now, okay?"

Charlie harrumphs loudly, but Leah just smiles sweetly. "Thanks again for the fish, Charlie. As soon as Mom gets the recipe down I'll send some right over."

"You do that, honey." He pats her back a little awkwardly. "You're welcome anytime. I'll be up to see Sue as soon as I can, okay?"

"Sure, sure. See you. Thanks."

Bella scowls. "I'll walk you out."

They walk in silence out of the house and onto the weather-worn porch; Bella is already focused on the red car, on Embry and Quil, and her scowl deepens impossibly further.

"I'm just borrowing it," Leah tells the girl, putting her out of her misery.

"I wasn't—" Bella starts, but she is cut off by the sound of an engine's deep, resonating growl as a silver car peels around the curve in the road at speed. Its engine is barely turned off before the door is opened, and out of it jumps —

Leah has never seen one of the Cullens before. She can see the appeal, she guesses — Edward's messy hair, his pale skin, his perfectly aligned features, those dark purple shadows around his eyes which compliments the edgy, 'emo' sort of look, but she knows who he really is. What he really is.

Edward's eyes snap to her as he passes, but he doesn't stop. He just carries on, walking faster than is probably normal. But, then, it's not really like anyone is watching. Not anyone who would think it was weird, anyway. Charlie has probably stomped his way back to the television.

Edwards bears down on Bella, hands running lightly over her hair, her shoulders, her arms. "You're okay," he murmurs, as if reassuring himself. "Alice, she couldn't see you . . ."

Leah can't hear the rest. She carries on walking down the driveway, towards Embry and Quil who have become living statues as they both lean against the rear of the Rabbit and watch the scene before them with narrowed eyes. Only Quil blindly extends a hand towards her, beckoning her further towards them both. Hurry up, he seems to be saying, although his eyes do not stop tracking every movement of his enemy's.

"Let's go," Leah mutters, opening the front door. She puts the bag of Charlie's fish down in between the handbrake and the gear stick for the minute, hoping it will stay steady enough until she can either pass it off to one of the boys to hold onto while—

Embry breaks the chilling silence with a derisive scoff. "I thought he'd be bigger, honestly."

Quil hums his agreement. "Bit flash, isn't he? Shame he spent all that money on that silver piece of shit. Bet he could afford an Aston Martin or —"

"All that fuss," Embry carries on musing over the sound of his friend. "If Jake hadn't — hadn't you know what, then I reckon he could have taken him. Easily."

"Reckon he still could. We still could."

There is a pause, and then Embry says, "You're right."

In an all too-decisive move, he pushes himself off the Rabbit just as Leah spins round. No! "Embry," she hisses, "don't you dare!"

Embry just grins. He is suddenly all the more confident in his new body; he squares his shoulders and straightens his back, the picture of someone ready to meet his fate — and Quil, following his friend's lead, snaps to attention and steps forward with him at exactly the same time. Leah thinks that this is probably more wolf stuff, working in tandem like this. Everything she's learned so far about what they can do, their abilities, it all falls into place seeing them like this. They're in sync with barely a thought to it, without even needing to communicate with one other.

"Leah," Embry says over his shoulder. "Go and start the car."

She runs after him, pushing her way between his and Quil's hulking frames, ready to pull them back if she must. "You can't —" she begins to protest, but Embry's arm snaps out to stop her.

No, not to stop her, she realises. To hold her back.

"Edward," Bella is saying as she, too, hurriedly rushes to put herself in between a vampire and two wolves, "you don't need to do this now."

"I'll just be a moment, love," he replies and, as they stare at each other with an intensity to burn the trees behind them, a small noise comes from the back of Leah's throat which might very well be a gag. It has Edward looking over at her with no small amount of disapproval. Or maybe it's disgust. She's not sure, but the result is Quil's hand tightening over her shoulder in response.

Edward closes his eyes for a moment, and takes a deep, deep breath. When he opens them again, he looks like a different person entirely. Almost as if he's . . . nice, and kind.

Leah knows better.

He takes the last few steps forwards and greets them. "Gentlemen," he says, nodding to Quil and Embry. Then he looks down at Leah — honestly, he looks down at her, like she is a speck of dirt on his shoe — and adds, "You must be Leah Clearwater."

It is very easy for Leah to firm her chin and stare back with similar hatred. "What of it?"

"You upset Bella this morning."

"And she's upset my family," Leah fires back. This is the creature which has changed her brother's life. Jacob's life. Her life. If this . . . thing hadn't moved into town, then she would still be with Sam. Fuck, she wishes with her whole being that she could split her skin like they call can. She wishes that she was taller and stronger, that she could fight this with them.

It's not a fight she would lose.

"I am not keeping a scorecard, Leah Clearwater." And when Quil and Embry bare their teeth at him, he says, "Perhaps I should start."

When he doesn't receive answer that is not a snarl, Edward pulls himself to his full height — as if it will really make a difference, standing before Embry and Quil who are almost a whole foot taller than he is. Leah feels a laugh bubble in her chest.

"Who of you is authorised to speak for your pack?"

Embry and Quil look at each other over the top of Leah's head, the look on their faces rivalled in fury, and she stares at Embry until his eyes eventually flicker downwards and meet hers.

"Depends what you want, leech," Quil is the one to say.

Edward's face tightening in response is the only indication that the word might have stung. "I would like to speak with Jacob Black, if you are amenable."

"Not happening," Leah growls. She has no idea where this comes from, this fierce protectiveness she suddenly has for Jake — she felt it when Quil phased for the first time and she has tried so hard to not think about it since. She's been trying to not think about a lot of things, where he is concerned.

"Where is Jacob?" Bella asks for the second time that hour. "I mean. Where is he really?"

It is only the fear of having to take either Embry or Quil home with one of their limbs missing which stops Leah from telling Bella what she really thinks. See here, you selfish bitch, she'd probably start, you and I are going to —

Things still go to shit, very, very quickly. Before Leah has blinked again she sees Edward has taken a step forward without her really seeing it, which is the strangest thing. His body has dipped into a slight crouch, and the low snarl which rips out from behind his bared teeth makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Embry and Quil react in kind: they push Leah back until she is blocked by both of their hulking frames, their skin radiating warmth which is almost suffocating, and she is reminded of the moments before Quil phased in the middle of his backyard.

Well, at least she's not on the floor this time.

"Back off, bloodsucker."

"Edward, no!"

"Walk away, parasite."

"Do not," Leah can hear said bloodsucking parasite spitting through his teeth over them all, "think of Bella in that manner."

Embry looks at Quil, and then down at Leah. "What are you talking . . . Oh, for . . ." He shudders, head snapping back to Edward. "You're the mind-reader. Fuck. Jake said something about that."

"Doesn't mean he has to listen in, does it," Quil says, voice low and dangerous.

"It's not as if I can help it," Edward snaps back. "And, it seems, neither can you. Your . . . hive mind sounds very interesting, I have to admit." He pauses, during which Leah tries to push her way back into the middle of Quil and Embry. Their bodies are tense, and Quil — poor Quil is trembling, obviously trying extremely hard to contain himself, and it is a stark reminder of how new to this life he is.

"Stay out of our —"

"What is an imprint?" Edward asks then, head tilting curiously.

"That's none of your goddamn business, you self-righteous—" Embry starts with a terrifying growl, at exactly the same time Bella pipes, "A what?"

"Really?" Edward sounds genuinely intrigued, sounding as if he has ignored them both and is carrying on another conversation, and Leah realises that he has plucked something from one of the boys' heads which they have probably inadvertently thought of. She can't blame them, really. Not when her own thoughts are what has put them in this situation.

Quil's lack of control allows Leah to work her way through the tiniest of gaps between him and Embry, and she shoots the most foul look at the vampire. The bloodsucker. Leech. Parasite. "If that's true and you're just going to pick your way through their brains then —"

"I've already explained that I can't help it," Edward shoots back in that disgustingly rich voice. He shakes his head, and then rights himself again. He looks directly at Embry, who Leah supposes is the one with most authority out of the wolves present. "When your pack has stabilised, please inform your Alpha that I would speak with him at his earliest convenience about Victoria. I'll only ask: We've found no trace of her on our side of the line — have you?"

Whatever the boys think must be satisfactory, because Edward nods before they can answer. He takes Bella's hand, and he leads her into the house without any farewell. Only she looks back, but Edward drags her on until they've disappeared inside.

She breathes in once, twice, watching the door close behind them. And then she opens her mouth, finally having thought of the right words she wants to yell, but Embry says, "Wait. Get in the car. Quil — cut it out, man. Calm down. We're done here."

It is not enough to stop Quil's tremors.

When Embry snatches the keys from her fingers and sits himself in the driver's seat, Leah does not fight him. Quil, who is still visibly struggling, gets in before her and sprawls over the backseats, his head buried in his hands. He makes no other sound.

Breathing deeply again and ignoring the slightest smell of fish already defrosting, Leah snaps her seatbelt into place and waits all of one minute of listening to the blood pound in her ears before—

"Embry," she demands quietly, which is decidedly more dangerous than yelling as planned, "what exactly did that . . . thing mean when he said 'stabilised'? Has something else happened you're not telling me about? And don't give me shit about I've been ordered not to tell you, because I don't want to hear any more of your crap excuses —"

"Calm down, okay?"

"No! I want to know what happened — what the fuck that was about! Why the hell was he talking about imprints —"

Embry speeds through Forks. "I can't tell you everything —"

"Fine! What can you tell me, then!" Leah's noise of frustration fills the car.

Behind them, Quil lifts his head from his hands just enough to be heard properly and says, "Tell her, Em."

"If it's to do with Jake, then I . . ." She stops, because she honestly doesn't know how she was going to finish that sentence. She would what, exactly? What is she going to do that's going to make any kind of difference?

"I need to know," she finishes lamely. "Just — tell me. Please."

Chapter Text

(Leah)

Every summer, from the year of Jacob's birth until the year his mother died, the Blacks and Clearwaters would pack up their gear and spend four, glorious long days camping together. It had become something of a tradition during those nine years, something religiously upheld, and when it had finally come to an end — when Sarah had died, that tradition had died with her.

Leah hasn't thought back to that time for a while, perhaps for the same reason her family and Jacob's never camped together again: the very idea of it was too painful, going without Sarah — and now, Leah thinks, without Harry too. But she can remember it perfectly. She remembers that, for the whole hike, no matter what age they were, the twins would drag their feet and their parents would bicker — but that she, Jacob and Seth loved every second of it. She remembers the hours she would waste climbing the hemlock tree once they had arrived; she remembers the whole afternoons she would spend pushing her brother into the lake and jumping in right after him. She remembers sitting at the fire, listening as Harry and Billy retold their stories and as Sarah and Sue reminisced together until nobody could keep their eyes open anymore. And when it was time to leave, Leah remembers how she would cry. Every year.

She has returned to that place only a few times since. Once, the week after Sarah's funeral, Leah had found Rachel and Rebecca there when they'd packed a bag and ran away. Hell, she'd ran there herself when Sam ended their relationship — though Rach and Beck had never found her; they'd already left La Push by then. Nobody had found her, because they hadn't known where to look.

But as soon as Embry had let slip about the lake, Leah had known she'd find Jacob here. And she's hiked for two hours just to get to this very spot, fuelled by her increasing, inexplicable need to see him, to make sure he is okay.

(They nearly killed each other, Embry had said. Sam found out that — that something had happened, and he lost it. Completely lost it. Jake, he was just defending himself. He couldn't help it.

But she hadn't cared whether Sam had been hurt. What? What did he find out?

Embry pulled a face. I can't tell you. Jake made me promise. I'm not sure, but I think . . . He shook his head. You don't understand, Leah. The pack was in shambles after the fight — we've never been so disorganised. My head felt like it was going to explode. And afterwards, when he made us swear . . . Well, I don't think he realised what he was doing, that he was actually giving us an order. I don't think we realised. Not until afterwards.

Who — Her eyes burned as she swallowed, throat thick. A part of her knew the truth; she had realised it as soon as Embry had begun to speak. It was like being told something she already knew. And she had no logical explanation for how she did — she just knew.

Jake.)

He is sitting by the old hemlock tree when she finds him. She is exhausted on all counts, her feet in her ruined sneakers are aching, but she finds her voice to call out to him.

"Jake?"

He doesn't answer at first. His eyes stare up unseeingly at the darkening sky, and for one wild moment the most awful thought crosses Leah's mind: he's dead; she is too late, she has lost him — what is it that makes him hers to lose? — but then his head lolls against the bark, and their eyes meet. He blinks slowly, once, twice, almost as if he can't quite believe who he is looking at —

No. He's not okay. He's dirty, yes; every bare inch of skin looks as if he's been dragged along the muddy banks of the lake: his neck, his naked chest, his arms — he's filthy. But mercifully, he looks unharmed and Leah breathes a sigh of immense relief at the sight of him even as his eyes shine with tears and his lower lip trembles.

"N—no, don't," he starts to protest when she moves to sit beside him, quiet and careful. "You'll get dirty, I'm okay — I —"

Leah ignores him and lowers herself down anyway as he chokes back a sob. "I'm being stupid," he mumbles around shaky breaths, "you didn't need to — you shouldn't have come."

"I'll go home and send Embry along then, should I? Or Quil?" There's no heat to her words. Just plain weariness as she settles down on the ground and stretches her legs out before her, battling with an urge to brush his hair back from his forehead, to comfort him, but somehow she manages to keep her hands in her lap. The feeling has startled her enough that she has to clamp down on it, turn away from it — from Jacob, from everything that has a chance of hurting her.

"I had a hard time keeping them at bay, you know," she continues lightly, "— they wanted to come and kick your ass, but I grounded them."

"You — what?" Jacob sniffs, wiping hurriedly at the tears which have begun to stream down his reddened face.

"It's not their fault, really. I shouldn't have been so mad when I knew they couldn't tell me the whole story anyway. I heard enough, though. Just had to figure the rest out for myself."

Although Jacob freezes, the back of his hand stilling against his cheek, he struggles to keep the rest of himself in check as a storm of emotions flit across his face, ultimately betraying him. His pain turns into pure, undiluted terror, anger and a little bit of something else — something which Leah thinks might be . . . hope?

"Figure it out?" he asks in an extremely quiet voice.

"Yeah, I mean, I'm not stupid. I know first-hand how much of an ass he is, how badly he can overreact. And as much as I can sympathise with the whole wanting to rip his throat out thing, Jake, because believe me, I know . . . Did you really have to go and fight with him like that? Embry said he nearly killed you, and I —"

"Wait. Sam? You think this —" Jacob gestures wildly around him "— is about Sam?"

"Well, yeah," she says slowly. "What else is it about?"

"You said you'd . . . I thought . . ."

His shoulders shake as he drops his head, trying to hide that his eyes are suddenly brimming with tears again. It only takes a few seconds before the last of his restraint finally bubbles over his lips and he sobs harder than ever before.

Maybe Leah doesn't want to feel this, but Jacob is her friend for God's sake, and she can't stop herself from reaching out for him this time. "Oh, Jake."

He immediately sags underneath her touch, breaking completely; he leans into her as quickly as she gathers him up in her arms and falls back against the tree, taking his weight with her. She runs her hand down the nape of his neck, his sides. Anywhere she can reach. He has done this for her before, she thinks. She can do it for him.

Despite his massive frame, Jacob curls up like a child beside her: he presses his face against her neck and tangles his legs with hers, his fingers clutching desperately at her sweaty Mariners sweater. She doesn't know where she begins, where Jacob ends; she can't feel or see or hear or breath anything except him all over her, and . . . she doesn't care, not even when his arms wrap tightly enough around her waist that she knows he'll leave bruises.

"I'm sorry. I thought I could do it, but I can't. Not anymore. It hurts so much," he moans into her skin, "and I — I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just can't, I can't stay away anymore. I don't want to. It's killing me."

The litany of stuttered apologies continues to seep out of him as quickly as his tears. She has never seen him like this, shattered and weak and so utterly broken. It's both frightening and heart-breaking, painful and scary. And it hurts her, too; Leah can feel his agony, but there is nothing she can do except card her fingers through his hair to soothe him — to soothe them — because she cannot reach anywhere else, because she doesn't know what else to do except hold him and wait for it to pass.

It is a long, long time before he calms.

Slowly, his hold on her eases and he takes deep, shuddering breaths against her neck until he can lift his head. The sun has set, but she can still see the tear tracks glistening on his cheeks.

"What is it, Jake?" she finally asks, her hands still running through his dark hair. He is so, so warm. "What's so bad that you had to come all the way out here, if it's not about Sam?"

"I can't tell you," he mumbles miserably, averting his eyes. He sniffs loudly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to just . . . cry all over you. God, I'm so pathetic."

"I know pathetic," Leah tells him plaintively, "and believe me, you're not it."

"You're not, either, if that's what you mean."

A miserable sigh leaves her, but Leah can't tell whether the despair is solely her own or is from what has been bleeding out so profusely from Jacob. She did mean that — she is pathetic — but she doesn't have the strength to argue. "Can you really not tell me?"

His throat bobs. "You'll hate me."

"So it's not because you can't. It's because you won't." Can't, won't — it's always the same excuse nowadays, and the familiarity of it has her bristling in her annoyance.

"Please don't make me say it," Jacob pleads, voice fading to a whisper which is barely audible over even the quiet of the forest around them. "Not yet."

The agony in his voice has Leah sighing in defeat. She doesn't believe that it was Sam who had him so upset — nor that she could ever truly hate Jacob in spite of what he thinks — but she doesn't ask. And he doesn't tell her.

It's something bad. It has to be.

Something awful.

"Okay," she says. "Not yet."

➰

They sit in silence for an even longer while after that, still tangled together underneath the tree. Jacob's hands continue to brand her skin with their heat as she stares into the darkness which has settled over the clearing — but despite what is hanging in the air, all that has been left unsaid, it's not an awkward silence. Now that she's calm, it's . . . nice, actually. Just being here.

They don't speak at all, not until his stomach gives a traitorous rumble. They have been so wrapped up in their silence that they're both startled by the sound and have to laugh at themselves.

"Hungry?"

"I'm okay."

She smiles wryly. "Liar."

Jacob huffs. "I ate all the food." He leans to the side, answering her unspoken question by showing her a bag nearby which she hasn't noticed before now. Its zipper is half open, and wrappers, chip packets and empty bottles can be seen through the opening.

Leah recognises the pattern on the fraying fabric and eyes it with surprise more than suspicion. "Where did you get that?"

Jacob leans back, settling beside her again. "Seth. He's been . . . coming by."

So that's where her brother has been running off to at all hours, why he's so rarely been home. She knew he couldn't have been out on patrol for all that time. Nobody in her family is very good at lying. Perhaps to themselves, maybe, but . . .

"That little punk."

Jacob sniffs, a half-smile appearing on his still watery features. "He's a good kid."

Leah hums, untangling her legs from Jacob's and ignoring the sudden loss she feels. "I suppose," she says, shivering. "He's been avoiding me these last few days," — everyone has been avoiding me — "so the jury's out on that one."

Jacob frowns. "Are you cold?"

"No." It's impossible to be, sitting so close to him. "God knows you're like your very own space heater."

"Bit hotter than that. I'm running at a toasty-warm one-oh-nine these days."

Leah throws him a half-hearted look of reproach. "No need to sound so cocky about it."

Apart from his eyes which are still a little bloodshot, Jacob looks like his old self when he smiles sunnily back at her. He is so young. For all her griping that Embry and Quil are just kids, for all her joking about babysitting them, she forgets that he is the same age as them — that Jacob is just sixteen.

"It's the small wins." He squeezes her gently before his hand slowly withdraws from her hip and settles around her shoulder instead. "Besides, you feel warm to me, too."

"I am warm," she tells him. It might nearly be the end of March in Washington and they might be sitting on the ground, in the middle of the forest under the cover of darkness, but even wrapped up in her dad's old Mariners sweater Leah is warmer than she knows she has a right to be.

"That's not what I meant," Jake says, and he suddenly sounds sad again. Wistful, even. "Nothing feels warm to me anymore. Just the pack and — and you, now."

"I'm not pack, though."

"Yes, you are," he insists, so fiercely that the raise of her eyebrows is more so aimed at the rapid change of his moods rather than the answer he gives. He'll be falling on four paws next, if she's not careful.

"I don't know how Sam would feel about that," she remarks dryly, considering the dim gleam of the water's edge again just so that she doesn't have to look at the outrage in Jacob's eyes, "but it's nice that you think so."

"I know so."

Leah takes a breath, steeling herself for the answer she has been wondering about for hours — since Embry told her about the aftermath of Jacob and Sam's fight. "Is that because you're the Alpha now?" she dares finally ask. "You say it's so, and that's that?"

Jacob stiffens, his arm becoming a heavy weight over her. His fingers dig into her bicep, the heat of them like an open flame even through her sweatshirt.

"How does it work?" she presses when he doesn't answer. "You and Sam tore chunks out of each other, for what? So you can take charge?"

"I'm sorry for hurting Sam," Jacob says, as if on auto-pilot. As if that is the response she wants to hear, so that is the one he has given, except he doesn't really mean it.

"I don't care that you did," she replies just as quickly, an automatic, programmed response of her own. But there's a difference: what she says is true; what she says, she really means. She doesn't tell people what they want to hear, as she has suspected Jacob of doing before.

"I didn't just hurt him, Leah," Jacob protests, and she doesn't understand – it's almost like Jake wants her to be mad at him, like he wants her to fly off the handle. "Embry was wrong. He didn't nearly kill me, I nearly killed him."

Well, tough shit, she thinks, because she's not mad. Not in the slightest. Not with Jacob, anyway.

"I had him pinned," Jake continues, valiantly digging his own grave. "I had him, Leah – and — and I could have killed him if I wanted to."

"Good," she says bleakly. "Why didn't you?"

Jacob shakes his head. "You don't mean that. If I had — if I hadn't stopped, I mean, you would never have forgiven me. I don't think you could forgive me that much. And Emily . . . I couldn't do that. Never in a million years."

"You think I give a shit about her?"

". . . No," Jacob admits after a lengthy pause, "but I do." And then, before Leah can find it within herself to laugh scornfully at him, he adds, "It's just about the worst thing you could do to someone who's imprinted. There's laws, you know — if we hurt an imprint then it's a fight to the death. But what happens if you kill the wolf who imprinted on her? I think you'd just end up killing her, too."

"Or him."

"Or him," Jacob says agreeably, the barest hint of a smile on his face, "but thankfully you've not phased, otherwise there would have been an uprising long before now."

The little snort which flies out of Leah is entirely one of self-satisfaction. She knows what Jacob is trying to do. He's trying to distract her. And it works, for a while. "You're damn right there would have been."

Jacob huffs a laugh. "If Rach and Beck were still around and you had all phased, the three of you would have taken over. I'm sure of it."

He has no idea how much she'd wanted all of that to be true, standing in front of a vampire only a short few hours ago. She hums and pushes the loose hair which has escaped from her long ponytail out of her face. She can't tell him about what had happened with Edward. So instead, she asks, "Do you think I would have imprinted?"

Hesitance grips him. "Is that . . . Is that something you want? Really?"

"I don't know. I haven't thought about it," she admits. It's been the last thing she's wanted to consider, if only because that means she will have to think about Sam and Emily.

She won't, except . . .

Leah swallows harshly around the words stuck in her throat, and when she does manage to speak next it is little more than above a croak. "Would it go away, feeling so awful all the time, if I did? Because Quil wasn't far off, you know. What he said before he phased. I'm a total bitch these days. If I found someone — or someone found me, even, then maybe . . . maybe I wouldn't be."

"You're not a bitch," Jacob says automatically.

"I am. You agreed with me, remember? In fact, I seem to recall that you said you kinda liked it."

"No, I said that I kinda liked you biting people's heads off." Jacob nudges her, but it's more playful than anything else. "Don't twist my words. Just because you don't hold any punches when you let people know what's on your mind, that doesn't mean that you're a bitch."

She quirks an eyebrow, seeing her opening. "Is that another Alpha decree?"

"Quil was wrong to say what he did," Jacob says instead of acknowledging the jab, clearly trying to distract her still. "I know he's sorry for it."

It works. "I know. He told me."

She repeats Quil's apology, and Jake laughs when she adds the part where Quil said he'd walk her non-existent dog for a month if he meant that she'd forgive him. "I was only teasing him, but that damn puppy face of his made me feel so guilty that I think I should actually get a dog just so he can walk it."

"You'd never have to pay him for it, either. He'd do it forever if it meant you'd forgive him. Trust me."

"I didn't know he felt that bad about it." Now she feels guilty. "It's not like it was his fault or anything, was it? I was the one who wanted to . . . Well, if I had been ripped to shreds then let's just say it wouldn't have been nobody's fault but my own."

Jacob shudders. "I wouldn't have let that happen."

Fleetingly, in spite of all her desire not to, Leah thinks of Emily's face. If it could happen to her . . . "Then you would have just gotten hurt instead."

"We heal fast, you know. You can't see it now, but it's not exactly like I walked away with a few minor scratches or anything. It took two days before I could walk straight."

Shit. "Is this the part where you say something like, Should have seen the other guy?"

Jacob grunts. "Seth said he's back on his feet, at least."

"Meanwhile you've just been here," Leah continues joking, teasing, because she can't afford to react to the thought of Jacob being that horribly injured, or to consider that she had spent all that time not knowing a thing about it . . . He has been trying to distract her, and now she is trying to distract herself. "Sulking, because you lost."

Jacob's lips twist without humour. "Sulking. Sure," he grumbles as she begins extracting herself from his arms. "Wait — where are you going?"

"Home. Are you coming?"

He sighs over the sound of her brushing herself down. "You know I can't."

"Sure you can. You think I came out all this way just to have a chat and then leave you again? I risked vampires and all sorts to see you."

"I'm flattered, but isn't Cullen territory," Jacob tells her with a vague sense of amusement. "They can't come here. And the inner northern perimeter isn't too far away — we've got that line secured against anything else. It's so close that I've been able to hear the pack on patrol."

"So you're not worried."

"I'm always worried," he says seriously. Too seriously, for what she is trying to do: to tease him, to goad him into following her. It's like playing a game with a petulant toddler. "But, no, I'm not worried. Not about any bloodsuckers."

"Well, I hope that's true and you boys are looking out tonight otherwise I might end up as something's dinner."

Jacob closes his eyes and takes several seconds to inhale just as many deep breaths, during which Leah has to bite back her smile. "What you're doing," he says, feigning calm, "— reverse psychology, or whatever. It's not going to work."

"Oh, come on, Jake. You've got to go home."

"No chance."

"Fine. Don't come home. But you're going to have to sort it at some point, whatever it is. Just shake on it with Sam. Do something! Billy needs you!"

Jacob laughs hollowly. "I don't think it works quite as easily as that, honey."

"So make it work," she shoots back, although it's more of a mumble and she can feel the heat rising into her cheeks — and it's not because she's angry. Honey. Right. Well, it's not as if he means it like that, is it?

"Sure, sure. Whatever you say."

"Well, I do say. You think I'm pack, right? So you have to listen to me. So there."

"I'm pretty sure I'd listen to anything you have to say anyway," he replies, staring up at her, and the sincerity in his eyes does nothing for the heat still displayed upon her cheeks. It's hard to look away when his eyes blaze like that, leaving her unable to doubt any word he says.

Leah sighs at herself. Get a grip.

"Fine. You want to do this the hard way? Here it is. You go make it up with Sam. Or don't make it up with Sam. Keep changing the subject instead of telling me what's really wrong with you. You can even go off and be Alpha if that's what you want! I seriously don't care all that much, to be quite honest with you!" It's a lie, of course. "But the way Embry said it, it sounded like not knowing either way is making it pretty rough on everyone else and I won't stand for it. Nobody is going to mess up Seth's life more than it already is. I'll kill them first. So get up."

She even swings her foot at his leg for good measure.

And Jacob, asshole that he is, simply cracks a smile, her threat having had the completely opposite effect. "I'd like to see that."

She doesn't smile back as she hitches the rucksack of empty wrappers over her shoulder, pulling the strap tight. Glaring at him.

It takes a moment, but eventually he gives in. His groan is more than exaggerated when he gets to his feet. "Whatever. I guess that I should know by now you're not happy unless you're throwing your weight around," he grumbles. It's just an excuse — she knows that. She knows him. Too well to take offence.

It's rather funny, actually, his half-hearted attempt to blame the temptation of going home on her. Especially when he is the one who takes the lead, often turning back to make sure that she's keeping up.

He even takes the bag from her.

Asshole.

Chapter Text

(Leah)

They have been hiking for nearly a whole half hour in their own contemplative silences when, after imagining what her mother must have thought when Quil Ateara showed up to pass on Charlie's fish (and blathering whatever excuse he'd made up for her absence), Leah is reminded of a promise she has made.

"Jake?"

"Hmm?"

"You think your dad would let me use his boat to go fishing sometime?"

Without breaking stride, Jacob looks back at her over his shoulder from several steps ahead. She can just about see his look of bewilderment in the moonlight slipping through the trees high above. "That's . . . random. Why do you want to go fishing?"

"Charlie gave me half the contents in his freezer this afternoon so my mom could start practicing Dad's recipe," she explains slowly, carefully. She doesn't want to admit what happened on Chief Swan's driveway, but she also doesn't want to have to sail out into the harbour on her own. "I promised that I'd replace it."

"Charlie . . . ?" Jacob frowns. "You went to Forks today?"

Oh, shit. "Uh — yeah. It's kind of a long story. But I want to go. Fishing, I mean," she says hurriedly. "I know Old Quil's boat is better, but I don't really want to have to ask him for a favour."

Leah finally matches Jake's impossibly long strides that have faltered in his confusion. She looks up at him, watching as his expression smooths out into something softer. It's hard to keep track of his ever-changing moods as it is, let alone being the recipient of such . . . such affection. It must be another wolf thing, she decides — their hormones must be bent right out of shape or something, especially when they're exploding right out of their skin all the time.

Or maybe he's just feeling sorry for her. The smile she receives is small, kind of sad, but nonetheless tender. Sympathetic. "Honey, you know Charlie probably doesn't expect you to go to that kind of trouble, right? I don't think it was a favour for a favour; he'd do anything for you guys."

Leah shrugs her shoulders, hot under Jacob's gaze. She's having trouble enough keeping her feet moving in a straight line. "I know, but . . ." She can only shrug again. "I still want to go. Will you come with me?"

"Sure." It's another immediate, knee-jerk response, but she appreciates it nonetheless — even if Jake clearly doesn't understand why exactly this is something she needs to do. "When do you want to go?"

"Whenever. Next weekend, maybe? Unless you're busy. Don't worry about it if you are, it was just a thought."

"I've already said I'll go with you. As soon as I have some time off, okay?"

She nods, and it's quiet again for a while — but she's expecting it when Jacob finally speaks again. She's practically heard the gears turning in his head.

"I, uh . . . I didn't think you liked Forks."

"I don't," she replies plainly. It's hell on earth, compared to her beloved reservation. "But I like Charlie."

"Yeah, me too." Jacob looks away, feet picking up again, and Leah hurries to keep up beside him. "Did you see Bella?"

"Unfortunately. Embry and Quil held me back, though — don't worry." It's easier to joke. "She seemed human enough. Kept on asking about you."

Leah can feel Jacob's surprise more than she can hear it in his voice when he frowns again and says, "Embry and Quil went with you?" as if he's not even heard her trying to tease him, bait him. As if he doesn't even care about Bella that much after all.

(But of course he does. Everybody knows that he does. And that does not make Leah want to foam at the mouth. Definitely not.)

"I told you it was a long story."

Jacob pointedly inclines his head in their general direction towards home. "Good thing we've got a long way to go still, then."

Leah sighs. He's not going to let this one go.

So she tells him about returning the Rabbit and then spending the morning with his father (which he is surprised about), and then about her mom finally finding her voice after starting to show a vague interest in the world around her (which he is pleased about, and it's kind of sweet). She doesn't tell him about answering the phone in his kitchen and being horrible to Bella on his behalf, however, because she doesn't think he'll appreciate that too much — but she does tell him that Bella was there when they all eventually arrived at Charlie's and that she's allegedly grounded for the rest of her natural life.

Jacob just looks at her dubiously. "I'm still confused about why Quil and Embry went with you."

"I didn't invite them," she protests a little petulantly, still blindly following Jake through the forest. She can't see five steps ahead of her for shit — it's too dark. She hopes he knows where he's going. "It was a spur of the moment thing and then I just . . . ran into them, and they decided to tag along."

"Uh-huh."

"Have you ever tried saying no to Embry?"

Jacob laughs. "Okay, yeah. Fair point. You didn't literally run into them though, did you? Because you know you can use the Rabbit whenever."

"Really?"

His blinks, face sincere. "Of course. I gave you the keys. It wasn't conditional or anything," he says. His voice sounds as if she's insulted him somehow.

"Oh." Stunned, Leah stumbles over a thick root protruding from the ground and feels Jacob's hands shoot out towards her a second before she manages to catch herself in time. "Thanks."

"It's not a big deal, Leah." His hands are still hovering around her like he thinks she might fall again. "You don't need to sound so surprised. You need a car, right?"

She frowns. "It is a big deal. You love that car."

"Yeah, I do, I just didn't think you'd want to use your dad's or anything," he explains simply. "Besides, it's not really like I get to drive the Rabbit much anyway. I'd rather someone did . . . Well, no, that's a lie. Not anyone. But I don't mind if you do."

"Oh."

It's stupid, really, but Leah feels tears threatening to appear from the corners of her eyes. She swallows thickly. Stupid. Really stupid. Stupid that she suddenly can't find her voice to even thank him for understanding her that much when nobody else does.

"Are you okay? I didn't upset you, did I?" Jacob asks worriedly, hands flurrying around her again. "I didn't mean to, I just—"

"You didn't. I . . . Thank you. You're right about —" Leah sniffs, damning the traitorous shake in her voice "— you know, Dad's car." She blinks furiously to clear the blur in her vision, willing the tears away, and has to force herself to start walking again so that she doesn't completely give herself away. "Uhm. Thanks."

Jacob easily falls into step with her. "No problem. Just don't let Embry or Quil swipe the keys from you; they've been trying it with me for months, but I know Em would only put a dent in her. And Quil — he can't even drive a stick shift."

A small smile of guilt plays on her lips which Jacob doesn't miss. Thankfully, he doesn't mention the tears. "I kind of did already. Sorry. Embry — he drove back from Forks, after — well, I didn't stop him. Sorry."

"After what?"

He stops walking so suddenly without warning that Leah trips up again. She groans inwardly, berating herself. "After . . . after we picked up the fish from Charlie."

Jacob stares down at her, searching her face closely, until after what feels like the longest moment he proclaims, "You're lying."

"I'm not."

"You are," he insists. "What happened?"

Leah looks away and attempts to push them on. It really is a long walk. But Jacob pulls her back and holds onto her arm. Damn. He's not going to like this — at all. "Well, uh," she begins awkwardly, "like I said, Bella was there, but, uh, so was that boyfriend of hers —"

"Cullen?"

"— and you know what I'm like, can't keep my mouth shut, although this time it was actually my head that got us into trouble, really, and I couldn't exactly help that —"

Jacob is deathly still. His hold on her arm doesn't hurt, but his grip is tight enough that she can feel the slight tremor snaking its way along his arm. He growls, cutting her off again. "What happened."

Leah cringes underneath his waiting gaze. She doesn't know why. She's never usually the type to balk in the face of danger, which up until this point in her life has mostly consisted of her mother's reproachful looks and a few werewolves losing their shit in front of her. But maybe she is frightened a little bit. Not of Jacob, necessarily — never Jacob — but rather because he is about the only friend she has, and she does not want to fall out with him over a simple white girl. She might not approve of his life choices as much as she approves of Bella fucking Swan's when it comes to love, but Jacob obviously still cares for the girl.

"I must have thought something which wasn't very complimentary about Bella, I guess. I'm pretty sure it was me, anyway, unless Embry and Quil have developed a sudden aversion for the girl —" (which, Leah thinks, she would fully support. She's only human, after all) "— but I don't want to upset you, so can we please just not . . ."

"Did he hurt you."

"No," Leah says honestly, "but you will, if your nails dig into my arm any more than they already are."

Jacob's hand drops as if he has been stung. Leah wonders if she'll have another bruise, but she doesn't dare have a look — if only because of the sudden shame crossing Jake's face. "I wouldn't," he says, his voice still barely controlled. "Hurt you. You know that, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

"I wouldn't," he insists again, impossibly even more adamant this time.

"I know, Jake." She reaches for his hand and tugs. "And Edward didn't either. Embry and Quil were there, and they wouldn't have let anything happen to me — or Bella. I'm sure of it. So come on, let's keep walking, 'kay?"

It takes a moment, but Jacob gives a stiff nod of his head and picks his feet up. He doesn't drop her hand, but instead he threads his fingers through hers and links them together. Leah doesn't mind too much. At least she won't nearly fall down again.

Jacob swallows hard, loud enough for her to hear. "He really didn't hurt you?"

"No, Jake. It was nothing. I mean, the guy spouted a load of bullshit, but he didn't really do anything. It was just empty words."

"Tell me what he said. Please."

"Something about Victoria —" (Jacob's fingers hold hers in an iron grip at that) "— which Embry kindly filled me in on, by the way — as if I needed anything else to worry about, knowing you and Seth are out there chasing after that, thank you very much. Then Edward said he wanted to speak to the Alpha when the pack was stabilised, or something. I guess he means you."

"No," Jacob growls. "Not me. Bella's bloodsucker can talk to Sam. He's still in charge, as far as I'm concerned."

"But your fight —"

"That wasn't about me wanting to take over," he snaps fiercely. "I thought you understood that. I don't want to lead."

But she doesn't understand, and she feels like she never will, not completely. Still, she nods as if she does anyway, the bite in his words rolling right off her back. Hormonal wolves.

"Sorry," he mumbles guiltily, squeezing her fingers. "I didn't mean to bite your head off."

"S'okay. I'm sorry, too. I just want to understand, Jake, because you could do it if you wanted to though, right? I've been thinking about this Alpha thing since you first told me about it." The day in her kitchen, the day she'd first learned about Sam and Emily. "I mean, your dad is the Chief."

"Sam's the Chief. Billy's just the figurehead."

"Yes, fine, but Billy was Chief first," Leah says impatiently, beating her impatience back down, "and to everyone else — you know, the mere mortals who don't know the truth, he still is. Your family's always been at the head of our tribe in one way or another, so surely that means you should be for the pack." She sighs. "I guess . . . I guess what I'm really trying to say is that if you didn't want to be — in charge, I mean, then why did you fight with Sam?"

The silence is palpable underneath the dense cover of the trees.

Then Jacob clears his throat. "Just how much did Embry tell you, exactly? Because I really didn't — you gotta believe me, that wasn't what happened. Being born of the right bloodline has been the bane of my life. Yeah, I'm supposed to be in charge. But I said no."

"Why?"

"Funnily enough, being some sort of legendary chief isn't at the top of my to-do list." And then, at the unimpressed glare Leah sends his way, he adds, "I didn't even want to be part of a pack, Leah, let alone their Chief. I have a hard enough time knowing that Sam can take away my freewill at any given moment, so how anyone could think I'd want to do that to someone else . . . I'd be a terrible leader."

She disagrees, but says, "Fine. Okay, I believe you. What I don't believe is that whatever this is, whatever had you so upset . . . If it's honestly not about leading everyone else, what is it that's so bad you can't tell me? Surely nothing's worth nearly becoming a murderer over."

"I could think of a few things," Jacob mutters darkly. "What else did Embry say?"

"He said the pack was in shambles. That Sam lost it with you over something or the other and you were only defending yourself, but you nearly —" Leah swallows uncomfortably. "You said it yourself. You had him — you could have done it, if you wanted to. And it's just . . . I have a really hard time believing either of you were ready to do that to each other, y'know?"

Somehow, Jacob knows there is more. "And . . . ?"

"And you gave an order," she says quietly, relenting underneath his warm gaze. There really is nothing else now. "That's why I thought you had taken over."

"I didn't —"

"I know," she reassures him quickly. "He told me you didn't know what you were doing. I don't think he blames you."

"Might be about just the only person who doesn't," Jacob mutters underneath his breath. "Except Quil, maybe. They're all pretty mad at me. God knows what Sam's going to do to me when I see him again."

Not for the first time that day, the fierce protectiveness which she is quickly starting to associate with Jake rises in her chest, seeping out of her so quickly that she struggles to remember herself. "He's not going to do anything to you."

Jacob has the gall to laugh at her. "You sound sure about that."

"As long as you don't call me Little Engine again," she warns, ignoring him when another laugh rings out, "otherwise I'll string you up after I've finished with Sam."

She means it, too.

➰

(Jacob)

Leah is flagging beside him by the time their feet hit reservation soil, stifling yawns when she thinks he is not paying attention — but Jacob doesn't miss a single one. He is on full alert. The pack hasn't come across the redhead since the damned bloodsucker caught wind of the tiny Cullen and high-tailed it over the Olympic Mountains, but even if he hadn't been secretly worried about Leah running into the leech on her way back (because Victoria will come back — he is sure of it), he knows he would have followed his imprint regardless.

He'd follow her anywhere. He follows her all the way through the Rez, right to the door of his house where the Rabbit is parked up in front of it. He'd offered to walk her home, first, but even through her exhaustion she'd refused to be dissuaded, almost as if she didn't quite trust that he wouldn't disappear again afterwards.

As if he'd go anywhere now.

He pushes the unlocked door open and ushers her inside ahead of him, ignoring her eyerolls and another yawn which follows soon afterwards. And he almost stumbles when her scent hits him as soon as he walks into his living room and flicks on the light.

It doesn't matter that he's been wrapped up in her since she found him — this is different; there are traces of her all over the room, over every single part of it she has touched. He can tell almost instantly that she has washed down every inch of the kitchen, that she has done enough loads of laundry to last several weeks.

Jacob thinks about her scent all over his clothes and almost stumbles again. Did she go into his bedroom? His bathroom? Slight panic courses through him at the thought. A girl hasn't been in his bathroom for nearly two years, and never in his bedroom. But he can't pretend that the thought doesn't have his wolf practically purring inside of him.

"What?" she asks.

"It's . . . clean," he states, entirely aware of how so very stupid he sounds. It's as if his brain has come to a complete standstill. "You cleaned."

He doesn't have to look at her to know she's rolling her eyes at him again. "It was a pig sty, Jacob," she replies in that haughty tone of hers. "I know your dad is a bit too proud for his own good, but you've really gotta start asking for help if you need it."

His eyes flicker down the hallway, towards his dad's room from where he can hear the old man breathing deeply. "We don't need help."

"Like I said. Proud."

"We don't —" he starts to say again, but she cuts him off.

"It's not charity, Jake, alright? We're family. I didn't call it charity when you fixed my front door or when you offered your car up."

"That's different," he mumbles. He is supposed to care for her; he has been made for her, and she for him. She is an imprint. Sure, he might not be able to bring himself to tell her as much, but it's not exactly a role which he wants her to take up — not in the way Emily has shaped her own imprint by becoming a caregiver. Leah shouldn't have to feel like she needs to look after anyone, least of all him.

He hates himself for breaking down on her like that, back at their old camping spot. He shouldn't have done that. He came close. Too close to —

"Oh, for . . ." Leah tilts her head up to the ceiling. And Jacob, transfixed by the lines of her throat, the colour of her skin, can do nothing but watch as she swallows her aggravation and then says, "I'd shout at you, but I don't want to wake Billy."

"Go for it. He'd sleep through a storm."

"Don't tempt me," she mutters. And then she sighs. "Go and have a shower. You've got half the forest on you still."

"What are you going to do?"

She looks around the cramped living room, her lips puckering slightly and brows pulling together in thought. Jacob follows her line of sight and notices the mess on the coffee table, the trail of destruction his dad has undoubtedly left since she last cleaned.

"Don't," he warns.

"I didn't say anything," she says, her huge, tired brown eyes blinking up at him innocently under the fluorescents.

"If you're going to stay — and you can, if you want, but you don't have to look after me. Just sit down, okay? Help yourself to whatever you want."

Maybe it's because it's just been him and Billy since Rebecca refuses to come home from Hawaii and Rachel escaped to college. Maybe he is a little too defensive when it comes to receiving help. Or maybe it's because of some deep-rooted, ingrained need within the wolf to make sure his imprint is the one who is safe, happy, healthy and whole. He can't say. Either way, it's impossible to fight. Leah has far too much on her shoulders without the added weight of his problems, too.

"Please?" he adds more gently when she looks mutinous. "It'd make me feel better to know you're not running around after everyone else. I feel bad enough that you had to come and find me as it is."

"Drag you back, you mean," she says. There's a quiet but amused smile playing at the edge of her lips and enough deference in her voice that Jacob knows she's not mad, and he finds himself smiling back.

"Sit down," he insists again. "I won't be long."

He's ten minutes. Not that he's counting.

Ten minutes — that's all it takes before he's walking back into the living room dressed in clean sweats, his hair already drying, only to find that the coffee table has been tidied and Leah is half-asleep on the couch.

He's not all that surprised. She's walked miles today. For him.

He sets down the clothes he's brought in for her and crouches down in front of the couch, crossing his arms over her knees, and he feels his heart swell a little as she looks back at him through half-lidded eyes. Five nights of his cowering in the forest are completely erased with just that look.

"Hey," he says gently. "You want me to take you home now?"

"My feet hurt. Come sit."

"I can drive you —"

She yawns, lazily patting the space beside her. "Just sit with me for sec. S'not that late."

It is, he wants to tell her. It's nearly one o'clock in the morning, but the words fly right out of his head after he sits down on the cushions and she presses her cheek against his bare shoulder.

Fuck. He is in so much trouble. Even now everybody knows . . .

Tell her.

Don't tell her.

Leah nestles in closer and he can think no more. "For what it's worth," she murmurs, "I think you'd be good at it. Being in charge."

"I'd hate it."

"Mm," she agrees wearily, turning on her side and tucking her arms in between them, her words barely legible now, "I know. S'why you'd be good."

"Don't worry about it, okay?" He sweeps her wayward hair from her forehead. "I'll clear things up with Sam in the morning."

"Sure, sure."

"You're silly when you're sleepy, huh?"

"Mm," she hums again, "but I'm still right."

By the time he's thought of something sensible to say, she's asleep.

Chapter Text

(Leah)

Leah wakes to darkness, hot and sweaty underneath a pile of blankets, still dressed in yesterday's clothes. It takes her a moment to remember where she is. A moment of staring at the huge NASCAR poster stuck to the opposite wall, at the faint shadows cast over it by the hallway light before she realises that she's in Jacob's bed.

Jacob's bed.

Huh.

She kicks off the stifling blankets and glances at the digital clock on the nightstand. It's early — too early, even by her own standards — but she's awake now, and knows she won't go back to sleep even if she lays here for another hour with the curtains closed. Sleep hasn't come so easily since . . . Well, she doesn't sleep easily these days, and rarely for long, but last night is the first that she remembers sleeping dreamlessly. And it is the first morning that she feels entirely relaxed. Comfortable, even, despite the slight ache in her muscles from walking so far and for so long yesterday.

The memory of the day starts coming back to her, slowly at first and then all at once: the clearing, the journey back, the temptation of sticking around for just that little bit longer . . . although she still has no idea how she wound up in the box bedroom at the back of the house. Jacob's bedroom. Jacob's bed.

Huh.

Where is Jacob?

She half-expects to see him on the floor when she rolls over, but it's not until she finally gets up and pads quietly into the small living room, barefoot and braiding her hair as she goes, that she peeks over the back of the couch and finds him sprawled over it, his long legs dangling over the arm and his mouth slack. Sleeping. Snoring.

The couch is no bigger than a loveseat, really. He can't possibly be comfortable, squished up like that, and yet that drawn look upon his face which was there yesterday has almost disappeared. The worn lines, the unhappiness lingering there, the shadows — it's all gone. He looks younger in his sleep, she decides. Just like when he smiled . . . That is, if she ignores how his new body and his impossible height and his thick muscles don't quite match up with the rest of him. Who he really is at heart.

Seth looks like that, too.

Seth.

She has to get home. But something feels wrong about slipping out of the door before dawn without a goodbye.

Leah ties off the end of her braid, still feeling oddly moved to the core as she studies Jacob. He gave up his bed, carried her to it; he piled all those blankets on top of her so that she wouldn't get cold; he even took her shoes off, for crying out loud.

She leans down to touch his shoulder. "Hey."

Jacob jerks awake, his eyes snapping open in panic and searching wildly around him for the threat. "Leah?" He blinks sleepily — and damn, she feels guilty as hell. "S'going on?"

"Nothing," she murmurs quietly, apologetic. "I'm just going home. I'll be back later, 'kay?" She hasn't forgotten her promise to offload all the casseroles in her fridge into Billy's.

Jacob relaxes almost instantly, his eyes fluttering shut again as he sinks back down into the couch and mumbles something which she thinks translates to stay, but the words are garbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"It's barely even sun-up," she says gently. "Why don't you go sleep in your bed? Come on."

It's like coaxing a child, but eventually she manages to lead a sleepy Jacob down the hallway and into his own bed. He falls back to sleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow, breathing deeply with the smallest of smiles on his face. His feet are hanging so far off the end of the bed that they almost touch the floor, but it doesn't seem to make him any less comfortable than he looked on the couch. He's out for the count.

Hopefully he stays like that for a while. He can't have gotten any decent sleep since Quil phased — and maybe not even before that. He has been so busy, so run ragged with looking after Seth and — and her, she thinks with a slight pang of disappointment. And with this other vampire, Victoria, the one who Embry told her about . . . It's no wonder Jake is able to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. He must be exhausted.

Leah spots her battered sneakers at the bottom of the bed and slips them on before tiptoeing out of his room and out of the house, Jacob already lightly snoring again behind her.

It feels like December outside — not the end of March — and she shivers in her sweater, clenching her fists together inside the thick sleeves. It's almost as if her body is protesting, urging her to go back inside where it is warm and safe and . . .

She shakes herself. No. Later. She'll come back later.

With exaggerated movements, Leah sets off down Billy's ramp and across the reservation. She tells herself that's it's only to keep herself warm rather than to force herself onwards, and she's only half-convinced herself by the time she makes it to the end of the dirt track that stretches from Quileute Street to Jacob's house and back.

And that's when she sees Sam.

Great. Just great.

Against the rising sun, Sam falters a step in what looks like a very purposeful strut, almost as if he is forcing himself onwards, too. Onwards to his execution. It's almost funny.

And it would be, if he didn't look just as surprised to see her as she is to see him. Perhaps he doesn't want anything to do with her anymore, either. She's not going to begrudge him if that's the case, but neither is she going to let him bother Jacob.

How he knows that Jake is back on the Rez, that he's home, she doesn't know, but suddenly Leah wishes that she'd swallowed her pride and had taken the Rabbit. (She has total faith that Jacob could very easily knock out a Sam-shaped dent from the hood. She doesn't even think he would blame her for it.)

For a split second, she considers running. Back to the house — back to Jacob, because she knows exactly where Sam is going and what he plans to do. But she has never backed down from a fight before, and she's not about to start now. Especially not because of Sam Uley.

"Leah —"

"He's sleeping," she tells him before he can say anything more. She can hear how harsh she sounds, but she can't bring herself to care. He deserves it, every single bit of hostility. "Leave him alone."

But Sam is so used to her anger by now that he barely flinches. Or maybe he is just that determined. "This can't wait."

"You've waited this long, I'm sure you can wait for him a few more hours. Until he's ready."

Sam's face hardens in the cold light. "So he thinks he's in charge now? Is that what he wants?"

"That's up to him," she says firmly. This — telling Sam, it's none of her goddamn business and neither does she want it to be. This is their mess. Not hers. "Either way, it's his right to choose, isn't it?"

Sam's nostrils flare as he inhales deeply. He looks her up and down, scrutinising her, eyes narrowed. "So you know now, then."

Leah crosses her arms over her chest, holding her ground. "That you got your ass kicked? Yeah," she scoffs, "I know all about that. Sounded like you deserved it, in all honesty." It's satisfying when Sam's cheeks go a little redder than the new sun, and she smiles, feeling spiteful. "How did it feel to be bested by a sophomore?"

(Granted, Jacob doesn't look like a sophomore . . . but who's counting?)

When Sam doesn't answer, Leah's smirk only deepens. "That bad, huh."

Sam exhales, a long and purposeful breath through his nose, truly aggravated. Good. "I wanted to sort this with him first before I spoke to you about it."

"Me? There's nothing to say."

"You've heard his side — you haven't heard mine."

"And I don't want to," she says as Sam frowns. "It's too early for your shit, Sam. If you really want to speak with Jake then you can come back later, not when he's sleeping. Or better yet, wait for him to come to you."

Either way — she's not leaving until Sam does. There is no way in hell that he's getting past her to wake Jacob up from the first decent sleep he's going to get before the world comes crashing down on him all because of what Sam has done and what Sam wants.

"We haven't got that much time anymore, Leah," Sam says, sounding rather uppish about it. "Now that Bella's back, that redhead is going to come looking for her again. We need to be ready for it whether Jacob thinks he's Alpha now or not."

Not, she wants to say, but it's nice to know that she can make Sam suffer a little bit more if she wants to. "How did you know he was back?"

"Jared was on patrol last night. He saw you two. And now — I feel it, that Jacob's close."

"You feel it?"

"Alphas can feel their pack," Sam explains in the way he might be talking to a child. Slow and deliberate, as if having to do so is extremely annoying to him. He looks directly at her, his eyes wide but fierce. "He might have thrown my leadership into question — maybe the pack's having trouble . . . obeying at the moment, but I guess there's some things he can't fully take away from me until he decides to."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said," Sam grunts. He jerks his head, looking pointedly over her shoulder. "Are you going to let me past or what?"

"No."

He shakes his head, almost like he's disappointed. "I see you're still as stubborn as ever."

"Damn right." Leah firms her chin and tightens her arms over her chest. "And I'm not leaving until you do."

Sam raises an eyebrow, considering her, and for a moment Leah thinks that he might try to slip past her — and she knows she has absolutely no hope in hell of trying to catch him, if he does — but then he shakes his head again with a roll of his eyes. "Fine."

She waits, resisting temptation to shoo him away with her hands, until Sam drops his arms and sighs, rolling his shoulders. "Come on, then."

"If you think I'm going anywhere with you . . ." A noise of disgust rises in her throat, and she doesn't bother clamping down on it.

"You're not going to let me talk to Jacob, so you can at least let me explain to you my side of things. Come on," he says again, "I'll walk you home."

"I don't think so."

"Why? You're not going back to Jacob's, are you?" he asks, eyes flickering back over her shoulder and towards the Black's as if he can see all the way down the winding dirt track. "I'm surprised he let you come out here on your own."

"What do you care?" What is it with these boys thinking she needs to be given permission? "I'm fine as I am, thanks. I can take care of myself."

And just to prove it, Leah starts marching home.

She hears Sam hesitate, his feet dragging against the gravel, the sharp intake of breath, but then his footsteps pick up. Following hers, matching them stride for stride. She's undecided whether to be annoyed about it or thankful that he didn't decide to take advantage of the opening and head towards the Black's instead.

The silence is . . . not weird, exactly, because she doesn't have anything she wants to say. At least, not to him. But she can sense how awkward he feels about it, and knows that whilst she doesn't have anything to say to him, there are clearly things he wants to say to her.

Leah almost tells him to spit it out, whatever it is, but that would involve initiating a conversation she has no interest in. So she keeps walking, keeping her eyes fixed on the path ahead and willing her legs to be quicker, her strides longer.

The last time she'd seen Sam, he had followed her then, too. He'd stood in her bedroom, just as uncomfortable and awkward — because she had purposefully made it so, undressing out of her funeral garb as they had argued. She had taken her frustration out on him, hating herself for showing such weakness to him earlier that morning.

She won't be doing that again. She knows the truth, now.

Not that she's allowed herself to think about it. Imprinting. Leah has always believed that Sam was taken from her — that he let himself be taken — but the real truth of it is just that much worse. She'd only just gotten used to the lie! She had only just let him go! She had been too tired to keep clinging onto a love which didn't exist anymore because Sam — he was never coming back; he was never going to choose her instead. Except now — now, it was so . . . so final.

Would he have come back if it hadn't been for that — what had she called it again? That mystical higher power.

She'll never know. And she's not sure she wants to. It's far too late for that sort of thinking. It has been nearly two years. Two years. She has moved on. She doesn't love Samuel Uley anymore — not like that. Maybe the memory of him . . .

"You seem . . . angry," he says eventually, breaking the dreaded silence.

A grunt. "Can't possibly think why."

"I didn't mean to hurt Jacob," he begins to tell her, as if that is the explanation she is looking for. How little Sam knows her these days. "It just . . . Things are worse as a wolf, sometimes. Everything is heightened. Amplified."

She doesn't look up at him, walking beside her so easily. Doesn't want to. She can't walk home quickly enough, can't wait to slam the door in his stupid face. "Sounded like you meant it to me."

"And I didn't mean to hurt you," he continues as if she's not said anything.

"Not that you've cared about that before."

Sam sighs. "I do care, Leah."

"You're funny."

The growl of annoyance rumbling in his chest is not entirely human.

"No, really, you are," she ploughs on regardless, feeling as ridiculously calm as she sounds. She really does not care anymore; the door is well and truly closed. "You think you hurt me? You didn't do a thing to me that you've not done already. I was hurt, yes, but I got better. It took me a long time, but I'm over it now."

"You would say that, especially now, but once things calm down you'll realise that imprinting doesn't erase history, Leah, and you —"

"I'm over it," she says again. "I don't love you anymore."

It's the first time she's said the words out loud, and it has taken her a long, long time to be able to say them, but she knows it to be true — something she's slowly come to realise over these last few weeks and knows with absolute certainty now. The honesty makes her feel lighter than air. Free of a weight she hadn't been aware she'd been carrying, so used to dragging herself and the rest of the world down with her . . .

"Well I do!" Sam explodes, and they both freeze — even as shock crosses his face after the words leave him, echoing out into the world around them.

For a moment he looks so visibly crushed, so disappointed with himself, that Leah wonders how long it has been that he's been holding this in.

He closes his eyes and exhales loudly, running a hand raggedly through his too-short hair. Tearing at it. "Just because . . . Imprinting on Emily, that doesn't mean that I didn't love you. That I don't still love you, Lee."

And Leah . . . She can't — no.

Caring is one thing. Loving . . .

No.

She stumbles as she puts distance between them, turning, her world spinning, readying herself to run. She has to get out of here. Everything feels wrong —

Sam's hand clamps down on her arm and pulls her back with enough force that she almost falls. "Leah, wait, please, hear me out."

"Get off," she snarls, wildly wrenching herself free of his grip which feels so . . . off. He's not the person she wants touching her. But Sam holds on to her with ease, his strength nearly as immeasurable as Jacob's. "No! You can't do this to me, not now! I've said goodbye to you —"

"I'm not asking for . . . for that," he says, struggling to get the words out, but she knows what he means. He's not asking for her back or for them to be together again. "But you understand now, don't you?"

No. She doesn't understand. She breathes in and out, once, twice. Begging for the calm she'd been in possession of only moments ago. She breathes again. "Let go of me, Sam."

"No! Not until you tell me that you understand! Me and Emily, you and Jacob —"

"Me and Jacob?" Leah barks a hard laugh, and it hurts her throat. "There isn't a me and Jacob, not like there's a you and Emily. We're completely different."

"The circumstances are different, yes, but, Lee-Lee, it's exactly the same —"

"Don't call me that. Don't . . . Don't compare us. I'm nothing like you. You left me, Sam! You don't get to be pissed that I've moved on!"

And if it wasn't for how so very miserable Sam looks when he next speaks, how defeated he sounds, Leah would have continued struggling out of his hold. "I didn't want to leave," he says. "It wasn't something planned, you know that now, don't you? I didn't go behind your back —"

She starts fighting again, and, this time, Sam lets her go. "You still left! She could have said no, but she didn't! And you — you chose to stay with her!"

"There was no choice!" he argues. "You know it's something that can't be fought!"

"You didn't try!"

"I didn't know how! And even if I had done, I would have failed! How can you still not understand, even now?"

She wants to scream. "I thought I did, but now you're telling me . . . You need help, you know that? You can't love both of us."

"I can. I do, because there's two of me — the man and the wolf. I have to be with Emily — the other part of me, it has to be with Emily, I wouldn't have it any other way. I can't have it any other way, but if the man — he would have chosen differently." He swears violently. "It's so hard to explain."

"Why now? You've had two years, Sam. Two years. So why do you have this sudden need to start excusing yourself now?"

"After what happened with Jacob . . . When he told me — when I found out that he'd imprinted on you, I saw red. I was so jealous —"

She freezes. "What did you say?"

His words come out in a terrible rush. "I was so jealous, Leah. It's no excuse, I know it. And I knew nothing would change because it's impossible, I can't leave Emily, not ever. I'd die if I tried. But I . . . I love you, too, and I just — I saw red," he says again lamely, unable to offer her anything else.

"No. You said —" The world has tilted on its opposite axis and then righted itself all at once, throwing her off balance. "You said . . . Jacob. You said that he imprinted on me."

Sam looks like he's about to fall over. "He didn't tell you." Silence. Heavy silence. And then, "I just thought . . . You were coming from his house, and you smell like . . . Your scent is all tangled up with his like — like you spent the night . . ." His throat bobs. "Oh, God," he gasps out. "You really didn't know."

Suddenly everything Sam has been saying makes sense.

You understand now, don't you?

Me and Emily, you and Jacob . . .

You know it's something that can't be fought.

But clearly Jacob has been fighting it. All this time . . . He imprinted on her, and he hasn't told her. He knew. He knew.

He knew.

And Sam . . . They all know. But she didn't. Embry, Quil . . . Seth . . .

Leah can hardly recall what it is to breathe. "When?"

"Last week, when you —"

"No," she says suddenly. She doesn't want to know, doesn't want Sam to be the one to tell her these things. "Don't."

Sam nods once. It might be the first time that she's seen him look so guilty. He didn't even look guilty when he told her he didn't want her anymore. He was nothing except stone-faced, oddly detached, distracted . . .

"I can't listen to this."

"I'm sorry," he says, his deep voice low, remorseful. "I thought —"

"Just — don't." She doesn't care if it sounds like she's begging, if she's choking on her words. "Don't."

She flees.

For once, Sam doesn't follow her.

Chapter Text

(Leah)

She runs home, because she has nowhere else to go.

By some miracle the door is unlocked, and she throws herself through it, her heart pounding and her hands shaking as she bolts the chain. It won't stop any werewolves barging through it, breaking their way in, if they want to— but it's the act of locking them out, locking herself in that allows for a second of control. Clarity.

Just a second.

He knew he knew he knew—

Leah's head spins as she leans it against the cool, polished hardwood. It pounds as she hears her mother's voice travel down the hallway from the kitchen, where Leah suspects Sue has likely spent all night over a pan trying to perfect Harry's recipe. The house stinks of fish.

"Lee, is that you?"

Fuck, she hates that name.

But she says, "Yeah," and winces when her own voice falls flat against the door. It's not her mom's fault.

It's another five seconds before Leah can bring herself to straighten up and school her face into something less . . . hurt. Because that's what she is— hurt by the person she'd started letting all those barriers down for.

(There was a time, once, when the thought of being with anyone other than Sam had been inconceivable. Of giving that much of herself, sharing that much with someone else. But that's exactly what she had started to do with Jacob.)

(Perhaps hurt is too small of a word to describe what she feels.)

"Where have you been?" her mom calls, and by the time Sue appears in the hallway Leah has managed to turn away from the door and square her shoulders. Mercifully, her eyes are clear. Her head is not.

But her mom is making an effort. So she will, too.

Sue doesn't look mad, which is a bonus, even as she frowns and wrings the dish towel in her hands. Just concerned, maybe a little bit interested. Still depressed and withdrawn, nervous even, although admittedly her face has a little more colour in it than it has had recently. "Did you go to a party?"

"No. I was out late with Jacob and crashed at his place." Truth— if only because Leah can't think to lie, even if her honesty has her mom's eyebrows shooting all the way up into her hairline.

Leah ignores it and kicks off her shoes, watching rather detachedly as one tumbles over the other by the foot of the stairs. It's testament to how worried her mother is that she doesn't reprimand her for such carelessness, such untidiness.

"Have you been up long? Where's Seth?"

"He's not here."

"When did you last see him?"

Sue shrugs, turning back around to clear the way as Leah starts making her way down the hall to investigate the carnage which is undoubtedly in the kitchen. And sure enough, it looks as if bags and bags of flour and cornmeal have exploded all over the countertops.

Leah raises an eyebrow. "Need help?"

Her mom suddenly looks mildly embarrassed. There might be some life in her, sure, but she's still a shadow of the fierce woman she had been two weeks ago. "I— I wanted to have a batch ready for when Charlie comes, but I didn't . . ." She frowns at herself, disappointed. "I couldn't remember whether I needed to use dried thyme or dried oregano."

"You need to use both," Leah says, and her mom sags a little bit with that same disappointment— or maybe it's relief in finally knowing the answer. "Charlie's coming over?"

"I called him. Late, last night. He didn't know the answer either."

It's the air of embarrassment still in her mom's tone that has Leah asking, "How late?"

". . . He was asleep," Sue admits, ducking her eyes and pretending to busy herself in one of the disaster areas by the sink. "He'll be here soon. He's going to drive us to Billy's. I, um . . . I think I need to apologise."

Leah blinks at her mom's back. Apologise? "What the hell for?"

"Language," she scolds— but only half-heartedly, and it's followed by a quiet sigh. "I need to apologise to you, too. And Seth. But to you the most, I think."

"There's nothing to apologise for, Mom."

"No, there is," Sue begins to protest, but Leah doesn't want to know what follows.

"Please, don't."

She takes another look around the wreck that is their kitchen, wondering if through all this Sue has gotten the recipe right. She's not all too sure she wants to be one to determine that, though. Isn't sure she will be able to stand eating fish fry ever again. The smells clinging to the room are bad enough.

"How long did you say Charlie was going to be?"

"Soon. An hour, maybe. It's Sunday," Sue says as if it's some sort of explanation, shrugging again.

"Okay." Leah rolls up the sleeves of her sweater. Harry's sweater. Anything to stop her mom from apologising. Anything to stop herself from thinking about . . . that. About anything. "There's oregano in the pantry. Middle shelf."

Sue takes the hint.

➰

Chapter Text

(Leah)

Though Jacob's laughter at his joke eventually fades, his grin at the appalled look on her face remains. Leah shies away from it, her cheeks reddening as she focuses on their entwined hands. 

The warmth he gives off has her remembering what he told her yesterday about hardly anything feeling warm to him anymore, and she thinks that she must be affected, too, because his skin doesn’t scorch hers the way it probably should. 

109 degrees, he'd said. He should be dead, honestly, running that kind of fever. Does that mean her temperature is the same now, if his skin is not burning hers?

Probably, she thinks. Just another thing she’s going to have to get used to, because Jacob has made it pretty clear that this is something which can't be fought — not unless she wants him to be in excruciating pain, anyway. But if this is messing with her body now . . .  She can't help but ponder what else might have affected her. Altered her. 

Has she changed without realising it? Has it changed her?

The question is impossible to consider with Jacob being so close, distracting her and clouding her head. Is that the imprint, too?

She sighs. "So what happens now?"

"I don't know," he says, his breath skittering over her skin. She doesn't have to sneak a glance at him to know that his eternally sunny grin has suddenly faded— she might finally be getting the hang of tracking his switch mood changes. "I'd say it's your call, but . . . honestly, I have no idea. Pretty sure this hasn't been done before."

That's why I was asking , she wants to say. What are we doing, exactly? What are we going to do? 

But she’s not quite brave enough to ask for those answers, not just yet, so what ends up coming out of her mouth is something else. "I mean, what happens with you and Sam? What are you going to do?"

"Oh. Kill him, I suppose," Jacob replies evenly.

She peeks up at him to find him smirking, though there's a touch of malice lingering there too, and she nods, as if his answer is the most acceptable thing in the world despite trying to stop him from doing exactly that less than half an hour ago. Except . . .

"You'd have to be in charge if you kill him," she reminds him, willing her tone to remain as even as she can manage.

"Nah. I'll give the pack to Paul. He's been dying to give me an order, especially since I kind of took Second from him."

"Second?"

Jacob's fingers tighten around hers a fraction, apprehensive. Sore subject, she thinks. "Second-in-command. Sam's the Alpha, I'm his Second, and Jared's his Third. It's just bloodline stuff," he tacks on defensively, dismissively, "—like what I said yesterday. Stupid traditions."

"You don't like being Second?" she asks quietly.

"Hell, no. I didn't want to take it. And after I'd refused to step up, I don't think Sam was too much of a fan of the idea either, really. But it was either that or kill each other." Their eyes meet, and Jacob’s lips twist. "Always comes down to that, doesn't it?"

"So . . . you're like his Beta?” she asks, and this time she receives a genuine smile. Something clenches in her stomach at the sight. 

"Yeah," he says, "exactly. Seth said that, too. Trust me, though, I'd be the lowest ranking if I had the chance. S'just one of those things. Catch twenty-two."

The mention of Seth has Leah frowning as she thinks about the last time she saw him, about when it will be until she sees him next. She hasn't forgotten the supplies he took to Jake whilst he was holed up at the old camping spot. Hasn't forgotten what she is going to tell him the next time she sees him — or Sam. Her kid brother is going to finish school even if it kills her. Even if she doesn't understand a thing about the pack. Even if Embry's words hold true and that other vampire — Victoria — reappears.

Leah's heart quickens at the thought. She has to untangle her finger's from Jacob and pull away when she thinks about what had nearly happened between Edward and Embry and Quil on the Swan's front lawn. That had been bad, and barely anything had even happened. Victoria will be worse, of that Leah has no doubt— she must have heard the name half a dozen times yesterday, must have seen half a dozen looks of concern.

Embry seemed confident that they could take on one vampire. They've done it before, apparently. But even Leah could see that something didn't sit right with him and Quil about this one in particular.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah," she replies a bit too quickly. Jacob doesn't miss a thing. "Just . . . Thinking. About Seth."

Leah pushes out from her chair and starts running her hand through her long hair, pulling the wet tangles out as she stares out of the back window. It's not a lie, technically, so whatever the sixth sense they seem to share doesn't alert him. Small mercies. 

Silence falls over the kitchen, but it doesn't feel awkward — not really. A little tense, perhaps, with all that's been left unsaid about the choice she needs to make. About what might or might not be expected of her now. But she knows Jacob won't push her on it.

Other people will, she is sure. Jacob has made it clear how much stock Billy and the rest of the Council put into traditions and honour and— 

Well, fuck them. That's about as much as she can decide right now. 

Save for the decision she has already made, of course. One that concerns a certain Sam Uley. 

"How did you get here?" she asks, still staring out of the window.

"Drove the Rabbit back over. I was going to do it later, after Sam, but then your mom arrived and — well, you know." Jacob clears his throat awkwardly and then there's the distinct sound of keys dropping onto the kitchen table. "S'yours, if you want to use it. I meant what I said."

In spite of the restful sleep she had last night, the first in what feels like forever, she is tired already. Drained. So much has happened, is happening. Her poor father never stood a chance, did he?

Leah pulls in a deep breath, straightening her back as she turns back to him. “Good. I didn't really want to walk,” she says.

When Jacob looks confused, she summons all of her lingering courage and adds, "I'm coming with you. To see Sam."

➰

(Jacob)

The world tilts just a fraction, and he has to remember that wood — in his hands, at least — is easily breakable. The chair underneath him won't survive, and neither will the table. But there's nothing else to hold onto.

Jacob swallows thickly. He has to make an effort to breathe in and out again. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

He's not sure whether Leah realises that he wasn't exactly joking when he said that he was going to kill Sam. Not the first time he said it, blind with rage, and neither was he the second time. Sam had no right in telling her about the imprint, and certainly not that he still fucking loves her. That he's in love with her. Still.

Jacob thinks he's a dang idiot for not realising it sooner, but, clearly, his Alpha has been hiding a lot of secrets. From his pack and his own imprint.

"No," Leah says, squaring her shoulders anyway. "But I can't let you have another fight, not with him. He's not worth it."

Jacob considers her carefully. Tests the waters. "He'll be at Emily's."

Something vicious flares to life within Leah's eyes, her façade faltering a fraction, but the hard shield she keeps in place between her and the rest of the world returns almost immediately. "So?"

He shrugs, feigning indifference. "Just saying."

She stands impossibly straighter. Decision made. "I'm coming with you."

"Okay."

"You're fine with it? Just like that?" she asks, dubious.

Jacob shrugs again. "We've already agreed that I can't stop you from doing anything." Though he wishes he could — just this one time. He doesn't want Leah within a thousand feet of Sam. Doesn't want Sam within a thousand feet of her. "This could get uglier than it did with Quil, though. I don't really want you in the middle of it. Not this time."

She doesn't answer. She just stares at him, resolute and battle-ready, daring him to try and stop her. To tell her what she can and can't do.

He is the first to look away, defeated, though he doesn't feel a sense of triumph from her about it. Doesn't feel a sense that she's particularly confident about her own decision, either, especially when she leans against the kitchen counter. He watches her in the corner of his eye; it takes a second for her to drop her shoulders, another second to release the breath she's been holding, and he realises that she had been expecting him to argue with her.

Oh, he wants to. But he's almost, almost messed this up once already. She hasn't accepted him, not yet — not him, not the imprint. And it grinds, because the wolf demands an answer, demands to put a title on the nature of the imprint, but at least it doesn't grind as much as it did when he was trying to fight it. He can live with this.

At least, he hopes that can.

Leah begins braiding her still-wet hair with shaking hands, growling underneath her breath as she misses a strand and has to start all over. Carding her slender fingers through her hair again, she seems hellbent on ignoring the tremor she's suddenly developed. Jacob wisely chooses not to mention it.

"Here," he says gently when her hands drop for a second time and she lets out the tiniest sound of frustration. It's kind of cute. She's cute. Even as she looks at him, frowning, and he stands to gesture at her hair. "Come here."

One day, he'll thank Rach and Beck for teaching him how to do their fancy braids, even if their sole aim had only been to torture him. They'd wanted to open a hair salon, at one point. Another one of their schemes to get out of La Push as quickly as possible, but at least one that they had roped him into.

Leah inches towards him, still several parts dubious and defensive and distressed all at the same time, and she raises a dark eyebrow at him when he holds out his hand for the hairband on her wrist. It's testament to how she's feeling that she actually surrenders and hands it over without comment, wordlessly turning her back to him so that he can begin.

He can smell her shampoo, her soap. Oh, God. He's going to be dreaming about running his hands through her hair all week now, isn't he? It'd been bad enough waking up with her scent all over his pillow, wondering whether he'd just had the most fantastic dream or if she was actually there with him, in his bed.

Jacob does his best to work quickly — all the while trying to remember that it's okay to breathe, that he's not going to die just from being able to touch her like this — and soon enough he is tying off the end of her braid half-way down her back with a snap.

Her breathing has evened out and her hands have stopped shaking by the time she reaches up to feel her way over her head from where the braid starts. It's not bad, even if he says so himself. He's definitely going to have to thank his sisters . . . one day.

"Huh," says Leah. "That's . . . I didn't actually believe you'd be able to do that."

"Don't tell anyone," he intones seriously, knowing that it won't be staying a secret once the pack hears about it anyway. He'll be lucky if he manages to keep it out of his thoughts, let alone his dreams. "I have a reputation to uphold."

Leah snorts. He tries not to take offence.

"Ready?"

"Nope." Her lips pop, and she avoids his eyes as she swipes the keys off the table. "Let's go."

➰

Ten minutes later, Jacob turns the Rabbit onto the beaten path that leads to Emily's place. They've spent the last nine minutes negotiating.

He tries asking her to stay in the car; she refuses, and asks him to promise that he won't leave her alone with her traitor cousin.

She asks him to refrain from committing murder; he asks her whether she'd help him hide the body.

"I would," she replies with absolute certainty, "but then we'd have to kill Emily, too. No witnesses."

"Pack mind," he reminds her. "They'll all know."

"So we'll kill them too. Let the loyalists live. Seth, Quil. Maybe Embry," she says, giving him a slight sense of déjà vu. They were like this on the way to Quil's, quipping back and forth with an ease he's not felt with anyone before.

He smiles. "And when the Council asks what's happened to half of the pack?"

"Vampires."

"There'll be a war."

"'Two birds, one stone' springs to mind. Would mean that you could take care of your little Cullen problem, anyway. I'll help."

"Yeah?" he asks, laughing, and Leah nods resolutely. So determined, his imprint. "How are you going to manage that?"

"Flamethrowers. Carefully placed bonfires. Exploding gas tanks. They burn, right?"

"Right," he agrees slowly, pulling on the handbrake, although the picture she provides for his imagination is brilliant. "You're a bit scary, do you know that?"

This comment seems to please her, and her smile turns sweet. "I know," she says, and is the first to get out of the car.

Her braid swishes proudly behind her for a few steps, until she realises that she's inadvertently leading the way to face Sam and Emily and she surreptitiously falters a few steps so that she's next to him instead. Jacob makes sure to walk slowly, quietly hoping that she's going to change her mind the closer they get to the door and goes back to wait in the car.

She doesn't. But she does reach for his arm when Sam appears on the porch. To stop herself, or to stop him? Maybe both, Jake thinks. He certainly doesn't trust himself.

Sam looks . . . haggard. Guilty, even, and a small part of Jacob would be pleased about this if it were not for the fact that he knows Sam will surely use this against Leah — just like he tried to manipulate her by telling her secrets he should have taken with him to his damn grave. Jacob can hardly wait to see a replay of the conversation for himself just so he can know what the hell Sam had been thinking. He wonders if Emily knows.

Leah's grip on his arm tightens when Sam takes another long stride towards them. It's all Jacob need to look at his Alpha and say, "That's far enough."

It's not an order, nothing even close to a challenge, but Sam apparently has sense enough to listen. His eyes harden, and all traces of worry and guilt leave his expression. "I'm not going to hurt her, Jacob."

He might as well have said, I'm not going to take her away from you, Jacob. That's what he's really thinking. It's written all over his face.

"It's you I'm protecting here," Jacob replies. Just like he understands now that Leah is protecting him whether she's quite aware of it or not; he can feel how she hates being here already, but still she has come to stand with him. "Let's just get this over and done with. What do I need to do?"

He doesn't really adhere to traditions like Sam does, so he doesn't know. He thinks he might be able to stretch to a handshake. Maybe. That's being generous. He doesn't know what he'll do if he has to do something stupid like phase and lower his whole body in submission just to prove a point.

Sam takes a breath, hesitating. He glances at Leah, but seems to think better of letting his eyes linger and refocuses. "What do you want to do, Jacob?"

Be done with this already. "The pack's yours," he says. Everything's yours. Just allow me this one thing. "What do I need to do to prove that?"

Sam doesn't answer immediately. He looks as closely as he dares, at Jacob, at the hand holding onto his arm, the dainty fingernails digging ever so slightly into his skin. But he doesn't look directly at her again, if only because he must understand that he'll get his head ripped off if he does.

"You told her, then?" Sam finally asks, tone even. An effort for him, Jacob is sure. 

"No thanks to you," he replies darkly, blood beginning to pound.

"You should have told her from the very beginning. Maybe then this wouldn't have become a problem, would it? She deserves better than that, Jacob."

Better than you, is what he hears.

"She is standing right here, thank you," Leah snaps. She leans forward, almost preparing to pounce, but the hold she has on Jacob seems to keep her in place. Grounded. "Why do you keep saying his name like that? Ja-cob, like you're his teacher or something? I can't stand it."

Sam remains calm. Or tries to. "Leah—"

"Shut up. Just stop." Jacob feels her fingers curl around his bicep, digging deeper. Yeah, she's definitely holding herself back. "He wouldn't even have to be here if you hadn't tried to kill him. This is your mess."

"For God's sake, Lee, I didn't try to kill him. I told you I didn't mean to hurt him. Jacob knows that."

Jacob scoffs, and he smirks when he hears the same sound come from Leah at exactly the same time.

"But you did," Leah argues vehemently. "So make your apology, yeah? And then we'll be on our way." She puts her free hand on her hip, expectant, and Jacob thinks he might have loved her for that alone without the help of an imprint.

Sam stares at her, outraged. "Only this morning you were protesting that there wasn't a ' you and Jacob ', and now you've already accepted the imprint?" He shakes his head in disbelief. "Come on . You're seriously defending him for what he did?"

"No," she spits back. 

At this, Jacob winds his arm around her shoulders. Leah doesn't shake him off, perhaps because she wants to be stopped from lashing out as much as he wants to protect her, but neither does she hold her tongue. 

"I'm defending him for defending himself,” she says to Sam. “Against you . I haven't accepted anything — not that it's any of your goddamn business, actually. I thought I'd made that clear."

"Of course it's my goddamn business, Lee. He's pack. Second-in-command, actually, did he tell you that? Everything he does has a knock-on effect on everybody else and it becomes my fucking problem, all the time. First it's all about refusing to step up and how miserable he is, then it’s about Bella— we were all pining after her like we wanted her, too— and now it's you, of all the people—"

"That's enough." The double-timbre of the Alpha voice slips out of Jacob before he realises what he's doing, though he doesn’t think he would have bothered to stop himself even if he'd known. He’s reached his limit. 

Sam flinches, and his mouth snaps shut.

Good. 

Leah is shaking again underneath his arm. Rage, this time. Jacob can feel it bleeding out of her, and it almost sends him over the edge. But he can't, won't phase.

"The pack's yours," he tells Sam again. He's been wanting to do this for weeks. Months, even. As soon as he phased for the very first time and it ruined his life. "I'll be quitting as soon as I can manage it. You won't have to worry about me anymore. Happy? I'm done. I'm out. We're not doing this anymore."

"Jake," Leah pleads. "Don't—"

"Consider this my resignation," he continues over her, looking directly at Sam. "And a warning, too."

He doesn't need to explain exactly what that warning is. He thinks even Leah understands the words unspoken.

"Fine," Sam spits, barely in control of himself. "Fine. "

It doesn't feel fine— everything is telling Jacob to take take take ; the wolf is begging to take charge, to make his opponent submit, but he's been through this before. And he would kill Sam this time, he's sure of it. He wouldn't be able to stop himself. It's a fight he would win.

Sam looks close to losing it completely. Jacob, however, has never been more in control.

Sam growls. "Get the hell off my land."

It sounds like an Alpha-Order, except it rolls right off Jacob's shoulders and falls flat. Seems that handing the pack back over hasn’t fixed all their problems. 

Damn it all to hell. 

But, ever the obedient wolf, Jacob immediately starts steering Leah back to the Rabbit. Thankfully she falls into step beside him easily enough.

Hopefully they can get out of here before Sam realises that his only way of keeping his Second in check no longer works.

Chapter Text

(Jacob)

It's several minutes before Leah is able to get her breathing under control. Jacob thinks that if he didn't know any better, if Quileute girls were able to phase, he'd be sure that she's battling with herself to remain on two legs right now. She's that angry.

She puts her head in her hands, eyes squeezed shut as she pulls in a ragged breath, her wolf-like rage practically seeping out of her.

"Jake," she begins, no doubt marking her first attempt out of several to talk him out of a rash decision. "You can't let him—"

"Not yet," he murmurs, so quietly that his lips barely move.

He doesn’t have to check his rear-view mirror to know that Sam is staring after them— that he is watching, waiting, listening. Sam is kind of predictable like that, especially when it comes to battles of control, of ownership; the bastard has no goddamn boundaries. It's best to wait until they're out of earshot.

To her credit, Leah doesn't so much as even yelp when he stomps down on the gas. She simply sits herself up and calmly reaches for her seatbelt. The only sound of protest heard at all is the squeal the Rabbit's tyres makes as it races back towards the main road.

It's only when Jacob is absolutely sure he can't hear any heartbeats except their own that he lifts his foot from the gas and drops down a gear. The engine is purring like an absolute dream underneath his fingers. He loves running, loves the speed, loves having both Embry and Quil back at his side again, but leaving the pack will be an easy choice if it means he gets to drive the Rabbit for the rest of his life. Nothing compares. It's the greatest car in the world (of course).

He glances at Leah in the corner of his eye. She has her forehead pressed to the window, eyes staring unseeingly as the Rez rushes by, though she is aware enough to notice when the car begins to slow.

"Now?" she asks.

His gaze flicks to the rearview mirror. No Sam. "Be my guest. But you're not going to talk me out of it."

"You don't even know what I'm going to say!" she objects, cheeks red.

"I have a pretty good idea," he says. "I've been thinking about this a long time, Leah, pretty much since this whole thing started. The decision's been made already."

Her voice turns unnaturally quiet, her lingering rage dissipating before his eyes. "Since you imprinted, you mean?"

His heart soars in elation at the word she has so far been unable to say without scorn or stuttering— and then, just as quickly, it sinks with dread, because he fears how much she hates. How much she hates him for keeping it from her, for putting this choice into her hands.

Jacob keeps his eyes on the road, steering wheel held tight within his palms. "Yes, and no."

She sits up in her seat and waits for an explanation, and he tries his best to not stumble over the words.

"Yes," he says, "because I didn't want anyone to find out; I would have sooner stopped phasing than let everyone know before you did, and I was pretty sure that you wouldn't want to know anyway. It was the easiest option I could think of. But it takes a lot of willpower to quit. Far more than I currently have. And — well, without trying to blow my own horn, I have a hell of a lot more of it than the rest of the guys do."

She comprehends this. "So it's impossible, is what you're saying."

"Not impossible," he says slowly. "Just . . . doubtful, I guess. I definitely won't be able to manage it as quickly as I want to." His lips twist, rueful. "I guess that little notice period I gave Sam is going to be the longest any boss has ever had. Still, it probably didn’t come as a surprise or anything. He's had it coming for a long time now."

Leah leans her elbow against the door and rests her head on her open palm, staring at him in that same contemplative manner. "Why do you have more control than the rest of them? Is it about bloodlines again?"

"Yeah. Most probably. Or maybe I'm that brilliant," he says, forcing a grin.

It's worth it when she huffs a laugh, her lips pulling up. "You're so full of yourself."

His grin blooms with genuine feeling, and she laughs again, shaking her head as she turns her gaze back to the open road. They're not far from her house now.

"What about the other part?" she asks then. "You said yes and no."

Jacob takes longer to answer that one. "No," he says eventually, "because I was always planning to quit anyway — before the imprint happened. I want to quit. I really do. But . . . it's like I said before, do you remember? Even if the Cullens leave, there are always going to be bloodsuckers, and that means there are always going to be wolves. That's going to make it even harder, knowing that."

"There haven't been since Ephraim was alive. Not until you," she reminds him.

"It might stop for a while, it always does, but as long as future generations have the gene . . ." He shrugs and turns the Rabbit into her road. "It'll never truly end, will it?"

"If it never stops, then what's the point?" she asks. "Why give it up?"

"Some of us have gotta get a life at some point or another, honey. I wanna be the first."

Leah hums, noncommittal, as he pulls the parking brake outside of her house and turns off the engine. She leans back against her seat, not seeming to be in a hurry to go anywhere just yet.

Neither is he.

They're silent for long enough that he is content enough to tip his head back against the headrest and simply watch her and the emotions playing out on her face. She's deep in thought about something, and he wonders what it is. Wonders what she wants him — them — to do.

After a while she breathes deep and offers it without prompting. Maybe him staring is enough.

"If you're really quitting because of me," she tells him, her words sounding deliberate but careful, "and you're trying to spare my feelings again, then you shouldn't. I don't want you to do that."

"I'm not, not really. Honest. This has just kind of sped the whole thing up a little, is all."

She nods. "Okay. But you shouldn't feel like you have to do things because of me, is what I mean."

He does feel like that, but he doesn't say it out loud in fear it will upset her. Everything he does, will ever do, is for her. It's literally why he exists, whether she likes it or not, and he's so tired of fighting it. Tired of pulling himself back and stopping himself from saying and doing what comes so effortlessly now.

Jacob picks his next words with more thought than he ever has. "I can't be in Sam's pack anymore. We were already struggling against each other before this. The hierarchy thing, that's been the only defence he's had to put me back in my place." And now it doesn't work. His orders don't work. "Honestly, the only thing that can happen now is that I either do this — I start learning to stop phasing and we start being really careful when we're around each other 'til then — or I accept Alpha."

"I hate that things have got worse for you because of me," she admits. "I'm the reason. And don't lie," she adds quickly. "You know it's true."

"Maybe," he says carefully, slowly, because it's hard to tell her the truth when it will cause more harm than satisfaction, "but I don't necessarily see it as a bad thing."

"That's because your judgement skills are all screwed up."

He can't help it. He laughs.

"What?" she demands. "They are. You're not exactly yourself, are you? Stop laughing!"

"S'nothing. You sound like Embry moaning about Jared, that's all."

"Well, maybe that's not a bad thing," she sniffs haughtily. "Someone has to talk sense 'round here."

"Embry? Talking sense? He'll love that. I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said about him."

Leah flushes brilliantly. "Okay, so that was a bad comparison," she mumbles, dropping her eyes. He's still chuckling, and he knows how much she hates feeling like she's being laughed at but he can't stop. "Shut up. You know what I meant. I just think that you're not exactly seeing all that straight, are you."

He rolls his eyes. "My judgement is perfectly fine, thank you."

"Really," she drawls, deadpan.

"Yep. I know what I'm doing." Sort of. And because she still looks doubtful, he shakes off his amusement and reaches over to drape his arm across the top of the passenger seat. She doesn't shy away from him, though, not like he expected she might, and he turns hopeful. Surely she must see how good they'd be together. How effortless it would be. "It's going to be fine, okay? Don't worry."

She seems unconvinced, but nods anyway. "Will it be easier for you to manage, if you stop phasing? The imprint? Is that part of why you're doing it?"

"I didn't think about that." His arm gravitates closer towards her shoulders unthinkingly, just as the rest of his body does, like she's the moon and is commanding his tide. "Is that what you really thought?"

Leah nods again and suddenly her questioning him makes so much more sense now, all that adamance of hers to not be responsible for his decisions.

"I don't know," he says honestly, voice coming out quiet. "Is that — is that something you want to happen? If it worked like that?"

She doesn't answer. But then he didn't expect her to, not when the question is so close to prompting a decision she's still so hesitant to make.

For him, it feels like an age since he imprinted. She's had less than twenty-four hours.

His nose is dangerously close to pushing against her cheek by the time he feels the mood change. He can practically taste it.

Leah sits herself up, back straight, her focus back, and Jacob pulls away. Moment lost.

Is this it?

She fiddles with the end of the braid, radiating nervousness. Still, it takes her another ten beats to speak.

"I need some time," she says quietly, and Jacob has to tamp down the rising panic he feels at her words, has to remember to be reasonable, remember that she hasn't accepted this — and won't, not easily, not unless he gives her the space to do so. It's not as if her two encounters with Sam Uley in one day has exactly helped any, either. How is he going to be any more helpful? How has he been any more helpful?

He clears his throat, head heavy with her scent after being so close. "Yeah, I understand."

She looks over at him. He can feel the struggling emotion on his face, and he knows that she can see it, too.

"Don't give me those puppy eyes, Jacob Black. I didn't — I'm not saying no, okay? I'm saying that I only found out about this today, and I want — I need to get some space. This is too much for me. I have to take a few steps back and think, y'know? Think, and sleep, and spend some real time at home. My head's so messed up that I can't even remember the last time I saw Seth. Can you let me do that?"

"You don't need to ask."

"Trust me, I do. It's just . . . Would you believe me if I told you how wrong this feels wrong for me, too?" she asks then, and he's struck by how she's hit the mark of his thoughts so easily. She laughs. "Oh, come on, it's written all over your face. I know that's what you're thinking. I can feel it. I can feel everything, and it's driving me mad. But do you understand now? I need to think about how all of that makes me feel. Does that make sense?"

Yes. No. Kind of. Not really. "Sure, honey," he tells her almost automatically. "Take all the time you need."

She reaches out and puts her hand on top of his. The warm contact settles him almost instantly, and he almost feels like he'll be able to let her go. This is the Leah he has grown-up with; she has always done things her own way and in her own time, has always been this headstrong. How can he not give her what she wants? He has to. He always will. It's exactly what he's been made for, regardless of whether he personally thinks that putting some distance between them is going to suck to high hell and back.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, sounding as pained as he is.

"Don't be. Really. You're not the one who should be apologising."

Her sigh is equally as miserable. "I can't help it. I have a freaky radar telling me things now. About you. Guess this thing goes two ways, huh?"

Maybe it's miserable because he feels miserable, too. And it physically hurts to say his next words, but they have to be said. A choice. She will always have a choice. "It doesn't have to."

"I don't know about that, Jake, I don't. Because right now I'm pretty sure that if I told you to take a running leap I'd just spend the rest of my life kicking myself for it because it'd seem so wrong. And I need to figure out whether that's the me part which feels like that or the other part. The imprint part." She shrugs. "Maybe they're one in the same now, I don't know. But I need to figure it out, and I realised today that I can't do that when you're looking at me like I've hung the moon or something. I can't think clearly. And I'm so mad at Sam that I could scream, I could just . . ." She trails off with a moan of frustration, patting his hand a few times. "It's not fair on you, dealing with that."

He tries to smile as he threads his fingers through hers, keeping her here for just that little bit longer. "I can take it."

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't have to. You shouldn't have to do anything. You shouldn't feel like you're competing with him, or something, like how I feel like I would have to compete with Bella if I just accept this for what it is."

"But you don't—"

"I know," Leah cuts in quickly. She lifts their entwined hands up and rests her forehead against them, eyes shut tight. "I know. I think . . . I think that's the me part, feeling like that. The other part I'm not sure of. Yet."

"I meant what I said," he says. He has to stop himself from dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "Bella's not — you know. I don't feel that way about her."

"Yeah, I believe you." Leah sighs as she pulls herself up a fraction, frowning as she talks their hands, twisting them this way and that as she considers them. He has a feeling she doesn't want to, can't look him in the eyes, especially when she says next, "Maybe it's just because I don't like the girl acting like she's got some claim on you. Maybe I just don't like her, period. Who knows. Let me think about that one and I'll get back to you."

He doesn't answer, and after a few minutes of silence she squeezes his fingers one last time before untangling them from hers. She reaches for the door handle and looks at him over her shoulder. She's going. He wants to stop her.

"I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Sure, sure." Please, he thinks up towards whoever might be listening, don't let it be the last time. He pulls his keys out from the engine before pressing them into her free hand. "Take these."

She smiles, and he feels a little pathetic, but he has to ask. "You'll come find me?"

"Yeah, Jake. I'll find you," she says, that same smile and a small laugh in her voice, and then she's gone, up the path, fishing for her own keys out of her jacket. She doesn't turn back.

Jacob waits until she's through her door and then forces himself to get out of the Rabbit and walk away. He's pretty sure that he'd sit there waiting until he rots, otherwise.

Chapter Text

(Leah)

There's a wolf at her door.

She knows this, because only a wolf who has the means to defend himself would dare to press a Clearwater's doorbell over and over whilst simultaneously yowling her name through the letterbox. A very annoying wolf. One with a death wish, even, who stands in the middle of highways waiting for oncoming cars so he can earn nothing more than ten bucks.

"Lee-aaaaah," he calls. "I know you're in there, loser, I just saw your mom on her way to the Atearas' place. C'mon, or I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll—"

She flings the door open. "What?"

"—blow your house down," Embry finishes, straightening up with a grin. "Hey, beautiful. Is he here?"

He jerks his thumb over his shoulder at the Rabbit which is parked at the end of the drive. It hasn't moved since yesterday — the day she decided to make her life impossibly harder, all because of a little integrity. She's gotten absolutely nowhere with this 'I need to figure it out' spiel she gave Jake.

"You tell me, genius — you're the one with superior senses."

"Nah, my hearing's not as good as Jared's," he says dismissively, craning his head through the doorway to peer up at the staircase. "Seth?"

"Sleeping." Leah rolls her eyes as she fruitlessly tries to push him back by his shoulder. Goddamn wolves have no concept of personal space. Or how to wear a shirt. "Peacefully," she tacks on pointedly.

"Phew." Embry leans against the doorframe, cocksure, and mimics wiping sweat from his forehead. "Sam said we had to stay away from Jake 'til the bonfire. He didn't say anything about staying away from you, though — so here I am! Ta-da." He stretches his arm out with a flourish. "Are you pleased to see me?"

Leah just groans in answer.

Embry chooses to ignore her. "Come on, chiquita, get your coat. I'm taking you out."

"Chiquita?"

"Don't like it? What about 'chiquitita'?" he asks, emphasising every syllable.

"That's even worse. And it's a song," she accuses, although she finds that she's all too-willing to indulge the kid. His appearance has brought on the first real smile she's managed all morning, and it's past lunch now. She's done nothing since yesterday afternoon except clean, clean, clean. It's a time-tested method. The kitchen is spotless; she's washed and organised all of Seth's clothes, now separated into piles for normal living and wolf living; the bathroom is shining; all the bedsheets have been changed. And yet she is no closer to feeling as if she can provide Jacob — or herself — any closure.

"Chiquitita, tell me what's wrong."

"Your singing is as terrible as your Spanish accent."

Embry pokes his tongue out. "You're so cranky today. How many hours has it been since you saw Jake? Are you missing him?" he teases, crooning.

"No," she insists, knowing that she sounds a little too adamant about it. She attempts a scowl for effect.

Embry only barks a laugh. "Yeah, 'kay. Let's go, liar. Chop chop."

She doesn't have any reason not to grab her parka and follow him, so she does.

➰

They walk the deserted Second Beach Trail, which is finally free of tourists and Forks high-schoolers now that Spring Break is over. It's not raining but it's still wet and muddy, exactly as Washington always feels, and she wishes that she'd slipped on her boots instead of her sneakers. She's wearing the same ones she trekked through the forest in to find Jacob, and they're beyond salvaging.

Embry offers his hand to help pull her up a steep, slippery incline, and afterwards she shoves her fingers deep into her pockets. She's not cold — she probably could have forgone the jacket — but holding onto Embry and feeling his blazing skin is a reminder she does not need.

"So where's Quil got to?" she asks. They have been talking about everything and nothing so far, sticking faithfully to neutral subjects — mostly for her own benefit. "I thought you two were joined at the hip."

"Patrol," Embry answers, tone light, but she knows he noticed her haste to pull away from him. "I was getting bored without him, to be honest, especially now that Sam's grounded us from seeing Jake. It's bad enough that my mom grounds me as it is." He pauses. "But don't tell Quil I said that, or he'll never let me live it down."

Leah frowns at the ground, watching her steps. She hadn't been all that surprised when he'd first mentioned not being allowed to see Jacob, and it wasn't as if she'd needed to press for an explanation of Sam's reasoning, but she hadn't expected Embry to be finding himself in such trouble. He's so easy-going, so laidback. "Your mom?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, it's not as if I can tell her what I'm doing all hours of the day — and night. She'd freak."

Leah's ashamed to realise that she hasn't considered it before. "She doesn't know."

"Nope, and she never will," Embry says, though he seems calm about this and even cracks a smile. "In the early days, after I first phased, she'd catch me climbing through my window butt-naked some mornings. Luckily we can carry our clothes with us now."

Leah tries to return his gesture, but it feels weak on her lips. "Poor Tiffany," she says, and he chuckles. "Maybe you should go home, Embry? If you have downtime, then maybe you should be—"

"Nah. She's kinda pissed with me all the time, anyway. It's not like we can have a nice conversation or anything when all she does is shout."

"But—"

"S'fine, honest. She doesn't get it, y'know?" He picks at passing shrubs, wild and overgrown, and starts pulling the leaves apart in his hands. "She's Makah," he says, almost like it should be an explanation.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Everything. Come on, you're Quileute, you grew up on this."

He speaks like there's a distinction between the two of them, and Leah does not like it. Her pace slows, and Embry struggles to match it with his long legs. "You're Quileute too."

"Half, anyway," he says quietly, his usual happy and carefree nature which she has come to know suddenly glaringly absent. "At least that's something I know for sure, I guess."

"So your mother's Makah," Leah says, willing her words to be steady; she doesn't know what it is that he's trying to tell her — she knows his father is absent and has always been so — but she is still unnerved by it, by the way his face has settled into an awful mixture of agony and anger. Resentment? Loathing? She can't tell. "That shouldn't matter, Embry. She's lived in La Push for long enough. She might as well be one of us, anyway."

Leah doesn't know Tiffany Call very well, but the woman's as much part of the community as anybody else; she has lived here for seventeen years, has worked at the souvenir shop on First Beach for almost as long.

Embry doesn't answer. He throws down the leaves he has been tearing up and picks up the pace again, just enough that Leah has to skip a few strides to catch up with him, and he keeps his eyes trained upon the path.

"Embry, wait." Leah pulls her hands out of her pockets to hold onto his arm, if only so she doesn't lose him. "What's wrong? Has someone been saying something to you?"

He looks down at her arm and then away again before she can catch his eye. "They didn't have to."

"Who is it?" she demands. She's going to kick their ass. "Because I'm telling you now, it doesn't — Embry. Hold up."

He takes a deep breath and finally relents, slowing, and the anger in his face fractures enough to allow an apology to bleed through as he looks down at her. "I didn't mean to bring it up like that, I'm sorry. I try not to think about it too much. Honestly, it really doesn't matter."

"It does matter, because you haven't grated on any of my nerves for nearly five whole minutes now," she jokes, but he doesn't react at her attempt for humour. "Something is obviously wrong. Tell me. And then I'll sort it, I promise."

He smiles with a hint of sadness. "You can't sort this one, Rocky."

"Will you let me try?"

"You don't even know what it is." He drapes his arm over her shoulder and pulls her close. She thinks it might be more to comfort himself than anything else. "C'mon. We're nearly there now."

They break through the trees and start wandering down Second Beach together, the entire stretch of sand and stone entirely deserted save for them. It's the end of March, which means endless clouds and torrential rain, and clearly she and Embry are the only ones crazy enough to take a hike when there is a storm brewing. The sky is grey, dreary, and the waves are crashing against the cliffs as if they have a score of their own to settle. A storm is brewing.

Embry pulls away after nearly half a mile of contemplative silence and starts collecting up rocks, throwing them one-by-one into the raging water. "So, tell me. How mad are you at Jake?" he asks.

She wants to ease the tension out of his eyes, and so she accepts the question as the distraction he's looking for. His upset still troubles her, though, and she's not going to let it rest permanently.

"Not really," she says honestly, shrugging. "You think I should be?"

He looks vaguely surprised. "Everyone else is."

"Are you?"

"Sure I am. I mean, yeah, he's my friend," Embry says, "—my best friend, but . . . Let's just say that I think it'll be another week or so yet before any of us can look at him without wanting to break his nose for not telling you the truth straight off the bat."

"Us?"

"Seth, mostly. Me, Quil. Even Paul."

Leah wrinkles her nose. Her brother hasn't displayed anything other than pure delight that Jacob is 'really part of the family now'. And she can believe such things of Quil, especially after how freely he'd offered his friendship — it had taken nothing more than her cleaning his sneakers up and a shared hatred of casserole — but . . .

"Paul?" she asks a little disbelievingly.

"I know, right? I think he shouted at Jake more than Quil did, after the fight. He wasn't happy about being sworn into silence."

She is stunned and a little flattered, by Paul and Quil both. She patched up her fledgling friendship with Quil on their way to Forks a few days ago, but she still hasn't yet allowed herself to believe all was truly forgiven — despite lack of apology on her part and his odd offer to walk a dog she doesn't own.

Paul, though, she doesn't understand. She remembers catching his eye at the funeral, the sympathy she'd found there. . .

"But why?"

Embry shrugs, smile a little lopsided and wrong on his face. He's still not happy. "Search me. Knowing Paul, it's probably because he wants to get in your pants." Leah pulls another face. "But he's also like, really, really loyal, too," Embry continues a little begrudgingly, almost like he would be defending a brother he finds annoying but loves anyway. "There's nothing he won't do for the pack."

"But that's — why?" she demands again. "I'm not one of you. Jacob — he said I am, but how can I be? I can't . . . you know. Phase, or anything."

"Of course you are. You're my pack, our pack, just as much as the others. Maybe more, even, because we actually like you. All of us do. Shit, sometimes I forget you can't phase. S'not like you've not got the temper for it," he adds cheekily. He is obviously aware of the last two times she has seen Sam, probably almost as if he was there witnessing it himself thanks to their shared minds.

She shoves him, and is unsurprised when he doesn't move a muscle against her.

"Honest," he says, a grin blooming. "You'd shake things up a bit, if you could. I reckon Quil's old gramps would go nuts."

She speaks the truth she has been harbouring for days. Weeks. "I want to be, sometimes. One of you. I did when we were in Forks. Just so people would listen to me, y'know? That they'd look at me and see me, not Sam's pathetic ex-girlfriend. And I wouldn't be left behind then, either."

Embry slings an arm over her shoulders once again. His fingers are caked in sand, but she doesn't protest — she can only think that his weight feels wrong. He's not Jacob. He's the wrong temperature, the wrong shape, the wrong height.

That, she decides, is most definitely the imprint part of her rebelling. But she also knows that Embry doesn't mean to be anything other than reassuring, comforting — it's no different than affection she might share with Seth. And wolves are all about touch; she knows this. It's how they communicate. And she's part of the pack now, apparently.

Sam's pack.

"You're not pathetic," Embry tells her as rain starts drizzling down upon them. "You're too frightening."

Leah scoffs, yanking her hood up. "I don't feel very frightening. Honestly, I just feel . . . weird most of the time," she admits, staring down at her battered sneakers as she steps precariously over a scattering of embedded rocks. "Since Harry died."

"Since Jacob imprinted on you," Embry amends.

She nods. "How much of what I feel . . . Do you honestly think it's real?"

"I don't know. You're going to have to talk to him about that one."

She sighs.

That's what she's afraid of, that she can't figure this one out on her own without him — especially when that's her whole reason to stay away.

She spills all to Embry as they wander towards the driftwood. A tree, bleached white and buried in sand. "I told him that I wanted space yesterday. And I don't know if it was the right thing to do," she admits quietly. "It's only going to end one way, anyway, isn't it? He swears it doesn't have to. I'm just unsure if I believe him."

Embry takes a seat on the tree and stretches his legs out. He doesn't seem bothered by the rain, welcoming it instead. "I don't know how it works, only how it's happened with the others," he says carefully, as aware as she is that they have struck dangerous territory.

"How did it happen with Jared?" she asks, saving them both a headache.

Embry relaxes. "Easily enough. Jared sat next to Kim at school every day for a year. She had this huge crush on him." He smiles at that, almost like there's a joke to the story. "But he never really noticed her, I guess. Then he joined the pack, saw her again, and it was plain sailing from there. It only took him until the end of the day to tell her everything. She was over the moon."

Leah can't believe it. "And it was all fine? Just like that?"

"Yeah, pretty much. She didn't have as many questions as you do, if that's what you mean, and she didn't exactly tell Jared to take a hike or anything. They moved pretty quickly after that."

A brief silence lapses as Leah considers this. And then, "I don't think I'm going to like Kim very much," she finally says from underneath her hood, adopting her best haughty tone.

Embry's laugh is a boom, and it makes her smile. "No. I don't think so, either."

Leah recalls the day she found out about imprinting, and all that had ensued. The whole pack has probably seen all of that, too. There's not much that isn't a secret anymore. They'll all know how she reacted — how she reacted to learning about Sam and Emily, and their betrayal.

The problem is, Leah is struggling to see it solely as betrayal anymore. Maybe it's because her throat doesn't seize up when she thinks about Sam these days. Maybe that's why she has put so much distance between her and Jacob, just to prove that it can be done — that it is betrayal, because an imprint can be refused.

But does she want to refuse it? How can she, and then tell Jacob that she's only doing it as a massive 'fuck you' to her cousin and ex-boyfriend? Even she can't be that cruel. Not to Jacob.

Embry tips his head back against the driftwood, up to the spitting rain, and stares at the overcast sky.

It would be very, very easy, she thinks, to ask him to tell her about the other imprinted pair in the pack. And he would, she's sure of it. She knows the beginning to Sam and Emily's story, thanks to Jacob. And she knows how it ends.

Ask, don't ask. Ask. Don't ask.

She almost does, her lips parting to speak, except Embry cuts the silence first.

"I don't know who my father is."

When he doesn't say more, Leah looks up at him. He's still staring at the clouds, though the weight of the confession seems to have lifted from his shoulders — it's almost like he's relieved that he's finally said the words to her, out loud.

Leah feels tears prick at her eyes, unwanted and unbidden. Because for the first time in her life, she is truly able to empathise what it's like to be missing a father, and the realisation is painful. As painful as these last few weeks have been.

She takes her time answering. "Do you want to know?"

"I know who it could be," Embry mumbles, and his hands start trembling in his lap. He balls them into fists, and Leah finds herself putting her own hand over one of them. She's not scared of him phasing, but then she's never had all that much self-preservation. Their friend Quil is proof of that.

"Have you spoken to Tiffany about it?"

"Can't," he says, sniffing. "How can I tell her without telling her what I am? That's the only reason I ever found out."

Leah is . . . confused. She sorts through her memory as quickly as she can, gleaning through all the snippets of information she has learned since her brother exploded in the living room.

And then it comes to her. Jacob had said something about it yesterday — about the wolves passing on the gene. As long as future generations have the gene . . .

The legends she has grown up hearing are not pack secrets. The two are a different kettle entirely. But she knows lineages. Knows all the families who take pride in descending from Taha Aki — her own included. Her great-great-uncle is, was, none other than Levi Uley. Uley is her mom's maiden name.

Uley, Ateara, Black.

She can't speak. Only her slight, sharp intake of breath gives her away.

Embry hears it. He straightens his back, looking towards the water now the rain has stopped. "I thought Jacob would have told you already, but then back on the trail you had no idea . . . Surprised me, is all."

"It didn't really come up in conversation," she offers weakly.

"No. Don't suppose it would have done, really," Embry mutters wryly, "not when he can't even bring himself to ask Billy."

"Do you want to know?" she asks Embry again, pulling her hood down and looking up at him properly. It's hard to put his sixteen years into the face the wolf has given him. Whose brother is he? Sam's, Quil's, or Jake's?

"I think," Embry says slowly, mulling over each word despite the evident agony within the lines around his eyes, "it would ruin everything, if I did. It almost happened, you know. After Quil phased, the first time he could truly look me in the eye was the day we ran into you. His bad mood that day wasn't entirely about how he'd been so mean to you." He shrugs. "S'pose nobody wants to think ill of their, uh — you know."

"Of their dead dad," she finishes glumly.

"Yeah. Sorry. That's the second time in almost as many days that I've put my foot in it about Harry, haven't I? I don't mean it."

"Don't worry about it. You can help Quil walk that dog I don't have to make up for it." Embry manages a grin at that, which she returns, and says, "We can start a club, us three."

"What, with secret handshakes and stuff? That'd so piss off Jake, you know." But the familiar glint of mischief in his eye has returned, and she is relieved. "What should we call ourselves?"

She doesn't miss a beat. "How about 'Dead Dads and Absent Fathers Anonymous'? We can get together on anniversaries, and stuff."

Embry chokes on his laugh. "That's . . . dark. You're so twisted, you know that? I don't care, I like it. I'm in," he declares, and, on his insistence, they spend the next half an hour developing a handshake.

Pushing all of her pending problems aside, Leah thinks that it's the least depressing afternoon she's had in a long while.

Chapter Text

(Jacob)

He doesn't show up for patrol or babysitting duties for the next two days — not that he's exactly been asked or ordered to, and not that he'd have shown any kind of willingness if he had. For the first time since he joined the pack, Jacob finds himself left alone. Completely alone.

It's oddly liberating. Peaceful. Mind-numbingly boring, yes, after what his life has been like recently, and his whole body aches as it struggles to keep the wolf in check. His thoughts are too quiet without the overlap of his brothers interrupting him, and he finds he misses them after their near-constant presence (even Paul, sometimes). But he certainly doesn't miss being at anybody's beck and call.

It's probably for the best, anyway, keeping his distance. For now, at least. Sam has probably been dying to exert some control ever since he almost lost it. And if it's true that he's been struggling with keeping everyone in line ever since, then it's the perfect opportunity to reinstate himself. Jacob only being there to throw another spanner in the works is cause for another disaster.

Of course, Sam could have assumed that his resignation would be with immediate effect. Maybe the Alpha is playing his own game, just to see how long this whole idea is going to last, and then he can have a great big laugh when it fails. Jacob thinks little enough of Sam that he easily considers this the most plausible reason why nobody's been sent to his door.

Yet.

On the morning of his third day playing truant, Jacob has to force himself to leave his bedroom (which still smells like Leah all over) and he just has to wonder how much longer he can keep this up for. He hasn't phased for six days now, not since the fight, his longest streak yet. But he can feel it building underneath his skin with every passing day; his limbs are heavy, his head hurts, his skin burns. And with the imprint being stretched as thin as it is, he's not sure if he can last another day. Let alone another hour.

Man. Quitting cold turkey sucks.

He's not going to make it, he knows that; he'll most likely be back on four paws by the end of the day. He's not delusional. Still, he'll have made his point and that's all that matters. He has to make use of all that stubbornness he's inherited from Billy somehow.

He hasn't been all that forthcoming with his father. Billy will surely be told everything at the next Council meeting, but at the moment he isn't exactly aware his son is essentially conducting an experiment. He'd flip if he did. He just believes that all this lousing around is part of an adjustment period to do with the imprint, and he thinks Sam has been gracious enough to grant Jacob some respite from all the hell it's given him.

Billy likes Sam. A lot.

Regardless, Jacob is more than happy to keep his father in the dark. Messing with the tribe's safety when the Cullens have returned (again) and there's a nomad on the loose? That's an absolute no-no, in the Council's book.

He feels kinda guilty about it. He's been spending a lot of time in the garage, either in his hammock or his toolbox, hiding from the impending storm he likes to call Big Trouble. It's exactly how he plans to spend the rest of the day, if only because losing himself within his safe haven is just about the only thing that distracts him from fully acknowledging the gaping hole Leah has left in his life.

If this is going to be a permanent thing — if he is going to be made to live with this loss forever — then he doesn't know what he'll do. How he'll cope when the wolf will never recover. When he will never recover, instead left to be this broken shell of a man he should have, could have been.

Much like his father, really. Billy has never quite recovered from the loss of Sarah.

It doesn't bear thinking about, turning into his father.

Billy's at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of joe when Jacob finally drags his feet all the way down the hall (broken, howls the wolf, that will be you, me, us).

The old man doesn't bother with pleasantries. "You heading over to see the Clearwaters today?"

Are you heading over to see Leah? is what he means.

"No, Dad. I told you. She'll find me when she's ready. Stop being so pushy."

"Okay, okay. I was only asking, sheesh." Billy tips his mug and trains his eyes the last of his coffee, his smile annoyingly wry. "Just seemed like you'd already kinda ironed everything out when she spent the night, is all."

Jacob sputters and feels himself turn beetroot. "Dad. We're not — she didn't — we didn't—"

The old bastard just laughs into his mug. In spite of all his hidden pain, he is absolutely euphoric about the imprint — exactly as Jacob always knew he would be — but the fact that it's Leah Clearwater has him practically giddy. He's as proud as punch.

(Sometimes Jacob wonders what life would have been like if the wolf had called a generation early, if his father would have imprinted on his mother. He certainly loved her as though he had — as much as Sam loves Emily and Jared loves Kim. And Jacob is frightened by that, mostly for his father who will never move on.)

Billy is still laughing when the phone rings. He picks it up from the table and answers with all that amusement in his tone still. That is, until it vanishes in the blink of an eye. The atmosphere turns so quickly that it's almost like the laughter was never there to begin with.

Jacob pauses warily at the fridge. There are only three things in the world that make Billy react like that upon answering the phone: the death of a loved one, the endocrinologist he has made it his life-mission to avoid, and Bella Swan's twice-daily calls.

"Hi, Billy," Jacob hears her tinny voice say through the receiver. "Is Jake there?"

His father sighs dramatically, more than strictly necessary (it's not exactly as if Bella is unable to hear him, which just goes to show how little patience the man has left), and he extends the phone half-heartedly with his thick eyebrows arched in question.

Jacob answers with a Look that very clearly says: Not a chance in hell.

Billy rolls his eyes and presses the phone back to his ear. "Yes, Bella," he replies wearily, rubbing his free hand over his face, "he's here."

"Can I —" She clears her throat. "May I speak to him, please?"

"He doesn't want to talk, Bella."

Bella doesn't answer for a second, clearly affronted, but she quickly ups the ante. "But I've been calling for days! I really want to talk to him. He's obviously right there, just tell him that—"

"He knows," Billy answers sharply. "He just doesn't want to talk to you."

Billy is firm in this, and Jacob is overwhelmingly grateful for his father being so stalwart — even if it is only because the old man utterly adores one Leah Clearwater. Billy has made it extremely clear over the last few days that, regardless of the imprint, he is very much in Leah's camp (at least once an hour, sometimes, if he's being especially pushy). He has always loved her like another daughter and Seth like another son, so if his family is to be matched with another, then who better than the Clearwaters? Their pedigree trumps that of Charlie's family, after all.

Jacob privately thinks that's all a bit old-fashioned, a bit too sectarian for his own liking. He loves his father, but the old man's judgement is skewered. And his Council are nothing but a bunch of bigots, no more than a group of old men who are blinded by heritage, by tradition; they would have quickly honoured any girl chosen as an imprint — even a paleface (after they'd gotten over the shock of it, anyway). Hell, Jacob would bet they'd welcome Bella herself.

But he isn't stupid enough to say that to any of their faces.

He throws a thumbs-up over his shoulder at the mild inflection in his father's voice before diving for the orange juice carton.

"Billy, please—"

"Sorry, Bella," comes the reply, and it doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest. Billy's feelings towards Charlie Swan's daughter have been on a steep downward spiral ever since he found out about her involvement with the Cullens. Her willing involvement. "Bye."

The phone clatters back down onto the table. Point made.

Jacob deliberately avoids any piercing eyes as he gulps down his juice. It's only when he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand that he throws a guilty but grateful glance. "Thanks."

"Learned some lessons from Leah dealing with that one," his dad grumbles, still evidently a little annoyed. Jacob frowns in question — what does that mean? — but he only receives a shake of the head and a sigh in return. "You're gonna have to tell her sooner or later, son. As much as I love having you home more often, I'm not gonna tolerate that much longer."

He doesn't need to clarify what 'that' is.

Jacob is unperturbed. "So pull the cord out." And at the long-suffering sigh he hears, he throws the now-empty carton into the trash and says, "Oh, come on, Dad. I'd be willing to bet Bella found out as soon as Embry and Quil—" and Leah "—had that run-in with her bloodsucker anyway. Mind-reader, remember? Probably spilled the beans to her first chance."

"So why's she still calling here all hours?"

"Because she's neurotic," Jacob replies simply, flatly. He doesn't mean to be nasty, but she is; that's just Bella, always has been, and he's long since accepted it. She wouldn't have jumped off the deep end last fall if she wasn't. She wouldn't have jumped off that damn cliff. "You know she's not happy if she's not stressing out about something."

"Or someone," his dad remarks. "I'd call that being melodramatic."

"Whatever," he mumbles annoyedly, rooting through the clean laundry pile for his black shirt. He's done talking about this. "I'll be out back if you need me. You're not going anywhere today, are you?"

His dad's 1987 Ford Tempo is in his garage, and he really wants to sell it. With a little more work it's going to be an awesome drive, and it's not like Billy's going to be doing that ever again; he can't feel his feet. And Jacob was only using the little car as a means to an end until the Rabbit was road-worthy. Plus, it'd give them extra money they don't have.

(Jacob thinks it's not a bad way to earn a living, fixing up and selling cars. His dad disagrees — but luckily he's not pushing on the whole 'no school, no diploma, no future' problem at the moment. There are more important things.)

"No," Billy answers, rolling his chair towards the couch. "Tomorrow, maybe. And we're having Quil and Seth's bonfire on Saturday, don't forget. Sue is going to be there too — Old Quil invited her to take Harry's place on the Council yesterday. She said yes."

"Oh." Jacob isn't all that surprised. Sue has two kids in the pack now: her son as a wolf, and her daughter as an imprint. And he knows exactly what his father is hinting at. "Makes sense, I guess." But that means . . . "What's today?"

"Wednesday," comes his father's strained reply as he hauls himself up on the loveseat. In front of the television, naturally. "Leah will be there too, of course."

Jacob does his best not to swear, his stomach sinking. He's hungry but too agitated to eat, and now he's just going to be even worse. Because unless Leah finds him first, he has barely three days to get his shit together before he sees her again.

And he'd called Bella the neurotic one.

➰

In the confines of his garage, Jacob buries his head — and his problems — underneath the hood of the Tempo. He replaces the cabin and the air filters because it's the easiest thing to do and because he has the parts to hand already. He was planning to do it weeks ago.

It's a clear sign of how he's feeling that he doesn't even turn on the boombox and works in complete silence. He's struggling now, fighting with himself. Nobody is calling him to phase, but his hands shake and a vicious heat licks its way up his spine as if they are.

After an hour, he finally allows himself to give into the temptation of glancing towards the back of the garage where two motorbikes stand — where he'd purposefully put them so that they won't be noticed in case any parental figures decide to pop their heads in, but also because he had been sick of looking at them.

Jacob openly stares at them now, weighing his options.

He's going to split his skin by the end of the day anyway. That's a given, with the way his fists are clenched tight. Why not make it worth it?

And he has to talk to the bloodsucker at some point. Sam won't do it because he believes Bella has made her mind up (which she clearly has) and that she's a lost cause (which she's not — yet), and for his part he is willing to let the situation slide until she offers her neck up.

Jacob, though . . . He's been considering this over the last few days. He might have imprinted, but that doesn't mean he has stopped caring about whether Bella lives or dies — her humanity falls under his protection, right? He might still be able to save her.

He has to give it a shot. For Charlie at least.

For himself. Because if Bella does turn into a vampire, he will have no hesitation in ripping her and her new family apart to keep Leah and the pack safe. He'd settle the transgression personally, would make sure he's the first in line to burn each of their remains. But what about afterwards? How would he feel then?

Like a murderer, probably, he thinks with no satisfaction.

He has to talk to the bloodsucker.

Jacob kicks up the stand of the glossy red bike, and heads for the highway.

➰

Half an hour later, right on schedule, Charlie Swan turns positively purple before his eyes.

The man shouts for a whole quarter of an hour, promising to inform Billy of what's going on, what his son has done — what his son has been doing, because apparently building a motorbike and teaching his daughter to ride that bike is as good as coercion and aiding and abetting in the Chief of Police's book.

"You were supposed to be a good influence on her — I trusted you with her!" he rants, which makes Jacob feel like an asshole for about three seconds until he reminds himself of why exactly this has to be done. So he takes it all in silence, gladly.

He'd been counting on Charlie's reaction. Now he just has to do his part.

He does his best to appear appropriately shamed as he leaves the house and saunters half-way up the path where he knows the bloodsucker will catch his scent, where Charlie cannot see or hear, and he waits.

It doesn't take long at all, considering how he'd been prepared to sit back and hang out until Bella's curfew. Maybe she's that much in trouble over the whole Italy thing that Charlie's only allowing her to go to work and to school. Surely she's being escorted by her one-tick protection detail, though.

When he finally sees the silver car roll by — a fucking Volvo, of all things — he is leaning against the mossiest tree trunk he could find (because he hopes it will help mask the undeniable stench he is about to be greeted with). There is only one heartbeat inside of the car, accompanied by the owner's shocked gasp. Jacob hears the betrayal within it. She must have seen the bike where he so conveniently parked it for the whole street to see.

There's a slight pause of comprehension, soon followed by a hiss of anger. "Is he still here?"

Jacob smirks to himself, even though he can smell the stench of the leech as soon as the Swedish piece of crap's doors open. Honestly. Couldn't it have afforded a better car?

Bella and her bloodsucker quickly start making their way towards him. One pair of footsteps are distinguishably heavier than the other, and it makes his stomach roll from how unnatural it is. How unnatural they are together, her and . . . him. Pronouns are hard to apply to the undead.

"Let me go! I'm going to murder him! Traitor!"

He knows Bella's shriek is for his benefit, and he snorts to himself. She might not be able to hear or see him, but he knows that the parasite latched onto her can — and that it's probably listening to his mind, too.

"Charlie will hear you," the tick warns. Jacob wonders just how many names for her vampire he can get through before the confrontation (the reminder, he amends) is finished. He'd be placing a bet with Embry and Quil, if they were here; it would be a sweet competition. "And once he gets you inside, he may brick over the doorway."

Hell, Jacob thinks, he'd help Charlie if he thought it'd do any good.

"Just give me one round with Jacob," he hears Bella argue through her teeth, "and then I'll deal with Charlie."

He laughs again, hoping that she can hear him this time. But the fresh stench infecting the air hits the back of his throat, and it's an effort not to spit. He's going to have to limit his breathing, just like he'd been forced to do with the tiny psychic who had whisked Bella off to Italy. Their two scents are different, one sweeter than the other, one fouler, and yet still the same. Still vampires. Still his mortal enemies.

"Jacob Black wants to see me. That's why he's still here."

Bella quietens, her noisy struggle against granite skin ceasing almost immediately. "Talk?"

"More or less."

She is suspicious. "How much more?"

"Don't worry, he's not here to fight me. He's acting as . . . spokesperson for the pack."

Bella doesn't pick up on the lie and allows herself to be hurried on. Her 'boy'-friend knows exactly why Jacob is here and under whose authority he has come: his own.

The last time Jacob saw Edward Cullen, he had cut in on a dance with Bella at her prom and passed on that whacky message from his father in exchange for twenty dollars and the promise of the master cylinder he needed to complete the Rabbit. Leah and his brothers have seen the abomination more recently than he has, and he hasn't shared their minds recently to know of the changes. Changes he realises he should have expected, really, when he sees the vampire again for himself.

The smell is the same — so much more potent; he realises now of course that it hadn't been any kind of rancid perfume she had been wearing that day — but his eyesight has improved since he was that kid with puppy fat still in his cheeks. The leech — Edward — looks like the pretend-sister did, like a damn crystal, all angles and shine even in the absence of the sunshine. Jacob compares the two images in his mind, pre-phase and post, and he is startled at his own blindness.

He shrugs away from the tree, his wolf already scrabbling to be set free so it can divide and conquer. He leashes it for the fiftieth time that day and looks at Bella, brown-eyed and pink and human, and descends into a lethal calm.

Edward hears all this, of course, and keeps Bella a healthy distance away, tucking her behind impenetrable marble. But not impenetrable to Jacob.

She peers around the corpse. Him. Damn pronouns.

"Bella," Jacob greets evenly.

"Why?" she whispers. "How could you do this to me, Jacob?"

Her pain doesn't pierce him as it one did. He remains stone-faced. "It's for the best."

"What is that supposed to mean? Do you want Charlie to strangle me? Or did you want him to have a heart attack, like Harry? No matter how mad you are at me, how could you do this to him?"

Jacob tries not to wince and keeps his silence. If Charlie Swan was about to have a heart attack, he would have had one when he'd seen the red bike or when he'd been unleashing his rarely-seen temper to its deliverer.

"He didn't want to hurt anyone — he just wanted to get you grounded, so that you wouldn't be allowed to spend time with me."

Jacob's eyes snap to the voice, narrowing with hatred he cannot contain. Apparently, Bella is given everything she wants. But will she ever be given the ultimate prize, he wonders? Does she really want it?

"Aw, Jake!" she protests. "I'm already grounded! Why do you think I haven't been down to La Push to kick your butt for avoiding my phone calls?"

"I knew you were grounded already," he tells her. Leah had told him as much. "But I like the point your bloodsucker plucked out of my head," he adds, jerking his chin sharply toward the party in question, "—so let's stick with that one. You've been doing pretty well without 'him' up until now, so why ruin all that progress?"

He is not frightened to hurt her like Edward is, and he doesn't show any remorse as Bella visibly flinches at the reminder — because she had been getting better, she knows it, they both do — and the arm of crystal around her only tightens. But Jacob knows she will forgive him. She always does. She's tough enough to withstand a little poke at her insecurities, tougher than her bloodsucker believes.

Bella blinks away the pain, masters it as she has learned how. Meanwhile Edward is quiet at her side, but Jacob can taste the fury there. Would see it if he bothered to look.

"If you knew I was grounded, then why aren't you answering my phone calls? I called today, when I was at work, and your dad—"

"He knows," Edward murmurs, "he was there, like you knew he was."

"Stop that," Jacob snaps through gritted teeth. It's so annoying. No wonder Bella is the only person who can stand it, being the only one whose thoughts are protected. "If you want to sort through my memories, then take the one that tells you why I'm here and then do us all a favour and leave her the hell alone before—"

"No," Bella gasps.

"Hush, love, it's fine," Edward reassures her. She is thinking the worst — neurotic to a tee, didn't Jacob already say so? Then the leech adds, for his benefit, "I know why you're here, Jacob. But, before you begin, I need to say something."

Jacob waits, clenching and unclenching his hands as he tries to control the painful shivers rolling down his arms that tell him he is very, very close to ruining his clothes and the second-to-last pair of decent shoes he owns. Emily can sew just about anything, but she's not that great at mending sneakers. He'll be going barefoot soon enough.

"Thank you," Edward says, and Jacob refrains from gagging at the sincerity. "I will never be able to tell you how grateful I am. I will owe you for the rest of my . . . existence."

Jacob stares, eyes hard but nonetheless surprised.

Edward fakes another intake of breath. "For keeping Bella alive. When I . . . didn't."

"Edward—" Bella interrupts, but her bloodsucker raises a hand and keeps Jacob's gaze.

Five seconds, ten. And then, Jacob spits, "I didn't do it for your benefit. For your existence."

"I know. But that doesn't erase the gratitude I feel. I thought you should know. If there's ever anything in my power to do for you . . ."

Jacob considers this, and thinks one clear direct thought, similar to how he focuses on speaking within the pack mind: I'd like you to fuck off. Die, preferably, if you're so willing.

Edward only shakes his head. Jacob thinks he might see disappointment there — at the cursing, or the being unable to die part? A man can hope. "That," Edward replies sombrely, "is not in my power."

"Whose, then?" Jacob growls.

Edward looks down to Bella, and their eyes lock. "Hers. I'm a quick learner, Jacob Black, and I don't make the same mistake twice. I'm here until she orders me away."

"Never," she replies, her voice barely above a reverent whisper.

Jacob can't hold it then, and he finally gags. He makes it as theatrical as he can, for fun, and is amused when Bella snaps back to him immediately. She's funny when she looks angry, almost like a little cub who thinks it can roar.

"Was there something else you needed, Jacob? You wanted me in trouble — mission accomplished. Charlie might just send me to military school. But that won't keep me away from Edward. There's nothing that can do that. What more do you want?"

Jacob trains his eyes on Edward, cool and calculated. "I just needed to remind your bloodsucking friends of a few key points in the treaty they agreed to. The treaty that is the only thing stopping me from ripping his throat out right this minute."

"We haven't forgotten," Edward says at the same time that Bella demands, "What key points?"

"The treaty is quite specific," Jacob tells Bella in a more reasonable tone than he can believe he is capable of at this very moment. He might as well be talking about the weather. "If any of them bite a human, the truce is over. Bite, not kill."

Bella hardens. "That's none of your business."

Jacob knew. He'd expected this. And yet still, it hurts to have the assumption confirmed from her own mouth.

"It is my damn business," he growls, suddenly hardly unable to keep himself in check. He has the most control out of his brothers, but even he is having a hard time staving off the wolf right now. He knows what he must look like to her, convulsing all over. Dangerous. A monster. "But the fact that you actually want—"

He can't finish his sentence. He doubles-over, desperately trying to keep himself within the here and now. It's the worst thing, the worst, to know that she wants this, that she's probably planning it. Maybe she has already. But that is the whole reason he has come — to stop her. Stop her from making this mistake and dying because if she dies then he is going to have to be the one kill her again. He can't let his brothers do it, he just can't—

"Jake?" comes her nervous voice. Still human, he reminds himself. There's still time. Still human. "You okay?"

"Careful! He's not under control!"

Still human, Jacob chants to himself. And so am I.

"Like I'm the one who's going to hurt her. That's all you're worried about, isn't it?" He almost laughs, hard and scornful, and a voice echoes at the forefront of his mind — exactly where it belongs, where it always should be. "Leah was right about you — you'd spout anything. Especially if it makes you look like the good guy over me, huh?"

Bella's eyebrows dip into a frown, confused and displeased in equal measure. "Leah?"

Jake glances at Edward and thinks, You didn't tell her?

The leech gives a minute shake of his head, unnoticed by Bella, and all Jacob can think is, Huh.

"What's the deal with Leah all of a sudden?" Bella asks, oblivious and still scowling. Jacob hates her name on those lips, hates it said like that with that tone. "She was here on the weekend, too, with Embry and Quil."

"Charlie is basically family to us, Bella," he reminds her with a frown of his own. It's almost like reprimanding a petulant child. How many times is it that he has ignored her acting like this before? Has he been that ignorant? He hardly recognises her right now.

"Your family," she says. "Not—"

"Your dad means a lot to people on the Rez — more than just Billy and me. He was Harry's best friend, too, remember?"

Bella looks appropriately shamed. At least she does for all of two seconds, before her displeasure about that statement hits home and she's unable to cover it up again. She never was any good at hiding her emotions.

"BELLA!" Charlie's bellow carries; he has reached his limit. "YOU GET IN THIS HOUSE THIS INSTANT!"

Bella all but whimpers. "Crap."

She turns, looking down the path, comprehending her fate. But Jacob's not sorry. He'll do whatever it takes. Hopefully Charlie will wise up and get a restraining order and end up saving his daughter himself.

Yeah, right. As if that would work.

"Just one more thing," Edward says, turning back to him. "We've been unable to pick up Victoria's trail. Have you found anything?"

Jacob bites down so hard he thinks he might bleed. It's an effort to breathe — the moss hasn't helped the stench in the slightest. "You already know the answer to that, bloodsucker. You asked my brothers the same question," he says, accusing. His thoughts drift to Leah, thinking of the argument she spoke of but he has not seen for his own eyes yet.

Edward's soulless eyes are unmoved. "And since then?"

"No." Jacob is sure of this. "The last time was while Bella was . . . away. We let her think she was slipping through — we were tightening the circle, preparing to ambush — but then she took off like a bat out of hell. Near as we can tell, she caught your little female's scent and bailed. She hasn't come near our lands since."

Edward nods. "When she comes back, she's not your problem anymore. We'll—"

"She killed on our turf," Jacob shoots back vehemently. "She's ours!"

Bella lurches forward, almost as if she thinks she will be an effective buffer between a werewolf and his mortal enemy. "No—" she starts, but another threat from Charlie echoes into the trees where the three of them are hidden from his sight and her unhappiness morphs swiftly into fear at the sound of her dad's voice. She knows how much trouble she's in.

Good. Maybe being grounded will give her a week or two to consider her life choices. Ironic as that is, when everything she wants is going to send her to her death.

"BELLA! I SEE HIS CAR AND I KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE! IF YOU AREN'T INSIDE THIS HOUSE IN ONE MINUTE . . . !"

"Let's go," Edward tells her, but Bella looks back, her whole damn heart displayed on her face again.

"You promised," she reminds him desperately. "Still friends, right?"

Jacob shakes his head. "You know how hard I've tried to keep that promise before now, but . . . I can't see how anymore. I have priorities, now. People. Just like you do," he says. He looks at Edward and rethinks that last part with a look of disgust, deliberately uncensored. "Well. Sort of."

Bella's people are not people. But Jacob, he has Leah to think about. And as soon as the bloodsucker tells Bella about the imprint, he's pretty sure she's going to stop caring anyway. What's the point in trying to be friends when he knows how it's going to pan out? He's not even sure he wants to be friends with her anymore. How? How could he be friends with a vampire? It's impossible. Not if he's going to be the one to kill her.

Beside her, out of her sight, Edward's lip curls silently in warning. Jacob pays him no notice.

"I miss you," she pleads, reaching out over the arms she is trapped within. Not trapped. Restrained. It makes Jacob kind of sick, but she made her choice about him a long time ago.

Jacob shoves his hands deep into his pockets. "Sorry."

Tears threaten. "But why? Jake . . ."

"ISABELLA SWAN!"

"Come on, Bella," Edward tells her, all but dragging her along. "Charlie's mad."

Jacob looks at the retreating form of his friend, knowing it could be the last time he sees her.

He is running back to La Push on four legs before she is inside the house, his clothes carrying in the wind behind him.

Chapter Text

(Leah)

As soon as she sees the Blacks' tiny red house, she is immediately hit with a sense of homecoming. It has always felt this way, akin to the relief and happiness of returning from a journey no matter where she has been or for how long; and she is suddenly tired, desiring nothing more than to get inside so she can be wrapped up in familiar comfort.

Time spent between this house and her own had been almost equally divided during childhood. Then Sarah died. Leah turned fourteen not long after, and her parents decided that she'd become responsible enough to start looking after herself and Seth for a few hours after school until they finished work. They gave her a house key and a cell phone and everything, had even upped her weekly allowance for babysitting her brother, but she and Seth had continued to follow the twins and Jacob home most days anyway. And it may have been months until they were able to walk through the door without expecting to see Sarah there waiting for them, but she'd raised them well enough to know the importance of sticking together.

Then they'd gotten older. Leah had gotten older. She'd been fifteen when Sam had joined the picture, so it was almost inevitable that she allowed her responsibilities and friendships to take a backseat.

Then he graduated. Then the twins graduated — they were boarding a plane for Hawaii before the ink was dry on their diplomas.

Only Rachel returned, and she ran off to college as quickly as she could before the reservation claimed her again. And then Sam left, too, so Leah quit the idea of college. What was the point, with them all gone anyway?

All gone, except her. Jacob and Seth never could fill the shoes left behind.

Until now, perhaps.

Leah parks the Rabbit and gets out, comfortable enough to let herself into the Blacks' house without knocking when she reaches their door. After all, there's little reason to start waiting for someone to give her permission now.

It creaks open with ease. The trust which Billy has in his people to be able leave his door on the latch is absolute, unshakeable. Harry is — was — much the same, and he'd be disappointed to know that his only daughter suddenly feels the need to slide the deadbolts over every chance she gets. As pointless as the action is against the supernatural, both murdering vampires and intruding werewolves alike, anyway. God knows what else is out there.

"I've just had Charlie on the phone," the Chief's gravelly voice calls as soon as he hears the door. "What the hell were you thinking, pulling a stunt like that?"

Billy leans around the open doorway just off the kitchen. He looks . . . not angry, she thinks, no. More annoyed. Exasperated, even. But that clears quickly as soon as he sees her, and he breaks into a grin. "Leah!"

She raises an eyebrow, perfected after a life of being on the receiving end of it. She can't remember the last time Billy greeted her so enthusiastically, and she knows exactly what his game is.

"Not interrupting something, am I?"

"Just Jake being Jake," he says. The nonchalant shrug he gives is the same as his son's and his wide smile turns into a smirk. "I don't think he'll be too much longer, if you want to wait."

She's undeterred. "What did he do?"

They stare at each other, and for a moment she thinks he's not going to tell her. But then he laughs, shaking his head like there's a joke she has missed. "Sounds like he gave Bella her motorbike back. Just about topped off Charlie's month, where that girl of his is concerned. Don't think she'll be seein' the light of day for a while."

She steps aside to make room so Billy can roll past her and then follows him into the living room. "Motorbike? Bella?"

Billy still seems amused. "Charlie hates them. But I'd bet Jake knew that."

Charlie's a cop — of course he hates them. Except Leah has never thought of Jacob as particularly spiteful. And she doesn't think that he is stupid, either; he can't have been oblivious to how he was being used.

"So . . . he wanted to get her into trouble?"

She can't deny that there's a tiny part of her that is pleased. Maybe Jacob has finally snapped. She thought that it would have happened a while ago — when Bella ran to Italy, maybe, and welcomed her vampire back — but then Leah has never pretended to understand their relationship. It was bad enough watching Jake fawn over her at Christmas, and it had only gotten worse a month after that when their families had gotten together for dinner — just around the time that the other girl had begun to latch onto him like she would depend on life support. Leah had spent most of the time on the phone with Rachel so that she didn't have to look at all the heart eyes.

"Don't know. Probably." Billy shrugs again. "Last I knew, he was in the garage and then suddenly he was tearing off. Just assumed he was off to find you, or something."

Leah pretends not to hear that last part. She has more questions than she's willing to voice, more than Billy likely knows the answer to. God knows how his son's mind works. Every time she thinks she's just about getting used to it, he does something like this.

"How long ago did Charlie call?" she asks instead.

Billy sets himself up in his usual seat. "'Bout five minutes before you walked in."

She nods, more to herself, resolve clearing. "I'll wait outside for him, then."

"Sure, sure. He'll like that."

"Don't think I haven't seen the mess in here, old man," she tosses over her shoulder as she walks away and hears the television turn on. "I'll be back."

"Counting on it." He sounds pleased. A second later, he calls, "Oh, and Leah, sweetie?"

She turns back, hand on the door.

Billy beams from the couch, expression alight with mischief and something else. "Welcome to the family."

The way he says it sounds like he's welcoming her home. And he's so goddamn happy with himself that Leah has the sudden urge to scoff — at him, at his presumption of inevitability, but also at herself for wanting to quirk her lips in spite of it all. Because Billy has been as good as a second father; he knows her, knows exactly how she feels about his house and his family.

Settling instead for a roll of her eyes before she leaves, she makes sure that the door shuts with a satisfying snap behind her. But it's Billy's laughter she hears.

Leah finally allows herself the tiniest of smiles as she sets off towards the garage.

If Jacob is going to be anywhere, it's right there. And it must be destiny, kismet, fate, or something — but honestly, at this point she wouldn't be surprised if it's the spirits meddling with her; they've done a fair amount of that already — because he comes striding out of the woods almost as soon as she reaches the huge, wide wooden doors.

He scowls at the ground as he walks, radiating with enough fury and unhappiness that she can feel it from this distance. It's tugging at her, the imprint — there is no other explanation she has for this overwhelming need to rush over and erase those lines from his face.

She doesn't give in to it. Shock keeps her rooted. Jacob is oblivious to the world around him, oblivious to her standing there and gawking at him. At his naked body.

He stops in his tracks, only halfway near before she's finished cataloguing all the muscles and bare skin. It's odd, the sense of possession which engulfs her. She's never felt it as fiercely as this before, and it takes a long while — longer than she'd like, longer than is strictly normal, anyway — to feel sickened by herself. It's not that many days ago she was declaring Jacob did not own her.

'You're mine,' he'd said.

Mine, she thinks, looking at him still. What a disgusting hypocrite she is.

They stare at each other for half a minute longer. He doesn't seem as embarrassed as she is, doesn't move to cover himself up or bolt in the other direction. He's proud enough to keep his shoulders up.

When her traitorous eyes dare look lower than his chest again, Jacob breaks the silence and starts walking towards her again. "Inside," he says, his voice giving nothing away, and he gestures for her to go on ahead.

Leah springs into action. And she most definitely does not trip over her feet a little bit in her haste, thank you very much.

The garage is deeper than it appears. In all her years, this is the one place on the Blacks' land which she's never ventured. She remembers thinking not too long ago that it would go up in flames if she did. But so far, Jacob's sanctuary is still standing.

As soon as he follows, he grabs a pair of blue cut-offs from a pile kept underneath his workbench and pulls them on quickly. They're ill-fitting; he is forced to leave the top button undone, and Leah has to turn her concentration elsewhere. She wanders over to a black motorbike leant against the farthest wall, hidden behind the old Ford which she recognises as Billy's and has been jacked up on its side.

"You keep clothes in here?"

"Emergencies," he replies evenly, and Leah wonders if he's a bit pissed off with her. If she can feel his warring emotions, can he feel hers? The ownership she'd felt? He probably hasn't forgotten her telling him off for the same thing.

She ghosts her fingers over the seat of the polished bike, its leather cracked and discoloured, worn from use. She's jumped from possession to embarrassment to apprehensiveness in the space of two minutes. It's . . . disconcerting, to say the least. The fact that she can't look at him now after staring so openly is downright ridiculous.

"I wouldn't call this an emergency." (She sounds exactly as stupid as she feels. Since when did she let herself be thrown off-track by a boy?) "More like . . . caught in the act. Is this your bike, then?"

"Uh — yeah," he answers, confused by the turn of conversation.

"What colour was Bella's?" she asks innocently, eyes still averted. It's easier than looking into the intensity she knows she will find growing on Jacob's face, just as it always does.

There's a stretch of silence. Then, "Charlie ratted on me already, didn't he?"

"Mm-hm." Leah starts tracing over the shiny black paint. "What made you do it?"

Sounding wary, Jacob asks, "Are you annoyed?"

"No. Just morbidly curious."

"Morbidly . . . ? You know you don't have to worry about her, right? Because I told you—"

"Oh, I'm not." (Not much, anyway.) "But Billy said Charlie was real mad. Said she'd probably be locked up for good, after what you did."

"Well, that was sorta the point. I thought she might not be allowed to be around her bloodsuckers so much, then," he says, unable to disguise the bitterness in his voice. "Might make her realise there's more to life than dying to be one of them, but I guess — well, let's just say it was probably a pointless exercise in the . . ." He trails off. "Please look at me. You're kinda freaking me out here, honey."

Leah turns around, finally coming face-to-face with exactly what she knew she'd see. Up close Jacob looks ragged, like he's not had any sleep in days even though she knows he's not been patrolling, and he is so clearly pissed off with the world — with Bella. But Leah can still see that look underneath it all. She can still see how he burns.

She leans against the bike, perching on the edge of the wide seat. A picture of calm. It's a far cry from how she really feels, a wonder how her hands are as steady as they are.

Jacob waits, watching. It's not as if he doesn't know why she is here. She doesn't really need to carry on pretending otherwise.

"How does this work, then?" she asks, still quiet and composed. "Is there something I need to do, something I need to say . . . ? I don't know the formalities."

"You don't have to do anything."

"I do," she answers in that same tone. Cautious but deceptively self-possessed, because they're not just talking about formalities now.

He holds her eyes, his own full of quiet but desperate longing. Unblinking. "Do you want to?"

She doesn't answer. She knows she's driving him insane — she's been driving herself insane, these past three days, wondering just what in the hell she thought she hoped to achieve by creating so much distance between them when all she really wanted was to see him.

It was the right thing to do, though, walking away. Staying away. She is too proud to give in so easily. And she knows that every doubt she's had, every time she has second-guessed herself has been because of the imprint. She doesn't understand the workings of it any better, the whys and the hows, but she's closer to understanding her own feelings. All she has to do is remember herself, the person she'd been before Harry passed.

She blows a long breath. "Can we get out of here?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere." She pulls his keys from her jacket pocket, and his hand snaps up to catch the leather cord out of the air quicker than lightning. "Away from the Rez."

If he's surprised, he doesn't show it. "Sure," he says, hand curling around metal. "I'll take you wherever you want. Although . . ." He looks down at himself, at his too-small shorts. "You mind if I get some pants that fit first?"

Her attention flickers to the strong, distracting planes of his chest. "And a shirt?"

He smiles as if he knows, both pleased with himself and forever hopeful. "Whatever you want."

➰

They reach the end of the one-ten before they speak again. Fifteen minutes. Not that she's counting.

Leah had sat in the car whilst he changed. He had been starting the engine only three minutes later — not that she'd been counting that, either — and headed towards the highway without further question as to what they were doing or where they might be going. She thinks he might have been pleased upon noticing the full tank of gas she'd returned the Rabbit with, but she hadn't been able to tell.

(Anyone with good manners would have done it . . . although she hopes he doesn't think she had planned this out — that she, too, is only using him, when the real truth is that she has absolutely no idea what she's doing.)

"Left or right?"

"Right," she says. Left is Forks. It's a no-brainer.

They speed north before the highway veers east, taking them closer to Port Angeles. In spite of the quiet tension and what has obviously been a stressful morning for him — if losing his clothes is anything to go by — Jacob is very clearly in his element. Calm, content to do just this, because nothing beats being able to drive something he has put so much of his heart and soul into building. It's his labour of love. Everyone who has listened to him over the past couple of years knows as much.

He is wearing fraying cut-offs and a grey t-shirt that clings, radiating heat and confidence as he drives. Leah feels awkward in her zipped rifle green parka by comparison — much like she did when hiking with Embry, but at least she had the good sense to put her boots on instead of her crappy sneakers this time.

Jacob notices. He always does. Or maybe he can read her mind like he can his brothers'.

Shit, she hopes not.

He frowns. "Are you cold?"

Realising that she has been tugging on her sleeve, she pointedly folds her ridiculously warm hands in her lap. "No. Apparently I'm like you now. I took my temperature yesterday," she explains before he can ask, more for distraction than anything else, "and the damn thing said one-oh-two. I did it four times. Can you believe it? I should be laid up in bed with a fever." She is on the verge babbling but cannot stop. "Then I remembered what you said about everything feeling cold to you now. Except the pack — and me. Anyway, good thing I did because I almost went to the clinic. How would I have explained it?"

"Yeah," he mumbles apologetically. Clearly he is bothered by this, but why she doesn't know. "Mine's dropped. Happened to the others, too. Things just start kinda . . . balancing out, I guess."

"Great," she retorts dryly. "Am I going to start sprouting fur, too?"

Jacob relaxes somewhat at the wisecrack. "That would be cool. You'd have us whipped into shape in no time. The Council would have a fit."

"Sexist," she grumbles, recalling that Embry had said something similar about Old Quil. "So they think we're only good for imprinting and — what, exactly?"

"Well," Jacob starts hesitantly, "they — the Council, I mean—"

"The men," Leah interjects pointedly.

Jacob pulls a face. "Whatever. They believe it's about, you know . . ." His cheeks tinge with darker colour, and he pointedly keeps his focus on the road. "Strengthening the Quileute line. For the future."

She scoffs in her disgust. "I was right. I said it was about breeding, didn't I?"

"You also said it was the most disgusting thing you'd ever heard," he reminds her underneath his breath, pained. But still she hears every word.

"Yes, and I was right about that, too," she says, unrepentant. Her temper is rising. "But if you're under the impression that I'll be allowing myself to be defined as some kind of Black baby maker, forever pregnant and barefoot and stuck in your kitchen, then you've got another thing coming."

"I said the Council thinks that. I don't."

"Fine. What do you think, then?"

He considers it for a moment, deliberating carefully. "I think . . . I think it has nothing to do with genetics. The previous pack didn't imprint on anyone, but we're still good enough, aren't we? We still do our job. Although, I suppose . . . maybe people would say it is in our case. You might not phase, but you have the right genes; you're Uley and Ateara both, I'm a Black . . ." Jacob takes a deep breath, shaking his head. "But if it really worked that way, then Sam would never have imprinted on a Makah girl," he concludes baldly, and Leah has the suspicion that he may be testing the waters a little bit. Testing her reactions and glancing out of the corner of his eye for the results.

She just shrugs. Whatever Jacob is looking for, he is not going to find it. "She's a little bit Quileute."

"Not enough, by those kind of standards. If imprinting is to make our line strong, then it doesn't make really much sense."

"It does to me," she says. "Think about it. If you carry on with the theory that it's genetics, that only Quileute boys should imprint on Quileute girls, then you could argue there's just not enough of us — we're all a little bit related somewhere. And maybe Ephraim and his pack didn't imprint simply because they didn't look beyond their front doorstep. I don't imagine they went anywhere farther than Hoquiam in those times, and that's only because it's where the Cullens went first. Right?"

Jacob looks at her dead on then, and she thinks that he is a little bit impressed and — dare she think it — proud. "Someone has been brushing up on their history."

She smiles sweetly, proud in her own right. "Mom's a Councilwoman now, don't you know."

"I heard." He returns her smile with genuine feeling. "Good on Sue. Maybe she'll be the one to change my old man's outdated beliefs, huh?"

"She's a working woman. I'm hopeful her expectations of me are far higher than conforming to such ridiculous and antiquated gender roles," Leah declares, her tone dancing a thin line between contempt and arrogance. And it might have been entirely for show, but Jacob laughs so hard he has to lean forward against the steering wheel. His throaty sound rings in her ears.

"Maybe we should put you on the Council," he jests, still chuckling.

"I don't think they'd like that," she replies, but her expression is smug as she looks out of the window. The thick forest is like a wall either side of them, tall and domineering. But it's home. And for all her sudden desire to escape her beloved Reservation for a while, she loves Washington too — even in the rain. "Are we going to Port Angeles?"

"No idea." Jacob leans back in his seat, traces of laughter still on his face. "Where do you want to go? It's a bit late, but we could carry on to Seattle, I guess."

"But that's like another three hours of driving." But maybe the driving is his point. "Do you even like the city?"

"Not really," he admits, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Too crowded. You?"

"Hate it," she agrees earnestly, and he seems pleased. "Take the one-thirteen instead, just up here. I know a place we can go."

Chapter Text

(Leah)

Sundown is less than an hour away, but Leah pays no heed to the fading light. She continues her hike, exhilarated and excited, keenly aware of Jacob's every move behind her.

It's out of pity when she eventually pauses for a moment; he has been trying — rather unsuccessfully — to coax her back to sandy shores from the moment she jumped up onto the rocks, his voice pitching with panic every time her feet step just a little too close to the edge of the breakwater.

If she carries on much longer, he will undoubtedly sweep her over his shoulder and bolt in the opposite direction. Honestly — it's the only reason she's taunted him for as far as she has.

Balancing precariously on uneven footing now, she points a finger towards where the orange-red horizon has cast its fire glow over the Salish Sea. They've almost reached the exact spot she likes to hang her legs over the wall and turn her back to the world behind — where there's nothing to be seen except for the open stretch of water beyond. Pillar Point is just one of her many favourite places in Washington, in the whole world, but she has never shared it with anyone else before. Has never had anyone she wanted to share it with.

Until now.

Her skin tingles from the briny wind that has tangled her hair as she throws a mile-wide grin over her shoulder.

"Look," she says, gleeful. "Do you like it?"

"Love it," he replies through gritted teeth, more sarcastic than enthusiastic, his face taut with anxiety. "Now let's go back. Please."

Her laugh is loud enough to frighten the crying gulls into the sky. The desire she feels to be as strong as a wolf is all-consuming, but it is in this moment that she feels as free as the birds above. "Stop worrying so much. Come on!"

"I will when you stop being an idiot! Get back now!" he yells — just at exactly the same time she pretends to wobble a little too far to the left, and she bursts into laughter again when he almost trips over the salt-stained rocks in his hurry to catch her.

"You're not funny," he grumbles, trying to keep an eye on both her and his feet as he manoeuvres himself over the rocks. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"No, I'm not. You're here," she says, laughing still as she daringly sets off again.

Jacob grumbles underneath his breath, words muffled by the breeze, but still he follows. He keeps his hands outstretched, prepared to catch her should she fall, and it warms her healed heart enough that she slows down enough to remain within his reach until they reach the end of the breakwater and finally sit.

"You're so dangerous," he complains, dropping down beside her. He drapes an arm over her shoulder, keeping her close — keeping her safe, away from the dangers only an imprinted wolf can see.

But he is still unhappy with her. "You did that on purpose."

Leah leans her head back against his arm and beams up at him, unabashed and unapologetic. "Sorry."

"Liar." His snort is flat, though his expression has softened somewhat, and she knows she is forgiven already. "Don't do it again."

She cranes her neck over his shoulder. The few people on the beach are mere specks behind them. "You know we've gotta go back the way we came, right?"

"I'm carrying you," he announces resolutely, following her line of sight with no small amount of horror.

Leah rolls her eyes to high heaven and back. "I can walk, Jake."

"You can complain about sexism once your feet are on even ground again."

"Oh, stop having a cow," she teases. "Is this what it's going to be like every time there's a bit of danger? Because I hate to break it to you, but I've been told there's a vampire on the loose."

He grunts. "Don't remind me."

She just grins, easy and natural like the gentle waves underneath her boots.

So far, they've done a pretty good job of avoiding the obvious. What they have discussed has been very careful, borderline hypothetical, skirting around the real reason why she has sought him out. And it doesn't seem like he's picked up on anything she's actually said that has already revealed the choice she's made.

It's easier to tease him, easier to laugh. No matter what they're doing, whether it's finding Quil or finding Sam or hiking, or just being together, Leah always finds herself having such a good time with Jacob that it's hard to willingly steer them off-course. This could very easily crash and burn around her regardless of what she chooses — what she has chosen. Nothing in her world has ever proven certain.

But at this point, she knows that she's doing him more harm than good by delaying what needs to be said. What she needs to say and what he needs to hear.

"What's all this about, Leah?" he asks her before she can get the words out. His gaze has turned hot above her head. Burning, again. She doesn't have to look up at him to know what she will find. "Why here?"

"I like this place," she says, thumping heart louder than her voice.

"Is that it?"

"Do you think we'd be here, right now, if things were different?" she asks instead of replying. She's not ready yet— just a few more minutes, a little while longer of normality . . . "That we'd be doing the same things, sitting in the same places . . ."

"If all the supernatural shit didn't exist?" he asks, and she smiles slightly. He remembers.

('Maybe it's just shown me what could have always been there,' he'd said that day. 'These last couple weeks with you, all we've done together, I'm pretty sure I'd want you even if all the supernatural stuff didn't exist.'

'If all the supernatural stuff didn't exist,' she'd replied, 'then I'd still be with Sam. And you . . .'

'Maybe. Maybe not.')

"Even if it did," she says this time. "Except you hadn't imprinted and you were still . . . free."

"Why wouldn't I imprint on you?" he asks, frowning, offended at the idea.

"Maybe imprinting doesn't exist," she suggests casually, willing him to play along, to understand, "or maybe the right person hasn't come along yet, I don't know."

He blinks, entirely oblivious. "But there isn't anyone else." Because in his world, there is certainty. Far more than there has ever been in hers.

Leah rolls her eyes. "Humour me."

Jacob scratches the back of his head with his free hand, out of his depth. "I don't know," he says. "I think . . . Yeah, we could have been, if that's what you're asking. Very easily. Whether we would have . . . I have no idea. You're kinda scary sometimes. I probably would have been too frightened to make a move."

Her smile turns wry. He's caught on, finally playing her game. "So it would have been up to me to ask you out, I suppose?"

"I like strong women," he jokes, except it actually comes out sounding more like a question, and she can't help but snort. Jacob even manages to return her smile. "I would have said yes, though, if you had." A beat. "Would you have?"

Leah opens her mouth. Hesitates.

Except, there's not much to consider. Jacob has always been a good kid, she thinks. And she's always thought of him as just that — a kid. He's Rach and Beck's baby brother, owning all of their best traits, all of their mother's kindness and their father's devotion for the tribe. He can be slightly temperamental at times, sure, but then so can she — only he has an excuse for it because his hormones are probably all messed up from being forced to literally explode out of his skin, whilst she can't even confidently claim puberty anymore.

And, well — shit, it's not as if she's blind or anything. Jacob is not just a good kid through and through, he's also a good-looking kid. And he certainly doesn't look like a kid anymore.

If the world had given the two of them a chance, Leah is sure she would have gotten over any reservations eventually. About their small age difference, about having watched each other grow up . . . It's easy between them now. Easier than it has ever been. They are opposite in so many ways and yet they match. What's to say it really would have been any different if he hadn't imprinted? It's not like the damn thing has rewritten who she is.

Maybe it's just shown me what could have always been there . . .

"Yes," she answers honestly. Probably. Most likely. Eventually.

Definitely.

He straightens his back, almost preening at the answer he receives; his eyes light up against the almost-darkened sky, and she is sure that he even puffs his chest a little bit. "Really?"

Boys.

"Sure," she replies. "If things were — you know, normal, and we weren't still so . . ." So hung up on other people, she wants to say — but that's wrong, because she's not hung up on Sam and she is trying her hardest to believe that he's not hung up on Bella.

Who knows. Maybe Jake is trying to believe the same thing about her.

"Yeah," he agrees, like he knows exactly what she's thinking. (She hopes he doesn't.) "This feels pretty normal, though." And as if to emphasise his point, he draws her in impossibly closer underneath his arm.

"Yeah," she echoes softly.

"Leah . . ."

She hears everything with that breath. And she knows that it's now — she has to do it now. He has been far more patient with her than she deserves, but he won't wait any longer.

"Yeah," she says quietly again, pulling her legs in and tucking her knees close to her chest. "I know."

The arm holding her tenses, the body against hers suddenly rigid, and she thinks he might have stopped breathing altogether. Until he says, unable to conceal his fear, "It's bad, isn't it."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"So you . . . I mean . . . You've decided, then."

Leah looks up at him. "I'm not here to tell you no, Jake." And at the reignited hope which flares in his eyes, the happiness stretching across his cheeks, she adds quickly, "But I don't think I can tell you what to do, either."

He's not surprised. A little self-satisfied with himself, too; he expected this of her. But hope lingers. "I thought as much."

"I can't. That you're supposed to just be okay with whatever I say . . . It doesn't sit right. It's wrong. But I don't want to cause you pain, either. I don't think I can."

"It hurts," he says, understanding washing over his face. "Hurting each other. When I first told you about this — about Sam and Emily, and you . . ." Jacob trails off, but Leah knows they are both remembering that day. She has to wrap her arms around her knees to stop herself from shuddering. "I was nearly sick, too."

He had known why, though. Had known why that much pain affected him so badly.

Leah wonders if she reacted that way for the same reason. Because it hadn't been wholly about Sam and Emily, the way she'd broken down. She sees it with renewed perspective now. Now that she knows.

Hindsight, she scoffs silently.

"It would be the same even if I ran in the other direction screaming, wouldn't it?" She curses herself for wanting to lean into his blazing heat at the idea of running, of willingly parting herself from him. Her whole body protests at the very thought. "It wouldn't go away — that feeling. We'd end up here no matter what I told you."

She could fight it. That part comes easy, the fighting, and always has. But she's not foolish enough to believe that she's strong enough to keep it up for the rest of her life. She'd break, eventually. She knows it.

She could fight it. She just doesn't want to.

"That doesn't mean you just have to accept this, Leah." He swallows thickly, and his next words are pained. Forced. He drops his arm. "If you don't want it, then — maybe — maybe we could work something out. Work around it. It's not inevitable."

"Is that something you want to try?" she challenges, though the heat she has mastered is lacking. "I was under the impression you wanted this."

He doesn't answer.

"Do you want this, Jake?" Leah asks plainly. He nods. "Will you be in pain if I reject your imprint? With a chance that I might be, too?" He nods, and so does she. "Right. So how can I tell you no, then?"

"But you can. It doesn't matter about me, it's what you want."

"I won't make you suffer."

"You shouldn't have to—" he continues to protest.

"You keep thinking that there's this other decision to make, but there's not!" she snaps, aggravated at his disbelief in her choice. "It will hurt, Jacob, and I am sick of it — I am just sick to death of being so goddamn miserable all the time. Have you actually considered that I might want to be here? That it's not out of pity, or that I'm not doing this to be all self-sacrificing just so I can save your feelings?"

"You . . . want?"

"Yes. I know I'm not so good with the whole speaking from the heart thing, but I thought you'd have at least figured this out by now. We were friends before, weren't we? Family? Why not now?"

He is dumbstruck.

"Finally piecing it together, are you?" Leah shakes her head, half exasperated, half amused. He's told her exactly what he's wanted — her, twice now — and yet he's still prepared to fight it. Because he truly believes that what he wants, that his opinion and his choice in this isn't worth a dime. Because he believes she doesn't want him in return.

One day, she will convince him otherwise. She realised early on that he has only been focused on the two very worst outcomes he can think of: that she will submit — and only because she feels she has been cornered between two fires; not because she wants to — or that she will outright reject him and leave him for dust.

It takes him a while to look back over the afternoon and ponder all she has said to him, to pick out certain comments she has made along the way, to read between the blurring lines. Not once has she ever told him no.

She waits for it to dawn upon him. To really hit him.

And when it does . . .

Jacob blinks, stunned. "You want to be here."

It's suddenly difficult to keep her own breath steady, an effort to crack the pure awe and the raw intensity bleeding out of him as he bows his head down ever closer to hers. So close that his breath skitters against her cheek.

She nods.

"You're sure?"

"Being stuck with you — that's not so bad," she manages to breathe, still fighting to keep her voice calm and even, because damn her if she spills the contents of her heart to him anymore than she already has. How is it so easy for him to make her anger just vanish like that?

"No. It's not so bad."

Leah hears the smile in his voice and swallows thickly around the rising emotion in her throat, but the action is enough to be able to finally break the building tension. It is who they are. "Could have been worse."

His chuckle masks their entwined crippling relief, but from who exactly it comes from she doesn't know. Maybe both of them. "How so?"

"I could have gotten Paul. Or God forbid, Embry." She bites back a smirk towards the now-dark sea before her. "I'd have headaches for the rest of my life."

Jake presses his forehead against her shoulder, his own shaking with laughter. Still in relief — and joy, too.

"Quil," he reminds her.

"Hmm — maybe. I'd probably kill him in the end, though."

"I don't think he'd mind so much," Jacob says, chin lifting to rest upon her shoulder instead. His arms snake around her waist at the same time without thought, just because he knows he can, because he knows that she won't pull away. Everything has snapped into place for him — and for her.

"No?"

"No," he agrees easily, no hint of jealousy in his tone. "He'd probably enjoy it, coming from you."

"Hmm," she hums again. "Quil, the secret masochist. Who'd have thought. It's always the quiet ones."

Jacob chuckles in her ear. "Gross. I did not need that image."

Leah turns her head and meets him dead-on, their noses almost brushing. She grins wickedly. "Bet you'd enjoy it, too."

Everything she sees tells her that yes, he would. That whatever it is she throws at him, he will not baulk.

And for some reason, that means everything.

Chapter Text

(Leah)

The piggyback ride Jacob offers her to the shoreline is the result of a compromise: she refuses to be carried bridal-style, and he refuses to let her stumble back across the wet rocks in the dark on her own two feet.

"You could just hold onto my hand," she argues half-heartedly from behind him, her slight exasperation entirely put-upon as her hands reach over his shoulder blades. "You know, like a normal person."

Jacob hoists her up in one fluid motion without warning, fingers curling into the backs of her thighs. Her breath catches, and she knows he hears it. Knows that he is smiling as he says, "If I didn't know better, I'd say that you were scared."

She locks her arms and legs around him, trying not to focus on how his hands are close to cupping her ass whilst also pretending that her heart isn't beating out right out of her chest.

"Scared," she ridicules. It's a vain attempt, she knows.

"I am," he admits, staring into the quiet dark. The last of the orange rays have faded, though it can't be much past six in the evening, and there are no lights emitting from the beach houses. The darkness seems to stretch before them, endless and inviting.

The day feels like it has barely begun. She doesn't want it to end. Not just yet.

"Why?" She tilts her head to better see his face that is now level with her own. And when he turns to meet her probing eyes over his shoulder, he looks a little sheepish.

"What? I'm not going to fall — not unless you drop me."

His hold on her tightens, indignant and maybe offended. "I wouldn't."

"So there's nothing to be worried about."

"Isn't there?"

He looks so unconvinced, so unhappy with himself that it tears at her, and she instinctively finds herself leaning into him. Her nose pokes the side of his cheek, her forehead pushing against his temple, braver than she has been since getting into the car. "Don't be scared."

Jacob returns the soothing pressure, sighing deeply. "I can't help it. You saw how I was when you got too close to the edge, when you pretended to—" He takes another shuddering lungful of air, releases it slower than before. "Fucking scared me. Scares me. All the time."

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, more meaningfully this time as genuine guilt begins to work its way in. She had recognised that compulsive need of his to keep her safe at all costs, no matter how small or ridiculous, and she had laughed in his face.

"Don't be." He pulls away, shaking his head — at himself. "If I was less mental, I would have laughed. Honestly, it's fine."

Her remorse eases, turning rueful. "Well. It was funny. And it's exactly not your fault your sense of humour has dried up."

Jacob chokes a strained laugh, torn between amusement and stress, and he starts walking back towards the beach. His strides are light and careful, and his hold on her does not ease up but she doesn't mind it so much; she accepted this when she accepted the imprint — this intense connection between them that they are still learning to navigate.

She doesn't resent it.

"I am sorry," she presses. "I wanted to make this easier for you, not harder."

"It's not you," he promises earnestly. "I just need to get a better handle on it."

Leah frowns. "That doesn't seem fair. I mean, you always talk like I'm the one getting the shit end of the deal but you're the one who has to go through all this . . ."

"It's just different now, that's all. I wasn't joking when I said I'd go crazy. Don't get me wrong, I was kind of losing it already. This morning . . . S'pose that's why I went and . . . Anyway." Jake clears his throat, banishing the words. "It's just different," he says again, "but I'll get used to it. It'll be fine."

But he wouldn't have to get used to it, not if he hadn't been working himself up to another outcome . . .

It's her own fault, for dragging it out so long. For pretending like she had a choice at all. No, she doesn't resent it, really she doesn't — she wants this, but still she curses herself for being so goddamned stubborn.

"What can I do?"

"Be patient with me, please. Going off the other guys' experiences, I expect I'll be a bit annoying while everything settles down. So . . . sorry, in advance. I'd like to think that I can keep my head screwed on a bit more than they can around their mates, but I'll still probably have a hard time letting you out of my sight for a few days," he says apologetically.

"That doesn't seem so bad. We have the bonfire on Saturday, right? It'll be me who won't be letting you out of my sight."

There's no 'probably' about it for her; there is no chance in burning hell that she is going to sit with — with them.

Jacob hums. "That'll make it easier. You being around the pack so early on might get a little — uhm, well, dicey to be honest. Jared nearly took a whole chunk out of Paul when he introduced Kim for the first time . . . Not that I cared. Still. It would have been far worse if you'd told me no, so at least there's that. Silver linings, right?"

He says it so easily, shrugging as if his ordeal means nothing at all. Again, thinking that he does not matter — that his wants and needs do not matter. And it's really starting to grate.

"How bad?" she asks softly. "How bad would it have been for you?"

His nails dig in through her jeans as he grips her thighs harder. "I don't want to think about it."

She lets the question go before the anxiety riding its way up her spine can hold her captive. The emotion belongs wholly to her — to her half of the imprint — and it takes a long minute of holding herself closer against Jacob's solid warmth before she's able to shake her agitation off entirely, to stop imagining what might have been.

It's a long minute before he relaxes, too. She wonders if he is imagining the same thing.

By the time they're breathing in sync, calm and centred again, Jacob skips off the breakwater and back down onto the sand. Leah automatically loosens her arms around his neck—

A hand flies up and holds her wrist captive. "Where are you going?"

Familiar indignation rises, although (for what might be the first time in her whole life) she makes a conscious effort to pull it back in. "I can take care of myself, you know. That involves walking unaided."

"You're rolling your eyes, aren't you?" He twists round and catches her in the act — but at least he is smiling again, so she can't be too annoyed with him. "Knew it."

She rolls them again, if only so she can be rewarded with another sunny smile. "When you said annoying . . ."

His expression morphs seamlessly into a grin of impudence. "You can't say you weren't warned."

She pokes her tongue out at him, pointedly ignoring any smug or triumphant looks when she loops her arms back around his neck and not-so-grudgingly allows him to continue on to the car.

➰

(Jacob)

In spite of the unrelenting terror he feels, there is euphoria too. It pumps in his veins, fuelling his every step to the point he could be walking on air and wouldn't even notice.

It'll last for the rest of the month, this feeling. Maybe even his whole life. But he'll take it — every howl of fear and possessiveness and desire from his wolf, every wave of elation that sends his knees wobbling — because she is here, and she is with him. Because she wants to be here with him, and she has chosen him.

Leah presses her warm cheek against ear, and he knows that she is smiling again, too. Neither of them can seem to stop, and if they do it is not for long.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Your dad," she says. And hearing his confused silence, she explains, "He, uh — welcomed me into the family, earlier."

Unsurprised at his father's forwardness, Jacob scoffs. "He's likely been dying to say that since he found out. Pay no attention to him."

"No, I liked it," she insists, and the pure sincerity in her voice leaves Jacob wanting to kiss her. Again. "It was . . . nice. I mean, you guys have always been family, but it's like you said. It's different now, isn't it? It felt different, anyway. Like something new."

His fingers twitch against her jeans, unable to care less about remembering to rein in his possession. "We're not kids anymore."

Leah cocks her head, angling her broad smile directly at him, radiant and so beautiful he stops breathing for a second or two. "Aren't we? I'm not so sure Rach and Beck will feel the same, when they find out."

"Good thing they can't find out then," he retorts, thinking of Rachel's temper especially.

"Well, we'll have to tell them something." Leah settles back against him, tilting her head against his and shifting her ankles against his hips. "I do talk to them still. Sometimes, anyway, when they're not so busy. But even if I don't tell them, then you know as well as I do that Billy will let something purposefully slip."

"He'll only do it to see if they'd come home."

She sighs, a little forlorn. She misses the twins as much as he does; he feels the pang of longing in his gut as if it were his own. "I don't care what he tells them if it means we can see them."

"Even if he says we're — y'know. Dating?"

"S'pose that's what we'll have to tell everyone else who doesn't know the truth," she replies, unconcerned, and Jacob tries his damned hardest to not let his elation show at that. "But your sisters are going to think I've corrupted you or something. God knows what I'd say if someone two or three years older than Seth started showing interest."

"Big whoop," he drawls. "Three years."

"Seth is fourteen, Jake," she admonishes.

"That's different. You're eighteen — you're an adult."

"I'm nearly nineteen."

"And I'm nearly seventeen. In like . . . ten months." He squeezes her leg. "I thought we went over this. It's really not a big deal."

Leah groans quietly in his ear, probably rolling her eyes yet again and wholly unaware of the shivers cascading over the back of his neck at the sound. "You're impossible."

"You're learning, at least."

"Shut up, Jacob," she says, but she laughs as she does, and it sounds kind of fond. He totally counts that as a win.

➰

The Rabbit's dash reads eight-thirteen when he parks it at the end of the Clearwaters' drive and sees Seth step out of the front door, almost as though he has been waiting for them.

The kid has filled out some since he phased — two weeks ago, now — but he still looks odd in his new body, still wiry and gangly and uncoordinated as he lopes down the path towards the car.

At a glance, he could almost be mistaken for one of the older members of the pack, his muscles purposefully on show and his chest puffed out . . . That is, until Jacob studies the boy's face some more and it becomes noticeable that Seth is struggling to keep a hard mask in place. Like he's putting on an act, and trying his best to not let it slip.

Leah stares at her brother. "What in the name of . . . Who the hell is he pretending to be?"

Jacob realises what is about to happen, chuckling under his breath. "I think I'm finally about to get the Talk."

There hadn't been much conversation back in the forest, back when the kid had taken it upon himself to deliver that rucksack of food and water. During all of his three visits, Seth had simply joined him in silence until it was his turn to patrol again — returning the favour, Jacob had realised afterwards, for when he had sat with him all those times at the cave, waiting until he was ready.

Leah unbuckles her seatbelt and opens her door with a dramatic sigh, swinging her legs out. She looks up at her brother. "Are you really doing this?"

"Yep," is all she receives by way of a reply.

He crosses his arms over his chest and waits for Jacob to get out of the car, who struggles to refrain from smirking when they face each other half a minute later and Leah comes to stand at his side.

Seth's gaze flickers between them. "You two sorted things out?"

Jacob nods. Beside him, Leah covers her laugh with a poorly feigned cough that only turns more forceful when he nudges her shoulder in reprimand. If she loses it, then he knows he will not be far behind her. And Seth is trying so hard.

The kid jerks his chin up in some semblance of a nod. "Right. So now that you two are . . ." He frowns a little, looking unsurely between them. "Uh. Are you?"

Leah reaches for Jacob's hand at the same time he reaches for hers, as if to say yes, we are.

Seth's eyes go wide with excitement, the act of the protective sibling suddenly dropped. "Really? You are?"

Jacob's grin shines on her brother — their brother — until Seth remembers himself. It's almost comical how quickly clears his throat and sets his back straight.

"I mean . . . Fine. Great. Leah, can you give us a minute?"

She finally gives in to her laughter. "No way. I want to see this."

Heat suffuses the kid's face, his pride in danger of being bruised, but he manages to keep in character. Jacob thinks it's kind of admirable.

"One minute," Seth says, staring her down. The silent please tacked onto the end of the sentence couldn't be louder than if he'd actually said it.

"Honestly," she sighs, but apparently she's willing to indulge him, and she squeezes Jacob's fingers before untangling them.

He is fighting his own amusement when she suddenly stretches up on her toes and kisses the underside of his jaw, which is about as far as her lips can reach, and says, "Be good," in the sweetest voice before skipping into the house. As if it's the most normal thing in the world. As if she just hasn't . . .

Her stares after her, frozen.

When the door shuts and he turns back to Seth, gaping, the kid has dropped all pretence and is practically bouncing on his feet with glee.

He punches Jacob's arm, beaming. "I'm happy for you, man."

"Uh—"

"If she asks," Seth continues cheerfully, "I threatened to hurt you if you hurt her. And then you said something like, 'She doesn't need anyone to defend her honour,' — because she likes that stuff — and then we agreed we had an understanding and left it there, yeah?"

"Uh," says Jacob again, feeling dumber by the minute. "Sure."

"Thanks." He looks relieved. "I owe you one."

Little punk. "You weren't actually going to give me a speech, were you?"

Seth's eyeroll is the exact same as his sister's. "Come on, I'm not stupid. The guys would rib me for days if I even tried." He slings an arm over his shoulder, eyes glinting with his usual boyish playfulness. "I better warn you that Mom's got her own speech planned, though, in case you plan on coming in."

Jacob gulps.

And indeed, the first chance Sue gets — when Leah is upstairs changing, and Seth is sprawled out in front of the television in the next room — she puts her hands on her hips and looks at him with a glint of fire-tempered steel in her eyes, the likes of which he has not seen before Harry died.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you what happens if she gets hurt, Jacob. Imprint or not. Because once she's done with you, there won't be many pieces left for me to break. But so help me God, I'll still try."

Jacob wills himself to stand tall and hold the woman's gaze. The Clearwater women have always scared the living shit out of him, but he'll be damned if he cowers now. "Yes, ma'am."

Sue nods, satisfied. Then she breaks into a smile. "Good. Now, I'm kind of behind on dinner but if you'd like to stay then you better call Billy and invite him too. Tell him I said no arguments. You know he doesn't eat right unless he's backed into a corner."

"Yes, ma'am," he says again.

From where she is undoubtedly at the top of the stairs and straining her ears to eavesdrop, Jacob swears that he hears Leah laugh.

Chapter Text

(Jacob)

The newest member of the pack always has the honour of lighting the bonfire — a tradition which dates back all of three months — meaning that of course it is Quil who almost completely burns off his eyebrows, no thanks to the obscene amount of fluid Paul dumped on the firewood.

What's probably even funnier, though, is the litany of black obscenities that escape his mouth, all said in front of his grandfather whose swift hand has Quil running faster than he jumped back from the flames.

They're mostly all in attendance, the pack and the Elders together as they are every time their numbers increase. Only the Clearwaters and Embry are missing, otherwise it likely would have been Seth who nearly went up in flames. Sue had insisted yesterday that she would be arriving with her family, and the Clearwaters are never early (Harry was notorious for it), while Embry's mom has probably buried his body in the woods somewhere like she has been threatening to for weeks now.

They've all tried to convince Sam to let Tiffany Call in on the secret at one point or another, but their Alpha flat-out refuses. And, surprisingly, Embry agrees with him, insisting that the secret is too important. His mom would only freak out and ship him off to a military camp. What's a little shouting, after all, when he gets to be a part of something so amazing?

That's what he says, anyway.

Personally Jacob thinks his best friend is saving face, but he knows better than to call him out on it.

His foot twitches anxiously as he waits for Embry to make an appearance. And waits. He waits for Sam to approach him (because it's bound to happen); he waits for the guys to start throwing a variety of Looks in his direction (which Paul has started doing already, all as dirty and violent as Quil's mouth — but Jake is used to that). He waits for Leah to arrive safe and sound and whole.

It's maddening.

Since their excursion to Pillar Point three days ago, Leah has been giving him free passes to be a tetchy son of a bitch (honestly, he will never deserve her), but still he has been struggling to get himself in order. The wolf is dying to see her; it practically howls like a puppy with separation anxiety if more than a few hours pass without having her within its senses.

Maddening. Pathetic.

He only saw her this morning. He left her at lunch. Six hours, forty-four minutes and — no, forty-five minutes ago—

Fuck, he needs professional help. He's going insane.

This afternoon has been a test, of sorts, to keep their distance from one another. He's hated every second of it.

He knows it's the imprint that is exacerbating every feeling usually considered unhealthy in a relationship because it has been accepted, but it's also smothering every feeling that should be normal. And he's not one of those guys, he's not, but — shit. How the hell is he supposed to function like this?

He's glad that Leah never asked him what he really thought the reason for imprinting was. She hadn't seemed to notice that he'd not answered her question properly. If she had pressed him, he would have said that he thinks — thought — it made the wolves better. That it's not about pedigree or reproducing the next generation of protectors, but about what they need to be the best protectors they could be.

How is this better?

He would have argued that when the pack had taken down that bloodsucker in the meadow, Sam and Jared had fought the best. Five against one hadn't been much of a challenge, anyway, but the rest of them hadn't had a look-in compared to those two. They were the most focused, the most determined. The whole thing had been over barely a minute after they'd caught up to it.

Jacob almost laughs at himself, scornful. If he came across the redheaded bitch now, he's not sure he'd live to tell the tale. He's too out of sorts.

It doesn't help that he's not phased since what Billy now jokingly refers to as Motorbikegate. Charlie hasn't called the house since, or come to visit, though Billy doesn't seem too bothered by that; they always patch things up in the end. Besides, Charlie has probably been too busy guarding the door with his gun to spare a hand and pick up the phone anyway.

Really, it's a crying shame bullets bounce right off the leeches. Jacob thinks he would have quite enjoyed that image, otherwise.

He hasn't yet spoken to Sam about confronting Cullen. Jared and Quil had been on duty when he'd phased afterwards, and they would have undoubtedly spilled the beans straight away — but given the way Sam is now staring at him over the roaring flames, Jacob has a suspicion that something is going to be said about it sooner or later. The conversation (or rather, the reprimand) will probably start with something like, "Jacob, what right do you think you have . . ."

If Embry were here, Jake would suggest putting a bet on it.

He pointedly ignores the Alpha's sharp gaze and looks for the next best thing.

When he whistles sharply, all eyes immediately turn on him — likely surprised that he's cut his brooding short and is interacting with them again; they've all been talking in low whispers around him, throwing furtive glances — but it's Quil's attention he is asking for.

Jacob beckons him on over. Quil is still seemingly avoiding his grandfather at all costs, going as far to sit with a loved-up Jared and Kim, and he looks grateful for a reason to excuse himself — even if he does approach with a kind of hesitancy that makes Jacob's insides curl with guilt when he remembers that he hasn't seen Quil since the day his friend joined the pack. Since they all found out that he imprinted on Leah.

"Hey, man," his friend says a little nervously when he finally gets close enough. "What's up?"

Jake forces a smile. "Still got your eyebrows?"

Quil theatrically pats his hand over his face. "Last I checked. How do I look?"

"As ugly as ever," he replies, jesting, and his friend returns his smile. "You seen Embry around lately?"

"Yeah. Last night, on patrol."

Quil drops down to sit beside him on the ground. He leans against the back of the log seat, relaxing and stretching his legs out. It has never been hard to fall back into an easy rhythm with Quil, no matter what might have happened between them. He's too easy-going, too carefree, forever living for the moment. The grudge he'd had against them for leaving him behind was probably the first he'd ever held in his life.

"You think he got caught again?"

Jacob smirks. "Oh, no doubt about it."

"You wanna go get him? Gramps isn't going to start for a while yet."

"And miss your first official bonfire? Nah. Em will turn up sooner or later. He's probably just waiting until his mom's looking in the other direction."

"I guess," Quil says, shrugging. He turns hesitant again. "What about you? How are you doing?"

It is Jacob's turn to shrug. "Aside from everyone talking about me like I can't hear them? While that one—" he nods in Paul's direction "—looks like he wants to kill me? I'm great. Couldn't be having a better time," he prattles on over Quil's sniggering. "It's not a good day if Paul doesn't threaten me at least twice."

Paul's head jerks up at the sound of his name, pulling him out of conversation with Sam. His eyes narrow as his gaze fixes itself dangerously upon them, and he flicks his fingers up in a vulgar gesture.

As if for good measure, to prove his point, he drags them slowly across his throat.

Jacob disregards him with a simple look back to Quil. Nothing annoys Paul more than being dismissed.

"See? Everything's normal."

Quil covers his smile with a hand, pretending that he's got an itch at the corner of his lips.

It isn't until he's sure that Paul has turned back to his conversation with Sam that he says, sarcastic, "I'm not sure if you're aware, but he kind of hates you, you know."

"No, really?"

"Don't tell him I told you so, but he's waiting for you to come back so he can kick your sorry ass." Quil allows a beat of silence. "And I've kind of already put ten bucks down. So you've gotta win or else we'll never hear the end of it."

That perks Jacob's interest. "Awesome. Who's bet against me?"

"Just Paul," Quil says, and they both laugh as loud as they dare. "He's betting that you'll be back on patrol by the end of the week — so, tomorrow — and that he'll have taken a chunk out of you an hour later. Nobody else fights with him like you do, apparently."

"You think he'd have learned by now," Jacob muses idly. He has won every single fight he's ever had with Paul. It's almost like child's play; Paul's unchecked temper gets in the way every single time, always making him lose focus.

"You think," Quil scoffs. "So . . . does that mean you're coming back then? For real? I mean, Sam seems to think it's pretty permanent, you leaving, but he's still not replaced you as Second. Not officially, anyway. Jared's only acting up until he's told otherwise."

"What's he waiting for?"

"Dunno. Suppose he wants to know that you're sure before he changes things up, I guess."

Jacob hums noncommittally. "I told him I'd be out as soon as I can manage it. When that will be . . ." He shrugs. "I'm only managing a week at most. I suppose until the Cullens break the treaty I won't be able to—"

A loud whoop fills the evening air, cutting him off, and Jacob's head snaps round at the same time as Quil's to see Embry finally entering the fray, all smiles as he announces himself and begins making the rounds to say hello to everyone. He bumps fists with Sam, Paul and Jared in turn, shakes the hands of Old Quil and Billy, and throws disarming smiles to Emily (who rolls her eyes, an image of the long-suffering) and Kim (who blushes fiercely and shrinks into Jared, the shyest person Jacob has met in his whole life to date). But they all smile back at him, every single one of them here present; Embry is a real people-person — more so than he ever was before phasing, entirely confident in his new body and status within the pack.

"What's up, losers?" he greets Jacob and Quil, grinning down at them once he lopes over to where they are sitting a ways from the rest of the group. "Jeez, you look freakin' miserable, dude."

"We were actually just enjoying the peace and quiet," Jacob drawls sardonically. "Who invited you?"

Embry's grin stretches impossibly wider. "I see you're still a total asshole. Imprint rubbing you up the wrong way, man?"

The hiss that comes from Quil beside him is low and full of warning as Jacob goes rigid. "Embry."

"What? I'm just saying. Maybe Leah could rub me—"

That does it.

Jacob jumps to his feet, fist flying — but Embry dodges it with preternatural speed, laughing all the while.

Quil hauls himself up, lunging to hold one friend back while he glares at the other. "What the fuck are you playing at, Embry?"

"Come on, Jake," Embry taunts, ignoring Quil as he dances on his feet, positioning his hands, "you can do better than that! Give it all you got. No phasing, though," he adds quickly, "'cos we can't be having you all worked up and naked when your girlfriend gets here, or else you might start humping her leg—"

Jacob's fist finally hits its mark, his movements too wild and unpredictable to be restrained, and he and Embry go down in a tangle of muscled arms and legs.

He doesn't know who realises it first — him, or Quil, or the rest of the pack, who are all on their feet and now watching carefully, or even the Elders who sigh in complete exasperation — but as Embry laughs again and spits blood, Jacob understands exactly what he's been goaded into.

He's never been more grateful for being so stupid. Because Embry recognised the strain he was carrying from not phasing for so long, recognised the disquiet on his face, the agitation that he was about to be introducing his imprint into the pack for the first time, and decided to be the one to help take the edge off that coiled-up energy when nobody else would.

Jake sees Quil walk away in his peripheral, shaking his head, wholly resigned to the fact his best friends are total idiots and that the easiest thing to do is to leave them to it. And he thinks there is a reason that, if he ever took Alpha, Embry would be his Second and Quil his third: the two of them balance each other out perfectly.

But then his head knocks to the side, missing the log he'd been leaning back on by an inch, and Embry just keeps — on — fucking — laughing at him.

Jacob snarls, releasing all that he can, and he leaps.

➰

(Leah)

The awful and crippling anxiety she's felt all day at the thought of having to come to this complete shit-show of a powwow distorts into undiluted horror when Quil reveals where Jacob is and what exactly it is he's doing.

She gasps. "Fighting?"

"They've been at it for, like, half an hour," Quil tells her, but he doesn't look all that concerned. He shrugs, waving cheerfully at Seth who is seamlessly integrating himself into the group.

Her baby brother has been welcomed like a hero — like he truly belongs. Sue, on the other hand, looks exactly how Leah feels. Uncomfortable, out of place, lost without Harry, wondering why in the name of all that's holy she has agreed to come. She is so obviously re-evaluating her decision to take his place on the Council that Old Quil literally has to usher her into the chair they've reserved for her at the head of the makeshift circle.

Quil turns away from the scene, the smile he'd thrown Seth still on his face, oblivious to how Leah has been gaping at him in her disbelief.

"You wanna get a hotdog?" he asks.

"Why?"

"They're really good. I've had four already," he says. And at her incensed groan that follows, he blinks. Sighs. "Oh. You mean Jake. Don't ask me, kid, I'm not getting involved. I'm not putting any bets down, either; I'm already out ten bucks until Jake fights Paul next."

Leah gapes at Quil, her anxiety now at its peak. "What do you mean, until he fights with Paul next?! What the hell have they got to fight over?"

Quil shrugs again. "Don't need a reason, those two. S'just what they do. So I'm told, anyway." He glances at the fire and back, at the occupants surrounding it. "You wanna sit with me? There's a couple of spaces by your mom, away from . . . Oh, come on Leah. Look, Jake's fine. I'm pretty sure you'd know if something major happened — you imprint people are weird like that. Just come sit down, will ya'?"

"I think I'll wait here, thanks," she tells him stubbornly, crossing her arms. She stares across the field, towards the trees as if she might be able to see two wolves, bloodied and bruised and spitting fur. She can't believe they're fighting — of all people, Jacob and Embry!

Or . . . maybe she can. Hadn't Embry told her how mad everyone apparently is with Jake? She just never thought that he would be the one to actually do something about it. He and Jake have been best friends for as long as they've been able to walk.

"Fine," Quil says, ever-insolent. "Then I'll wait with you."

She tucks her arms in tighter, and nods once. "Fine."

"Oh, jeez. Yeah, you're Jacob's imprint alright," he snickers, poking her shoulder playfully. "You're just like him — annoying as hell."

At the cutting glare she shoots him, Quil quickly raises his hands, palms splayed, and ever so subtly leans backwards. Out of her way.

Leah harrumphs in satisfaction at the sight of his surrender, and resumes her lookout.

"Meaner, though," he mutters after she looks away, and she almost laughs.

Almost. She'd forgotten how ballsy the guy is.

They wait in silence, Quil entirely at ease whilst her heart pounds a frightful rhythm . . . until finally, finally she finally sees the boys emerging some very long and painful minutes later.

She watches as they shove each other, smiling. As if their faces are not littered with cuts and scrapes and already-blooming dark bruises. As if there is not blood scattered all over Jacob's jaw, his lips, all the way down his neck, caking his clothes . . .

Her head goes quiet.

Jacob. Jacob is hurt.

She blindly starts towards him, towards Embry who she is going to murder, she is going to kill him with her bare fucking hands, but Quil puts a hand on her shoulder to hold her back.

He ignores her outrage. "Wait," he murmurs, eyes assessing.

Embry reaches them first, his smile threatening to cleave through his already split lips. And without so much as a hello, he holds out his bloodied hand. Waiting, expectant.

She bats Embry's hand away. It's only the heavy weight of Quil's hand still on her shoulder that keeps her from clawing at his face, more than ready and willing to bestow him some new gauges along his cheeks. How dare he—

"Aw, don't be like that," he whines. "I know how it looks, but we weren't really fighting, and he hurt me far more than I hurt him. Really. It looks worse than it is; he's already stopped bleeding, and the swelling will be gone in an hour." He wiggles his fingers in her face as she shoots Jacob another glance as it confirm all of this, blocking her view. "Come on."

She snaps at his hand. With her teeth. "Go to hell, Embry."

"Come on," he says again, pleading now. "Do the thing with me. I just want to test something, then you can shout at me, I swear. Or are you too much of a chickenshit?"

"I'm not doing the thing with you—"

Embry, the bastard, starts clucking. He tucks his hands into his armpits, raising his elbows . . .

She has never been one to flake out on a challenge — she is no coward — and Jacob looks like he's steady on his feet . . . He's not in danger of bleeding out, anyway . . . "Fine! Fine! If it will shut you up! I'll do the fucking thing with you! And then I'm going to kill you, you bastard. Call me chickenshit then."

Embry is beaming when she viciously launches into making a series of elaborate movements with her hands, almost perfectly in sync with his despite her bubbling rage. He keeps up with her easily, practically overjoyed that he's won.

It goes on for an age, longer than she remembers practicing on Second Beach for; it involves fingers twisting, fists bumping, hands slapping, elbows knocking — and then, for their final flourish, she jumps to meet her right hip with Embry's, who oh-so generously bends his knees to compensate for the height difference between them.

Asshole.

He punches the air in celebration, offering her a high-five with the same hand in his pure glee that they have managed the whole sequence without faltering once (which she pointedly punches, smack into the middle of his palm, though he doesn't seem to realise the difference). "That was awesome! Best we've ever done it!"

"Since when have you two had a secret handshake?" Quil demands, indignant.

"I'll teach you," Embry promises him. "You're in the club."

Quil stands taller, slightly mollified. "I am?"

"Yep — but we're not telling you what it's about in front of any Muggles, 'cos he's not invited," Embry says, turning to Jake — whose eyebrows are drawn together, eyes narrowed, but otherwise doesn't say anything about what he's just witnessed.

After a moment of consideration, Embry seems to be satisfied with what he finds in Jacob's features — with whatever it is that he was looking for — and slaps his shoulder.

Leah flinches in spite of her anger, expecting to feel pain from the sheer force he puts behind the action.

"Alright," he declares. "You're good."

He grins at Jacob, and winks at her, the both of them shooting him daggers despite him not giving them any indication that he notices. And then to Quil, he says, "Come on — I'm hungry. Leave them alone."

Quil looks slightly affronted, the words as readable on his face as if he said them: he hadn't been the one who was doing anything or bothering anyone. If Jacob had not been standing in front of her, battered to a pulp, Leah might have very well smiled at him for it.

As it is, she and Jake end up staring at each other. Gazes roving, taking stock, checking that the other is alive and breathing.

Jacob stands easier now that Embry and Quil are out of sight, and he doesn't look ashamed, or guilty, but he does offer an apologetic half-smile as if he's been caught doing something that he shouldn't have been. The expression takes her back ten years.

She swallows her anger, if only so she can ask: "Are you okay?"

And when he nods, something eases inside of her just enough to be able to jerk a nod in return. She's still a heartbeat away from freaking out at the bloody sight of him; it goes against the grain to know that he is injured and that she can do nothing about it. It makes her want to scream, to hit something.

"Okay," she says, too shakily for her own liking. "Are you going to tell me what that was all about?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Are you going to tell me why you and my best friend have a secret handshake?" he counters.

She blinks. "It wasn't my idea."

"Well neither was this," he says, gesturing at himself.

"Embry," they say together — she as if the name is an expletive, and Jacob as if it's an explanation.

He smiles, tentatively stepping closer towards her. "Are you okay?"

"I—"

Leah stops, pressing her lips together. No. No, she's not okay. Jacob looks like he's gone nine rounds, and even though he's healing right before her eyes, his bruises changing colour in the firelight so bright behind them that it stretches to all corners of the recreation grounds, she is . . . unbalanced at the sight of him. It doesn't help that she's felt his absence all afternoon like she might a missing limb because they've spent so much time together since Wednesday that it's been near enough a damn culture shock to be without him.

Never mind that she's hardly been sleeping, either, unable to shut her eyes until she's near-dead and flat on her face from exhaustion. Even then, it's uneasy rest; she keeps waking with the sheets tangled in her legs and sweat coating every inch of her body.

She shakes her head. She will not cry. She will not cry.

"Oh, honey." Jacob crosses the distance between them in half a second and gathers her up in his arms, almost lifting her from her feet. "I'm fine, really. Embry was just . . . helping, believe it or not. I missed you. I'm fine."

Leah squeezes her eyes shut and buries her face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. It's almost embarrassing how quickly her breathing evens out, how much better she feels already. She's not used to being so . . . so reliant on someone, to needing someone so badly that she can hardly get through a single fucking afternoon without them.

"I'm fine," Jacob continues saying into her hair, soft and low and sweet, his woodsy scent calming. She breathes him in. "It's just the imprint. I feel it, too. That's why he had to beat some sense into me — had to take the edge off before I killed someone. I was being an asshole."

They stand like that for several minutes, until eventually she is able to release his dirty shirt from her tight fists and doesn't feel like she's in danger of crying like a little bitch anymore.

Jacob lifts his head and rests his chin on top of hers, a pleasant and reassuring weight. He sighs. "We're being summoned."

She feels herself go tense again. "Are they all looking?" she mumbles against him.

"Yep." His lips pop. "Well, most of them. They're all doing a pretty bad job pretending that they're not, but they are. It was the same before you got here."

"Great."

Leah takes a deep breath before pulling away, and though Jacob keeps his hands linked at her lower back he relaxes enough so she can move freely. She doesn't dare look over her shoulder.

His own gaze is searching. "Ready?"

She rubs her face, steeling herself, because she has been dreading this — sitting with them, talking with them, knowing that Sam and Emily are going to be there and that her mom is going to be sitting where her dad is supposed to be sitting. Knowing that they are all going to be looking at her and—

Jacob softens. "We don't have to do this."

Leah knows with complete certainty that he would leave with her if she asked. He would do it without question, but she shakes her head and straightens her spine.

She tells herself once more that she is no coward, and she plasters on her best look of determination. "Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?"

Jacob's grin is blinding. He squeezes her middle and drops a kiss to her head.

"That's my girl."

Chapter Text

(Leah)

As Leah enters the circle around the fire, she is aware of every single gaze upon her. But she keeps her head up, her back straight, and pretends that she does not notice.

She pretends that she does not see the way they are all on the edge of their seats and holding their breath, watching her closely as she passes them, waiting for her next move. Because she knows they saw it - all of it, every moment from when she'd arrived until now, and she silently dares just one person to say a single word about what has been unfolding before their eyes. Dares them to say a single word about her.

(She almost wishes that they would, just so she has a reason to snap at them the same way she snapped at Embry's hand.)

Jacob gives her fingers a comforting squeeze as if he knows, as if he understands, and it is with that reassurance she keeps her chin high and allows him to guide her into the only empty seat left - a gap between Quil and Embry, just as if they have both been saving the spot on their bench solely for her.

Quil is stone-faced, monitoring the silent crowd at her back, assessing again, whilst Embry holds out a welcoming arm that he drapes over her shoulders the second Jacob lets go of her hand and she takes her place. And though neither boy gives any obvious kind of indication that they have heard her thundering heartbeat, she could swear that - as if by some unspoken agreement - they both subtly shuffle nearer and close any holes in their defence.

Quil and Embry have both become her friends in these past few weeks. Her true friends. They are the reason the two cracks in her chest left by Rachel and Rebecca no longer hurt as much.

Neither of them seem to pay Jacob any attention as their friend looms over her, making sure that she is alright (Leah would call it fussing, but she secretly enjoys it far too much). Quil simply maintains his watch, guarding her as stalwartly as Embry is.

The gratitude she feels for them in that moment is near-crippling.

She still hasn't so much as looked up to check how her mom is coping in case she accidentally catches somebody else's eye and loses her dinner, but she has a feeling the pack are still watching the scene play out between her and Jacob, between the two of them and his best friends who are a solid wall either side of her.

The tension around them is almost stifling, suffocating, and it makes Leah wonder just how badly it must have gone the last time an imprint had been introduced to the pack if they are this tense. Bad enough that Paul and Jared had gotten into it over Kim . . .

In spite of their closeness, the boys can do nothing to soothe the sudden spike of panic that courses through her when she belatedly realises that there is nowhere for Jacob to sit as near as she needs him to be. But before that panic can take root, her wolf gently nudges her legs apart with his knees and settles on the ground between her feet, apparently content with the arrangement.

She doesn't mind it so much, either. Especially not when Jacob tilts his head back against her stomach to look up at her, his sunny upside-down grin a little too devil-may-care for the situation, and it's so . . . so utterly Jacob that she thinks she could kiss him for the tiny bit of normalcy he offers.

Leah scrunches her nose back at him, her hard shell softening as he leans on her. He is almost entirely at ease, hopefully in no danger of losing his cool tonight.

She probably could kiss Embry and Quil, too, if Jacob wouldn't rip their heads off for it. If she didn't still want to rip Embry's head off herself for the bruises still adorning Jacob's face and the blood dried into his shirt. She hasn't quite forgiven him for it yet - even if he was supposed to be 'helping' and is currently acting as one half of a perfect buffer between her and the rest of the group. Between Sam and her cousin, who she has no intention of speaking to tonight.

Not for the rest of her life, if she can manage it.

Someone clears their throat from across the fire, and Leah finally dares look up to see that it is Billy who commands their attention.

The Chief sits between her mother and Old Quil, his deep-set eyes dancing in the firelight as he looks around the gathered circle. He sends her small but encouraging smile when his gaze falls on her, a fleeting signal of support - the only slip in his otherwise business-like appearance - and she feels momentarily bolstered by it. He knows just as well as anyone else that she does not want to be here.

Leah doesn't look away from his weathered face as he begins talking. Because Billy is not wrong - she does not want to be here.

It feels awful to be gathered like this without her father. She can hardly stand to think of it. Can hardly stand to think of him, especially right now.

As if in response to the all-too familiar wave of grief, her hands seem to reach out of their own accord and fall on Jacob's shoulders - seeking out the only right thing in her world. Her thumbs brush the back of his neck, causing him to visibly shiver underneath her touch, but she can't be sorry for it when the contact grounds her so.

She'll use whatever she can to get herself through this. Even if it does make her look a little clingy.

"The Quileutes have been a small people from the beginning," Billy starts, satisfied by the fallen silence around him. "And we remain a small people still, but we have never disappeared. For as long as magic lives in our blood, so will we.

"It happened long ago that Q'waeti bestowed us this magic. He had journeyed for many years beforehand, instructing any people he found and all who would later come in the future, teaching them how they should act, showing them how to build their homes. How to hunt, to fish. He went on and on until he reached the Quileute land, and found it empty save for the two wolves he saw.

"Q'waeti transformed the wolves into people. He told them, 'The Quileute shall be brave, because you come from wolves. In every manner, you shall be strong.'"

The sound of a pen scratching furiously against paper as someone takes notes is all that can be heard as Billy leans back in his chair, pausing for breath. He seems to look at each member of the pack, eyes lingering on his son for a moment longer than the rest.

"Soon came the Quileute's first great Spirit Chief - Kaheleha," he continues. "The title passed from generation to generation until it passed to Taha Aki, a peaceful man known for his wisdom. The people lived well and content in his care."

Billy turns back to the circle, to those hanging on his every word. "But there was one man who was not content. Utlapa," he says, and a low hiss runs around the fire. They all know the next part of this story, just as they know its end.

Between her legs, Jacob ever so slightly tips his head back against her hands which have begun carding through his hair, leaning into the pressure. She doesn't know when exactly she started doing it, only that she's suddenly realised she is, but she can't bring herself to stop.

After countless minutes of this, of all but staring in wonder as Jacob seems to sink further and further into her with every touch, Embry gives her a gentle nudge, jolting her back to the present.

Leah looks to find him smiling down at her. She is by no means short - she is nearly five foot nine - and he and Quil are not as tall as Jacob, perhaps an inch or two shorter than his six foot seven, but still she feels like a child sitting between them. No wonder their instincts seem to revolve around protecting everyone else in sight, being so ridiculously huge. Sometimes it's still difficult for her to reconcile them with the men they have become, especially when she still remembers their baby faces.

She raises an eyebrow at Embry, her hands still working their way through Jacob's unruly hair as his father speaks.

What? she silently asks, barely remembering that she is supposed to be angry with him. She actually feels . . . almost calm, in truth. Calmer than she has been all afternoon, so long as she manages to keep her focus elsewhere. She hasn't thought of the eyes on the other side of the fire for nearly five whole minutes - a real achievement.

"Sorry," Embry mouths, throwing a barely perceptible nod at the back of Jacob's head. Then he grins his best toothy grin and squeezes her shoulders, his arm still around her, all but batting his eyelashes.

"Shh," Leah mouths back, though she is fighting her own smile as she turns back to Billy who is almost at the end of Taha Aki's story now. She has barely heard a word of it.

She watches as Billy straightens in his chair, folding his hands in his lap.

"From that point on," the man says, "Taha Aki was more than either wolf or man. They called him Taha Aki the Great Wolf, or Taha Aki the Spirit Man. He led the tribe for many, many years, for he did not age. When danger threatened, he would resume his wolf-self to fight or frighten the enemy. The people dwelt in peace. Taha Aki fathered many sons, and some of these found that, after they had reached the age of manhood, they, too, could transform into wolves. The wolves were all different, because they were spirit wolves and reflected the man they were inside.

"Some of the sons became warriors with Taha Aki, and they no longer aged. Others, who did not like the transformation, refused to join the pack of wolf-men. These began to age again, and the tribe discovered that the wolf-men could grow old like anyone else if they gave up their spirit wolves. Taha Aki had lived the span of three old men's lives. He had married a third wife after the deaths of the first two, and found in her his true spirit wife."

Billy looks at her; she looks at him. The smile on his face turns beatific, and the firelight reflected on his face makes him seem years and years younger.

"And though he had loved the others," he adds, watching her still - watching her and his son with what she recognises as pride in those old, tired eyes, "this was something else. He decided to give up his spirit wolf so that he would die when she did."

Leah sucks in a breath, realising for the first time that the third wife was an imprint. It seems glaringly obvious, of course, now that she has heard the story again - a story she has heard countless times before throughout her childhood but now has different meaning to her entirely.

Billy nods - to her or himself, she can't tell - and turns back to the group.

"That is how the magic came to us," he says with an air of finality, shifting in his chair to look at Quil's grandfather beside him, "but it is not the end of the story . . ."

Old Quil wastes no time in launching into the next tale, a seamless transition between the two men, but Leah pays his words even less attention than she did most of Billy's.

Imprint. Spirit wife.

She doesn't think it is any coincidence that that story was chosen tonight, and she wonders briefly if it is the same introduction Emily and Kim received on their first official bonfire, too. Wonders what Jacob makes of it, now that he has a different perspective.

He's heavy against her legs. She would have thought that he was asleep except for the way he occasionally turns his nose into the inside of her thigh, breathing deep and humming quietly when she scratches her nails against his scalp. He's no better than a house cat. Dog.

She almost laughs at herself for the bad joke. Still, she knows he'll get a kick out of it when she undoubtedly shares it with him later.

As if to experiment, she digs her fingers deeper, applying a little more pressure. And Jacob - he practically purrs underneath his breath, his head lolling to the side.

It's fascinating, how he responds. And she can't help but spend the rest of the meeting like that, utterly, entirely absorbed by him. She probably wouldn't have been aware the whole thing had ended if not for Embry's arm retreating from her shoulders.

He stands up, stretching wide with a groan that quickly morphs into a wide yawn, loud and fairly exaggerated. "Almost fell asleep on you there, chiquita. You're warmer than that fire."

She sighs. "Still sticking with the Spanish, then?"

"He probably doesn't even know it's Spanish," Quil utters, rubbing a rough hand over his face as if greatly pained by his friend. "I'd wager he got it from that song - his mom likes the old stuff."

Leah barks a laugh, startling even herself, because Quil is not far wrong. The rendition she had been given her on her doorstep had been nothing short of appalling.

Around them, other conversations have started too, low but casual. Jacob, meanwhile, is still on the ground, and she carefully leans forward to peer down at his face so as not to jostle him in case he's finally given in to his exhaustion. She feels it, too.

Sure enough, his eyes are closed.

"Is he asleep?" Quil asks.

"I'm not waking him up," Embry says, stepping backwards. "He'll deck me again."

"You'd deserve it," Leah tells him with the utmost sincerity, and he sticks his tongue out at her. It's like he already knows that she's forgiven him, even if she hasn't necessarily decided as much quite yet.

Asshole.

She is smiling, shaking her head at him (because, fine, she has forgiven him), as Jake begins to stirs at her feet.

"I'm awake," he grumbles. "I think that was the longest one yet. What time is it?"

"S'not like you listened to a word of it anyway," Embry scoffs. "Were you snoring, or was that purring I heard?"

Quil is quick on the uptake, his own grin forming. "Definitely purring."

"I'm getting up in about three seconds," Jacob says against her leg, voice even, almost contemplative, though he makes no effort to move. Her hands are still buried in his thick hair. "So if I were the two of you, I'd start running now."

Leah looks at Embry, her smirk something sinister. "One."

"Two," Jacob says, and he chortles when his friends bolt away before another word can be said. "Works every time."

"Are they always like that?" she asks as the boys decide to make an unannounced beeline for Seth, their arms raised as if about to tackle her not-so-little baby brother to the ground. Laughing with him. Playing.

"Pretty much," Jake answers, the same fondness in his voice as hers before he hauls himself to his feet and comes to sit beside her. He straddles the bench, legs braced either side of it, of her, and automatically reaches out to wrap her up with a type of ease they're already both familiar with.

Leah leans into him, watching her brother now brawling playfully on the ground out of the corner of her eye with Quil and Embry. They look young. Really young - the age they ought to be, if the world was normal. Even Seth seems to have regained the youth he's lost in recent weeks.

"They're idiots," Jacob says, chuckling against her hair as Jared peels himself away from his Kim to join in, levelling up the playing field in Seth's favour, "but you'll get used to it."

She likes the sound of that. Thinks that it doesn't sound that bad at all, having those two boys around.

"They're practically family," Jacob carries on, as if it's an explanation. "So you don't really have much of a choice about that part, to be honest."

"They are family. Quil's your cousin."

"Yeah." He turns wistful. "And Embry . . . he's as good as, I guess. He more like a brother, though. Sometimes I feel like we're closer, me and him, y'know?"

Leah nods, and dares ask, "Would it be so bad if he was?"

Jacob stiffens against her, surprised. "He told you about that?"

"That's what the weird handshake was about," she tells him quietly.

"Right. For your secret club." He edges himself impossibly nearer as if it might make her more inclined to share, all but nosing at her cheek. "So are you going to tell me what that's about now?" he asks. "And when exactly you and Embry had the time to figure it all out?"

She feels her lips twitch in spite of herself. "Jealous?"

He hides his face against her shoulder, arms tightening, and she can hear the effort it takes to keep his tone even as he says, "You seem friendly."

"He'd told me about . . . you-know-what. And he was upset, and I wanted to cheer him up . . . I said we could start a club, me, him and Quil," she says, shrugging. "Dead Dads and Absent Fathers Anonymous. Granted, it's a bit of a mouthful, but it's the first thing I could come up with. He seemed to like it though." She shrugs again. "So that's what we are now."

Jacob pulls back and looks at her so closely that he's nearly cross-eyed - so closely that she can see realisation dawn on his face when he finds her own remarkably free of the sadness people have come to expect whenever she so much as alludes to her father.

"Dead Dads and . . . What?"

"Absent Fathers." Her voice is surprisingly steady despite the sadness she feels but does not let him see. "Anonymous."

When Jacob doesn't stop staring, Leah looks right back at him with an arched eyebrow. "What?"

"You're dark," he says as if this has just occurred to him. "Like really, really dark."

Leah smiles, slightly cheered by the words she considers to be a compliment. "Embry said the same thing. He also said the handshake would annoy you, so that's why we did it."

"Dark," Jacob says again with a tiny grunt, "and mean."

"Quil said that, too," she tells him happily, and laughs when he drops his head to groan against her shoulder.

"I might have to disown them." Grumbling, he pulls her back flush against his chest and presses his face into her neck. Possessively. Part of her positively thrums in response, and she knows exactly what part that is but cannot find it within herself to argue with it. "Anyone would think you're their imprint."

"Too bad for them," she replies, not sounding at all sympathetic. She's perfectly fine with how things are.

Chapter Text

(Jacob)

Nearly two hours later, the fire has almost died to embers and Jacob is listening to Leah's quiet and steady breathing as she sleeps against his chest, oblivious to the Elders and the pack finally making their leave around them.

Save for her hand that clings to his arm even in sleep, she is limp within his hold and slumbering more peacefully than he thought her capable — would have thought, at least, had he not previously seen the dark shadows around her eyes and the evident weariness in the way she'd been holding herself since before sitting down.

She had been valiantly trying to hide it, but of course he had noticed. He'd noticed it the moment he'd caught sight of her waiting for him.

He's not sure how long she had been fighting her exhaustion for, or when exactly it was she finally gave into it. Around the time he had quietly begun glaring at Sam over her shoulder, maybe, just begging him to look in their general direction again.

Jacob had been entirely too-aware of the glances being snuck their way whilst Billy and Old Quil had been talking, and it was only because Embry had pummelled him into the ground not long beforehand that he'd been able to close his eyes and feign sleep. He'd have leapt to his feet and throttled the other guy, otherwise.

Fortunately he doesn't think Leah was particularly aware of his silent challenge to the Alpha who all but declared his undying love for her. (It still grates, that Sam feels like . . . that, and Jacob is honestly trying not to think about it too much otherwise he'll split his skin.) At the time, she had been too busy throwing particularly vulgar gestures across the flames at Paul — a game between them, of sorts, made all the more dangerous as they'd tried to get away with swapping the most offensive signs under the noses of the stern Council.

It hit Jacob halfway through their so-called game that Paul was related to her: they shared Uley blood; both Leah and Sam were Paul's cousins. Twice-removed, but cousins nonetheless. (It kind of makes sense, really; Leah's temper and Paul's are almost evenly matched.) But what had been even weirder than that realisation, though, was seeing Paul's teeth flash in laughter rather than a sneer. Jacob couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his brother laugh like that.

At one point, Paul had directed a gesture at him, balling his fist up and lifting it to his mouth before looking pointedly at Leah again and mimicking something truly obscene. Jacob's lip had curled, a vicious snarl brewing as he compulsively pulled her closer to his body, and the pack's collective sharp intake of breath had been heard across the field. They had all been watching the scene out of the corner of their eyes, amused and confused and—

"Well done, sweetie," Leah crooned, voice slow and gentle in the way she might talk to a toddler to praise them — but still softly enough that those without a wolf's keen senses wouldn't be able to hear. The Council remained none the wiser. "I'm surprised you even know what that means, considering the only person who's ever going to touch you is your mother."

Paul spluttered, his brothers erupting into booming laughter around him, whilst Leah had simply leaned back into Jacob with a satisfied noise. Triumphant.

Leah: one, Uley pack: zero.

Jacob wished that he'd been able to see the look on her face. She had known exactly what she'd been doing, too. She had known exactly where to strike to make her mark without having to surrender to the gazes of anyone else. Because Paul Lahote was nothing if not predictable — he always took the tiniest bit of bait so easily — and he probably didn't even realise that he'd been used so that Leah could break the ice and assert her position amongst them. So that she could make it clear she belonged; she was one of them, even if they did not necessarily want her. Even if she did not necessarily want them.

Nobody seemed to stare at her after that. And it had clearly relaxed her enough that she'd fallen asleep, now that she had deemed the worst of the bonfire to finally be over.

Jacob still feels proud about it, of her, even now. He'd be happy to bask in it for the rest of the night, but he's sure she won't appreciate waking up on a bench with a sore ass and cricked neck by the time dawn rolls around.

He gently nudges her awake, murmuring quietly — and nonsensically. Who'd have truly thought that Leah Clearwater would be the one to turn him into such a sap? He'd have never dared believe it.

She stretches out against him, pressing her whole weight into his as she digs her fingers into his forearm, rolling her head against his shoulder, and the groggy noise she makes has him questioning why he decided it was necessary to wake her up in the first place, because damn if that sound doesn't go straight to his gut and make him want to apologise. He almost tells her to go back to sleep.

It's another few seconds of incoherent noises before she suddenly stiffens against him, all at once suddenly awake and aware again of where exactly she is, and she groans as reality sinks in.

"How long was I out?"

"Uh — not sure. I wasn't really paying attention," he mumbles, otherwise occupied with savouring the feeling of her between his legs, still soft and pliable against him before she slips away. Because it's almost too good to be true — all of it. He has half a mind to pinch himself.

Leah lifts her head up lazily, just enough to be able to look around. Jacob can't see her face, but she seems surprised when she notes the smouldering fire and the empty seats around it. "They're gone?"

"Only just. Your mom went with Billy and Old Quil," he tells her quietly, smoothing her hair down which is free of its usual braids and cascades freely all the way down her back, curling ever so slightly at the ends. "The guys — as long as they run short bursts every half hour, Sam normally lets them head down to the beach once these things are over to let off some steam."

"You didn't want to go?"

"I'm fine where I am."

"I bet they loved that." A yawn escapes as she sits herself up properly and looks at him over her shoulder. "You know you can go, if you want."

"Only if you come with me," he says seriously.

"No fear," she scoffs, pushing her hair back. "You're a big boy. I'm sure you can handle it. I think I'll go home and get some more shut-eye. My sleeping's been all out of whack lately."

Jacob frowns. "For how long?"

"Since . . . Weeks, I guess," she mumbles dismissively, untangling herself from his hold and swinging a leg over the bench, bracing herself to stand, but he catches her arm and she pauses.

"How long?" he asks again. He hasn't exactly been sleeping great, either, but he'd simply put it down to being out of sorts these past few weeks. Perhaps it was a fool's hope to think the imprint wouldn't be affecting her that much that she'd be struggling, too.

"Since the funeral," she says in the same mumble. She turns away so that he can't see her face. "Or when you . . . I don't really know. It's lots of things. I'm dealing."

"Leah," he protests.

"What?"

"Tell me."

The sound she makes at him is short, fractured. Frustrated. And he knows that she is lying when she says, "There's nothing to tell, Jake, honestly."

"Leah."

At the Look he sends her, she finally sighs, relenting. "I guess I've been . . . struggling," she says after a painful silence, her voice distorting around the word because it makes her unhappy to admit such things.

"Since . . . ?"

A shrug. "Maybe since the day you told me why . . . You know, that day in the kitchen." Her face twists again and he thinks she might be embarrassed still — that he saw that part of her. He'll never forget it for as long as he lives. "But then you stayed with me, and it seemed to get worse after that night that I slept in your bed, and . . . It's pathetic, really. I'd bet it's not even that."

"Not what?"

Leah sighs again and tucks her hair behind an ear. "I'm perfectly able to sleep alone, Jacob," she says, using her extremely familiar sniffy tone. It is an answer and yet not. "Whatever it is — because it's not that — it's not your problem, okay?"

"Okay," he replies, and she raises a perfect eyebrow at him. Likely at how amenable he sounds. "I'll make you a deal. Come with me — to the beach. I need to talk to Sam anyway. And then we'll go straight home. Alright?"

Her heartbeat stutters in the quiet. It almost makes him smirk. "We?"

"Yes. We."

She takes a moment before replying, swallowing thickly and struggling to straighten her features out. "Your place or mine?" she drawls, deadpan, but she's not convincing. She still wouldn't be even if her heart wasn't giving her away.

"Yours," he replies seriously like he's missed the joke entirely. Which he has. Purposefully. But she hasn't called him out on it. Yet.

"Wow. I mean, take me out to dinner or something first."

"What do you want? Pizza?" he asks, and she rolls her eyes with great exaggeration. "Come on. You're not the only one not sleeping, okay? And as comfortable as I am on this bench, I don't like getting mosquito bites all that much."

"Jake — you can't just start sleeping over. I mean, that's — we're not even — we haven't even—"

"It's just sleeping," he says, boldly attempting nonchalance. He's glad that she can't hear his heart beating. "We already knew there are effects from the imprint. What's one more?"

"But it might not even be—"

"So if it's not then it's just for the night, right? No big deal. Draw a line down the bed if you want, y'know, you stay on your side and I'll stay on mine. I'm not sleeping on the floor."

She looks torn between frustration and laughter. "Right," she says, looking dubiously down at the hands that have once again locked themselves tight around her waist. Huh. He wonders when that happened. "Because you're really going to be able to keep your hands to yourself."

Jacob very deliberately unwinds his arms and crosses them over his chest. "Who says?"

"You're ridiculous," she says, but she laughs at least and he grins back at her, entirely impudent. "Fine. Fine, one night. But if it doesn't work then you're out on your ass."

"And if it does work?"

He earns a smile that almost seems affectionate — hopelessly so, as if she cannot help herself. It has happiness bursting out uncontrollably within his chest. "Then we're both screwed, aren't we? I'll have to invest in a load of hot water bottles, or something, and you'll have to start cuddling up to a pillow."

"So there's going to be cuddling?"

"Ridiculous," she repeats, though she's struggling not to laugh at him again too. "You're absolutely ridiculous. And shameless."

"You didn't say no," he points out, still grinning.

"Incorrigible. Cocky."

"Still not a no," he teases.

"Brazen," she harrumphs.

"So do we have a deal?"

"Get your ass up," is all she says. "Let's go to the beach."

Leah gets to her feet and begins to saunter off. It's only when she stops to half-turn back towards him, her eyebrows raised and her hand outstretched expectantly, that Jacob finds his brain and hauls himself up after her. It'd be pointless to pretend that he wasn't staring at her hips like the gormless idiot he has very clearly turned into.

"Your face looks better," she comments when he finally entwines his fingers with hers and they start moving in tandem again.

"That's because it's dark," he says, and she barks a laugh.

"Why'd you need to talk to Sam, anyway?" And then, voice softening, she adds, "Are you still set on quitting?"

"Mm. Yeah, I am," he promises, hands swinging. "But I kind of broke a few rules the other day, confronting the bloodsucker, and I haven't spoken to Sam about it yet. I probably should — you know, just in case it comes back to bite him on the ass or something."

"Can wolves be turned into vampires?" she asks. Her tone is just shy of being a little too wishful about that possibility, and though he shakes his head at her he can't exactly help but smile at her either.

"Their venom is poison to us, honey," he tells her, fighting laughter when her eyes widen and she looks up at him with blatant optimism. "We'd die."

"Oh. Well I hope Edward bites Sam, then," she says, her own smile cute and innocent, and he gives in to his laughter.

It's a short walk to First Beach from the recreation fields. Jacob keeps closeby as they cross the parking lot and scale the dunes together, and when they reach the peak they find the guys playing two-a-side soccer. Embry and Seth are lounging around on the side-lines.

Leah looks thoughtfully down at the pack, though whatever tension that had been building in her shoulders disappears and her grip on his hand loosens. It leaves him wondering for a moment if she had been expecting Emily and Kim to be here, too — though she probably doesn't realise that Kim is fifteen and has a curfew, and she likely doesn't know that, these days, her most-hated cousin prefers to be cooped up in a house as opposed to being in open spaces. Emily doesn't even like going to the store anymore, not since the day she was released from hospital after the 'bear attack'.

Seth waves at them. Leah smiles back at her brother for a few seconds, and then she pokes her tongue out at Embry.

From where he is sprawled out on the sand, he simply flips her the bird.

She snorts, shaking her head, and then asks quietly, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Best not." He kisses the top of her hair, unable to help himself. "Go sit with your brother for a bit. I won't be long."

She pouts and drops her shoulders, utterly adorable in spite of knowing exactly what she is doing. He sees right through her facade. "Seth I like. But I hate Embry."

"Don't tell him that," Jacob murmurs, trying not to look at his brother and laugh. "I think he might be a little bit in love with you."

"Can you blame him?"

"Be nice to him. He did me a solid earlier; I wouldn't have been able to sit through that bonfire with everyone looking at you otherwise."

"I could have sworn that was down to me," she says, eyes dancing in the light reflected off the water from the moon high above.

"Maybe a little," Jacob concedes, leaning down so their noses are almost bumping. He savours the sound of her breath catching in her throat. "I guess you'll have to do it again next time, then I'll be able to tell for sure."

His eyes flicker down, catching the slight lick of her lips, and he grins as he pulls away.

The look she gives him is near murderous. "You did that on purpose."

"Didn't do anything," he says. "Go on, Embry's waiting. You want me to walk over with you?"

Leah bestows him her infamous eye roll, although it seems a little forced, and he pretends as if he does not notice her fingers curling against his. Like she wants him to go with her. Or she wants to go with him instead.

But then, with a sigh as if she is about to do the world a service at great cost to herself, she says, "No. Go on. You run and have your little tiff with Sam, and in the meantime I'll try to let Embry down gently. He'll be distraught. I'm afraid you might have to pick up the pieces."

"Nah. That's Quil's job."

Jacob grins, kissing her hair again, then her brow, and he has to pull away before his lips travel any lower — of their own volition, this time — except her body seems to follow his. She stretches up on her toes, leaning forward as he leans back.

One day, he thinks, Leah Clearwater is going to be the death of him.

She knows exactly what she's doing, too. Her lips curve wickedly, and it is his turn for his breathing to go haywire as she pointedly drags her eyes down to his mouth and up again, her breath washing over his face—

She retreats.

"You deserved that. You're not the only one who can play that game," she taunts in a sing-song.

Alright. Maybe he did deserve that.

Leah grants him one last smile, entirely knowing as she turns away from him, but he is faster. His hands dart out, reaching for her before he can really think about what he's doing, and he pulls her in close by her hips, capturing her lips with his.

Finally.

Somewhere, down on the beach, someone whoops and applauds.

Jacob doesn't care. Not when the sound that comes from the back of Leah's throat sounds amused, and, dare he think it . . . pleased. And when she stretches upwards to meet him further, her fingers twisting through his hair and pulling him down, all he can think about is that he might die from this — from her. That he wouldn't care if he did.

The death of him.

She's going to be the death of him.

Her lips are soft and warm, inviting, and Jacob slants his mouth over hers to deepen the kiss, eagerly seeking entrance . . . but she pulls away, her quiet laugh breathless, her eyes alive and sparkling with something he's never been permitted to see before.

"Again," he says, his voice not quite a growl but not quite a whisper either — more a rasp, quietly demanding more than the whisper of a kiss they've just shared. And indeed, his fingers dig into her waist as his mouth chases hers. More, more, more. He doesn't even care that the whole pack might be — are most likely watching. He'd put another bet on it.

Leah taps his nose and Jacob blinks, but otherwise his focus is still on her lips. "Come back and tell me you've behaved yourself," she says, easing herself out of his hold, "and I'll think about it."

He is torn between the desire to both whine like a wounded animal and laugh. "That sounds like a bribe."

"That's because it is," she tells him sweetly, stepping away from him. And when he moves to follow — again, because how can he not? — Leah puts a hand against his chest and makes a show of pushing him back. Not that he is able to feel her strength.

She shakes her head, cheeks discernibly pink even in the moonlight. "Uh-uh. You said so yourself — you've got to go and speak to him."

"I've changed my mind. It can wait."

"Alright," she says with another tiny shrug, all-too agreeable, "then I'll go home. By myself."

He is sure he's pouting like a child, but he doesn't care. "You fight dirty."

"Never said I didn't."

She beams at him, bright and beautiful, before dancing away.

And Embry, the bastard, high fives her when she sits down. As if Jacob doesn't know that he was the one who cheered.

He takes one last look at her, at her still flushed but smiling face, and braces himself to interrupt the game.

Sam darts between Jared and Quil, passing to Paul, but Jacob has learned his Alpha's tiny tells enough to know that Sam has been waiting for him. That he was watching, just as he has been watching all night, and that he likely wanted to kill him for it. That he likely still wants to kill him.

Jacob ignores the natural inclination to welcome such a challenge, and squares his shoulders.

"Five minutes?" he asks.

Sam's lips press into one long, thin line, and the nod he gives is one short, sharp jerk of the head. But he doesn't look surprised.

He pauses the game with authoritative ease and turns to where Leah is sitting with Embry and Seth on the side-lines. It's instinct for Jacob to tense as Sam looks at his imprint. But Leah lifts her chin and stares right back at him, her eyes blazing and locked on Sam for the first time that night. Defiant. Beautiful. And if Jacob were feeling a slight more charitable, he might have understood how Sam could still be in love with her just for that — for the way she holds herself.

As it happens, Jake's feeling nothing of the sort. Sam Uley can go to hell.

Seemingly unaware of the general feeling around him, Sam waves a casual hand, beckoning, and calls out, "Seth, you wanna play?"

The kid leaps to his feet and bounds over with the preternatural speed that Jacob knows still throws Leah off-kilter but has become second-nature to the rest of them.

"Hey, man."

"Cover me for a minute, would you? And watch out for Quil," Sam says, raising his voice pointedly enough to draw his pack's attention. "He cheats."

In the middle of showing-off with a couple of kick-ups, Quil hollers back, "Sore losers, the lot of you!"

"Sure." Seth grins before throwing himself into the game, simply glad to be included.

Sam wastes no time in jerking his chin towards the quiet end of the beach, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his shorts, and Jacob wonders if the guy has them balled into fists to stop himself from ripping his head off for the display on the dunes, but still he follows.

He has to behave himself; he's been bribed, after all, and that's not something he intends to dismiss, but he knows they are being watched — he can feel Leah's gaze on his back as sharply as he can feel Embry's, who is likely readying himself to jump between them at short notice should things start looking like they're about to go very, very wrong.

Jacob has never deserved Embry's loyalty, not even when they were kids.

Sam walks until there's no chance of them being overheard, until the silence is stretched so taut between them that Jake thinks Embry's not going to be able to make it in time should Sam decide to throw the first punch. Not even if he phases for the extra burst of speed.

Sam stops. Jacob waits.

And waits.

And then—

"How are you, Jacob?"

He can't help it. He laughs. "Really?"

Sam shrugs. "I can't ask?"

"You can. But I know you don't give a shit."

"That's not true," he says. And if Jacob had blinked, he would have missed the slightest of bristling from his Alpha. "I still care."

He crosses his arms if only to stop his fists from flying. "Really."

"You're still pack. Even if you don't want to be. Not much can change that," Sam replies. Jacob can't decide whether he sounds disappointed by it or not. "It'd be like trying to break an imprint."

He doesn't answer that. Doesn't have the words.

Sam sighs and looks out at the ocean. "I haven't told the Council." The jerk has the audacity to say it like he's doing him a favour. "I haven't replaced you, either."

"You should probably get on that, then."

"Should I?" Sam murmurs absently, still watching the water. "I don't know. I don't think so." He looks at back again, their faces level save for the tiniest of differences in their heights. There will always be a difference, will always be one who was supposed to be the Alpha and the other who was not. "Did you really want to quit?"

"What part of me saying so did you not believe? I meant what I said, Sam."

"Yeah," he breathes. "You're kind of like her that way."

Jacob drags air in through his nose. In, out. In, out. And then, tightly, he says, "Is there a point to this? 'Cause I just came to tell you about the bloodsucker, I don't really want to go into—"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. No. I know about that. Jared ran me through it all." Sam shakes his head, looking abruptly tired within the darkness — but Jacob's eyes can see everything. "S'not much that can be done about it now."

". . . Where's all this leniency coming from all of a sudden?"

"I think Edward would have demanded parley at the treaty line by now if he was that pissed," Sam says with a second shrug. "Besides, you were right. Just wish you hadn't cornered him like that, is all. The Cullens already know the terms."

It is Jacob's turn to shove his hands deep into his pockets. "Right, well. If that's all—"

"It's not."

Jacob chooses to focus on his breathing rather than replying.

"Look," Sam says, turning away from the water and looking every inch the Alpha he should be as his face turns hard and he straightens his spine. "Neither of us . . . Things got out of hand the other day. I was angry about . . . a lot of things, really, and I was already at boiling point but I recognise that I kind of . . . lost my head, should we say, when you told me you were done." He snorts softly to himself. "Would you laugh if I told you I half-hoped that you had decided you were finally going to be taking over?"

What do you want to do? Sam had asked him.

The pack's yours, he'd replied. He hasn't really considered that Sam wanted him to say anything different.

"But then you handed back authority," Sam continues. "Authority that you hardly realised you'd taken in the first place. I've had a real headache getting everyone back into shape." He frowns unhappily, angrily. "And things still don't feel right."

"What do you want me to do?" Sam is not the only one who is tired. Tired of this. "Put it in writing? I really don't want the job."

"I know," he sighs. "Must be nice having such control over your own destiny."

"Some of it, at least," Jacob says. But not regretfully — never regretfully. He will never regret Leah.

"But you only joined the pack a couple months ago," Sam ploughs on as if he's not heard anything. "And I don't think you're not ready to quit. Not yet. Not even you have that kind of control."

"Says who?"

"Me," he says, and he blows yet another lungful of air. "I'm not saying that you can't do it, Jake. But whether you want to be Alpha or not — whether you want to be with us or not — we need you. You've got responsibilities. We all have. They don't just stop because you've imprinted. You think I want to be out patrolling all hours? That Jared does? Personally I'd rather be at home with Emily. I could get a job, find one of those lives she's always telling me to get . . ."

Sam shakes his head as if ridding himself of that thought before he can get lost in fantasy, inhaling deeply. "We need you," he says again, standing tall. "I'm not happy about it. But I can't do anything about that, either."

It's hard for Jacob to keep his tone neutral, but he manages to find enough decorum to say, "You can. You could just accept my resignation. Be decent about it."

Sam just smiles sadly, pitying him. "I can't do it. I can't let you. Not yet."

In spite of his attempt to not bristle underneath that expression, Jacob demands, "Why not?"

"You know why. The redhead hasn't come back — yet — but the Cullens have, and it's only a matter of time. They've settled back in; they're hunting again, retracing their old routes — the treaty line is more potent now," Sam explains, though it sounds more like he's musing to himself aloud, "and I reckon they're going to turn Bella any day. Maybe after her graduation, at the latest. Probably. Makes the most sense."

"Not that you've been thinking about it, or anything," Jacob responds drily, unable to keep the dripping sarcasm out of his tone.

Sam is unfazed. "Someone has to."

Maybe Embry should have pounded the life out of him a little more, Jacob thinks, because he's about ten breaths away from phasing and he's going to rip Sam's face off when he does, he's going to ruin him—

"Come back for now," Sam says. "Then once this stuff with the red-head dies down — whenever the Cullens leave, you can too. It won't be long now."

"I really don't—"

"Just think about it," Sam interrupts, raising a placating hand. "Alright?"

He takes the silence as the answer he wants. The answer that he needs.

"Good," he says, hands diving back in his pockets. "I'll see you tomorrow morning. You can take over from me at six."

"What happened to thinking about it?"

"I'm running with Paul," Sam says. "You can take Embry — give Seth some time off. And you're still Second, of course. I'll iron things out with Jared and he and Quil can relieve you about three."

"Sam. I'll think about it, alright? That's all."

His Alpha nods. "Sure. See you at six."

Asshole.

"Don't be late," Sam adds.

It takes every single ounce of the control Jacob has worked so tirelessly on these past few months to turn his back and walk away.

To walk, and not phase.

Asshole.

Chapter Text

(Leah)

"What are they talking about?"

"I don't know," Embry answers, adopting a pained look as he shakes his head and sighs with great exaggeration — more than is strictly necessary, considering how wound tight she is and how so very easy it would be to reach out and smack him. She wants to wipe off the small smile threatening at the corner of his mouth. "I didn't know when you asked me two minutes ago, just like I didn't know two minutes before that, and — guess what, sweetheart? I still don't know now."

"Well look, then," she hisses. "Lip read or something."

"Are you mad? They're almost at the end of the freakin' beach. I can only just about tell who's who."

"Superior senses my ass. Are you a wolf or not?"

"Only part-time," Embry replies blithely. He has long since dismissed the threat she feels in her very bones, and the smirk still on his face says that he knows he's being annoying — and that he's thoroughly enjoying it, too. "Oh, get a grip, woman. If they were going to kill each other then they would have done it by now."

"What do you know? You have no idea what's going on," she retorts snappishly. "You're useless to me."

Leah turns away from him, dismissive, and instead fixes her stare on the dark shadows. She squints as if she'll be able to better see whether or not Jacob is about to commit murder — except she can barely even make out his outline with her worthless human eyesight. Unless that's Sam's shadow she's looking at, though she can't tell for sure. They're so far away, and it's so dark.

Beside her, Embry flops backwards on the sand and flings an arm over his eyes with another elaborate sigh. "Remind me to never imprint."

"I knew I should have gone with him," she mutters, scowling.

"Then someone would definitely have been killed."

"'Sit with your brother,'" she scoffs over him, as if he's not spoken at all. "You mean to tell me that he really expects me — expects us to just sit here and wait for one of them to come back?"

"They'll both come back," Embry says from underneath his arm, his patience strained. At this point, he has to realise that she's hardly listening to a word he is saying. The tone of his voice is just background noise to the sound of her anxiety.

"I can't take it anymore," she declares. "I'm going over."

Embry's hand snatches out and grabs a fistful of her jumper. "Like hell you are." And then, when she tries to stand up anyway, he yanks her back — hard — and she drops back onto the sand. "Sit your ass down, Crazy. You're being paranoid."

"Paranoid!"

"Yes, you are! Look — they're done; Jake's walking back this way. See? Chill out. Geez."

Leah narrows her eyes into the darkness again. She can hardly see a damn thing still. "Is he bleeding?"

"Oh, for the love of — no, he's not bleeding, and yes, he's in one piece. All limbs intact." Embry's laugh is mangled between frustration and amusement. "You imprint people are so fucking weird."

Weird and paranoid she might be — and also high-strung and jumpy and defensive and just slightly overbearing . . . maybe — and she knows that Embry is right: she's only being this way because of whatever higher power has matched her with Jacob, but she can no more help it than she can breathing. No more than she'd been able to stop herself from kissing him back.

What exactly does Embry expect her to do? Relax?

Not a chance.

(Dramatic. She's become dramatic, too.)

She remains twitchy until Jacob comes back into view, until she can see every inch of his face and feel him again. Although the thunderous expression he wears as he approaches tells her as much as she needs to know without her supernatural sixth sense.

It went badly, then. Badly enough that Sam still hasn't followed, that he might as well have disappeared into the darkness entirely for all she knows. She doesn't dare tear her eyes away from Jacob's to check. They hold each other's stare until he comes to a standstill at her feet.

He holds out his hand. "Let's go."

She doesn't argue. She allows herself to be pulled up and drawn underneath his arm, relief pulsing through her body as she leans against his solid weight and the deepest parts of her are reassured.

Embry sits up and regards them both, and Leah just dares him to taunt her again. Dares him to tell Jacob what a nightmare she has been. But her friend just brushes the sand off his hands and asks, "Everything good, bro?"

Jacob nods once, the movement tight yet sharp. "He wants me back," he says quietly, but not weakly. The rumble of his deep voice has Leah winding an arm around his back, drawing herself close against his side as if she might be able to feel it through her own body. "We're on at six."

If Embry is as surprised as she is about it, he manages to hide it well underneath the small shrug he gives. "Sure. Guess Paul wins the bet, huh?"

"Half of it, anyway," Jacob replies stiffly, unimpressed, and Leah remembers what Quil had told her about being out ten dollars until the next fight. She closes her eyes for a moment, gathering herself, because she knows the last thing Jacob needs is for her to fly off the handle right now.

He's not going to be fighting anyone, not if she has her way.

Jacob looks down at her, fingers pressing into her arm to grab her attention. "You want to stay?"

She shakes her head. No. Definitely not.

His face gives nothing else away save for that brewing rage of his, though Leah knows it is not because of her and matches his look. She does not shy away, not from him.

"Alright," he says, still holding her gaze. Even as he adds, "See you in the morning then, Em."

"Yeah. See you later, man," Embry says, jumping to his feet. He bumps his shoulder against Jacob's and ruffles her hair fondly before she can dart out of his reach, and he skips off back to the soccer game with enviable grace. He is entirely at ease. Entirely at odds with how Jacob stands, rigid as he watches his friend go.

Leah can only stand with him in silent solidarity until he's able to let go of the jagged breath he seems to have been holding in, until he's ready to lift his head and move again.

And when he does, she quietly asks, "Do you want to stay?"

The question yanks whatever part of him is still lingering in those haunted depths back into the present. "Hell, no. Let's go home."

Home. Home. It sounds nicer than she's yet ready to admit out loud, but she knows he can hear the skipping of her heart (again) that tells him for her. Knows that he understands when he offers up a small smile in spite of all that he's feeling and finally starts walking.

Home.

They are both quiet as they wander back, his arm still over her shoulders and hers around his waist. She has a million and one questions to ask him but — not yet. Not yet. Not after he has spent so long staving off a phase so that he might have a chance at leaving the pack, only for Sam to now have dragged him right back into it.

For all her worry, she didn't need to be a part of that conversation to know what has happened. And she thinks it's a damn miracle that Jacob has not shed his skin already because of it — there's not even a slight tremor in his arms, his hands. To anyone else it would probably look as if he were completely in control of himself.

Maybe he is. Maybe he's simply accepted what is, what will be. And yet . . . no, because surrendering is not in either of their natures; they may be polar opposites in some things, but in this they are extremely similar, and Leah knows Jacob far better than to believe he's submitted to Sam. Not yet. Not ever. Not after what he's been through.

Despite his exterior appearance, Jacob is much calmer by the time they let themselves into her house and traipse up the stairs. She knows this because she feels calm, too — not the bundle of nerves she'd thought she'd be. Her mom is likely already asleep and Seth is still down on the beach, and in an ordinary world she might have been worried about being caught sneaking a boy into her house; she might have made him climb up the tree and pull himself through the window like Sam used to do on occasion.

Then again, in an ordinary world, she probably wouldn't be leading Jacob into her bedroom when they're barely dating (imprinted — barely imprinted) and she's still wrapping her head around both what he means to her, what this means, and how much he means to her. How much it means already. In an ordinary world she probably would have run away screaming by now.

As it is, they are standing in her bedroom and she is asking him if he wants a toothbrush before they bed down for the night. Together.

(It kind of puts a whole new spin on things, if she's honest — the normality of it all within the extremely un-ordinary world she is in.)

"There're new ones in the cupboard, if you want."

He waves a hand and says, "Sure, sure," like he really doesn't care if he forgoes brushing his teeth for one night, but he'll do it anyway if it means he can close his eyes that much sooner. And if she's about to get the best night's sleep she's had since waking up to the sight of his NASCAR posters, then Leah quietly shares his sentiment. She is so, so tired.

They take turns in the bathroom (because as much as she is prepared to share with Jake — even toothbrushes, if it came down to it, which is extremely gross and yet strangely not — peeing in front of him isn't one of those things yet) and when she returns he is shirtless, stretched out over the double mattress with his eyes closed and his feet hanging off the end of it, his arms behind his head and the bedcovers pooled around his waist.

Leah quietly closes the door behind her and glances at his folded clothes he has left on her nightstand. "You better not be naked under there."

She catches him smiling as she tosses her own clothes into her hamper. But he doesn't say anything. He simply keeps his eyes closed, looking wholly relaxed as he is, and she turns the light off before he decides to change his mind and look at her. The pair of small sleep shorts she's changed into — grabbed from her drawers in a hurry — have a hole in one of the legs and the even older tank top has printed stars all over it that are fading. But it's far too late to start feeling embarrassed now.

There's nothing else for it.

She gets into bed.

Jacob immediately shuffles as far away as possible, as far as he can get without falling off the bed, except he is so tall and broad that he takes up nearly all of the free space anyway — space that has taken her the best part of two years to become readjusted to. He fills every inch of it. It's a wonder how he manages to fit in his own tiny single bed in his own tiny room.

"One night," she says again, nestling down into her pillow on her side, her back to him. His impossible fire is blanketing her from even here, but she does her best to ignore it and curls her knees to her chest.

"One night," he repeats into the dark, but there is amusement in his voice — like he doesn't really believe her. "S'too bad, really. I like this bed. Nice and comfy. And big."

"Don't get too used to it," she warns, pretending that the caution isn't as half-hearted as it sounds. That this is merely an experiment they're conducting.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replies, and she can imagine the lazy grin on his face as he does — as he turns over in the same breath, the mattress dipping enough underneath their weight as he moves that she almost rolls backwards and into him.

"Stop fidgeting."

"Just getting comfortable." She can hear the same grin in his voice still, can feel his keen eyes on her back. "Do you really sleep like that?"

No. "Yes."

"Liar," he snorts softly. "Looks like you're trying to keep your hands to yourself."

He's not wrong. The temptation to curl up next to his warmth is almost as tempting as sleeping in his arms again; it had been so easy to close her eyes at the bonfire, knowing that he was there with her. Just as easy as giving into him and allowing him into her bed for the night so she can find that same peace for that little bit longer.

Until six o'clock, anyway, when he will have to leave.

"Do you need an alarm set?" she asks instead of acknowledging his taunt.

The question touches a nerve. She can quite literally feel the words strike him, see exactly where they land and what mark they leave. "I won't be late," he mutters.

"If Embry turns up to drag you out of this bed—"

Jacob stills. And then, a grunt. "Set an alarm."

She tries not to feel too smug as she props herself up with one hand and fumbles for her cell phone with the other. She always remembers to keep the damn thing charged now, especially after he made a point of memorising its number two days ago. Just in case.

When Leah finally lets her phone clatter back onto the nightstand, she is about to settle back down onto her pillow when suddenly Jacob's hands slide under and over her, tugging her backwards, tucking her against him. But, embarrassingly, what actually makes her gasp is the feel of her naked shoulders against his naked chest — the feel of his bare arms wrapping over her bare arms, encasing her as he tangles their legs together and his nose brushes back and forth over the top of her head.

The shiver that runs over her is one of quiet delight. "What happened to 'you stay on your side and I'll stay on mine'?" she asks, mortified by how winded she sounds. When Jacob is near she forgets who she is, who she has pretended to be for all these years.

His hand spans over her stomach, holding her tightly. "I lied."

Oh, he's going to ruin her. Her body is already moulding to his, meshing, merging — melting into him, and she knows without doubt that she is about to sleep more peacefully than she has in weeks and weeks. She had known even when she'd made her pathetic protests on that bench that this was what she'd needed.

"If one night's all I'm getting," Jacob continues, shuffling until there is not even a pocket of air between them, until she can feel the fabric of his boxers against her thighs (she's a strange mix of thankful and disappointed that he didn't strip completely), "then we're doing this properly."

She doesn't tell him that she lied, too. One night is not enough. That kiss was not enough.

Instead, she reminds him with a mumbled, "It's just sleeping," because she is a stubborn idiot and a pathetic coward, and she is scared stiff by her too-intense feelings for this boy that have crept up on her and now consume her.

"Just sleeping," he repeats casually. "No big deal."

"Just an effect from the imprint."

"No big deal," he says again. And then, more carefully, so carefully that the thumb rubbing soothing strokes over her abdomen pauses for a second, "You are okay with this, aren't you?"

"Too late now."

"It's not." He lifts his hand, his head. "This isn't — I'm not — you know, expecting anything—"

Leah puts her hand over his and pushes it back down onto her stomach, leaning back into him to close the gaps he has made between them because of his panic. "Shut up, Jacob."

Anyone else would think her rude, the way she sort-of snaps at him and drags his name out, but it's him, and he understands what she means. Understands her so thoroughly and completely that he relaxes instantly and drops his head so that his lips hover over her neck, exposed to him now that she has stretched out and essentially given him the all-clear to do exactly as he pleases.

He is almost humming with pleasure as his mouth ghosts over her skin. "I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep."

"I am," she says with false confidence, even as she tilts her neck a slight more, eyes fluttering shut of their own accord — though not from drowsiness. "Better make use of my one night."

"Because you're perfectly able to sleep alone. Of course. I remember." Jacob smiles against her neck. "I also remember you telling me that if I behaved myself then you'd kiss me again."

Heat floods into her, and it's entirely her own. "I said I'd think about it. And I think you'll find that you kissed me."

"You kissed me back."

"Barely," she bluffs, and her desired snort turns into more of a stutter as he kisses the side of her throat. Testing, taunting.

"You bribed me for more," he murmurs, and she can both hear and feel his smile now. "It can't have been that bad."

"I don't know about that. I guess you'll just have to do it again," she says in her best thoughtful tone, using his own words against him, "then I'll be able to tell for sure."

It takes him less than a second to oblige her, pulling away enough so her back falls against the mattress from where it's been flush against his chest and then he's hovering over her and—

It's not like the first time at all. Neither of them are proving a point now, neither of them teasing one another here in the dark confines of her bedroom, and the kiss is sweet and passionate and wildly intense but also unhurried and languid and all the things she never knew something like this could be. She feels like she is an electric current and liquid all at once, a dangerous combination and yet it's the only thing that makes sense, the only way she can describe what is passing through her as Jacob opens his mouth and he begs for entrance a second time.

He sweeps in the second she permits him, and she wraps her arms around his wide, strong shoulders like he's the only thing stopping her from sinking into the mattress entirely — like she's going to pull him along with her when she does just from the sheer ecstasy she feels. She could disappear and wouldn't even notice.

After minutes, hours, Jacob pulls away with a strangled noise, but then he's back to paying attention to her jaw, her neck again, almost on top of her now with his hands braced either side of her head.

Leah reaches up and twists her hands in his hair to bring his lips back to hers, but he nips at her pulse point and the fight almost leaves her.

She likes this effect of the imprint a little too much. And Jacob knows, of course he does; his breathy chuckle washes over her as he alternates between biting and leaving hot open-mouthed kisses over the marks he leaves that she wants everywhere, all over—

His lips travel up, and up, and when he finds her lips again he presses them gently on hers just once, twice.

"We need to stop."

She lifts her head up, chasing him, the only answer she's prepared to give. Words are a waste.

Jacob groans. He indulges her for a moment, and then says, "Leah, honey. If I don't stop then—"

"So don't."

He rolls back on his side, laughing softly, and it's that sound over all others that has her toes curling. He doesn't want to stop. But — "I can hear Seth coming up the street," he murmurs, nosing at her cheek. "And when I — when we go any further, I don't want anyone within earshot. Especially not someone who has ears like your brother."

She grunts, annoyed, and falls back into the pillows.

"Plus," he adds, so quietly that she knows he's trying to keep his words between them and only them, "someone said that I had to take her out for dinner first."

"Whose stupid idea was that?" she grumbles, unable to shape her tone into something as innocent as she intends it.

"I don't know. But I like it," he replies. "So we're going to do that. I want to do that with you. And I want to do this—" He pulls her in close by her hips against his side. "But just not when your brother is in the next room."

She makes a face that she knows he'll be able to see in the dark, and when he snickers it turns into a smile.

"Sleep," he says. He rearranges them so that he is curled around her again, knees tucked into the backs of hers, an arm snaking underneath the pillows and the other holding her.

"And I thought I was the one who fought dirty," she mumbles, but it is more with grudging tiredness than annoyance, and she settles against him and closes her eyes when his fingers start tracing patterns over her again. Slow, soothing strokes.

"Never said I didn't," he whispers, taking his turn to use her words now, and she smiles.

They let their breathing calm together, listening to the creak of the stairs after Seth lets himself in and creeps up to his room. He's going to tease her mercilessly about this, isn't he.

Maybe she'll let him.

"'Night, honey," Jacob whispers, but with his calming strokes she's already too far gone to answer, and sleep finds her faster than she'd have thought possible.

Chapter Text

(Jacob)

A week passes, slowly and painfully. In more ways than one.

It is a week of patrols, a week of readjusting to the wolf after days and days of denying it. A week of readjusting to the Pack and its Alpha who Jacob decidedly hates as much as he knows he is hated in return.

It is a week of waiting — waiting, and more waiting, for the redheaded sucker to appear. The bitch still hasn't come back, which means that patrol is so fucking boring without having something to hunt and chase and sink his teeth into, and it's driving him absolutely goddamn insane.

It is a week of, quite literally, running around in circles for hours at a time, feeling useless, wishing that the bitch-leech would appear, that any leech would appear — or even that the Cullens would just go ahead and breach the treaty already. That way it would at least give him something to do, something to kill. And he'd have purpose. A reason why he has allowed his life to upended again.

Insane. He's going insane.

He knows he's not alone. The whole Pack are clawing at their skin, itching for a fight they can all practically taste with the Cullens being so goddamn near again, but they can't do anything about it. They can't even rally to drive the bloodsuckers out, and that makes it all the more worse.

The whole thing is grating on Jacob harder than his brothers; he's already tried to escape this bullshit; he has tried to leave this life behind, but instead he's found himself stuck in much the same routine he was in before. And for what?

(A purpose. A reason. That's all he wants.)

He has been fighting with Paul more than he ever has before because of it, needing to take his frustration and his anger and his rage out on something, someone. Luckily, Paul has always been a more than willing subject. It's almost as if the guy likes having his hide beaten into next year.

It also helps that Paul is too easy to rile up — especially when Jacob wins every single fight they have and Paul only gets even angrier because of it. Some days, all he has to do to get Paul to lunge at him is bare his teeth.

It gets so bad that, after days of constant violence, Sam is forced to split them up permanently. He has finally learned that whilst he can command Paul to stop fighting, he can't command Jacob — not to do anything, no matter how hard he tries, because Alpha-Orders roll right off Jacob's back.

The realisation scares the living shit right out of Sam (and it scares the shit out of Jacob, too, knowing that he can't be controlled) but all Sam can do is start scheduling Jacob to run opposite patrols to Paul to keep them apart.

Jacob doesn't even go to Emily's anymore, so it's almost like they don't exist for one another, him and Paul, but the temporary band-aid Sam has applied does nothing to soothe the burning Jacob feels. At least Paul had been taking the edge off a bit.

The only thing that helps, the only thing at all, is going home to Leah. Day after day, night after night.

(The one night had turned into two, then three, then four and five and six . . . and now it's seven — seven nights that Jacob hasn't seen his own bed — and he honestly can't say how he coped without her before all this. He has never slept as soundly, is never more in control of his wolf than he is when she is with him.)

It's two in the morning when he finally has a spare minute to hoist himself through her window and slide into bed next to her — and suddenly he is calm, and he can breathe. Her scent and his scent, their scent is all around him, welcoming him back. Welcoming him home.

Leah reaches for him in sleep the same time he reaches for her, and, just like that, everything in the world is right again. Jacob just wishes that it could be permanently so.

She mumbles incoherently, curling in close as he settles down and opens his arms up. And after a minute of her nose pressing into his chest and his hand stroking her long hair, she eventually rises to some sort of semi-consciousness and winds her arms around him as tightly as she is able.

"Window?" she asks sleepily, body arching against his to close any of the impossible distance left between them.

For most of the week — in between stolen hours of kissing and laughing and more kissing, between the stolen hours he lives for — Leah has been chewing his ear off to use the front door like a normal person. He has even been offered a key, but there's something about striding into the Clearwaters' house after dark that makes him feel like an intruder. And he's not normal, not exactly, so he chews her ear off to start locking the door and simply insists he'll use the window when it's needed.

('That,' he'd told her, 'is what a "normal" person would, honey — you know, so you don't get robbed, or eaten by zombies, or kidnapped by witches, because fuck-knows-what else is out there,' and she had just rolled her eyes with her usual air of superiority and argued that a locked door wasn't going to stop the supernatural. That Billy had offered her a key first, even though the Blacks' door hasn't been locked in years.

Well. She kind of had him there. But then she'd kissed him senseless, so Jake had let her take the win.)

Besides, using the sneaky way up the tree and through the window left open just for him feels sort of teenager-ish, like something he should be doing to avoid uncomfortable run-ins with his girlfriend's family members on the stairs. Right?

Not that he would know about that. He is a teenager and yet not; he's a sixteen-year-old in a body that's seven, eight years older than it should be. Nothing is normal.

"Mm-hm. Go back to sleep," he says quietly. "I can't stay long. I didn't want to wake you."

Leah pulls her head back, suddenly alert and searching for his face in the quiet dark. Except Jacob's body follows hers and his face drops into the crook of her neck, his nose right where her pulse is and beats right through him.

"What's happened?" she asks against his ear, soft and gentle. One of her hands starts rubbing the space between his shoulder blades, an instinctive reaction to whatever tangled emotions he is drowning her in, and . . . He doesn't want to deal, he just doesn't. An hour. That's all he wants. An hour with her.

He's quiet for long enough that she lays her head back down and brings her with him, almost cradling him at her side. "Jake?"

"Collin Littlesea and Brady Fuller phased tonight," he says into her skin. Although it happened yesterday, now, he supposes, not long after sunset.

"Oh, Jake . . ."

"It's — it's messy, having two new . . . At the same time, too — it happened literally within, like, an hour of each other . . . So much messier than . . ." The tears that burn behind his eyelids from residual pain of his new brothers' first phase makes him feel pathetic. He should be long used to this by now, long used to lives being ruined around him. "They're thirteen. Both of them. And they keep — I don't know, feeding off each other's fear and — it's messy," he says again. "So messy."

Leah keeps rubbing at that same spot, slow and comforting. "Where's Sam?"

"With Brady. Quil, too. Me and Embry and Seth are with Collin, because Sam thought it might be easier with him being family — but we've been trying to calm them both down for hours now and they're so young and . . . It's going to be a long night. I might not be able to come by for a while. Sorry."

She kisses his head but keeps her mouth there, breathing deep. "Don't apologise."

"Just wanted to see you for a second," he mumbles, utterly spent. The screaming is an endless echo in his head.

"I know," she says against his hair. Her hands are suddenly everywhere, warm and soft and calming as opposed to his that are anchored at her waist. Like she's smoothing every inch of his suffering away. "It's alright. How long have you got?"

He sighs and burrows in closer. "Not long. Hour, maybe. Embry needs a break, too; we'd already been on since lunch, but we can't leave now. We're all kind of in this one 'til Jared and Paul can spring two of us. Then I'll go home and check on Dad and then — then it'll start all over again, I s'pose. Just wanted to see you," he repeats, warbling now. "I'm so tired."

Leah's hands disappear for a moment as she reaches for the comforter around their legs and drags it upwards, draping it over the thin sheets and over his back, tucking it into their sides, effectively cocooning them together. They both run too warm now for thick duvets but this — this is nice in ways his exhausted brain can't yet compute.

"Sleep for an hour, then," she tells him, and even as tired as he is it's still extraordinary to him that her commands hold more weight than his Alpha's. Already he feels himself slipping into unconsciousness. "I'll wake you."

"You need to—"

"I'll wake you," she says again, soft yet insistent, and her fingers begin gently threading through his hair in the way she has already learned he likes best. "Sleep, Jake."

It's little effort to obey.

➰

(Leah)

Her life begins to fall into a pattern — enough that she starts to find some comfort and reassurance in it — and by the end of the month, Leah is almost considering herself settled.

After so long of feeling off-balance, it's weird. Really weird.

She has all these certainties now, all these promises and this . . . inevitably in her life — about her life. So much so that her head is still spinning after a whole month, that sometimes even in her darkest moments (although they are becoming less few and far between with each passing week) she still feels like she still can't trust any of it.

She still misses her dad, will always miss him, and she wishes that she knew what he would have to say about his children joining the world he kept secret for all his life. He would probably be as proud as Billy and raise a beer with him, she thinks, but not before threatening Jacob to within an inch of his life — regardless of whether Jacob had imprinted or not.

It makes her smile to think of it — and then sometimes she cries, too, but only when she is alone and she knows that Jacob is too far away to feel her pain, when there's no chance of him barrelling through the door to save her. She takes great care to ensure they can both still function, even with their freaky sixth sense, but somehow they never go more than twelve hours without seeing each other.

Twelve hours, and no more. That's how long she knows she will have to wait, at most, until he reappears again. Jacob's need to mollify the imprint never keeps him away for longer than that.

Sometimes he stays for the whole afternoon, sometimes from dusk until dawn. Sometimes he is only able to stay for ten minutes. Sometimes, at night, he pulls himself through her window and falls asleep almost as soon as he curls up on the bed with her, and sometimes he's gone again by the time she wakes up. But she knows he's always going to come back.

Promises. Certainties. Inevitability.

Jacob will always, always come back.

And in the hours he is not around, she has constant reassurance that at least either Seth or Embry or Quil will be — and sometimes Collin and Brady too, depending on who is tasked with babysitting them. Sometimes Leah wonders, now that she is so used to having company all the time, how she's going to cope if she ever suddenly has to start whiling away the hours on her own again.

She has to find something for herself, something to remind herself that she is more than this person who waits on other people. Before Jacob (because it is always before Jacob now, and never after Sam) she had become too-used to her loneliness — almost to the point where she had enjoyed it, the peace and quiet, and she had even found herself getting annoyed when that silence was disturbed. She needs to find some middle ground.

So she makes a decision: come Monday, she is going back to school.

There is little point to her graduating, really, not now she's given up on the idea of ever joining Rachel at U-Dub and there's less than a few months left in her senior year, but she knows it'll make her mom happy at least. (And it does. Sue's worry lines almost disappear entirely during the minute she talks with the school to inform them, and afterwards she tells Leah how proud she is of her.) And it's not as if she will have to endure the classroom for too long; after all, graduation is only two months away. She'll have to study her ass off, and she will hate every minute of it, sure, but it'll be worth it if her mom doesn't have to worry so much. For the bit of paper she'll receive to prove that she's done something with her life — even if she barely scrapes a passing grade after being absent for six weeks.

For days, Leah continues to try and tell herself that it will be a good thing. Her mom will be happier, her life will start opening up, and it is the right idea to create some distance between her and Jacob — though part of her will forever refuse that idea — but also between her and the new Pack that seems to have formed around her.

No — not around her. Around Jacob.

It's almost like . . . a Pack within the Pack. Wherein Jacob is the Alpha, and Embry is his undisputed Second, whilst Quil and Seth unofficially share the role as Third. It is fairly interchangeable, depending on who is around, though it seems like Seth is inclined to take more of a backseat when they're all together. The kid absolutely idolises the older boys and their relationship, and he has put all three of them on a pedestal.

It wouldn't be that bad of an idea for him to get some distance, either.

Leah tells him as much, and then she tells him that she's going to give it to him. She is sending him back to school, too.

She listens patiently as her little brother rants and raves for nearly a whole hour. The guys need him, he says. He needs them. He's a man now, he professes; he's old enough to hunt vampires and protect the reservation, and he's probably missed so much school that he'll never be able to catch up anyway. He won't go — not even if she drags him by the tail to the door herself. She can't force him. She can't, she won't.

Leah rubs her forehead, the image of pulling Seth by his tail — if not his ear — all too tempting. "Are you finished?"

"You're not making him go back to school!" he whines, jabbing a finger over to Jacob who is trying, and failing, to look inconspicuous against the wall.

"He's not my little brother who's going to be a bum for the rest of his life all because he thought he was too important to get his diploma."

"So I'll get my GED! He isn't going to get his diploma," Seth argues.

"He isn't fourteen-years-old," she counters, her patience waning, "and his sisters aren't around to kick his ass for it."

"It's not your decision anyway," Seth continues over her, "it's Sam's!"

"I've already checked with His Lordship about it," she says. But it's a lie; she's done nothing of the sort. Jacob had had the conversation with Sam for her — all she'd had to do was make the suggestion. "And he agrees. You're going back to school. Monday morning. If I have to drag you along with me, then I will."

"God, Leah, you're not Mom!"

Leah gives her brother a level look. "Try me. Go and spew all the shit what you've just said to me to her. You tell her that you're prepared to die for a pale-faced bitch, and you just see what I'll do to you," she warns severely, her patience now evaporated. "It is not a game out there, Seth. It is dangerous. You are fourteen-years-old."

"You don't even know what it's like 'out there'! All you do is sit on your ass all day! Tell her, Jake!"

"Don't look at me, kid." Jacob seems to shrink further into the wall. "I'm staying out of it."

Seth growls underneath his breath, seething, but Leah knows that she's won as he throws his hands up and storms out of the kitchen. And when he throws open the front door, pointedly slamming it behind him so forcefully that she's sure the windows are rattling in his wake, she lets loose a long and weary sigh.

"Thanks for the help," she mutters into the fraught silence, back to massaging her temples.

There's a smirk in Jake's voice as he replies, "I thought you had it handled." And then, cheerfully, "It's kind of refreshing to see the little punk so angry for a change. Hope he doesn't tear into his teacher like that, or else everyone's going to know why he's been out so long."

Leah groans. "Not helping."

Jacob laughs and comes to sit in the chair beside her. "I'm only joking, honey. He'll be fine. We've all gotta go back at some point."

"I've been waiting my whole life to embarrass him at his graduation. So — so don't do what I said and die, or something," she says shakily, "because if you do then he'll never graduate, and it'll be all your fault."

"Nobody's going to die, honey."

Leah sighs again. "If he doesn't graduate, I'll kill him."

Jacob reaches for her hands, coaxing her off her chair and onto his lap. "Nobody's going to die," he says again, wrapping one arm soundly around her waist. And when she refuses to meet his gaze, he lifts her chin up with a thumb and forefinger. He is so gentle that it makes her anger and her dread almost dissipate entirely.

"You don't trust me?"

"I do," she assures him. And then at his raised eyebrows, she adds, "I do trust you, Jake. But you can't promise me that you're not going to get hurt. None of you can."

His eyebrows reach higher, his lips curving. "Are you going to put me back in school, too?"

"If only I could," she mutters. "Even you have to agree that doing your homework is better than risking your neck week after week. If you die for her . . . "

Leah hears her own voice trail off with a strangled noise, unable to stomach the thought.

"For the pale-face?" Jacob finishes for her, still holding her chin.

"I think you'll find I said bitch," she says pointedly. "Pale-faced bitch. I don't hear about her lot offering them up as bait to catch her stalker. Where are they in all of this?"

Jacob shakes his head, the hint of another smile forming. "Bella wouldn't do that — she's too self-sacrificing. She'd offer herself up first."

"She's a doormat, you mean," Leah interjects. So what if she sounds a little petulant.

Save for his lips twitching in his amusement, Jake pretends that he doesn't hear her. "Secondly," he continues, brushing his thumb over her lips, "I think it's Edward who is more likely to sacrifice the Pack if it serves his best interest."

"You're not doing anything to alleviate my concerns over here."

"Sorry, honey." He kisses each corner of her mouth, soft and fleeting, and brushes her hair from her face. "I promise, you have nothing to worry about. The redhead isn't stupid enough to get herself caught — and she's not stupid enough to engage with us, either. If she ever does, she'll find that she's sorely outnumbered. And," he adds as Leah rakes in a lungful of air to protest, "if she brings a few friends with her, considering we killed her last one, then I swear we can all look after ourselves. We always do."

Leah pouts, if only to tempt him into kissing her again. "It's not everyone I'm worried about."

"Seth will be fine. Sam's agreed about him going back to school, and he's going to keep him at home studying as much as possible. Collin and Brady, too — in a few weeks, anyway, once they have enough control. And you'll be there at school to help them when they do. So stop worrying, yeah?"

"But if Sam changes his mind—"

Jacob shakes his head. "He won't. He listens to you. He's much too frightened of the alternative."

"Frightened," she scoffs.

"Well, he is. You know he'd pretty much do anything you ask if it would make you happy."

"If it makes his life easier, you mean," she corrects flippantly.

Jacob shrugs his shoulders at her, unable to bring himself to fight with her over it. The imprint binds him too tightly to allow anything else.

Although this thing between them is still very new, they're yet to have any kind of real argument and sometimes Leah wishes that he would argue back. There's not even been a teensy-tiny disagreement between them (not about anything that matters, anyway, because stuff like putting the toilet seat down doesn't count), and quite honestly it's bugging the hell out of her — if only because she wants him to tell her how he really feels without being silenced by his compulsive need to just agree with her all the damn time.

That being said, she knows when to pick her battles. So Leah winds her arms around Jacob's neck, and she tries to erase the frown lines from his face by cheering him up instead.

"Shall I ask him to jump off a cliff?" she asks sweetly.

It doesn't work. "He'd survive," Jacob mutters moodily.

"I'll tell him to wait until the tide is out, then."

Jacob smiles, but it is forced — it's more of a grimace, tight with pain and fury, the same way his expression always turns whenever they talk about Sam.

For all they might joke about it — about him — Leah knows Jacob tries his hardest to not dwell on the way Sam still claims he feels about her, she knows he does, but she is also keenly aware that matters aren't being helped now that the two of them are sharing the Pack mind again.

It doesn't seem to make a difference that Sam is still putting every effort into scheduling Jacob on opposite rotations to Paul— and is now including himself in that, too, because they cannot stand to be near each other. Not when the afterburn of their thoughts linger in everyone else's minds. What Sam thinks of when running with Quil, for example, is what Quil thinks of when he's next with Jacob. Especially if it's about her. Especially if he's trying to hide it.

Jacob has likened the Pack mind to an endless echo. Apparently if someone actively tries not to think about something, it only makes it ten times worse. And even though an Alpha supposedly has the ability to better protect his thoughts so he can therefore better control his wolves, Sam is reportedly struggling more than ever.

(Privately, Leah thinks Sam is struggling because he's not supposed to be Alpha — an issue they have all become more painfully aware of since what they all now just refer to as 'The Fight'. And it seems to her — from an outsider's perspective, at least — that Sam's control is slipping further with every week that passes.

It's like sand in an hourglass. Surely, it's only a matter of time until he loses it entirely.

But she doesn't dare say as much to Jacob. He has made it perfectly clear that he will never claim his birthright, and even though she thinks he will be an incredible Alpha she has learned not to push the idea. He shuts down the idea whenever she brings it up.)

It also doesn't help that she and Jacob have still not talked about him specifically. Sam. Because Jake just about loses his head every time she skirts around the subject.

Still, she tries anyway.

"Thank you for talking to him about Seth for me," she says quietly. "I won't ask you to do it again. If I need something in future then I'll go to him myself, okay?"

Jacob pulls her closer, holding tightly enough to leave bruises, face hardening. "I don't want him anywhere near you."

Leah cups his face with both hands because she understands what it really is he's trying to say. It would be easier to bring Jacob out of this bad mood, to make a wisecrack and elicit the sunny smiles she loves so much, but they have to talk about this eventually. And she wants him to understand her. Needs him to understand her, to understand this.

"He's not going to take me away, Jake." She holds his eyes, her gaze steady but imploring. "I'd kill him if he tried."

A low rumble resonates through the kitchen, and the chair underneath them creaks. "You're not the only one."

"But he's not going to try," she barrels on as if she's not heard the reply, "because he can't. He told me. You know this — you must have heard it from the others. What he said."

Jacob looks away, his fury like thunder. "He said that he lo—"

"I know what he said," she tells him gently, his cheeks blazing with anger underneath her palms. "He also said that he can't leave Emily. He won't. And I don't want him to. I wouldn't want him even if he did. Don't you believe that yet?"

With his full lips pressed in a tight line, Jake sighs through his nose. And then, with a level of defeat telling her that she has won, he looks into her eyes and says, "I do."

She nods. "So you have to let go of this . . . this fear that he's going to win. I haven't wanted Sam for a very long time, and I won't ever want him. No matter how much he thinks I might or how much he claims he still feels."

Jacob's throat bobs, and whatever he intends to say next starts off strained. "But—"

"No. I don't care. It's not happening," she declares firmly, hands dropping to curl over and rest on his shoulders. "Jake, even if you hadn't imprinted on me I wouldn't want him. It's far too late for any of that."

"But—" he starts again.

"You don't trust me?" she asks, throwing his own words back at him.

"It's him I don't trust."

"He's not going to do anything. He can't do anything. You know that just as well as I do."

"But—" he says for a third time, and she sighs.

"If you want to beat a dead wolf," she says, slipping out of his grasp and off his lap and over to where the dirty dishes are awaiting her, "by all means, carry on."

Finally, finally, she hears the tiniest of chuckles break through. "I think you mean a dead horse, honey."

"I don't see any horses," she says over the running water.

Jacob doesn't make a sound as he gets off his chair and comes to stand behind her. He loops his arms around her midriff and rests his chin on the top of her head, even as she begins washing the dishes. "Smart ass."

She bites back a smile he can't see. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Like I said. Smart ass."

But it's her smart mouth, her teasing that she uses to pull him out of the despair and fear and guilt that plagues him — and it does work; it makes her feel triumphant, invincible, because only she can do it.

Maybe that's why they are mated: they can match each other blow for blow, can bring each other back to the surface. God knows how often he has done it for her, even if he's not aware of just how many times he has. Even if it's just something like holding her whilst she cries or braiding her hair for her whilst she's trying to rally her courage.

Jake remains wrapped around her whilst she clears the sink, and she lets him because she knows that he needs this, too. Ever since he joined the Pack and opened up to his wolf again, his displays of physical affection have increased tenfold.

It's not until she turns off the faucet that he speaks again.

"You're right."

"I always am," she replies loftily, turning around in his arms and looking up at him. "But what about this time?"

He flicks her nose, smiling. He feels softer, looks calmer. "You know what."

Leah pokes her tongue out. "They care about you, Jake. And I know you don't think he does but Sam does, too — for all of you. He's not going to do anything to jeopardise his Pack when you're already causing as much trouble as you are," she says.

He shrugs. "Still. I could live without him. Without all of them."

"Liar."

"I could. Maybe," he backtracks. "Before."

Before. Because it is different now; she's seen the way the brothers work in tandem, how they move in perfect rhythm without thought. Even just within the four walls of her house. And she might be considered part of the Pack, and they may very well extend that consideration to Emily and Kim, too, but it is the boys who are really that one, solid unit.

"Embry, Quil, Seth," Jacob continues, pausing only to sigh dramatically as he lifts her up onto the counter and leans into her, teasing and distracting in a completely different way — the way he always is when they are alone. "I suppose they can stay."

Leah smiles, thinking back to when she'd once threatened to steal them away before Quil had phased. They had opted to put Embry in the trunk of the Rabbit. "And Paul?" she asks, her new smirk daring as she wraps her legs around his waist.

Jacob grunts half-hearted contempt, only half paying attention as his fingers span over her backside. "I suppose if you ever wanted to snap at him, maybe, bring him down a peg or two, I wouldn't stop you."

"I think that's a job for someone who can defend themselves against his teeth," she says, pointedly nipping at his earlobe.

"That's just it, though. If you did it, he probably wouldn't even be mad." Jacob's mouth twists, a struggle between bewilderment and annoyance and a little bit of something else. "He likes you. He's a pain in everyone's ass — even the girls, sometimes — but recently . . . When you're around he's almost nice. It's started to make it very difficult to hate him the way I used to. Even when I kick his ass."

Leah grins, wicked and daring, knowing exactly what boundaries she is pushing as she shifts further forward on the counter. "Such a jealous thing, aren't you."

The scowl she earns is expected. "Maybe," he answers. And then, "Fine, I am. I can't help it. They all love you. They're taking bets on how long it takes for you to get annoyed with me and kick my ass."

"Let me guess. Paul's betting low."

"By graduation, at least," Jacob grumbles, mouthing at her neck now. "Honeymoon period wearing off, and all that. Think he just wants to have you for himself. He loves a challenge."

Leah arches an eyebrow, feeling the echo of her smile still on her face. "I'm not some tree for you boys to piss on, you know. Go mark your territory elsewhere."

"That, right there," he says, unable to help his chuckle in spite of himself and the rising mood. "That is exactly the kind of thing you should say to Paul."

She pulls back. "No! He'll just laugh!"

"And yet if I said it to him, he'd sink his teeth into me."

"Yeah, well," she says drily, "you are exceptionally annoying. If they'd bothered to ask me, I would have put my money on the end of the week."

Jacob simply pulls a face at her which she quickly returns, and then he is kissing her, and their muffled laughter that follows stays with her for the rest of the day.

Chapter Text

(Jacob)

Two Saturdays later, everything Jacob has been waiting for seems to happen all at once.

He feels like his mind completely whites out for a second when, after weeks and weeks of anticipation, he finally catches the redhead's putrid scent. The fresh trace she has left over the northern perimeter line is barely fifteen minutes old, the stench vulgar enough that it threatens to choke him. It's almost as if she's purposefully announced her arrival, as if she wants them to know she is here.

His shock is contagious. Embry and Quil freeze at his heels, dread and excitement rising up like storm-tossed waves in their stomachs, higher and higher until it feels like it's in their throats and they're going to drown under the force of it.

Embry recovers quickly; Quil takes a second longer. But Jacob is quicker. He is already moving, already welcoming the flames that have sparked to life from smouldering embers and now rage like an unchecked, brutal, savage living thing inside of him. The fire spreads from the pits of his stomach, to his paws, his tail, until he burns with a type of wantonness that fuels his inherited power to bring down forests, towns, cities. Vampires.

Embry and Quil sound the alarm from behind him. Their call is spine-chilling even in this form, with these ears, but it's the responding tinkle of laughter that jerks them into action. Taunting, daring them to give chase.

She's close. Closer than they thought.

Their legs move in perfect rhythm with Jacob's as they fall into the hunt, just as eager and just as focused. Nobody — nobody — moves as seamlessly as they three do together. They were best friends and brothers long before they ever became Pack, and their execution is flawless.

It comes as no surprise, then, that the relief Jacob feels knowing that they are drawing the danger miles away from the reservation is not entirely his own. Relief that his girl is exactly that — safe, sound, whole — and far out of harm's reach. Embry and Quil feel it, too, and they get caught up in his pictures of Leah as they run, drawn to think of her as Jacob always does. They think of her safe in his house and in his bed (just as she always is on the weekends now, because there are no keen ears to hear them there, and because she likes his bed as much as he likes hers). They picture her either sleeping or reading one of her hefty school textbooks, cramming as much information into her brain about Biology or English or Algebra as she possibly can before her finals in six weeks. Safe. Sound. Whole.

Relief.

They are almost to the treaty line when three other consciousnesses spark in their minds.

Now they are six together. The redhead doesn't stand a chance.

Wait, says Sam.

But it's not a command, not really; there's no weight to it, and Embry and Quil don't so much as falter in their sprint behind Jacob. As long as he moves, as long as Sam allows it, they will too. And if Sam drops the order — well, Jacob will carry on without them. They will understand.

She's right there, Jacob replies, insistent. He can't see the redhead, exactly, but he is so close. Close enough that he can hear the whisper of wind as she runs from them, can taste rotten fruit and bleach and death on his tongue and could be fooled into thinking that he's sunk his teeth into her already. I can hear her.

Sam huffs with exertion from five and a half miles away. Slow down.

There's no chance of that, Jacob thinks to himself, and his sentiment is silently echoed by the two wolves on his flanks. If anything, Embry actually kicks it up a notch and puts on a burst of speed.

Whilst Jacob is the strongest of them, of the whole Pack, it's Embry who is the fastest. It makes the pair of them evenly matched when running. What Jacob lacks in speed, he makes up with muscle and the ability to push himself the hardest.

Wait. Wait! Paul is on Sam's left flank, suddenly on red alert. There is something else, a sense of urgency unrelated to the redhead that only he can detect. Can you smell that?

They all have their own talents, their own advantages over the other. So although Jacob has his strength, and Embry has his speed, there are times that Jared sees something, or Seth hears something, or Paul catches a scent the rest of the Pack cannot.

Those are times when everyone else listens. And they listen up good.

What is it?

They all keep their pace, but their attention is diverted as they all turn their noses eastward in sync even though they are miles apart, towards where Paul is already veering off-course. He's like a moth to a flame, and Sam has bark a wordless command to yank him back into formation.

It takes an agonising second for Paul to recover and shake himself. And then, he says, More. Treaty line.

Cullens? Jared asks. He is their best strategist, long used to being Sam's faithful Second before Jacob joined the Pack. How many?

Too many, Paul growls. From that stench, I'd bet all of them.

Before Paul finishes his sentence, Sam has drawn on every shred of authority he has and suddenly he is howling for miles to hear — for reinforcement. For Seth, Collin, and Brady.

Jacob feels a wisp of phantom pain at the Alpha's directive, at the summon to arms, and all he can think is that Leah is going to go absolutely ballistic when she finds out the kids have been dragged into this. And yet . . . he can't find it within himself to disagree with the order — because if the Cullens are all out in full force, then the Pack are duty-bound to respond in kind.

You think they're moving? Sam asks then.

Paul turns his nose to the treaty line again, except this time he wills himself to remain in formation and not give himself over to his wolf entirely. No — it smells like . . . like a cluster. Like they're waiting. I think — yeah, they're waiting for something.

Three guesses for what.

They know we're here.

Not us — her.

Those mother . . . Jake, you were right — they're using us as fucking bait!

Jacob can't even be smug about it. He had told them all about what Bella had told him during her spring break, about the bloodsuckers and their extra 'abilities': the mind-reading, the emotional manipulation, and then about that little psychic . . . Of course the leeches would be using their own strengths, too.

They know every move the redhead is going to make.

Knew she was going to try and get through us tonight, too.

Bit of warning would've been nice.

Kind of defeats the whole idea of us being bait, Quil.

Shit. You think they're listening in on us?

God, Jacob hopes that's true. He has a few choice things he'd love for that bastard to hear right now.

He steers closer towards the treaty line, and Quil and Embry follow on instinct. Sam is only two miles out now; they can hear the beat of each other's footfalls. With any luck, they'll be able to converge on one another and ambush the redhead — that is, if Jacob can herd her that far. There is no rhyme or reason to how she moves. None at all. It's almost like she has no idea where she is going.

Then Jacob hears the bells of laughter again, even closer this time. He swears he even sees a flash of her hair, of white granite reflected against the moon.

No. This bitch knows exactly what she's doing. She is goading them.

Stay on her, Sam commands, just as Seth, Collin and Brady fall in, almost all exactly at the same time. Sam doesn't even allow them a second to shake off the last shivers of their phase and shake out their fur before he is ordering them into some semblance of organisation.

Their number of nine is evenly divided now. And although Seth is ecstatic to have been given the point position between Collin and Brady, his blood is singing with the thrill of a chase he has never participated in before. He feels the same bewildering mix of dread and excitement that Jacob feels. That they all feel.

Except Seth feels fear, too, and he's unable to mask it in time before a flash of a memory surfaces, unbidden, and they all hear his sister arguing with him. Hear her words.

('It is not a game out there, Seth.' Something ferocious glimmers in her eyes, and he thinks it might be the angriest he has ever seen her in his whole entire life — and that's saying something, because Leah is angry a lot. 'It is dangerous. You are fourteen-years-old.')

Jacob has to stop himself from getting sucked into the memory before they're all seeing this from his perspective, too, before he and Seth start going round and round in circles all night and—

Seth, focus.

Right. Sorry.

Jacob breathes a sigh of relief. Everyone is so close now that he can hear their breath over the sound of the nearby stream, one of the boundaries that separates the two territories. And the redheaded leech is—

There.

The wolves move.

No words are exchanged between them, only shared vehement emotion, feeling, and the Pack's wild anger and unwavering resolve has them charging through the trees and closing in as one.

The redhead comes to a skidding halt as she realises she is trapped. She whirls around, but there is no panic on her face and Jacob wouldn't be surprised if she meant for this to happen. If she meant for all of them to see her lips curve upwards into a cold-blooded smirk, calculating, confident, just so she is able to drive the point home: she is in control.

Victoria leaps into the air before nine sets of teeth can tear into her, soaring into the trees and over the stream, and before the wolves can blink she has landed noiselessly . . .

. . . on the wrong side of the treaty line.

A single shout from the Cullens' direction drives the rest of the bloodsuckers into action, and the wolves follow as closely as the treaty allows.

Bitch.

They were waiting for that.

She's their problem now.

Don't lose them. She might take her chances and go back to Forks.

She's going to— Jared starts to think, but before he can finish the thought the redhead jumps back over the boundary line and twirls in their line of vision just as he expected her to.

One of the Cullens bellows a curse, but Jacob doesn't look to see which. If they are all here, where is Bella? They wouldn't have left her unprotected, surely. Unless their psychic doesn't expect the redhead to hightail it back to Forks, not with seven bloodsuckers and nine wolves downwind. It's a risky move, for all of them to be in the same place chasing one person. What if the redheaded has friends?

Victoria keeps up her cat-and-mouse game, leaping back and forth for minutes at a time. She is always, always just a second ahead of them, always that tiny bit out of reach like there is something else guiding her. Instinct or a preternatural sense, a power, that has her evading capture.

This is fucking ridiculous, Paul snarls. There are nine of us and we can't catch one stinking leech—

You don't think she can read our minds too, do you? Because that would really—

Shit.

If we could be on both sides, we could get her. Trap her. There's not enough room to move here—

Jake, Sam starts, but Jacob already knows what the Alpha is about to say.

The plan crystallises in their minds: Sam pictures Jacob and Embry going farther, pushing onwards and disappearing just before the river curves into Cullen territory completely before they risk losing the chase entirely. If they can use the advantage their fastest wolves are able to provide, even to just make her hesitate for a fraction of a second . . .

On it, he replies. Embry.

On your six.

No, take point.

Go farther south and wait there. Spread out along the line, Sam commands. All of you. I don't think she's coming back over, but we're not taking chances this time.

The Pack separate, dividing back into their threes for the ambush; Quil catches up to Jacob and Embry after a few minutes and completes their formation, whilst their brothers take their posts in similar fashion, and they wait.

And wait.

Frustration boils over. The redhead and the Cullens are completely obscured within the forest on their side of the line, and Jacob and his brothers strain their ears to listen to the chase they cannot join, pacing back and forth until they feel like they can't take the suspense anymore.

They're absolutely useless here. They have no idea what's going on. They're more or less sitting ducks.

Several agonising minutes later, Seth's ears twitch from half a mile down the line, between where Jacob leads from one end and Sam the other.

It sounds like . . . Seth sucks in a sharp breath through his maw as realisation dawns, and Collin and Brady paw nervously at the ground by his side. They've doubled back.

I can't hear anything.

I'm going insane! Sam, come on, if we could just cross . . .

Shut up. We're not going to be the first to break the treaty — not tonight. Not ever. Seth, are you able to—

I'll try.

Then Seth releases a string of violent curses that Leah would surely backhand him for. Personally, Jacob's pretty proud of the kid, but he also knows it's the Pack who are entirely to blame for his new learned vocabulary. Collin and Brady are learning just as quickly.

North, says Seth. He's the only one with hearing that is sensitive enough to know. Sam, you're closest—

They all lurch again and sprint north, and although Jacob and Embry are quick and Quil strains every muscle to keep up with them, they are the farthest away. It's Sam and Jared and Paul who are leading this chase now.

Got her.

Chased back onto their lands by her pursuers, Victoria is within Sam's sight — and there, just behind her on the other side of the invisible line are the Cullens. It's the closest their two groups have ever been.

Jared counts. One, two, three . . . Six. They're down one.

Edward.

Looks like they've not left the leech lover that unprotected after all.

What a shame.

Shut it, Paul.

Just saying what everyone else is thinking, boss.

Sam rushes forwards, but the redhead is fast. Too fast. Sam has to remember himself and skip back six paces just to put enough distance between him and the treaty line. Between him and the Cullens.

Paul and Jared snarl from behind him. How the hell does she know?

Victoria is dancing the line, bold as brass, exactly like she knows neither party dare to even reach for her in case they breach the decades old agreement between them. She goes back and forth, skipping, dancing, laughing, jumping out of reach whenever someone gets too close, and the three wolves and the Cullens are a blur as they try to keep up with her without touching one another.

Jacob and Embry and Quil are nowhere close and can only watch through their brothers' eyes.

Goddammit, just get her already!

Paul, watch out! Sam barks, just at the exact same time five voices call out, "Emmett, no!"

The biggest Cullen, the muscly one — Emmett, presumably, though Jacob has never paid enough attention to learn and retain their names — crosses the line, the bastard, and before anyone can take their next blink Emmett and Paul are a whirl of marble and silver fur.

Shit.

Paul!

Hackles raised, his skin crawling, Paul is enraged, beyond coherent thought as he tries to beat the vampire back over his own side of the line, and Emmett responds . . . well, he seems to respond as any mortal enemy in the universe would. It's all Paul can do to hold onto the last scraps of his willpower and not kill the big vampire outright for the transgression.

A Cullen is on their land.

Jacob nearly bowls over his own paws as he and Embry overtake the three youngest wolves, sprinting harder, faster than they ever have before to catch up. Because if Paul is getting a chunk out of a bloodsucker, then Jacob wants one too. Embry just wants to make sure that he doesn't die doing it.

They watch through Sam's eyes as Paul finally gains enough leeway to push Emmett off him and scrabble to his feet. He prepares to spring . . .

Paul, no!

. . . and misses.

He roars into their heads as he crouches low once more and takes aim for his next shot at Emmett, who quickly darts back onto the right side of the line.

Stop it!

He was on our turf!

When Jacob reaches his brother, he comes to a skidding halt just as the Cullens are dipping into defensive crouches of their own.

For a moment all can be heard is the chilling snarls of vampires and wolves alike. The blonde female snarls loudest of them all, arms splayed wide before Emmett — her mate, they think.

"Back off, dog."

Jacob and Sam take up position on either side of Paul's flanks as he pointedly snaps his jaw at her. He's beyond verbal threats. He'll show her what he's going to do to her, he'll make her watch as he does the same to the big one, he'll burn every piece and—

It's hard not to get drawn into Paul's torrent of silent abuse, into the imagery he easily provides. Jacob feels himself tensing as if he's the one about to attack, because though he hates Paul he will gladly follow him into battle. Pack. Brother.

Sam knows it, too. Knows that all nine of them would die if it meant there were seven less leeches on the planet.

Seth, he says. Stay out of sight. Keep Collin and Brady with you.

But—

No. Stay back, he commands the three of them who are within earshot. They are still racing to the scene, but their pace slows. I don't want them knowing our numbers. Keep quiet.

Even Seth can't argue with that. And Jacob, damn him, feels grateful.

The big leech draws them all back into the present. "Rose, babe, calm down—"

"Shut up, Emmett," she snarls wildly.

"He's right, Rosalie." An older-looking bloodsucker — although not by much; he looks hardly a few years older than Sam — steps forward with another blonde male at his heels, his hands raised and spread wide. But not to defend himself or a mate like the blonde female, but to . . . to placate them. "We mean no harm," he says to the rest of them. "We're all here for the same reason."

Sam bares his teeth. Watch the line.

They can't hear you, dude.

Paul growls even louder. What about now? You think the douchebags heard that?

"Please," the bloodsucker says, and Jacob finally recognises him for who he is. The leader. The doctor. "Calm down."

And they do.

Paul is the first to stop snarling, and his limbs turn lax. And then Jacob, and then Sam, and all the wolves behind them. Jacob would even go as far to say that he feels . . . warm . . . serene, almost, as if the atmosphere around him has turned from violent to tranquil within seconds, has turned them all into—

('Jasper could . . . sort of control the emotions of the people around him. Not in a bad way, just to calm someone down, that kind of thing.' Bella fidgets as she divulges her secrets. 'It would probably help Paul a lot,' she adds, trying and failing to tease him.)

Instead of growling as they would at the memory that bleeds into their consciousness, the wolves whine.

"Thank you, Jasper," says the doctor with relief from the other side of the treaty line, and he trains his molten eyes on them again. Looking for something. Someone. "We wish to avoid conflict; my son is merely protecting his brother, as you are protecting yours."

The wolves try to spit their fury, but the doctor is either unaffected or they have failed to convey their feeling underneath the calming lull of Jasper's influence.

"Might I speak to Sam Uley?"

Sam lifts his head, willing his legs to straighten underneath the soothing lull that pulses at the edges of their shared thoughts, dulling their mingled fury and resent at being . . . being caged like animals. At the knowledge that these bloodsuckers know their names — that Bella has undoubtedly given away their secrets.

Guess I'm not surprised.

Leech lover through and through.

She was never on our side.

They want to be angry about it, desperately so, but it's impossible. They might as well be considering the weather.

A frustrated sound comes from the back of the head bloodsucker's group, and the tiny leech Jacob has met before — the psychic — darts to stand between the doctor and the blonde male who is tampering with their emotions. Their real emotions.

"I can't see," she protests. "I can't even see around them. We need to go. Now, Carlisle, before they mess up the future so bad that I lose her!"

She's mad, thinks Paul. Practically certifiable. He means to be disparaging, but his mental tone is far more deferential to the point that he could be mistaken for not really giving a damn either way. Like this little leech is not a threat.

"It would help if we could talk," their leader says, gentle yet with an insistent air. "We need to act quickly. I'd rather Jasper not impede your senses for too long lest we lose momentum."

They're not serious.

Sam, no.

No choice, he says, the air already shimmering around him.

Sam rises on two feet. Whether it's because of how he has been influenced or because he agrees with the leech, Jacob still can't tell. But he doesn't like it. He just can't be mad about it.

"Oh, please," groans the tiny leech, pointedly looking away from the sudden display of nudity. She's so small that she's almost at eye-level with Sam's crotch.

"Thank you," says Carlisle.

He is met with silence. There's an absent look about Sam, like there's something missing. No hostility. Nothing.

And then, Sam says, "I will kill you for this."

Despite the threat, he sounds quite amiable, almost like he's delivering good news.

"A little less, I think, Jasper," the doctor hums.

The effect is instantaneous. Sam shakes himself, and the hint of a frown appears. Enough to know that he is displeased, but not enough that he is able to lash out.

Jacob shudders. He feels it, too. His anger and his anxiety to get moving is no longer extinguished, rather it's blurred around the edges. He can feel it, see it, but he can't grasp and hold onto it.

Carlisle dips his head. "I apologise for the infraction."

Sam cocks his head at the doctor, his eyes still a little too glassy for his Pack's liking. Paul gives another uneasy whine as Sam asks, frightfully detached, "Which one?"

Carlisle does not answer. "Sam Uley. I must say, the resemblance to your ancestor is rather striking."

"You're wasting time, bloodsucker," Sam spits as forcefully as he is able, but the slur rolls right off his tongue like an endearment might, like Jacob says honey and Embry says sweetheart. "We had her."

"And lost her," the blonde female snarls.

Sam doesn't even blink. His hands don't shake. Can't shake, not with the spell he is under. "Give us the line, and I might forgive you for that."

"Forgive us?"

"Give us the line," he repeats. It's as much of a demand as he can give under Jasper's control.

Carlisle extends a hand, as if to motion for the Pack to lead the way. "But of course, it's yours."

"Glad we're in agreement."

"Don't push it," the blonde hisses at Sam.

Ordinarily, the Pack might have rallied just for that alone. As it is, they can stand to do nothing until the air shimmers around Sam again and he falls back on four paws, giving them the command for them all to move out. Even Seth, Collin and Brady who are still leashed and hidden within the treeline are given the order to pick up the redhead's trail again.

Jacob looks back over the treaty line before he follows, but the Cullens have already disappeared and are giving chase.

The wolves' senses return to them the farther they run, all the way north, and they feel in complete control of themselves once again by the time they reach Makah country. They teeter over the edge of the cliff, their breath coming hard as they watch the shadow of the redhead underneath the coastal waters as she dives, and dives, and dives.

They've missed her by a hairsbreadth.

Again.

Jacob, Embry and Paul are the first to prepare to follow her, all coiling to make the leap off the rocks, fuelled by anger that has returned to them, that will propel them—

Sam barks a decree. No.

They blink their disbelief, too stunned to protest. No?

No, he repeats. His head whips around to where the Cullens are gathered in the distance, the six of them lining the edge of the moonlit water and evidently wanting to do the exact same and follow the redhead, except they're trapped by the constraints of the treaty.

"Will you grant us permission?" Carlisle calls.

Sam's growl carries on the wind, his ears flat against his head. No.

"What about two of us? Emmett and Jasper, perhaps?"

The two bloodsuckers have barely put a foot forward when the Pack reach unspoken agreement and unleash the fury they were previously denied. Not even Sam seems to care that the Cullens are able to finally see their full number and can hear every single one of the nine wolves who refuse them passage, barking and snapping at the night air as if to show what they will do if the treaty is broken a second time.

They don't stop. Not until the Cullens give up and leave, and they know their warning has been heard.

Chapter Text

(Leah)

Leah wakes before the sun, her eyes opening to darkness as soon as her mind catches up to what her body has long already known even in unconsciousness.

Jacob is home. Finally.

They are all tangled limbs and heat on his bed, her head on his bare chest, her body almost entirely atop of his as if they have been this way for hours. As if she tried to climb over him during the night and use him as her personal pillow — not that he seems to have noticed. He is deep into his sleep, his chest rising easily, his breath even, his face free of the stress he usually carries.

Once, she would have been embarrassed to wake up sprawled over him like this, but with both of his arms around her back, keeping her soundly in place and leaving no room for such things like embarrassment to work its way in, thoughts like that are far away. And she is long past being ashamed.

It is almost always this way now. She either falls asleep with him, or she wakes up with him. She's rarely lucky enough to have it both ways — falling asleep without his solid weight beside her and the heavy weight of worry in her stomach is still harder than she'll ever admit, although waking up alone is always worse. She had thought last night that he might never come home. Now she wonders how long it is since he climbed into bed, what it was that made him so late.

Usually, she makes him promise to wake her when he's leaving, or when he comes home, even if it's at a ridiculous hour. He never listens. He certainly didn't last night. Or maybe he did, and she was just too out of it to know better, bone-tired as she is these days. Balancing her life around a new routine of studying for finals that are a matter of mere weeks away is beyond exhausting.

(She feels a fool for convincing herself that she can graduate — something else that she will never admit. At least, not out loud, and certainly not to Jacob or her little brother. Sometimes it feels impossible that she'll be able to get her GPA up in time to be able to confidently walk across the stage and get her diploma. She's missed so much.)

Jacob doesn't wake as she carefully extracts herself from his arms and slowly eases herself off the bed. His dirty face and hair that's sticking up on end is enough to tell her that he must have had a rough night on patrol if his first thought was to fall into bed rather than a shower. Without even a pair of boxers on, at that, but she's long learned that nakedness doesn't mean a damn thing when it comes to the Pack. It certainly doesn't mean much to Jake — especially not after that day she'd seen him by the garage.

It's hard not to look. It's been two months since he imprinted — less than six weeks since she found out; only five weeks since coming to terms with it — and the physical effects are becoming harder and harder to ignore. And she has absolutely nobody to talk to about it. Nobody to assure her that she's entirely normal and she's not going crazy.

She's certainly not going to talk to anyone in the Pack about it. They wouldn't be able to keep anything she said a secret. And she's certainly not going to talk to anyone like Kim or Emily, even though they may just be the only other people in the whole world who understand what it's like. Although according to Embry, who is always willing to share as much as Leah wants to know (much to Jacob's chagrin), they cemented their imprint bonds within only a couple of weeks.

Leah drapes the sheets over Jacob's waist and gathers her books from the bedside table. The sun might not be up, but she'd rather study for her AP classes without a full eight hours of sleep than think about cementing anything.

It's not that Jacob is hinting, or pushing her . . . He hasn't even mentioned or suggested anything untoward, and she knows he'd torture himself if she so much as thought that he was pressuring her. He's just comfortable — in himself, in their relationship. And, honestly, nudity is the last of his worries. Leah would bet that he doesn't even think about it. Hardly any of the boys do.

But she's not ready. Even though her body — or, rather, the imprint — is telling her otherwise. So she shuts the door behind her and quietly pads down the hallway to the kitchen, determined to get at least an hour or two of studying under her belt before the rest of the house wakes up.

Deep in thought, she all but jumps right out of her skin when she reaches the end of the hallway and almost walks right into Charlie Swan.

"Leah?"

She freezes under the lift of his eyebrows, a mix of shock and rising suspicion as he stares at her, and she fights the urge to sprint right back down the hallway and into the box bedroom for cover. She's in her sweatpants, but the oversized black t-shirt she's wearing evidently does not belong to her — it's got some kind of race car printed on the front of it, ugly and unmissable. Jacob loves it, and it's comfortable, but she might as well be wearing a huge neon sign.

Leah hugs her books to her chest to try and cover the evidence, but she knows Charlie has noticed it already. It's a fool's hope to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary is happening. He's a cop. He doesn't miss anything.

"What are you doing here? Bit early for house calls, isn't it?" she asks, summoning bravado he undoubtedly sees right through. Her voice is still too high, too nervous. "Is everything alright?"

"It's Sunday," Charlie says slowly. "We fish on Sundays."

Leah doesn't answer. Shit. Stupid, stupid. They've been fishing on Sundays for decades. But without her dad coming home with his own haul for fish fry at the end of every weekend, she'd just . . . forgotten.

Charlie's eyebrows rise higher still. "What are you doing here?"

Outside of the Pack, the Council, nobody knows about her and Jacob. Not even Rachel and Rebecca. Their phone calls with Billy are short, entirely non-existent with Leah, an exchange of few mumbled words with Jake. And, for some reason, Bella still doesn't know either — the bloodsucker still hasn't told her, otherwise her phone calls would be of a different sort entirely. Which means that Charlie definitely doesn't know; her mom and Billy haven't breathed a word. Not because they all want to keep it a secret, but because nobody else would understand how quickly things are moving.

How could they explain it? Dating from basically living together within less than a few months? He might be as good as family to their tribe, but not even Charlie would understand that.

Leah isn't ready for a lot of things, and having to fumble for answers to the kind of questions he would have is one of them. Neither does she want to lie. She hates lying. Especially to family.

Mostly because, in spite of all her tenacity, her confidence and snappy retorts, she's actually really terrible at it.

"I'm — uh. Study group," she says quickly, dipping her chin down to the textbooks in her arms. "Yeah, study group. Finals coming up, last minute papers, you know."

"Study group," Charlie repeats, disbelieving. He checks his watch. "At half past five in the morning? With a sophomore?"

She does her best to ignore the feel of heat creeping up her neck and over her face. ". . . Yes?"

But he already understands. He fixes his glare on a particular door at the far end of the hallway, eyes narrowed. "I see."

The bathroom door suddenly swings open with a bang, and Billy shoots her a grin as he wheels himself into the narrow hallway that is only just big enough for his chair. She hurriedly side-steps out of the way, cheeks still aflame as her heart pounds a second time from fright.

"I hope you're not accosting my daughter-in-law, Swan."

"Daughter-in . . ." Charlie's head spins, eyes bulging from their sockets. "Leah Clearwater, you better not be about to tell me you've eloped since I last saw you."

"No. No! God, no," she says, but in spite of her protest she is sure she spies Charlie's fingers twitching at his waist — habit from a lifetime of being a cop, perhaps. But he settles for clenching his fist instead, and Leah wonders whether he regrets leaving his house without his gun. She has to mould her lips together to quiet the uncontrollable nervous laughter bubbling in her chest.

Charlie goes still. "Are you pregnant?"

She sputters, indignant. "Charlie—"

Billy snorts. "Get a grip, old man."

"Well, it sounds serious enough," the other man mutters. His cheeks turn pink with embarrassment, but he is still on his guard. "Do I need to talk to him?" Then he directs another pointed look at Billy and demands, "Did you talk to him? Why didn't you tell me they were dating?"

Billy snorts a second time, outright laughing now and leaning back in his chair. "Because I knew you'd act like this! Tell me the truth — you're already considering arresting my son, aren't you?"

"Of course not," Charlie insists, but Leah thinks he might be lying and drops her head to hide a smile behind her textbooks, remembering his awkward questions when she had visited him last. He had asked if Embry or Quil had been her boyfriend.

"Liar," her Chief accuses.

"Harry would kick his ass, though." Charlie looks at her, squaring his shoulders like he's about to march into battle. "You want me to kick his ass, kiddo?"

It's sort of heart-warming, really. She has a fleeting sort of urge to hug the man and thank him. God knows that she yearns for her dad's reaction to all of this.

"No," she says, not bothering to hide her grin now. "But thanks. I'll let you know."

"Well, make sure you do," he grumbles. "I suppose Sue knows about . . ." He gestures with jerky movements between the hallway and where Leah is still standing like a deer in the headlights with her books to her chest.

"Threatened him, didn't she, honey?" Billy is still chuckling between them. "Jake was looking mighty pale by the time I got there for dinner."

"Something along the lines of, 'If you hurt her, I'll let her kill you first, then I'll make sure you're really dead'," Leah says with a nod.

Charlie looks both pleased and impressed. Then, hesitantly, he asks, "Does Bells know?"

"I don't think so," Leah replies carefully, risking a glance at Billy. They're all out of guesses as to why the bloodsucker is still keeping the imprint a secret. Nobody can figure it out. "Don't tell her, okay? I think Jacob should tell him herself. You know, considering . . ."

"I didn't realise they were talking again."

Billy harrumphs loudly, pointedly, and Leah struggles to compose herself. "They're not," she says in the same careful tone. She doesn't think Charlie knows anything about what happened behind his house after Motorbikegate. "But it should still come from him."

It takes a few seconds, but eventually Charlie nods in defeat and pats her shoulder. "You're a good kid."

"Maybe Jake can go over today," Leah suggests, though it's only for show. Jacob has the whole day off and she has no intentions to share him, especially not if he had a bad night on patrol. She has barely spent any time with him this week, not on their own. "We'll see."

"She's not home. She's in Florida to visit her mom with — with Edwin," Charlie says unhappily, scowling again. "They're not coming back until much later tonight."

"Edward."

"That's what I said."

"Maybe they've eloped," Leah teases.

Charlie holds up a finger, briefly closing his eyes and shaking his head. "Don't . . . Don't even go there."

"Bet you called Renee the second they landed though, just to make sure," says Billy, grinning with the same type of wickedness that's still on Leah's face.

"I hate you," replies Charlie. He waves a hand. "Come on. Let's go fishing so I can drown you. We're already late for our spot, and I want to be home when my girl arrives."

"Jake has some sandbags in the garage," Leah says cheerfully as she sets her books on the kitchen table and opens the fridge, making a beeline for the juice, hovering in front of the cool air for a second longer to cool her still-flushed face. "You could tie them to the wheelchair. He'd sink right under."

"You, I like," Charlie says over the sound of Billy's outrage.

"Whose side are you on here, exactly!"

Leah simply grins and drinks the juice straight from the carton, unapologetic and pleased with herself, wholly at home.

It's always best to keep them on their toes. She does the same with Embry and Quil.

Ten minutes later, she is waving them off from the doorstep like she used to with the twins when they were kids. Billy is in the passenger seat, still pouting, and Charlie is laughing.

When the cruiser has disappeared, Leah shuts the door, dry-eyed and smiling. She feels less sad than she thought she would have, being around her dad's best friends again without him there too. Knowing that he would never be there again. But it hadn't been as painful of a reminder as she'd feared.

She makes herself some toast and opens her books, and she only manages half an hour of fighting her way through molecular models for her AP Chemistry class before Jacob appears, his expression sleepy and his hair looking worse than it did when she left him.

It's been an experience to learn that whilst she is a morning person, he is not.

Leah doesn't look up from her notepad as he grumbles his way over to the table, his eyes barely open and his nose scrunched up unhappily, and she makes a show of turning a page as he bends over the back of her chair and buries his face in her neck.

"S'too early for studying."

He's not wrong, but she needs to spend every minute catching up on a month and a half of missed school that she can. She'll earn a GPA she can be proud of even if it kills her. "Someone's got to earn the big bucks so you can be a kept woman," she tells him with a small hum over her pen scratching against paper.

Jacob leans further into her, swaying on his feet, and mumbles something that she thinks translates to something along the lines of 'live in the woods'.

She feels a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "And what would we eat?"

"I'll hunt."

"Game? Firstly, yuck. Secondly, we'd get rabies. I think I'll pass."

"S'fine if you cook it."

"Big strong man, protect woman, make fire," she grunts, deepening her voice. But she's still smiling.

Jacob winds his arms around her and plucks the pen from her hand. He throws it across the room, all the way to the opposite wall where it lands by the loveseat.

"No studying," he grunts right back at her in the same voice she used. "Bed."

Leah pulls away and turns her head to meet his look with one of her own. "Oh no," she drawls, voice flat. "I'll never graduate without a pen."

"It's Sunday. No studying," he repeats, and then he scoops her up from the chair and carries her back to bed.

➰

(Jacob)

When he opens his eyes again to early afternoon light streaming through the window, he is laying on his stomach between Leah's thighs, his head in her lap and legs hanging off the mattress, and he has the vague notion that she is using his back as a desktop.

"I'm not studying," she proclaims innocently as soon as she feels him stir. "I'm reading."

"'The Crucible' again?" he guesses.

Her silence is answer enough, and he huffs with amusement into the fabric of her sweats. "You have another test on it, don't you."

"Maybe. Or maybe I just like this play."

He chuckles again, stretching out and shifting onto his side, ignoring Leah when she tuts in reproach and has to readjust her book on his shoulder.

"You like that play because you call that woman — what's her name, you think she's Emily incarnate," he says when he's comfortable again. What he doesn't say is that he accidentally thought of this whilst he was on patrol the same day that Leah came to this conclusion of hers, and the guys all heard it.

Paul and Embry laughed. Sam and Jared did not.

Leah turns a page. He can't see her expression, but he imagines her pouting and lifting her chin in defiance.

"She's called Abigail."

Jacob snorts, circling one of his arms around her waist to pull them closer together. He lives for days like this. "Whatever. It's a crap name for a villain."

"She's more than that — she's a homewrecker. Plus she sends a bunch of people to their deaths. And she drinks blood to try and kill her lover's wife," Leah says in her usual haughty way, sniffy and deprecating. "She's a total witch."

"Sounds like she's a vampire to me."

Leah swats him half-heartedly, though he'd bet her eyes never leave the page she's on. "Smartass," she mutters, flicking his ear when he only laughs at her. "Go and have a shower. You're filthy, and you smell."

He presses his face into her stomach. "Don't care. Keep reading about your vampires; I'll just be here, wasting away."

She sighs, finally relenting and putting the damned book down. He hears it drop onto the table, and then a second later feels one of her hands drifting over his scalp, running through his hair, lower and lower until her warm fingers are brushing the back of his neck. "Are you happy now?"

He truly is.

Feeling a slight triumphant, Jacob flips back onto his stomach and wraps his other arm soundly around her middle, fingers locking at her back. He keeps his face buried if only so that he can disguise the hum of pure pleasure bubbling in his throat. He could drown in her scent.

"What time did you get in?" she asks quietly after a while, breaking their comfortable silence. "I waited up for you."

"Late," he mumbles. He is too relaxed with her fingers in his hair to be talking about anything relating to the bloodsuckers, the redhead, and the showdown they all had last night. He'd meant to finish patrol with Embry and Quil not long after midnight, but Sam had kept them running until the darkest hours were over, too suspicious and superstitious and everything in between to let anyone go. They had marked all their usual patrol routes thrice over and dug two new whole trails before he declared the Rez safe.

"What happened? Not . . . Someone didn't phase, did they?"

"No." Worse, he wants to say, but he's not going to worry her any more than he has to. He's already debated not telling her about the redhead, if only because he knows how she's going to react, but if doesn't tell her then someone else will. Probably Embry.

Embry absolutely loves having a sister to complete the set of siblings he has amassed in the Pack. Jacob privately thinks it's because he grew up an only child who still shoulders the responsibility of looking after his single mom, because Embry seems to have appointed himself Leah's advocate in everything. He gives her whatever she wants, whenever she wants. And in spite of that, because of that, he's just about the only person in the world (other than Quil) who Jacob and Seth can unanimously agree upon trusting to keep her safe.

Leah's heart thuds with anxiety, her blood pulsing loudly underneath his ear. "What, then?"

"The redhead came back," Jacob tells her, because he has just about as much restraint as Embry and has kept enough secrets from her to last him a lifetime. Not telling her about the imprint taught him that.

His bedroom goes deathly quiet save for shallow breaths for several long seconds, and he feels her get a fraction tenser with every breath, her fingers stilling in their tracks within his hair.

And then—

"That bastard," she hisses, hands dropping as she shifts and sits upright against the headboard. "That's why they skipped town. What a fucking coward!"

Jacob lifts his head to look up at her. "You've lost me."

"What happened?" she demands with new fervour. "Did you get her?"

With a sigh, he pulls himself up and tells her about the chase, about Paul and Emmett's near fight and Jasper putting that dampener on the Pack. She looks as murderous as they all felt last night, her furious disapproval rolling off her in waves, but he hazards a guess that it's mostly because Seth had been dragged into the whole mess.

"But they were waiting — they were expecting her, weren't they? Because of the psychic."

"Kind of the whole reason we lost her, yeah. If that big one hadn't made the breach and gotten into it with Paul, we might've stood a chance. It was hard enough without having Bella's bloodsucker there to translate — Sam had to phase and do it face to face. Wasted so much time."

Leah smirks. "Did you just admit to Edward being useful?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," he grunts.

"He's in Florida," she says when she recovers after a loud snort of laughter, crossing her legs on the mattress and leaning back. "That's why he wasn't there. Took right off with Bella the first chance he got, I bet."

"How d'you know that?"

"Charlie. I saw him this morning."

Jacob frowns. It was barely dawn when he'd found her in the kitchen. "But they leave at like . . . Did you even sleep?"

"He said Bella was going to visit her mom — at least, that's what he thinks is happening," Leah carries on, skirting around the question, ignoring the deploring look he sends her way. She knows how he feels about her overworking herself for something that's already in the bag — it is as far as he's concerned, anyway. She was absent six weeks, not six months, and if she carries on the way that she's going then she'll likely be dragging herself across the stage like a zombie to get her diploma. Or worse, she'll miss her graduation ceremony because she's too exhausted and has slept through the whole thing.

"Edward went with her," she continues. "They're coming back tonight. Apparently."

His stomach sinks at the tone of her voice, both sceptic and suggestive. "You don't think . . . ?"

Leah shrugs. "It's a good excuse, isn't it? Maybe she got bored waiting for graduation. Wouldn't put it past them to fake a plane crash, or something. Especially if Victoria has come back. They wouldn't have to protect her if she becomes one of them. You wouldn't have to protect her," she says, scowling.

He shakes his head, more because he doesn't want to believe it than because he disagrees. "That'd break the treaty. It'll mean . . ."

"War," Leah finishes for him, pursing her lips unhappily. "But they broke it last night already. They might have already. It's not like the treaty has a geographical limitation, does it? I thought it just applied to them, not where they break it."

"No, you're right," he assures her. "I just don't . . . I don't think they'll risk that. Not yet. When I spoke to them, I got the feeling Bella had some sort of plan. Maybe I was wrong, I don't know. It's a bit sudden."

Leah hums noncommittally, but he knows she doesn't believe him. They lapse into a brief moment of thoughtful silence.

He's going to have to go and check. For his own peace of mind. And . . . and if Bella doesn't have red eyes, if her heart is still beating, then Sam will have to decide what he's going to do about last night's breach. What he's going to do when her eyes finally do turn red and their numbers get even closer to being even on both sides. Jacob doesn't imagine that they'll be hanging around for too long once the change is made and they're holding a fake funeral.

If there'll even be a funeral.

"You saw Charlie?" he asks finally, pushing away thoughts about the man standing over a closed casket.

She nods, and he looks at his favourite NASCAR t-shirt and the grey sweats she's wearing. "Dressed like that? Coming out of my room?"

"It wasn't the highlight of my morning, if that's what you're asking," Leah replies a little dryly. "He was very put out that nobody had deigned to tell him his two best friend's kids are dating and having sleepovers."

"Oh. Awkward."

She huffs a laugh. "Tell me about it."

"What did you say to him?"

"Nothing, really. Your dad fuelled the fire more than anything else, so there were a few questions about eloping and pregnancy," she tells him, as if that's a completely reasonable assumption to have been made. Jacob's stomach gives a tiny flip at the thought of such things. "I suppose he'll have Charlie thinking we're having an arranged marriage and that Mom's been given a huge dowry for her only daughter by the time they're done fishing. Your dad is a menace."

"He thinks he's funny, at least."

Leah scoffs. "He'd be better off just telling Charlie about the imprint — it'd seem less outlandish, compared to all that."

"If he finds out about that, then you might as well tell him about the bloodsuckers he welcomes into his house."

"Don't forget the wolves," Leah adds.

"That's different, honey. He likes us."

"Me, not you. He offered to kick your ass for me. It was kind of sweet, actually." Leah smiles, pleased, laughing when he adopts a look of being offended. "Don't worry," she tells him, "I convinced him that there was no need. Told him not to say anything to Bella, either."

"You know that I don't care if he does."

"I know. But if she starts up the phone calls again, then Billy might have the service disconnected and then you won't be able to order pizza," she says teasingly.

"Fair point." Bella stopped calling after he returned her motorbike. Jacob hasn't seen or heard from her since. "What would I do without you?"

"Wither and die?" she suggests amicably. "Cry into your pillow? Live in the woods?"

"Hey, I still think that's a good idea. We could build a treehouse."

As if in answer, Leah reaches for 'The Crucible' on the bedside table and gives him a knowing look. "Sounds like a plan for you dirty drop outs, not me," she says, settling back in.

She kicks him out of the bed and into the shower a few minutes later. He maintains that living in the woods is a valid option if she decides to flunk high school along with the rest of the Pack, but Leah simply turns a page of her book and chooses to ignore him. So he stands in the tub and sings 'Dirty School Dropout' to the tune from that seventies musical his sisters used to love at the top of his lungs, over and over and over.

That is, until, he hears his imprint go into the kitchen where she turns the tap on, and his shower suddenly turns stone cold.

He sings louder.

Chapter Text

(Leah)

Sitting through yet another week of school whilst Jacob runs around after vampires who would quite happily kill him — or rather, stand on the side-lines and watch him die in their place — proves to be a whole new kind of torture for Leah. Especially now that Sam has started to ramp up patrols again, what with the redheaded leech being back and all. As if Jacob's schedule isn't hectic enough already.

And it's only Monday morning.

By lunchtime, she feels like she's been at school for nineteen hours and has forty assignments in her rucksack, weighing it down and giving her sleepless nights already. It's no wonder that the boys have all dropped out when she herself can barely keep up. Not to mention that she's going to have to spend her lunch and free study period drafting out Seth's boring-as-shit freshman History essay instead of her own boring-as-shit senior English Literature essay, all because he was too busy risking life and limb instead of spending his weekend working on his assignments.

She refuses to complain. Refuses to give in, because she knows that the second her little brother catches wind of her frustration he will plead his case to join the Pack full-time again. It wouldn't matter if she were on the other side of the world and so much as scowled at her textbooks, he'd call her out on it — he's been listening out for the signs, watching and waiting, all for a reason to argue. Just as he has been nearly every day since she made the decision that they were both going to graduate.

So if she has to do his assignments for him to make that happen, then so be it. She might not have control over Sam needing all hands on deck, she might not be able to stop him from breaking his promise to keep Seth at home studying, but she does have control over this.

The school library is tiny, just like the school itself, but Leah spreads her bag and books out over a whole table they're usually meant to share between three or four students, and she settles in for the next two hours. She gets a few looks — including a particularly stern glare from Mrs Irving, the school's librarian, especially when she breaks out her sandwiches and threatens to leave crumbs everywhere — but Leah feigns ignorance and starts penning an introduction for Seth's essay on Steinbeck's use of nonfiction sources in 'The Grapes of Wrath' . . .

It's riveting stuff.

Not.

Honestly, it's so boring that she'd rather be sitting in a lecture for one of her crappy electives — electives she is only taking to boost her GPA, otherwise she'd drop the extra workload in a heartbeat. She'd only signed up for them in the first place because she had been planning to follow Rachel and Sam to college and she needed the extra credit. Now she needs them to simply graduate.

By the time she finishes eating her lunch, she has already stifled a hundred yawns or so when someone approaches the table and pulls out the free chair that is closest to her.

Leah doesn't have to look up from the page she is reading — and loosely plagiarising from — to know who it is.

"That's taken," she says, blinking away tears of exhaustion.

"Oh," comes the timid voice she has been expecting. "Are you saving it for Seth? I can sit on one of the other ones."

Leah keeps both her pen and her eyes on paper. "Don't you have friends your own age, Kim?" she asks with a weary sigh.

She doesn't mean to be rude. Well, she does. But Kim Connweller is barely a year older than Seth, is in a committed life-long relationship and doing the dirty already, which is nine kinds of weird (even without factoring in the supernatural secrets), meaning that Leah has about as much in common with her as she does Bella Swan.

Which is to say, not much at all. Nothing. Zilch. Squat.

Except for one thing. And apparently that one thing is why the other girl has made it a life mission to become friends with Leah by seeking her out — and following her around — ever since she returned to school. Mostly it happens every lunch period, almost as if Kim thinks that the girls are bound like the boys are bound.

Leah remembers telling Embry that she didn't think she was going to like Kim very much.

She was right.

(It's not a 'girl thing' — it's a 'people thing'. Leah can count her friends on one hand; she knows who she can trust, who she can rely on, and who she can't. Unfortunately for Kim, she just isn't one of those people. Pack or not.)

"What are you working on?" the girl asks instead.

"The Dust Bowl." Leah blinks, hard, trying to clear her vision. Her handwriting is getting sloppier and sloppier with every sentence. "I think. It's Seth's."

"I did that last year," Kim replies, and she makes it sound like an offer.

But Leah is nothing if not stubborn. "I'm sure you're busy enough as it is."

Of all the Pack, Jared is the only one who is keeping up with his schoolwork, and that's purely because Kim gives him all her notes and turns in his assignments. In fact, Leah is pretty sure that Kim actually does all his homework for him and just signs it off with his name.

Much like she's doing for Seth.

Kim doesn't move, her hand still on the back of the chair. "Steinbeck, right?"

Leah finally looks up at her. It's a face she knows well, even without being followed around and the whole creepy sister-imprint thing Sam tries to encourage, because everyone knows everyone on the Reservation; there's less than a hundred kids enrolled in their school, from kindergarten all the way to twelfth grade. Of that, only eight are seniors. There's about thirteen kids in Seth's grade, seven kids in the grade below that. Twelve in the junior class — eleven, without Paul. There are far, far less sophomores, of course, their number of five seeming rather pitiful with Jared, Embry, Quil and Jacob being absent. It's probably why Kim feels so lonely, being in an empty classroom like that.

Leah heaves another great sigh and pushes the barely-written essay across the table. Call it her one charitable act for the month. For the year.

Humming with something that sounds suspiciously like victory and satisfaction and pure pleasure all mixed together as she pulls out the chair, Kim's tight-lipped smile over her broad, pretty features suggests she's otherwise trying to reign in the triumph she so obviously feels.

She perches on the edge of her newly claimed seat with a straight back, looking ready for business, grasping the essay between both hands. She looks entirely too pleased with herself, Leah thinks.

"What's the question?"

"Non-fiction sources, something something," she mumbles back, her head getting lower and lower until she's resting it on her forearm and closing her eyes. She blindly offers up the pen with her other hand which is instantly plucked from her fingers. "Don't make it too fancy; he's missed half a semester, remember."

She doesn't receive a reply, so she cracks one bleary eye open and says in her best severe tone, "This doesn't make us friends."

"What about study partners?" the girl asks quietly, a fierce blush blooming.

"I guess," she says grudgingly. "I mean, if you have to put a label on it, sure."

The younger girl giggles, wholly awkward and a little bit too loud for the librarian's liking. She is promptly hushed, and Leah thanks her stars for it . . .

. . . until a few minutes later when, after the coast is clear, Kim drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Jared said you were funny."

Teetering on the edge of the best power nap she's ever had during school hours, Leah finds she doesn't particularly want to listen to any imprint-induced swooning and cusses something slightly unfavourable towards Jared underneath her breath.

Thankfully Kim doesn't hear a thing. She stays where she is, working dutifully on Seth's History paper until the period bell rings again.

➰

When school finally, finally lets out for the day, Leah meets her brother as usual in front of the main building and tries to plaster a smile on her face in spite of the frown on his.

"Come on, kid," she says cheerfully, reaching up (and up) to ruffle his chopped hair. She has to jump a little; he is six-two at fourteen-years-old thanks to his lupine genes and is growing more with every day that passes, she is sure of it. "Only four more days to go 'til the weekend."

Seth takes her backpack and slings it over his free shoulder, his own bag hanging lowly off the other one. He doesn't seem to notice the weight. "If I have to sit through another double period of History, I think I'm going to explode," he grumbles, moody. "Literally."

"Good thing your essay is done, then," she replies, nodding to her pack.

"Already? Wow. Thanks."

"Don't thank me. Kim did it."

"Kim?" he asks, more disbelieving than anything else. He knows more than most people that Leah has been avoiding the girl and their traitor cousin for a reason, although Leah would bet that he doesn't really view Emily as a traitor anymore; he spends as much time at her house on the edge of the Rez than he does at home, even if he hasn't dared to say as much in fear of upsetting the balance they all seem to have found.

Leah shakes her head. "Don't ask."

"Right," Seth says slowly. "Well, anyway, now we have to do this project on it too. Group project. And they're just all . . ." He trails off, familiar anger brewing behind his eyes as he begins the walk off school premises.

She has to hurry to keep up with his long legs. It's still disconcerting that her baby brother has such an advantage over her when less than a year ago she could pat him on the head without straining.

"You're not going to explode," she says, as gentle as she is confident. "You wouldn't be back in school if anyone thought that. Your control is almost as good as Jake's."

Usually, Seth preens under such praise. Especially when he's compared to his hero. But not today. "I don't know, Lee. I nearly flipped this afternoon. Over nothing. Had to ask for a hall pass so I could pretend to go to the bathroom and cool off."

"If it makes you feel any better," she offers lightly, not knowing what else she can give him other than sarcastic retorts and grumblings of her own (after all it is her fault that he's having such a hard time), "I think Kim is my new best friend. On the plus side, she'll probably do all your homework if I ask her to, so you don't have to worry about that."

Seth levels an unimpressed look down at her which she meets with a comical one of her own. "At least you have someone to talk to. I'm finding it kind of hard to stay friends with anyone in my class, you know, considering they've never tried to kill a vampire or regularly turn into an animal, or anything. Kind of hard to relate."

Leah's smile is the most genuine it's been all day. Let it never be said that she's not taught her brother dry humour. "I'm so proud of you, kid. Really."

Her brother snorts with a shake of his head, but at least he's finally smiling, too, his anger having fractured enough that she knows he'll be calm by the time they get home. He probably just needs to eat.

"Yeah, well. Whatever." He scratches the back of his neck self-consciously. "I know you'd kick my ass if I quit—"

A sudden roar of an engine from across the tiny parking lot of their tiny school has their heads snapping away from each other, and Leah's smile reforms bigger than before.

Jacob.

He's in a black tee and jeans that are smeared with grease. He's even wearing his combat boots, and Leah thinks it's the first time she's seen him with shoes on his feet and more than a simple pair of battered cut-offs covering his ass for weeks.

She hurries over with a speed she would usually mock other people running to their boyfriends for, Seth now the one who is hot on her heels instead, except he doesn't have such a hard time trying to keep up with his stupidly long legs.

"Hey man," he says for them both. He is either oblivious or politely ignoring the way Leah has all but thrown herself into Jacob's arms. "What's up?"

"I gotta go do something," Jake says by way of a reply, looking at her only. Like he is regarding her carefully as if to judge her reaction. Seth might as well not be present; they are both unaware of him and the stares of their passing classmates. If anybody didn't know that she was dating Jacob Black, they certainly do now. "And you're not going to like it."

Leah raises a brow and pulls back just enough to be able to take in his whole face. She only saw him last night, but it feels like far longer. "You need me to talk you out of it?"

"No," he says, decisive but soft. Grateful, even, that she asked. "Just wanted to let you know."

"Is it something dangerous?"

"Maybe," he says slowly, unsure whether to give her the whole truth. Which, in Leah's book, means that yes, it is. Dangerous enough that he had the forethought to check in with her first in case something goes a little bit — or a lot — wrong.

She nods, pouting slightly as she pretends to weigh her options.

Then—

"Okay," she says after a moment with a tiny shrug. "Sounds fun. When are we leaving?"

Jacob's sunny grin appears so fast that it threatens to split his face right in two. Leah repays it in kind without a thought.

"I was hoping you were going to say that." He jerks his head, beckoning her to join him in his apparent recklessness, buoyed by her quick answer. "Hop on."

There's not a single second of hesitation before she twists out of his hold and leaps onto the back of the polished motorbike. She throws both her hair over her shoulder and a look at her little brother that she hopes appears somewhat remorseful, despite the fact that she feels nothing of the sort.

"Sorry, kid. Duty calls." She knows she doesn't sound it either, unable to stop beaming in spite of the very real possibility that she is about to head to her death. She can never be certain, hanging around the Pack.

That, and she has never been on the back of Jake's motorbike before. Hell, she's never been on the back of any motorbike before, and the reminder of this has her wrapping her arms soundly around Jake's waist. Her dad would kill her. Her mom probably will, when Seth spills the beans.

"What do you mean, duty — wait, no, hey, that's not fair!" he protests loudly, but his voice is drowned out by the sound of the engine being revved.

"Tell Mom I'll be late!" she calls over her shoulder as Jacob peels out of the lot and down the lane at a less than legal speed limit, the wheels of the bike kicking up dirt and dust as they go.

Chapter Text

(Leah)

It's not until they reach the Welcome to Forks sign that Leah realises she has forgotten to warn Jake there is absolutely no way she can be allowed to die before she sits her finals.

She shouts this much to him over the roaring winds sailing past their ears, the bike racing down Highway 101 at stomach-churning speeds underneath them, but he only tips his head back to laugh at her.

She screams at him to keep his eyes on the road, then — he can kill her after she graduates — but he only laughs harder, practically euphoric.

Left with no choice but to press her face between his shoulder blades and squeezes her eyes shut, Leah wishes and waits for it to be over already. Her poor old dad was never prone to grounding her, always preferring to let her mom play bad cop, but even he would have put her on house arrest for the rest of her life if he knew she was speeding down a highway without so much as a helmet on, let alone for actually getting on a motorbike.

Eventually, she feels the bike start to slow underneath her, and she lifts her head to find them turning into the parking lot of Forks High.

Of course.

She had thought he might be up to something like this — especially after their conversation yesterday. And now Jacob, in all of his worldly wisdom, apparently believes that it's a perfect opportunity to check Charlie is telling the truth.

To check that Bella is still human.

And to do something maybe-dangerous. Something that he thinks she's not going to like.

Jacob parks illegally on the sidewalk, bike askew the pavement cracks, and he makes a big show of kicking down the stand and cutting the engine before leaping off the bike in one fluid movement. Just because he can.

"Show off," Leah mutters, stretching one foot to the ground to cautiously test her balance before she dismounts. Her legs are like jelly.

He just laughs at her again, louder than before, and reaches out for her. He tips her head back, his warm hands on either side of her cheeks, and his infectious happiness is the last thing she sees before his mouth slants over hers, staking his claim in front of the student body who are making their way home.

Just because he can.

Leah never used to be one for such public displays of affection, but spending time with Jake and certain members of the Pack has meant that she's had to have a crash course. The wolves are always touching — hugging, roughhousing, leaning on each other, as if the physical contact is another one of their silent languages she cannot hear. As if touching is as essential for them to live as it is to breathe.

It's no different between her and Jacob. She cannot remember a single day in the last month where she has gone without being hugged or kissed or held, each day bookended by the most casual of affections.

So she gives into it; into him. She did a long time ago. She pulls on his shirt, anywhere she can reach, tugging him down to her level until his arms around her back are the only thing stopping her from falling backwards off the seat. She's distantly aware of someone whistling and jeering in their direction, but she's far too preoccupied to pay them any attention.

When Jacob finally breaks away, minutes or hours later, his grin is brighter than the afternoon sun. She feels a little giddy, high and breathless and dizzy with it. Maybe she's more like Kim than she thought, damn her.

"What was that for?"

He peppers kisses over her cheeks, feather-light but equally disarming. "Do I need a reason?"

"You're making a point, aren't you?" she asks archly, trying her hardest to retain at least some decorum instead of letting the giggle in her throat break free. Still, her hand can't stop its way from finding the back of his neck and holding him in place.

"Maybe. Or maybe because you're sitting on a motorbike — my bike," he says. "You have no idea how unbelievably hot that is."

She scoffs at him, although she feels another degree of heat find its way into her already flaming cheeks and thinks that maybe . . . maybe she can learn to like the damn bike after all. She'd been stupid to think that he'd not realised it's the first time she's ridden it, because of course he has. It was probably the first thing he thought of.

"You are such a boy."

"And you are beautiful," he replies without missing a beat. "I'm debating whether or not I should do that again just so these hokwats know who you belong to. You know, just in case they work up the nerve to try and steal you."

Leah recovers just enough to level one of her infamous looks at him; the sort of look she's perfected from years of hawkish displeasure. "I wasn't aware that I belonged to anybody," she retorts, hoping to high heaven that she looks more unimpressed about this than she secretly feels. She has her pride to save — especially in front of any onlookers.

Jacob puts on a frown, a mixture of thoughtfulness and feigned concern on his sharply defined features. "I should fix that," he says, and he swoops down to meet her mouth again.

"Did you know this is only the second time we've been off the Rez together since you decided that I belong to you?" she asks when he eventually releases her, their faces flushed and lips slightly swollen. Despite the cool weather, she is much too warm underneath her parka.

He beams down at her as he leans against the bike, studiously ignoring the high schoolers who by now are most definitely gawking in their direction. "I could think of nicer things to do for a second date."

"Instead you've brought me to hell on Earth. I am so lucky," she says dryly. "I'd ask what we're about to do, but I'm not all too sure I want to know in case I get locked up for aiding and abetting. Or affray, perhaps."

"We," he says, with dramatics to rival hers, "are here to deliver a warning."

"I thought you just wanted to check Bella was still human," she admits.

"That too. But Sam wants to issue them a formal warning for the other night, and he decided to send me."

Leah snorts. "You mean you volunteered, and he agreed."

"Well — yeah." Jacob avoids her eyes and runs a hand through his already wayward hair, looking like a kid who knows he's been caught doing something he knows he shouldn't be. "But I'm still a better option than Paul, so there's that."

"Paul offered too? I find that hard to believe."

"He thinks he's owed after the weekend," Jake says, and she shrugs as if to say, Fair enough. She can't really blame the guy for it; she still owes Edward one, too, after their last encounter. It's the only reason aside from being the only person who will be able to rein in Jake's inevitable temper that she's not asked him to take her home yet.

"We're all owed," she says, and she feels the hint of an inadvertent scowl beginning to form. "Maybe you should've brought Paul along, too."

"After what happened the last time he and Bella were within three feet of each other? No way, honey. He'd lose his head for sure."

"What happened?"

Jake clears his throat. "He, uh . . . He phased. Might've tried to kill Bella. Maybe."

Leah lifts her brow, silently prodding for more of that particular story.

"I forget the details," he says, waving his hand dismissively, and she emits another snort with a shake of her head in reply.

"It doesn't matter," he continues blithely. "Point is, after he tried to kill that big leech, Sam's not exactly confident that he won't try and do the same to Cullen. He's the one we need to talk to."

"Right. And killing him would be bad because . . . ?"

Jacob's chuckle is deep, and she feels herself warming under his gaze as he says, "Not even Paul could talk his way out of a murder charge, honey. Not with the whole of Forks High School as witnesses."

"So I'll give him an alibi," she replies seriously. "I don't even know what the point of having a treaty with them is if they're just going to break it and get away with it."

"The treaty protects human life," he replies, speaking as seriously as if he were reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.

"Forgive me. Of course, it doesn't have anything to do with protecting their lives." She theatrically throws her hand up to her head. "How silly of me. Because they're not afraid of you at all, are they? Like, seriously — a warning is all they get? They're going to do this again, but worse. You do know that, right? What's going to happen when they really piss all over it? A tap on the nose?"

Jacob smiles as she rants, but she has a feeling it's to indulge her more than anything else. He knows what her real worries are; he knows her better than anyone else in the world.

"I won't do this if you ask me not to," he tells her. "We can go — right now."

"I would never ask that of you," she says without hesitation. "Besides, I thought we were more of a 'seek forgiveness, not permission' kind of couple."

Jacob's face splits into a grin, as it does whenever she makes some cheesy self-referential comment like this. Words like relationship and dating; like girlfriend and boyfriend seem to buoy him, and she suspects it's because there's a silent suggestion of choice behind them. She quickly learned weeks ago that he needs to be reminded of stuff like that sometimes.

"We are that couple," he agrees. "But you can still ask."

"If I did, would you take us home?" she questions, and his responding silence makes her shake her head as she chuckles softly to herself. "I didn't think so. I just don't understand why you want to do this, that's all."

"You could probably order me to leave instead," he says thoughtfully, as if he's not heard her speak. "That might work."

Her answering snort is as mocking as she intends. "Whatever. Just . . . don't lose your temper, okay? Because I don't have an alibi for what happens after that."

Jacob is far too pleased with himself to show any sign of worry. "I'm sure you'll stop me if it gets out of hand. That's why you're here, right? My protector."

"What about when Bella tries to scratch my eyes out when she realises I've seduced her only friend?"

He laughs as he smooths down her windswept hair that has escaped from its ponytail. "Then I'll stop you if it gets too out of hand."

Leah grins up at him, sweet and innocent. He knows her too well. "I'd only be defending myself."

"Still, I think Charlie would be really upset if he had to arrest you for assaulting his kid."

"He'd let me off," she says confidently, folding her arms, and another laugh escapes from Jake, booming across the parking lot as if he just can't help himself.

They don't have to wait too much longer before Jacob senses something, his nose wrinkling, and he immediately inches himself closer towards where she is still sitting upon the bike. The happy and carefree expression on his face disappears, as if it had never been there at all.

Leah glances at the crowd of pale faces who are giving them an obvious wide berth, her eyes searching for a familiar slab of glimmering marble, and she wonders why exactly Jake and Sam thought doing this in front of witnesses was a good idea. She remembers what happened the last time she was near a vampire — near Edward — and how Embry and Quil had reacted; Quil's primal defence is quick to spring to mind. Her two friends had been as quick to defend and protect her as they were to anger — and they hadn't even imprinted on her.

"No fighting," she murmurs, just audibly enough for Jacob's keen ears to hear.

His arms tightening is the only response he gives before he turns unnaturally still, his muscled arms straining against his black tee, his face a mask of deceptive calm. Leah's not even sure that he's breathing.

The wide berth the passing crowd have been giving them noticeably widens, although their eyes rarely linger on Jacob long for more than a second. When they catch Leah's gaze, however, she holds their eyes until they turn away again, cowed. The look on her face is not welcoming, not pleasant. It's not as frightening as Jacob's, but unnerving all the same, if their reactions are to be considered.

Good. Serves them right for gawking.

By the time she's stared down each and every one of them, she notices Edward and Bella hand-in-hand, making a beeline straight towards the bike. He looks murderous; she looks . . . whatever it is, Leah can't tell — only that whatever emotion is on the girl's face has something to do with seeing Jacob, staring at him as openly as she is.

The intensely fierce and possessive side of the imprint grabs Leah in a chokehold, and she follows Jacob into that chilling calm.

The whispers of the student body seem to get louder as Edward and Bella approach. Some kids even hang back, hardly subtle about their excitement for a confrontation, and they gather in threes, fours, fives around their cars and their push bikes. Watching. Waiting.

Leah thinks they are holding their breath, too, when Edward finally comes to a stop a couple of feet in front of her and Jacob. He angles Bella behind him, safely concealed, his stone face as impassive as Jacob's.

"You could have called us," he says, his voice laced with barely controlled fury that threatens to splinter the air around them.

"Sorry," Jacob bites back, just as hard and equally irate. His arms flex across his chest. "We don't have any leeches on our speed dial."

"You could have reached me at Bella's house, of course."

"Who would we have asked Charlie for?" Leah butts in, her mouth leaping before her brain. "What was it he called you yesterday . . . Edwin, I think?"

The vampire cuts a glare in her direction, his eyes darkening when she swings her leg over the bike and stands to her full height, lifting her chin and glaring just as fiercely.

"This is hardly the place," he says tightly, undoubtedly thinking back to their last meeting. It's all she's thinking about, and she owes him for using his abominable abilities against her. "Could we discuss this later?"

"Sure, sure. We'll stop by your crypt after school," Jacob says, sniggering at his own joke, and Leah has to bite back a groan. "What's wrong with now?"

Edward's eyes flit to the growing crowd around them on the sidewalk, and Bella anxiously follows his line of sight — as if they're both waiting to be caught; almost as if they expect for their secrets to be laid out like dominoes in the Forks High parking lot.

The leech lowers his voice. "I already know what you came to say. Message delivered."

Bella finally finds her voice. "Warned?" she asks, trying to step around her leech and face them fully. A colourless hand is still restraining her, and so she has to lean forward, head swivelling between Jacob and her leech. "What are you talking about?"

"You didn't tell her?" Jacob asks, eyes like saucers. "What, were you afraid she'd take our side?"

"Or afraid she'd realise his perfect family are using ours as bait," Leah mutters underneath her breath, although she knows both Jacob and Edward hear her as well as they would have if she'd spoken clearly.

Edward's growl is like low, distant rolling thunder. "My family are as committed to finding Victoria as you are."

"Yeah, at the expense of mine," Leah snaps back hotly, stepping forward.

Jake puts a gentle hand on her elbow to stop her from tearing into Cullen using nothing but her mortal strength. She doesn't shake him off, and he doesn't pull her back. He knows. He understands.

"I'd advise you to stop — before you say something you will truly regret. There are people listening," Edward warns quietly, forcing his voice into even tones despite his evident desire to rip both her and Jacob apart.

Jacob's chest rumbles with the insult, taking deep offence to the veiled threat, whilst Leah simply smirks, taunting Cullen. Daring him. She may not be a wolf, may not have their strength, but she is not afraid.

With Jacob flanking her, she feels no terror.

➰

(Jacob)

Forget battle — Jacob is ready to wage war with the way Cullen is eyeing Leah. The bloodsucker has no reason to hate her as much as she hates him — as much as Jacob hates him — but Edward holds her expression with evident distaste, undoubtedly rooting through her head.

Her own glare is reflected in his, and Jacob wonders what it is she is silently screaming at Cullen, what she is yelling at him that nobody else can hear. Jacob swears that he sees the bloodsucker's eye twitch, a dead muscle in his jaw ticking with effort to keep himself from snarling back at her.

Jake's never seen anyone get a rise out of Bella's leech like that before — not like he seems to, anyway. He's proud of her, but that doesn't stop him from growling under his breath in warning.

Edward is the first to look away. He winds his arm around Bella, urging her on, and Jacob feels Leah's triumph as if it is his own.

"Come on. Let's get you back to Charlie's."

Charlie's. As if her home is now elsewhere, and not with the father who will grieve her when she dies.

With Leah's blood boiling still underneath his touch, his own heart pounding the same wild rhythm, Jacob's other hand flies out, blocking the vampire from going anywhere.

"No, hang on. We're not finished here."

"Drop it, Jacob. Both of you. Consider us warned, and allow us to be on our way."

"Why?" Jacob challenges, his hand an inch from the bloodsucker's chest. It gives him untold satisfaction that he stands nearly a whole head taller than his enemy, that he has this advantage over him. "You clearly haven't told her, and she deserves to know why you whisked her away."

"What don't I know?" Bella demands. "Edward?"

"Your stalker came back," says Leah, and to her credit she doesn't flinch when Edward's head snaps in her direction, his teeth bared, or when Jacob's hand trails up from her elbow to her shoulder, ready to yank her back. "She came back, and his . . . family broke the treaty. Twice, as far as I'm concerned—"

"Once," Edward hisses. "There is nothing that states using our abilities will be considered as an infraction."

"There should be," Leah shoots back, standing tall and proud. "You've no right to be pilfering through our heads or changing our emotions, let alone crossing into territory that doesn't belong to you!"

"It was no-man's land!" Edward argues.

"Except you weren't there, were you? You don't know."

"And you do? You're just an—"

"They're my family! Don't talk to me about what I do or don't know when you have no idea what that word means!"

So heated are they in their exchange that even Edward barely notices Bella on the verge of a panic attack, and it's only when Jacob thinks that she's about to fall to her feet that the bloodsucker snaps out of it. He holds her, petting her like a wounded, frightened animal. The voice he uses to speak to her is no different.

"She came back for me," Bella says through quick, gasping breaths, hand on her chest. Better than an arm around her waist, holding herself together, Jacob thinks. "She came back for me, and you made me use those tickets—"

"It's fine. I'll never let her get close to you, it's fine," Edward whispers, stroking her face.

The whole thing makes Jacob sick, and he turns his head away from the scene in his disgust. It almost startles him when he sees the crowd of students and remembers where they all are, and he vaguely wonders what this looks like to them. There are too many whispers coming from them to be able to pick their words out, almost like the buzzing in his head when the Pack are all together and talking over one another.

Leah reaches up to place her hands over his that are resting upon her shoulders still, soothing him as much as she seeks the same comfort herself. She follows his line of sight, and Jacob doesn't think it's his imagination when fifty pairs of eyes immediately look away again. Leah is her own force of nature.

"Does this answer your question?" Edward demands.

Their heads snap back around from the school body at the same time, but it is Leah who is the first to say, "It's her life."

"Why should she be frightened when she was never in danger?"

"I'd wager she'd rather be frightened than lied to. Maybe she wouldn't react like this if you'd told her what was really going on, but I'm guessing you really don't tell her anything, do you?" she asks scornfully. "You'd just rather smother her and let her keep you on that pedestal she's got you on. Heaven forbid she sees you for what you really are."

"There's a difference between hurting her and protecting her," Edward mutters, his entire attention still upon Bella as he continues to wipe her tears away, but it sounds like he's convincing himself more than anyone else.

"Your idea of protection is probably going to get her killed," Leah replies, turning away, "but what do I care? Come on, Jake."

"No, wait, I want to know," Bella mumbles, pulling away from her bloodsucker. She sniffs. "Edward, she's right. You don't have to keep things from me, and if Jacob's told her—"

"Hush, love, she's only trying to rile you. Just because Jacob's involved her in this doesn't mean he should extend you or the whole parking lot the same courtesy," Edward says, his melodic tones gentle and soothing, calming.

No. Not calming, Jacob thinks. Controlling. Controlling both Bella and the situation.

"Involved her . . . ?" Bella blinks and looks at Leah, practically gawking. "You're not part of the . . ." Her eyes dart sideways, gauging the distance between them and the ever-growing number of spectators. She drops her voice. ". . . part of the you-know-what?"

"She is," Jacob says automatically, an edge to the single word that he is powerless to stop flying out of his mouth.

"Oh."

This is the moment, Jacob thinks. This is the moment Bella finds out, and he doesn't care. He doesn't care why this needs to be kept a secret, because he still doesn't understand what is wrong with his former best friend knowing that Leah is his, and he is hers, and—

"Leave now," Edward tells them sharply before Jacob can so much as draw breath to say the words. He sounds more like a vampire and the boy he pretends to be; his true face exposed, and for the first time Jacob is permitted to see that the leech loathes him as much as he is loathed in return. For the first time, he looks like Jacob's true mortal enemy.

"No," Bella protests. "Stop it! I want him to tell me. And if he won't, then Leah—"

"He doesn't have the right, Bella. Neither of them do."

Jacob snorts his derision at the same time Leah does, and he feels another spark of pride about it as he winds his arm around her shoulders and begins to lead her back to the bike.

"Bella's a lot tougher than you think," he says as a parting gift to the bloodsucker. "Try it. You might be surprised."

The crowd around them begin to disperse disappointedly almost at the same time, seeing that there's no longer a chance of a fight. Or maybe that's because of the suited teacher who is barrelling down the concrete steps and heading their way, breaking up the groups as he goes, threatening detention to anyone who is caught lingering on school property after hours without authorisation.

"Come on, love," Edward says. "Let's get you back to Charlie's so the principal doesn't think you're involved."

"Overprotective, isn't he?" Jacob calls over his shoulder. "A little trouble makes life fun. But let me guess, you're not allowed to have fun, are you?"

"Shut up, Jake," Bella mumbles, cheeks colouring with mild irritation.

"That sounds like a no," Jacob laughs, pulling Leah closer. He knows that Bella can never be mad with him for long. He can only hope that she'll see reason and give her bloodsucker a good lecture on what is accepted now rather than six hundred years ago, or whenever Edward was born. Shit, Jacob would be pleased if Bella just gave herself a chance to just think on her own.

Leah hops back onto the bike first, and Jacob tucks a finger under her chin. And when she looks up at him, her eyes alight and smug satisfaction on her beautiful face, it takes most of the control he's learned in recent months to not descend on her mouth again and devour her.

"You," he says, kissing her on the cheek instead, "—are amazing. Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah." She flicks her ponytail over her shoulder, but he sees the undeniably pleased look of hers before he swings a leg over and settles in front of her. "Just get me out of here."

"You got it."

Jacob throws one last glance back at Bella as he kicks the engine to a start, and he thinks that she seems kind of . . . stunned, and he guesses maybe that it's because he's hit home: maybe she's remembering a time without Edward, with him, but her eyes flicker to Leah in confusion.

Confusion, then dawning realisation.

Jacob simply grins at her before he turns the bike around and races out of sight, tyres squealing behind him.

Chapter Text

(Jacob)

The following Saturday, Jacob is in the garage with Leah, Embry and Quil, all enjoying a rare day of being free from responsibility at the same time, when they hear the deafening roar of a familiar '53 Chevy truck chugging down the dirt road.

From where he is rolling back and forth over the concrete floor on the longboard (that he's supposed to be using to check out the Rabbit's exhaust), Quil's head snaps up, his brown eyes bulging disbelievingly out of their sockets. "That's not . . . ?"

"Yep," Jacob and Embry mutter together, exchanging a meaningful look over the head gasket.

"And I was having such a nice day, too," Embry adds quietly, borderline woeful.

Unable to help but agree, Jacob glances apprehensively at the hammock where Leah has so far spent the morning swinging leisurely whilst reading The Awakening. He is still unsure whether she's reading for her own enjoyment or because she's got another test coming up, but he doesn't dare ask — not when she has recently taken to handing her books to whoever is closest and demanding they quiz her. For someone who has turned his back on his education, he knows more about inorganic chemistry than he thinks anyone should.

He can't wait for the day Leah walks across the stage to get her diploma, if only because it means he can purge the information from his brain and she'll finally lose those dark circles underneath her eyes. Her time continues to be filled with going to school, reading, studying, barely sleeping. Her finals start soon, and her stress levels are at an all-time high. It's all Jacob can do to try and convince her to breathe, to slow down — it's not like she's going to be able to write about the primary interests of postmodern literary theory if she keeps falling asleep in the exam hall, is it?

Or something. God, he can't wait for graduation.

Just as he's about to look away, Leah stretches her arm over the side of the hammock and clicks her fingers. "Pay up, loser."

Embry's hands freeze above the Rabbit's engine, evidently having just realised that he's about to be five bucks short — and that's after already losing to Quil twice this morning alone.

He clears his throat. "Now, let's not be hasty. It might not be—"

"Uh-uh," she tuts, clicking again. "I'm not stupid. I said she'd show her face by Saturday; you said Sunday. Show me the money."

"Dammit, woman," he grumbles over Quil's crowing laughter. He reaches down into his pocket for his wallet and reluctantly trudges over to her, slapping a bill into her awaiting palm.

"Thanking you," she chirps, tucking it into her book. "Shall we draw straws?" she asks then. "Or do we have a volunteer?"

"I'm not going," Quil says, throwing up his hands and fervently shaking his head. "Nuh-uh, no way."

Embry hurries back to the car before Leah can pick on him again. "Don't look at me," he says. "Jake?"

"You're a bunch of cowards." Jacob shakes his head slightly despairingly at them as he tightens up the last stretch bolt, but that doesn't stop him from ducking lower behind the open hood as if it will make him less visible. No way is he going out there on his own.

He throws another quick, furtive look towards the hammock. "Honey?" he asks sweetly.

"Are you nuts? She'll kill her," Embry says.

Quil jumps up from the skateboard, his previous reluctance quickly forgotten. "Hell yeah, let's go! I want to watch that. I've got five on Leah. Any takers?"

"That's not much of a stake. You know she'll win."

"I have no idea what you're all talking about," Leah hums lightly before Quil can retort. She idly turns a page of her book, suddenly looking far more involved in what she's reading than she had been ten minutes prior. "I'm perfectly composed. A picture of serenity. I'm up five bucks; I have my book, my hammock—"

"My hammock," Jacob says.

"Our hammock," she corrects boldly. "And despite what you dorks might think, I have no time for a catfight because I'm—"

"I'm graduating," they all intone at the same time she does, and she deigns to lift her head and shoot them a withering glare whilst the three of them grin knowingly, barely containing their laughter. "We know."

"You're real funny," she tells them flatly, unsmiling.

Outside, the truck finally comes to a stop. The silence is almost deafening as its engine is turned off, and the sudden wide-eyed looks Jacob and his brothers gives each other are almost comical.

Leah waves a hand, unruffled. "Someone go see what she wants." A beat. "Embry. You go."

"You're the boss." Embry flicks her a salute, puffing his chest and standing to his full height despite the hint of trepidation still lingering on his face. "Come on, Quil, let's go and take one for the team."

"Attaboy," she says with a spark of mirth in her voice, and Jacob rolls his eyes. They both know she could tell Embry to take a running jump off the cliffs and he'd do it. "If you don't come back in ten minutes, I'll consider getting up to save you."

"Man, this I gotta see. And to think we almost went cliff diving," Quil says, but he's grinning and practically bouncing on his toes. He knocks into Embry, and they playfully begin pushing and shoving each other as they walk out of the garage and into the light rain.

Jacob wipes his greasy palms on his already ruined cargo pants and starts to follow his brothers, but not without making a detour first.

"Make it five minutes," he says, leaning over the hammock. Leah lowers her book and blinks owlishly as he gazes down at her, and he doesn't withhold the smile that he feels creeping into his features. "If I'm not back by then, you come out, and I might even look in the opposite direction when the catfight starts."

Leah purses her lips as if she's really considering it, and his heart melts. Then she nods. "Okay. You're on." She turns her cheek, which he dutifully drops a kiss upon, and she says, "You better go and stop the children before they scar her for life, or something."

He laughs and kisses her again, quickly ducking out of the garage — before he can open his big mouth and tell her he loves her. The overwhelming urge to say the three words has never felt so daunting and exhilarating all at once, and he's had to check himself a hundred times during this week alone just so the words don't spill right out of him.

It's not that he doesn't want to say it. Because, damn it, he does, he wants to. So bad. But what he doesn't want is for Leah to think that he's said it because he feels like he has to, or because he thinks it's just another inevitable thing of the imprint — like it's a done deal. He wants her to feel like . . . like he really means it, he supposes — which he does — but even he's not stupid enough to think that the perfect time to say it for the first time is when Bella is right outside and waiting.

If there ever was a time to not make Leah feel like he's proving a point, it's now.

He shakes himself, hurrying to catch up with Embry and Quil.

"Jake!" Bella calls, finally catching sight of him.

He thinks that she sounds relieved, and he wonders whether she realises this is the first time she's been on the Rez since she took off to Italy. Wonders if she has been stewing all damn week, doing nothing but going over and over in her head all she'd seen and heard on Monday afternoon, feeling unable to talk to anyone about it. Namely her controlling bloodsucking boyfriend, lest she upset him and he shut down any talk about the Pack.

"Hey, Bella. What are you doing here?"

She continues to beam at him, triumphant from underneath the hood of her jacket that's shielding her from the drizzling rain. She's practically gleeful. "I snuck out!"

"That's hard to believe," Quil snorts. "We'd be able to hear your truck from the next state over. When was the last time you got the muffler checked?"

"I'm taking a look," Embry announces, circling the truck and shaking his head in dismay at the condition of it. After Jacob, he's one of the best mechanics the reservation has. "I bet your oil is like sludge."

Bella opens her mouth to protest, but she hesitates at Jacob's minute shake of his head and wisely doesn't say a thing when Embry plucks the truck's keys from her hand.

"Oh man, it stinks like leech in here," he grouses after he hops into the cab. He rubs nose, whilst Bella has to press her lips together to stop herself from getting defensive. "Q, take a look at the dipstick, would you?"

"Only because I feel sorry for you. How many dollars have you lost today? Fifteen, was it?" Quil teases, guffawing loudly when Embry swears colourfully at him in reply.

Once upon a time Jacob might have asked the guys to tone it down a little, but now he laughs along with them as Bella's eyes widen in shock at the vulgar language, her cheeks flushing a brilliant bright red.

He shrugs helplessly at her, unapologetic. She'll get over it — it's not their fault the extent of her curses only stretch to 'Holy crow!'. And her truck is basically getting a free service, after all. It's more than he would have given her.

"What brings you down?" he asks. "I thought you were locked up."

Bella's smile turns nervous. "I had work this morning but they didn't need me, so I thought . . ."

She trails off, her eyes catching on something just behind him, back in the direction of the garage, and she starts to shrink back into her jacket, looking for all the world as if she wants to get back in her truck and drive to safety.

Jacob doesn't need to look behind him to know why. He feels Leah's warm presence before she appears at his side, and he can just imagine her having rolled out of the hammock with the biggest sigh known to man, muttering under her breath and straightening her shoulders before heading out to meet them.

She scrapes her already-damp hair over her head, surreptitiously leaning into his side. Not enough to seem overly possessive, as she has the right to be, but enough that it draws attention. "Hello, Bella," she says politely. "I see the boys have commandeered your truck already."

"I — yes," the other girl stutters in reply. "I don't mind, not really. It could probably do with a time-up."

"Tune-up," Jacob corrects with a snort, rolling his eyes. "Did I not teach you anything?"

Bella flushes for the second time in as many minutes from root to tip, the colour only deepening when she sees that both he and Leah are smirking at her. Jacob only realises it himself when he puts his arm around Leah and looks down to share the joke, noting his expression reflected in hers. Their amusement is combined, almost as tangible as the imprint between them; he feels it from her, and she feels it from him.

In the corner of his eye, Bella frowns at their closeness. And then—

"Are you two dating?" she blurts, and she instantly looks regretful, like she's inwardly cursing herself and sincerely wishes she'd never said anything.

"Oh, boy," Jacob hears Embry mutter, both he and Quil quickly hunching over the Chevy's engine, pretending that they're not looking their way. Which they totally are.

Leah sighs and steps out of his hold. "I think you two need to talk," she says, patting his arm.

"You don't have to—" he starts.

"It's fine," she reassures him, and he is surprised to realise that she genuinely means it — there's not a single trace of doubt or hesitation in her eyes. She smiles softly, then jerks her chin at Embry and Quil. "Those two haven't eaten in about . . . oh, half an hour, maybe. They could probably do with a late breakfast."

Quil lifts his head from the depths of the truck's engine, almost banging his head on the hood and grinning excitedly as if his Christmases have come all at once. "Breakfast? Again? Really?"

Leah rolls her eyes. "See? Go on. We'll catch you a bit later."

"Soon," he promises.

➰

Aside from Bella quietly reminding him a few times that her legs aren't ten feet long, they amble away from his house in awkward silence. It stretches between them, awkward and drawn-out in a way that it has never been before, and they have almost reached the Littlesea's store by the time she clears her throat.

"So, uh — how are you doing, Jake?"

"Great," he replies, and the honest truth of it within his voice stuns her into new silence. He realises that she expected him to respond with some half-assed comment, probably because that's what she's used to. "You?"

"Yeah. Me too," she says, although she doesn't sound nearly half as convincing, and he bets that she's just dying to ask him The Question again.

Are you dating Leah? How? Why? Is she your girlfriend? Why didn't you tell me?

"I feel bad," she adds. "I didn't realise you'd be busy."

"We don't really get to spend time together all at the same time anymore," he explains. "I'm either on patrol, and Embry and Quil are off, or one of them is on patrol and . . Well, you get the picture."

He pushes his way through the thick scrub behind the store that rings the far edge of First Beach, trying to pull as much of it back as possible so that she can slip through behind him, and she hurries through gratefully.

"If you factor in school and Sam ramping up the patrol schedule between all of that," he continues, "we're not left with much of a social life, let alone time to sleep."

Bella frowns, upset by this. His lack of general self-care has always been a sore spot with her, and he steels himself for another lecture — which, unsurprisingly, comes right on cue, predictable as she is.

"You need to sleep, Jake. You could get hurt. I'll never forgive myself if the Pack—"

He waves her off. "Yeah, yeah. You really need to have some more faith in us, y'know? It's kind of insulting."

"You don't have to do everything yourself, is what I mean. Edward and his family—" she starts, pointedly ignoring his scoff of derision that follows, "—they want to help. They are helping."

"Is that what they said they did last weekend?" he asks hotly. "Because—"

"I didn't know. Edward didn't tell me anything, not 'til afterwards."

Figures.

Before they find themselves repeating Monday afternoon, Jacob swings the conversation around. He has a feeling she will be far more vocal about her feelings without her bloodsucker around, interrupting and restraining and controlling her.

"So, you and him, then — you're the real deal again, huh? You've forgiven him for everything?"

"There was nothing to forgive," she says automatically.

"For you, maybe."

Bella falters a few steps behind him as they trail the beach, heading towards the familiar driftwood tree that is bleached white in its entirety and buried deep within the sand.

"It's true. Edward left to protect me," she protests. "You don't understand."

"So enlighten me. I never did get the story — I've barely seen you since you took off, not on your own. What happened? Or is it a secret?" His voice takes on a taunting, acidic edge — one that he has rarely used since finding Leah — but he is past caring. He wants Bella to know that he is still angry at her, that he would be whether he had imprinted or not. The way she had left, jumping at the chance to see her bloodsucker again despite all that she had suffered . . .

"No," she snaps irritably. "It's just a really long story."

"I've got all morning," he tells her. He sits down on the natural bench of the tree, stretching his legs out, and he pats the open space beside him invitingly.

Bella hesitates, but after a few seconds she sits beside him and launches into the tale without much prompting.

She tells him that the little psychic leech — the one he'd met the day Harry died — can't see the Pack, and that's why she hadn't seen Bella resurface after the Cliff Jumping Incident; she thought that Bella had committed suicide, and there had been a wealth of information that had been lost in translation between her vampires in the events that followed.

"The fortune-telling bloodsucker can't see us?" he asks excitedly. He can't wait to share this tidbit with the guys, and he imagines all the possibilities and advantages they suddenly have over the Cullens until he notices that Bella is glaring at him, silently rebuking him for interrupting her. He does his best to look abashed by it. "Sorry. Continue."

He learns about the coven of Italian leeches, and how she had escaped with Cullen and the fortune-teller — how Edward had talked them out of trouble, or something, and that, really, it was just one huge misunderstanding that was never, ever going to be repeated again.

And that's that.

Not that Jacob believes her.

"So now you know the whole story," she says. "And now it's your turn to talk. What happened while I was in Florida?"

Jacob has a feeling that she has withheld a great amount of details during her less-than spine-chilling story — really, it sort of just sounds like she went on an impromptu holiday to Europe and met vampire royalty whilst she was at it, inadvertently bringing Edward back with her on her return — but he does no such thing.

Bella flinches and cowers when he tells her the truth of what happened with Paul and how the treaty had been breached. How the blonde male (Jasper, she corrects him; he grits his teeth) had manipulated all of them into unnerving calm to the point that they'd been half-mad with the invisible restraints placed upon them.

"So did the bloodsucker tell you we attacked for no reason, and his totally innocent coven—"

"No," Bella interrupts. "Edward told me the same story, just without quite as many details."

"Huh," Jacob mutters under his breath, reaching down to pick up a rock from among the millions of rainbow-coloured pebbles at their feet before he sends it flying a good few hundred meters out across the water. "Well, she'll be back, I guess. We'll get another shot at her."

Bella's swallow is audible, and she pulls her hands into the sleeves of her jacket. "Can we talk about something else?" she whispers with a pale look on her face from underneath her hood. Far paler than usual, anyway. "I don't like thinking about — about her. Or about you hunting her, or . . . I just don't like it."

"Sure, fine. What do you want to talk about?"

The open-ended question hangs in the air, and he knows the second it flies from his mouth that he has set himself up for her to finally ask what she has been dying to all along — the stories about the Volturi, what happened whilst she was in Florida are inconsequential, nothing more than a build-up to this pivotal moment that is going to change the course of their friendship forever. But he doesn't take it back, and he doesn't regret it.

"Well, I told you a long story," she points out, voice still meek and hesitant. She hides her face behind her long curtain of hair. "Maybe now you can tell me what's going on between you and Leah."

And here they are.

"Your bloodsucker hasn't told you?" he asks. It's cruel, really, reminiscent of the person he used to be — the one that precedes Leah. Because he knows that Cullen hasn't told Bella a damn thing, for some reason going to great lengths to keep it a secret from her. Not even he can figure out why.

Bella frowns. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean," Jacob replies, inhaling slowly, "that you didn't need to come all the way down here to find out something he could have told you two months ago."

"Two months . . . ? But why . . . ?"

"Beats me," he replies. He gets to his feet, stretching, and when he looks back at Bella she suddenly seems very small on the bench. It's enough to make him feel momentarily guilty; he is not this person, not anymore. This girl was his best friend, once, and he doesn't want to push her away. He still wants to save her from a life of never being able to enjoy the sun. She loves the sun.

"Look," he says, deflating as the rain finally eases up. "I wasn't trying to keep this a secret from you, or anything. I just haven't really seen you to tell you, that's all, and with everything else going on . . ." He shrugs lamely, not that she is looking at him to see — her eyes are firmly on the ground, staring at her feet. "It didn't exactly come up."

"You could have answered my calls," she mutters sullenly. "You could have . . ."

"Yeah," he agrees, because there's a lot of could haves about this situation he once thought he'd do anything to prevent. "I could have. Not really something you want to find out over the phone though, is it?"

When she doesn't reply, he begins collecting pebbles again, unable to get through this conversation standing still — not when she's looking all . . . well, looking like the tiny thing she'd been back in January, with that thinking-too-hard look on her face and like she's about ten seconds away from breaking down in tears.

Jacob skims a few more stones across the ocean, and he watches them fly until they disappear on the horizon before turning back. Bella ducks her gaze again quickly, embarrassed to be caught staring at him.

He sighs. "Did I ever tell you about imprinting?"

That catches her attention. She looks up, frowning questioningly as she pulls her hood down. "Imprinting? Like . . . baby ducks?"

Jacob laughs and sits down by her feet, leaning his head back on the bench and smiling at the sky. He's more humoured by the thought of calling Leah a baby duck than anything else — or her calling him a baby duck — and he immediately resolves to never tell her. He'd never live down.

"No, Bella."

She's not laughing. "What does it mean then?"

"It's one of those bizarre things we have to deal with. It doesn't happen to everyone. In fact, it's the rare exception, not the rule."

"But what is it?" she prods insistently.

"Imprinting . . . It's hard to explain. It's like . . . It's the way we find our mates. Our soul mates. When we see her for the first time, really see her, gravity just kind of . . . moves." He thinks back to Harry's wake, and afterwards — the day he'd told Leah: her reaction, the tears and all that had followed . . . He had felt it back then, too, this unrelenting need in his chest to be with her, wherever she was. Wherever she is. "Suddenly it's not the earth holding you anymore — it's all her."

Bella snickers. "What, like love at first sight?"

"It's a little bit more powerful than that," he says soberly, unsurprised that Bella is unable to understand. "More absolute."

"Sorry," she mutters when their eyes meet and she sees the critical, disapproving look in his. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Yeah. I am."

"Love at first sight?" she questions, dubious. "But more powerful?"

He nods. "More powerful than anything even you have seen before."

"And . . . Did it happen to you? This love-at first-sight-thing?" she asks quietly, although it's painfully clear she already knows the answer.

"Yes."

He waits. One minute. Two. Three. Then, hesitantly, he clears his throat and looks up at her. "Bells?"

The sound of her taking deep, gasping breath breaks the silence, and she hurriedly scrubs at her face with the sleeve of her jacket as if trying to hide the evidence of her silent crying.

"Aw, Bells." He reaches out for her, but he lets his hand fall when she flinches. "C'mon, don't cry."

"I'm not," she lies, turning her head away. "Really. I'm . . . I'm glad. It's good, right? I'm happy for you."

Jacob allows the silence to encompass them for a while, listening to her draw ragged breaths and attempt to calm her broken sobs. He doesn't try to touch her again. Comforting Bella used to be something that came so naturally, something he would do without a second thought; he knew what it took to be able to calm her down, to bring her out of those dark depths, and now . . . That's not something that he can do anymore. Not something that is his responsibility to do — if it ever was to begin with.

He knows now that it wasn't.

"When?" she asks when her sobs have eventually faded into sniffles. She keeps her wet, reddened eyes trained on the grey horizon, looking anywhere except his face, but the anguish within her voice is still very much a present thing. "When did it happen?"

This is the last thing. The last break.

"The day you went to Italy," he tells her.

A fresh round of tears starts dripping into her lap then, thick and fast and without reprieve, without end. She doesn't speak again after that.

Chapter Text

(Jacob)

As it is wont to do in ever-cheerful, sunny Washington, the sky soon darkens with the threat of more rain, and when the first droplets begin falling upon them Jacob is forced to finally break the god-awful silence that's descended like its own black cloud over First Beach.

"We should get going. With your luck you'll probably catch the flu, or something. Come on."

She doesn't answer, but then he doesn't expect her to. Her crying jag finally seems to be over though, thank God, and if he didn't know better he would think that she's fallen asleep on the bench after having so thoroughly exhausted herself.

Jacob gets to his feet and brushes sand from his grease-and-oil-stained cargo pants down. He really doesn't want to send her back sick, or else her bloodsucker will surely use it as an excuse to never let her visit again. And he does want her to visit again, because despite everything she is still his friend and he still wants to fight to keep her heart beating. To keep her human.

He offers a hand out to her, but Bella stares past him, her gaze fixed unseeingly at a spot on the horizon with her arms wrapped around herself, her jacket pulled tight to keep the warmth in. Granted, she doesn't look as awful as she looked back in January, but she still looks fragile enough that it makes him feel fleetingly guilty.

Not that he has anything to feel guilty about, he tells himself, but . . .

Hell, it's confusing. He understands that she was upset because he's imprinted. He also understands that he is the source of whatever pain she is feeling. He just doesn't understand why.

"Bella?" he prompts her gently, hand still extended. "Do you want me to call Charlie? Or your bloo— . . . Edward?"

He tries to be kind by not spitting the name out, he really does, but he's not all too sure he succeeds. Either way, the two sickening syllables seem to be all Bella needs to jumpstart back into reality.

She blinks, shaking her head as she comes down to earth. "No." Her voice is hoarse, so she clears her throat, straightening her spine a little. "I . . . I'm supposed to go to Angela's to help her with her graduation announcements, but . . . I think I'm going to be in trouble when I get back."

"He's going to be mad at you?"

"Yes. He really hates it when I do things he considers risky."

Jacob rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. "Like hanging out with werewolves?"

Bella's nod is weak. "Yeah."

"Cool. You can stay for the rest of the day, then. Maybe that'll be enough time for me to convince you that you're the one who's supposed to be mad — not him." He holds his hand out a second time, wiggling his fingers. "Come on," he says again, and she finally lets him haul her to her feet.

"Jake, you don't . . . You really don't have to be nice to me," she mumbles when she's finally steady. She eases her fingers out of his grip. "I've taken up so much of your time already. You should go back to your friends and — and Leah."

"Just because I've imprinted doesn't mean we can't be friends, Bella." He puts his arm around her skinny shoulders and coaxes her along to walk with him. "Besides, your truck's back at my place. You gotta spend a little more time with me whether you like it or not."

There are only a few beats of hesitation before she relents. She shivers and leans into his side for warmth, and he leans back for a second to pull her hood over her head before draping his arm loosely across her shoulders once again.

The silence between them on the way back is not as awkward as it was before — not for Jacob, anyway, who feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. For the first time in a long time, he thinks that maybe they actually have a shot. That maybe he and Bella can be friends after all, without this supernatural jazz that constantly seems to shadow them.

Maybe, he thinks, just maybe he'll be able to do this. He can help her make the right choice — one doesn't have to be so . . . complicated, and painful, and sad. One that she can make for herself and doesn't have to be based on who is going to be waiting on the other side of the consequences.

These thoughts, however, last for a grand total of five minutes, until they pass by the Littlesea's store and Bella quietly asks, "Do you love her?"

"Yes," he replies.

What else is there to say? He loves Leah, more than he ever thought possible. More than is influenced by what they share, more than is probably considered healthy. But then, Bella should be able to understand that, he thinks — even if she can't understand anything else.

"Does she love you?"

Jacob's thoughts drift to stolen moments he's committed to memory since March. Moments between patrols, and school, and looking after their parents.

He thinks of crawling into bed at night, into Leah's arms that are always open and waiting for him. He thinks about counting down the hours, minutes until he can see her again, knowing that she is doing the exact same thing and that she will never, ever admit it, even if Seth teases her about watching the clock. He thinks of the way she occasionally stares at him, soft and adoring, open and exposed in the way she rarely allows anyone else to witness; and that, sometimes, he's sure she's going to tell him . . . something . . .

"I think she does, yeah."

"You think she does?" Bella questions, and he can hear the frown in her voice.

"It's still kind of early, I guess. We're not there yet."

"Oh," she says.

Jacob looks down at her. And sure enough, there is the frown etched into her features, a mixture of thoughtfulness and confusion and lingering upset in her eyes as she chews on her bottom lip.

He gives her a slight nudge. "Can I ask you something now?"

Hesitation grips her. "What?"

"Why did you get so . . . upset? Because I'm trying, Bella, I am, but I just can't understand. The only thing that I can come up with is . . . Well, I was pretty open with you — y'know, before — but you made it clear that you didn't feel the same way as I did. In fact, you pretty much said you couldn't feel like that because nothing would ever change for you."

She pulls away from him, then, and he lets her go. She quickly folds her arms and burrows into her hood, walking ahead of him so that he cannot see her face.

"I don't know," she mutters after a long minute. "It was just the shock of it, I guess. I didn't expect it."

It doesn't go unnoticed that she doesn't answer his question — not properly.

"I'm not sad about this, Bella," he pushes on regardless, lengthening his strides to catch up to her. "You shouldn't be either. Hell, I honestly thought this is what you would've wanted, if you had known anything about it."

"I'm not sad," she insists, refusing to look at him still. "I told you, I'm happy for you. I am. I mean — I get it. She's beautiful, Jake. I understand."

"You . . . What? She's beautiful? Is that what you think this is about?" he demands disbelievingly. "Because she's beautiful?"

Tears inevitably begin welling in Bella's eyes again, unprepared for this turn of conversation and how his red-hot anger has quickly erupted in natural defence of the imprint.

No, not of the imprint. In defence of Leah.

Bella stops in her tracks, taken aback. "No, Jake, I—"

"We're not all that shallow," he continues over her, slightly more scathing than he intends. He is powerless to stop it. "It's not all about looks, or how much money you have, or how quickly you tell someone you love them — like that's a measure of the meaning of your relationship. I guess I can see why you might think life is . . ."

Jacob has enough forethought to shut his mouth before he can say something he can't take back. Something as truly mean as it would be unforgivable.

He forces calm into his tone, which is no small feat with his wolf scrabbling to break free. "It's not like that for me. I don't care about that stuff."

"I didn't — I didn't mean it like that," Bella replies as pink rises in her cheeks, her wide brown eyes still watery as she stares up at him. "I just . . . I'm worried about you. This isn't like you! And she's a lot older than you are! Doesn't that—"

"She's nearly the same age as you, give or take a year," he retorts disapprovingly. He doesn't want to hear the end of that sentence. "And what's a few years in the grand scheme of things? There must be nearly a thousand between you and your bloodsucker."

Bella sniffs, turning away. "I'm older than Edward."

"Oh, so we're only counting physical age now?" Jacob scoffs at her back, feeling his temper rising and rising by the second despite his best efforts to stay calm. He has to shove his hands into his pockets to stop them from shaking. From shaking her. "Don't be such a hypocrite, Bella."

"I'm just trying to understand," she whispers meekly.

"No, you're being ridiculous," he snaps, lurching away, putting more distance between them. God, she's exasperating — has she always been this way, or is it a new thing? "I imprinted on her. Leah could be five years older, ten years older, even, and it wouldn't make a difference to me."

"What about ten years younger?"

Jacob has to take another deep, calming breath at that. The accusation in her tone is too much, even for someone with admirable control like he has. It's all he can do to not phase where he stands.

"What do you take me for? Imprinting doesn't automatically mean hearts and roses. If she had wanted another brother, or a friend, I would have done that too. Whatever she wants. Come on, Bella. Be reasonable."

He stalks away from her, not caring if she decides to keep up with him this time or not.

But, of course, she does. "So Leah — she wants . . ."

"Yes. And so do I. And not just because she does. I know myself, and I'm pretty sure I'd feel like this even if she'd told me to leave her alone. Which I would have done, by the way. Which I have done — the second she asked," he adds sourly, glaring at her with unrestrained ire before she can argue that part, too.

"I think I should go," she murmurs, her hurt evident.

"I think so, too," he replies shortly. "Let's go and see if your truck is done, and then you can run back to your bloodsucker. I don't care anymore."

➰

The garage is locked up when he returns home, so he heads straight towards the little red house where he can hear four heartbeats waiting for him inside.

Bella is still trailing behind. Her red truck is in the same place she left it, and Jacob wonders if he kicks a tyre hard enough whether it'll burst. But then he remembers he'll be the one who has to fix it just so she can leave.

He stalks past it, thunder at his heels. With a bit of luck, Embry never bothered to look underneath the hood and it was all just for show.

As he approaches the house, he sees Quil standing in the window, where he has a feeling his friend has likely been told to stand sentry and keep watch. Probably by Leah.

"They're back!" his friend calls over his shoulder. "You can stop worrying now!"

"Who was worried?" Leah responds, but then she appears in the window, too, and her face breaks out into a relieved smile at the sight of him. Jacob tries to smile back, and he knows that he is unconvincing from the way her features immediately drop into concern.

"I bet he looks like a drowned rat," comes the gravelly tone of his father from deeper inside the house. "Is she with him?"

Nobody answers, but Jacob is already pushing his way through the door.

Embry is the first to catch his eye, and he blanches at the look on Jacob's face from where he is sprawled over the couch in front of the television. "Jake?"

"Does anyone have Bella's keys?" he asks the room. The words are a little shaky at the edges, the argument he's had still lingering at the forefront of his mind, and he thinks that his family stops breathing for half a second at the sound of his voice. The worry that comes from them — from Leah — is a palpable, pulsing thing, but he can't look at her. Not yet. Not until she goes, until he can't hear the damned sniffling behind him and she's gone.

Quil, surprisingly, is the first to recover. "Yeah. I got it. Don't worry," he says quickly. He springs to his feet and hurries past Leah, then Jacob, digging into his pockets as he goes, and the door snaps closed behind him.

"Do I have to call Charlie?" Billy asks from the kitchen table, where he is nursing a cup of joe and looking fairly resigned. It wasn't that long ago that he had to make a similar phone call — back when Bella had turned up out of the blue in similar fashion and demanded to know what was going on the first time. Only then, Jacob hadn't been able to tell her anything.

Now, it's almost as if by telling her the truth, he's told her too much.

"I don't think she'll be going home," he tells his father tightly as Embry switches the television off.

Billy sighs. "I guess it's probably not our business anymore, anyway," he says, pushing himself away from the table. He drops his coffee mug into the sink, where Leah is leaning against the countertop and carefully watching the scene before her. Watching him.

As the engine of the truck roars to life, Jacob finally meets her eyes. The tension in his chest starts to ease up almost immediately just at the sight of her, and he wishes he'd allowed himself to seek her out sooner.

"Probably not," he agrees flatly, and yet her responding smile is soft. Warm, gentle.

"Did you make her cry?" Embry asks, sitting up.

Leah pulls her eyes away and turns her head back to the window as if to find that out for herself. After a second or two, her lips give an infinitesimal twitch at whatever it is she sees.

Fuck, he loves her.

"Earth to Jacob," Embry calls. "So? How'd she take it?"

"About as well as you all thought she would," he replies, and he's grateful when Embry doesn't respond with something like 'I told you so'. Because at some point or another, usually whilst they're on patrol and out of earshot from Leah, his brothers have all tried to tell him what was going to happen the day Bella found out that he imprinted. He just hadn't really wanted to believe that of someone he'd once considered one of his best friends.

"Well. I, for one, am finally glad it's all over." Billy pats Leah on the elbow, and she smiles down at him like she very much agrees with the statement. "I'm going to go to your mom's and see if she can whip up any fish fry to celebrate. See if she's nailed down that recipe."

"You literally just had breakfast," she tells him with a single raised eyebrow. "Twice, I might add."

"And now it's lunchtime," he tells her with a straight face. "Are you coming, or do I have to eat it all myself?"

Jacob pretends to itch his cheek, the movement drawing her attention, and a quick glance from him tells her that she's not going anywhere.

"Uhm, no. You go ahead. We'll be there for dinner, though," she says, although it sounds more like a question until Jacob starts nodding. Her eyes swivel back to Billy again. "Yeah, we'll be home for dinner."

"Embry will drive you." Jacob snatches the keys to the Rabbit from the side and throws them over to his brother, who only just snatches them out of the air in time. "Be gentle with it," he warns.

Embry blinks, dumbfounded. "Wow, seriously? Can I drive to Hoquiam after and check out that new auto store?"

"Just this once. Make sure you bring it back with a full tank. And Quil doesn't drive!"

"Hey, I heard that!" Quil protests, suddenly appearing.

Billy shrugs. "Alright, then. But if you go even a single digit over the speed limit, I'll have your hide made into a new rug," he warns in grave tones, and he wheels himself out of the house without a backward glance.

➰

(Leah)

It takes all of five seconds after the door has closed for Jacob to sweep her up in his arms.

He moves so quickly that her head spins, and it comes down to instinct to lock her legs around his waist and cling to him. She curls her fingers over his broad shoulders, not even minding in the slightest that his shirt isn't completely dry or that he's holding her tightly enough it's just on the edge of pain. Delicious, welcome, toe-curling pain after torturous minutes of forcing herself to remain in place. It had taken everything to not rush over to him the second he walked in and soothe the lines from his face.

Jacob buries his face into her neck, mumbling something or other against her skin. His words are broken, barely legible, and . . . apologetic, of all things, and in that moment—

In that moment, Leah thinks she could kill Bella Swan.

Not that she hasn't already thought about it, of course, but when Jake shudders against her, breathing her in almost desperately in a way he never has before, she thinks she could really mean it this time. How he'd looked, walking up the dirt road . . . She never wants to see that look on his face ever again.

She threads her fingers through his unruly hair that is in desperate need of a tidy up, remembering a time when he used to sport a ponytail and wondering whether he ever will again.

I'm in this for life, he'd told her once, bitter and hardened by it. Leah remembers the conversation like yesterday — that first conversation, the day he'd brought Seth home safe and sound. All for her. She is able to understand that now, is able to look back on all their conversations before she learned about the imprint and see just how much he was really suffering.

Just because I want to stop doesn't mean that I can, he'd said afterwards. And then he'd tried anyway, fighting the impossible, fighting the imprint for her as well as fighting his birthright, only to be drawn back into it all again. And now this . . .

It is hopelessly, hopelessly unfair.

After a long time of murmuring her own nothings, of holding him as tightly as he holds her, eventually Jacob seems to have the presence of mind to lift his head. He keeps one arm firmly around her back as the other moves down, lower, and he uses it to support her weight before suddenly he is moving again without warning.

He strides over to the couch and lowers them both down, quickly enfolding her back into his tight embrace right there upon his lap. It's testament to how much he is still struggling when he doesn't smile or even so much as tease her whilst she fidgets around within his hold, carefully readjusting herself so that she's not effectively straddling him, and that concerns her just as much as everything else.

Thankfully the simmering rage behind his eyes has finally calmed some, although she still feels the emotions coursing through him thanks to what they share. And she wonders just how badly it went, and if she was wrong to push him to talk to Bella even though he looked like he'd rather run in the opposite direction than do it alone.

"What can I do?" she murmurs, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. He closes his eyes, tilting his head into her palm.

"You're doing it," he tells her just as quietly. "I'm okay. Almost lost it for a bit for a second, is all. I'm sorry."

Leah feels herself bristling at the apology, her mouth tightening as she swallows down the protest. He doesn't need to apologise to her, ever, not for this.

"What happened?" she asks instead.

He's quiet for a few moments, breathing deep as her hand keeps its steady rhythm over his hair, his neck, wherever he leans and pushes into her touch. Then he sighs.

"I think . . . It just hit me all at once, y'know? I thought I could stop her from making the wrong choice," he whispers painedly, his fingers slipping underneath her shirt and pressing against the small of her back. Skin-on-skin contact like this centres him like nothing else. "But now I'm not so sure. I think I blew my chance."

Leah's heart skips, and then it sinks with terrible feeling. "Because you imprinted?"

On me, she doesn't say. Because of us. But it doesn't need to be said; it hangs in the air, toxic and suffocating.

His eyes fly open. "No! No," he insists vehemently. "This has nothing to do with that. Even if there was a way for me to take it back, I wouldn't. Ever."

The breath she has been holding flies out of her.

"I wouldn't give you up," he says then, pulling her to his chest. "Everyone can go to hell before I do that. Bella can go to hell, especially after the shit she pulled today. That's what I meant. It has nothing to do with you."

"She tried something?" she asks, stilling against him.

"No, honey. I've never been that mad with her before, though. She was . . ."

"A bitch?" Leah offers helpfully.

Jacob chuckles for the first time since returning, and a part of her — the imprint part — feels victorious, even if that same part is still ready to attack at the mere thought of someone putting their hands on him. It requires every bit of strength she has to push down the image she has of Bella leaning into his space, and . . .

(No. She will not think of it.)

"Yeah," Jake says, "she was. She was upset, and then she was quiet, and then she was a bitch, and I was rude and defensive. And," he adds in a heavier tone, "I don't think she's my friend anymore, which means she's probably going to run back to her bloodsucker and offer her neck up first chance she gets."

"Just because you've had a spat doesn't mean anything," Leah says into his chest. "I used to fight with Rachel all the time. Didn't mean shit."

"Not about stuff like this. Besides, Rebecca always used to force you to say sorry to each other."

"Well, I'm not going to do that for you two, if that's what you're asking."

"No," he says. She can hear the smile. "But I really think this is it, honey. There's nothing I can do. I don't think she'll be back."

"If she doesn't want to come around anymore, then that's fine by me. And if you don't want her around, then that's fine too. I'll support whatever you want." She sits up on his legs and holds his eyes. "But I am sorry you lost a friend," she tells him, and she means it. "She never deserved you."

He tucks her hair behind her ear with heart-rending gentleness and love in his eyes. "You're very biased, but thank you."

"I'm right, though, aren't I?"

That makes him snort. "You're also a brat. Have I told you that?"

"A few times," she says proudly, and she plasters her best smile over her face, the one she has long learned stuns him into silence and lets her have her own way.

It works. He kisses her, and he doesn't once let her go for the rest of the afternoon.

Chapter Text

(Jacob)

On Monday, Jacob wakes with a start to the sound of Leah's alarm clock blaring its usual wake-up call, wishing — as he does every morning he wakes in her bed — that she'd never bought the damn thing.

(They had slept through the alarm on her cell phone one time — one time, and the moment she'd been let out of her hour-long detention for being late she had marched straight down to the hardware store to choose the loudest, most annoying one they had to offer. He's barely heard the end of the whole fiasco since.

Of course, that may be because he has been taking the batteries out of the damn thing. But Leah always catches him — somehow, she always just knows what he's up to; she always manages to find the batteries he hides away — so he still ends up waking with his heart in his throat most mornings anyway because his ears are too damn sensitive.)

He reaches out for the snooze button with the full intention of rolling over and going back to sleep when suddenly he feels something shatter underneath his hand, and he hears the pieces of the now-broken alarm clock scattering across the bedside table and all over Leah's bedroom floor.

Well, shit.

Jacob groans loudly, both at himself and the world as he is yanked further away from the edge of sleep and thrown headlong into wakefulness. Sometimes, in the briefest of moments in which he can relax his guard and just be, he forgets to mind his own strength; he has absolutely no hope of cognizance whilst he's half-asleep. One drowsy misstep, and now Leah's probably going to employ a man with a fucking brass gong to stand at the end of the bed just to make sure they get up on time. Or something.

(He is not a morning person. They make him dramatic. That's what Leah claims, anyway.)

"Don't," he mumbles into the sudden silence, his arm hanging limply over the side of the bed in defeat. "Just . . . don't say anything."

Leah doesn't stir, but he knows she is awake. "Wasn't going to," she replies, voice thick with sleep as she rolls over and pulls the covers tight over her shoulders, snuggling down into the blankets. "Go back to sleep."

"Can't," he mutters, lying flat on his back, his fingertips grazing broken plastic strewn across the floor. "No alarm."

"You're such a grouch in the morning," she mumbles into the pillows.

Jacob grunts in reply. "I'll buy you a new one today."

"With your cheque from the Pack?"

"I'm owed thousands," he says rather listlessly to the ceiling, still wrapped up in mourning another day he has to go without a full eight hours of sleep. Another day he has to execute someone else's bidding. "Any day now."

Any day now, they will catch the redhead and this will all finally be over.

"Is that all?" Leah replies in a sleepy drawl, but he hears the smile in her voice and can't help but soften a little.

"Eh, it's honest work."

"Too bad there isn't a Pack Union," she mumbles. "You could negotiate a better wage."

"Now there's an idea." He shifts onto his side and drapes an arm around her, smiling into her messy hair. She says the silliest, weirdest things when she's on the verge of unconsciousness. "Maybe when you get that diploma you can put it to good use and start one up for us."

Leah vibrates with a contended sort of hum and leans back into his weight. "Sounds good, honey. Can we go back to sleep now, please?"

"I hate to break it to you but it's Monday." And as much as he would love to lay in bed with her for the rest of the day just for the chance to hear her call him honey again, he has patrol in a few hours and the class schedule he's more or less committed to memory has Leah attending double AP-something-or-other first thing. Chemistry, maybe. "And I kind of broke the snooze button, so we really do have to get up."

"No school." She is almost asleep again, her words a little blurred around the edges. "'Morial Day."

He lifts his head with a start. How is it nearly June already?

"Memorial Day?"

"S'what I said," she grouses.

"No school?"

She only murmurs a garbled reply, already too far gone, and she doesn't speak again. Her breathing slows almost instantly — it seems like she's going to take advantage of the long weekend by forgoing studying to catch up on some well-deserved rest (not that he can begrudge her; maybe she's finally listening and will actually spend the day without a book in her hand) — and she's deeply asleep by the time he has dressed and hurried out of the house.

➰

Since imprinting, Jacob can count on one hand the number of times he's stepped foot in Sam and Emily's house. Mostly, it's because he can't stand to be within a half-mile radius of wherever Sam is, but also because he finds that he's unable to lie through his teeth whilst looking Emily in the eye.

"You will let her know she's welcome here, won't you, Jake?" she asks for the second time in as many minutes, offering him yet another plate of assorted sandwiches. "I miss my sister."

Unfortunately for Emily, her sister still views her as something of a traitor. There is also the small matter that her fiancé has admitted he is still in love with that same 'sister', the mere thought of which never fails to make Jacob go a bit berserk whenever it crosses his mind.

Emily doesn't know this, of course, and Jacob is certainly not going to be the idiot who tells her, especially not when she's still living this bubble of delusion that Leah now being an imprint means all past wrongs have been righted and they can suddenly be a family again.

"Yeah, I'll let her know," he says, taking a chicken sandwich if only to avoid Emily's beseeching expression.

"Please, have another," she says, all but thrusting the plate in his face.

Jacob eats quickly and hopes he's not going to choke on a load of bad karma. He feels out of place, out of sorts, especially with the gazes of his brothers bearing down upon him. Embry, Seth, Paul. Even little Collin, who looks like he's missing his right arm without Brady; they all seem to be stuck between disbelief that he is actually here and apprehension that a fight is going to break out between him and Sam, who is all but glaring holes into the side of his head. It's a wonder they haven't all phased from the stress.

Not that Sam is going to say anything about it — about anything — when he's gone to such great lengths to keep Emily safe and happy and loved. Or, as Jacob personally prefers to call it: Operation Keep Emily in the Dark, or 'Saving My Own Skin', written by none other than Samuel Levi Uley himself.

Emily hovers for a while longer, feeding everyone and fussing over them all as if she doesn't already spend her every waking moment doing so. "Is she at home?" she asks him. Clearly, Leah is still on her mind. "Maybe I could stop by a bit later today instead if she's not doing anything before the bonfire . . ."

"Uhm," Jacob begins dumbly. Up until fifteen minutes ago, as well as it being Memorial Day, he'd completely forgotten that Collin and Brady's first bonfire party is being held tonight; he's still got to convince Leah to attend. "Yeah, but I actually wanted to ask about that."

His eyes find Sam, who is still staring at him with a dark expression that everyone else seems to be studiously ignoring — even Emily, not that Jacob is sure she's noticed with all her fussing; apparently, she's completely impervious to the rippling tension in her kitchen, too focused on grieving her cousin's absence and fixing to make amends. That, or she's just overly accustomed to it.

"I'm meant to patrol in a few," Jacob continues, "but I wanted to see if I could switch out with someone and have the day—"

"No," Sam says, cutting him off. "I need you rested, not dead on your feet."

"I'll cover for him," Embry offers around a mouthful of food, and Jacob feels a surge of overwhelming gratitude for his brother. "I wasn't meant to run today, anyway."

"If Jacob swaps with you today, he'll be running double tomorrow," Sam answers with the faint hint of a bite in his voice. "We're all going to be running short bursts tonight as it is."

"So?" Embry shrugs. "You've been making him run double since he came back," he bravely tacks on.

The whole room sucks in a breath. Even Paul, who is usually the first to backtalk and get his ass handed to him for it, looks nervous. Even so, they cannot deny the truth of the statement — Sam has been infinitely harder on Jacob than anyone else since The Fight, and they are all aware it's because he's jealous and fighting to retain control. If he can tame his second-in-command, then he'll be able to tame all of them — they will all fall in line pretty easily after that.

For the most part, Jacob has suffered it in silence. What keeps him going is the knowledge that he has already won: Leah has chosen him, and he is the one who gets to go home to her day after day. He will not risk fighting with Sam and throwing the Pack off-balance again. He just wants to get the job done and live his life the best he can until they catch the redhead and the Cullens leave — which, coincidentally (or perhaps not so), is the day he's been promised he can resign with immediate effect. Resign and never look back.

"Everyone's pitching in extra until we catch the redhead," Sam replies coolly, crossing his arms and drawing himself to his full height.

"I haven't had a full day off since she came back," Jacob points out. He has to mind his tone lest his Alpha thinks he's throwing down the gauntlet. There's not enough time in the day to spend getting his ass kicked because of Sam's fragile ego.

"Neither have I," Sam counters.

The tension crackles. Jacob balls his hands into fists underneath the kitchen table, entirely aware that the minute tremor to his arms is giving him away. He doesn't even want to be here — he just wants a day off. That's all he's asking for. A whole day he can spend with Leah without interruption, and he's not about to go home to her empty-handed. Especially not after making a special exception to willingly place himself within five paces of Sam.

He has a plan.

He draws breath. "Sam—"

The shrill ring of the phone cuts him off, nearly making them all jump.

Emily, the only calm one in the room, gently wipes her hands on her apron and reaches for the phone on the wall. "Hello?"

Jacob shares a look with Embry across the table, who nods back at him in solidarity. "Don't worry," his brother mouths, and Jacob has to refrain from scoffing under his breath.

"Leah?" Emily's tone pitches with surprise, and six heads snap in her direction so quickly that Jacob is amazed they don't all strain a muscle. "Oh, Lee! I was hoping you'd call, I was just asking Jake about you! I'm so . . . Of course," she says slowly then, unchecked disappointment and hurt creeping into her voice. "Hang on."

Emily turns back to the kitchen table and catches Jacob's eyes and, sure enough, she looks like somebody has just said her muffins taste stale: her own eyes are quickly turning watery and her bottom lip is wobbling. He wonders what Leah has said to her to upset her so quickly.

He is up on his feet and reaching for the phone before any of Emily's tears slip free. She is as prone to crying as Bella is — particularly when it comes to Leah, who by comparison cries so infrequently that sometimes Jake has to throw up a prayer of thanks that he managed to get so damn lucky. He's dealt with enough misery to last him a lifetime within these past few months alone.

"What's wrong?" is the first thing that flies out of his mouth.

One of the many, many other things Jacob appreciates about his imprint is that she does not bother beating around the bush.

"Bella called," she says immediately. He can't yet decipher her tone. "She said she called your house first, and Billy told her to call here instead."

Jacob's pretty sure his old man said that for a reason; Billy loves nothing more than driving a point right on home, and he'll grab any opportunity to crow about Leah being as good as his daughter-in-law. Especially to Charlie and Bella.

"Are you alright?"

Silence.

"Honey?"

She inhales deeply on the other end of the line, holding her breath for what seems like a long time before she says, "She made me speak to Edward." And then, before he can explode, as if she can sense the roar building within his throat from miles away, she quickly adds, "Someone's been at Charlie's. Inside his house, Jake. They could have—"

"The redhead?" he demands, and he knows without looking that Seth and Embry have leapt to their feet behind him, both ready to wage war for their favourite person in the world. He doesn't dare chance a glance at Sam to see the expression on his face — Jacob knows he will see an expression that will exactly mirror his own.

Leah swallows audibly on the other end of the line. "Someone — something else. He — Cullen, he asked me to pass on the message and see if you guys had picked up anything new. Can . . . Can you call him back? I said I would, but now I've thought about it I'll probably end up causing a supernatural war or something," she jokes with the tiniest of nervous laughs. "He didn't sound too happy to be putting this in my hands, anyway."

"I'll do it," he tells her, leashing his wolf that rises in its offence. It's one thing that the bloodsuckers have always treated the Pack as less, that Cullen has treated him as less, but to extend that to his imprint . . . "What's the number?"

She recites Charlie's number — from memory or paper, he doesn't know, although he's willing to bet on her memory. "What are you going to do?" she asks then, but he can't think of an answer that she'll approve of.

He looks over his shoulder at Embry, at Seth, who are both vibrating with the effort of resisting a phase on the spot. He nods at them, the only signal that is needed, and they race out of the house without a backward glance. They'll be with her within minutes.

He won't be far behind them.

"Wait there," he says. Fuck patrol, fuck Sam. Fuck whatever force that refuses to give him just one day off to be free from this godforsaken drama. "Don't answer the phone if it rings again, not 'til Embry and Seth get there, do you hear me?"

Leah huffs a strained breath that might be a laugh. "Jake, don't you think that's just a bit of an overreaction? You don't need to send anyone over."

"Who's overreacting?" he scoffs. It's unconvincing, even to himself. "I'll be there soon, okay?"

"Okay," she replies slowly, uncertainly. "You're not about to go and do something stupid without me, are you?"

"I'm just going to make a phone call," he promises. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Okay," she says again. "Hurry."

Jake hits the switch hook and punches in the Swans' number before anyone else (in other words: Sam) can draw breath and demand him (order him) to explain what's going on.

➰

(Leah)

By her estimation, it takes less than five minutes after she puts the phone down for Embry and Seth to burst through the front door. Long enough for her to clear the draining board of the dishes she'd been washing when Bella had called. Long enough to calm herself down and venture into the sitting room to await the boys' arrival.

They appear as naked as the day they were born, their nudity significantly less endearing now than it would have been then (not that Leah would be an expert on that matter). And whilst Seth immediately reaches for the clothes tied onto the leather cord around his ankle after seeing for himself that she is in one piece, it takes Embry significantly longer to realise that he's standing in the middle of the living room in his birthday suit.

If only Quil were here, and not stuck on patrol, it'd be a real party, she thinks. Although considering that Embry and Seth clearly bolted across the Rez from Emily's house on four legs, her other friend likely knows everything that's going on and won't be far behind. After weeks spent thinking that his best friends totally abandoned him, Quil refuses to miss out on anything anymore — not if he can help it. He damn near pitches a fit every time he does.

Leah pulls her legs up underneath her on the couch and pointedly averts her eyes. She loves her friend with her whole heart, and she wouldn't hesitate before going to bat for him over the smallest of things, but a girl has her limits.

"Embry, for God's sake, put your pants on."

"What happened?" he demands breathlessly, trembling hands balled into fists at his sides, and she realises that he's only heard one half of a conversation before blindly reacting. Before overreacting, just like she had known that Jake would too.

Seth hurriedly yanks on his shirt, dirty and threadbare from being dragged behind him, his own chest heaving with exertion. Or panic. "We heard Jacob mention the redhead, and we thought—"

"Jake would have beaten you here if that was the case," she says with a roll of her eyes.

She tells them both what she'd told him: her phone call with a stuttering Bella, and then with an oddly polite Edward — or at least, he had been polite until her usual snark had worked its way into her voice and she royally pissed him off.

(On reflection, perhaps asking the bloodsucker if he'd broken any more treaties lately hadn't been the best of conversation starters.)

Halfway through her retelling, exactly as predicted, Quil barrels into the house, interrupting her before she can ask what exactly it is Jake intended to do but refused to tell her, and she has to start all over again.

"It's not that big of a deal," she tells them all for the second time. "Honestly."

She is more amused than annoyed by the three wolves suddenly hovering around her. Their protective instincts have been kicked into overdrive by a new unknown threat, and she feels rather exasperated by them — affectionately so, like she wants to slap some sense into their heads and hug them all at once.

A smile tugs at the corner of her lips as she watches the scene: Embry, pacing; Quil, standing at the window and wringing his hands; Seth, perched on the opposite end of the couch, radiating nervous energy that he doesn't know how to burn off other than bouncing his left leg up and down as he tries very, very hard to not look at the same spot their father died only a few months ago.

The living room has changed in the months since then. The carpet has been replaced and they have rearranged the furniture, but Seth's gaze is continually drawn to that specific spot on the floor. When he begins staring at the new carpet for the fourth or fifth time, Leah reaches over and puts her hand on top of his.

Her little brother throws her the smallest of smiles and closes his eyes, shaking his head in an attempt to refocus his thoughts. "What I don't understand is what they wanted us to do about it," he says.

"What they wanted Jake to do about it," Quil amends with a frown.

Embry starts biting the skin behind his thumbnail, now dressed but still as agitated as he was when he arrived. "Guess they don't have Sam's number for these kinds of things."

"We should give it to them. Maybe they'd leave us alone, then," Quil mutters.

Leah keeps her hand on Seth's, the contact grounding her as she worries and wonders how much longer Jacob is going to be, pondering what he could be doing. Stupidly, she'd almost thought that this was something that he'd pass onto Sam when she'd picked up the phone to pass on the message. Something that was an Alpha's responsibility, something that would force Sam to pull his finger out of his ass and handle himself.

"You think he's gone to Forks?" she asks then, and suddenly she's imagining a hundred and one different scenarios that all set her heart into a wild rhythm and make something deep inside of her throb with panic. It wouldn't be the first time Jake's temper has gotten the best of him.

The tightness in her chest is suffocating. It's just the imprint, she tells herself. It's just the imprint, making everything feel worse, exaggerated, heightened, just as it always does. It's just the imprint.

"No," Embry says, but Leah knows that she's planted the thoughts in all their heads and they're now considering the same thing. Her best friend's expression tightens, and behind him, the wringing of Quil's hands increases in his agitation. "Not if he wants to get his ass kicked into next week."

Seth draws in a sharp breath, his eyes automatically flying towards the front door as if he's planning to run all the way to Forks and track Jacob down himself. But then she realises that it's because Seth can hear something that she cannot — even Embry and Quil have paused in their worry; Embry cocks his head, and Quil stares out of the wide window with something akin to relief working its way into his face.

Thank God.

Leah doesn't need to hear or see what they do. She can feel it, now that she allows herself to. The panic within her bones is not entirely her own, it's—

—it's Jacob's, of course.

The rest of the world falls away as he finally appears in the doorway, filling every inch of space, and she smiles. She barely even registers that he's not got his shorts on.

"Hi," she breathes, and her panic — their panic — settles into overwhelming relief.

His throat bobs, his gaze roving over her as though he is making sure she is unharmed. "Hi."

"What took you so long?"

He starts forward, but he stops himself at the very last second, his fingers twitching at his sides. He wants to touch her, she realises vaguely — to make sure she's safe, even though she'd never been in any real danger to begin with. It's a fight for him to curb the imprint-driven impulses that are only getting stronger with every passing day as they spend more and more time together. She knows this, because she feels it too.

"Had to rearrange some boundary lines with the bloodsucker," he tells the room, trying and failing to sound casual. His face is flushed, his eyes meeting hers every few heartbeats. "Sam wanted in on the conversation, so it took a little longer than I thought it would. Sorry."

"And?" she asks.

She knows there's more. There's always more where Bella and her vampires are concerned — especially when Bella has dragged Jacob into whatever mess she's created and she expects him to clean it up.

Jake turns apologetic. "I gotta go to Forks."

Leah sighs. "Of course you do."

"What about Sam?" Embry asks. He catches her look of disapproval only a second afterwards, and they share a look of understanding — a look of two people who are utterly fed up with the hold Bella and the Cullens have over their family. Over Jacob.

"Yeah," she says, turning back to her wolf in the doorway. "Why can't he do it?"

"He's taking my patrol with Jared," he replies, finally reaching down to his ankle for his clothes. He doesn't look happy about the decision, and Leah thinks that maybe for once he's not been the first to volunteer his services. Not after Bella's last visit. "I'll phase afterwards and see if Sam can pick up the scent anywhere near our borders straight away. He's got us on full red alert."

Embry drops into her father's old armchair with a groan. "Well, there goes my day off."

"Sorry." Jacob looks like he means it, too — like he's guilty and feels as if he's personally responsible for something he could have never predicted. "He's switched the schedule up again. So you and me are on tonight, after the bonfire party. Quil — he wants you back right away. He's not happy you left."

Quil shrugs, as unsurprised as he is uncaring.

"What about me?" Seth pipes up, fidgeting from his side of the couch again, never one to let himself be forgotten when there are strategies to be planned. He wants to be at the forefront of all of them, right on the front lines. "What do I need to do?"

"Your homework," Leah tells him, at the same time Jacob says, "Study," and, despite the dark cloud hanging over them all, they smirk privately at each other.

It gives her a chance to note the shadow of doubt in his eyes, the hesitancy that he has tried to mask under his bravado of being second-in-command and dishing out orders to his brothers on Sam's behalf.

He doesn't want to go. That much is clear. Forks, Bella, Edward — they are all the last things that he wants to be dealing with right now, and she finds herself making a spur of the moment decision. Because it's about time that something goes Jacob's way for once, and she will always give him what he needs.

"I'll go," she announces. "I'll take Embry."

Embry's spine snaps to attention, and when she looks at him he starts nodding vigorously in his agreement. He approves of this plan. Just as she knew that he would.

She feels Jacob staring at her, watching her. Considering her. And when she turns her head to meet him, there it is — that look in his eyes.

It makes her toes curl underneath her. They're not left alone very often these days; they rarely have any privacy save for the quiet hours they're climbing into one another's beds, spoiled by the knowledge that there's always someone in the next room over, always someone down the hall — Seth, usually, who she does not doubt would wrench them apart if he so much as suspected they were venturing beyond second base.

Distantly, Leah hears someone pointedly clear their throat, effectively ending the moment and reminding her that she and Jacob are, in fact, not alone, but she remains firm. Resolute. Decided.

Jacob is not going to Forks, but she is.

"What do we need to do?"

Chapter Text

(Leah)

They reach Forks within the hour. Embry swings the Rabbit into the Swan's driveway, narrowly missing the ugly pine mailbox on the corner (a true shame — he would have done Charlie a favour by destroying it) before they come to a hard stop just inches behind the red Chevy only a second later.

The grin that her friend sports as he pulls on the parking brake is one of indisputable pleasure — the world and its mother knows he loves driving Jake's car, even if he is threatened to within an inch of his life every time the keys are handed over — and Leah swears that he even gives the steering wheel a little pat of praise.

Boys.

"Voilà," he declares, pulling the keys from the ignition with a dramatic flourish.

Leah huffs. At least he's not speaking (or singing) in Spanish today. Yet. "I'm so telling Jake you threw his beloved toy around like a rag doll. I've got whiplash."

"That's not fair," he protests, blinking with the same sweet innocence she has become extremely familiar with over the course of these past few weeks — the type that usually indicates the complete opposite. "I haven't touched you."

"Ha-ha," she retorts dryly, unbuckling her seatbelt. She appreciates what he is trying to do by cheering her up — or by calming her down, even — but she can't tease him back, not properly. Not when she's all too aware that the bloodsucker is probably lurking around nearby. His silver car is noticeably absent, but that doesn't mean he's not listening to their every word, spoken aloud or otherwise. Maybe he's inside, waiting, already pilfering through their heads.

Embry catches her uneasy glance towards the front door and begins to scour her features, undoubtedly looking for a hint of malice that might complicate their diplomatic mission. "You good?"

"I'm fine," she says, sounding remarkably sure of herself as she opens the door. "Let's get this over with."

When she had proposed the visit, including the part about Jake remaining on the Rez, she'd been more than a little apprehensive despite her show of confidence. Even so, she'd rather face Bella head-on than have Jacob within six feet of the monopolising little wench. Embry is a good stand-in; he is impervious to Bella's stupid little doe eyes, and it also helps that he also takes his status as Best Friend extremely seriously — which, Leah suspects, is partly the reason why Jacob approved of her plan to bring him along.

All things considered, the pair of them make an excellent delegation.

A tiny furrow between Embry's eyebrows appears, but he doesn't argue with her. "Okay. Let me do the talking."

She follows him up the path, watching as he raises a paw-sized hand to rap on the door. He hesitates for a moment before finally choosing to tap on the doorbell instead.

"Civilised," she sniggers, infinitely amused by his consternation.

"What, shall I shout about a warrant?" he jibes.

Before she can reply, Bella's shrill voice breaks through the suburban quiet. "Come in, Jake!"

Embry looks down at Leah, issuing a pointed warning glance of sorts, which she answers with an innocent shrug before he opens the door and steps inside.

He ambles down the hallway, Leah one step behind him, and they find Bella loading up the sink with dirty dishes, so engrossed in what she's doing that she damn near jumps out of her skin when Embry clears his throat.

"Really, Bella, you've gotta tighten up your security around here. Anyone could just walk in."

Startled, Bella splashes dishwater all down her front, barely stifling a yelp. She spins around, hand flying to her chest when she sees Embry underneath the archway, watching her. Then she spots Leah, who is peering around his shoulder with a grin on her face.

Bella gapes at them. Her shirt is soaked, but she hardly seems to notice. "What are you doing here? Where's Jake?"

Despite Embry warning her to 'let him do the talking', Leah opens her mouth, a snarky response on the tip of her tongue. He digs his elbow into her shoulder.

"He's busy," he says simply before she can scowl at him. So much for solidarity. "I volunteered."

"You volunteered," Bella repeats dubiously. Then she sighs. "He's avoiding me, isn't he? Because we fought, and . . ."

Her eyes meet Leah's again, who wonders if the other girl sees the challenge that's being silently issued — the dare to say something more about what really happened on the beach last weekend, and why exactly it is that Jacob has stayed behind. Leah thinks that perhaps she should hear the other side of the story, but then she probably won't believe a word that leaves Bella's mouth anyway. Jacob certainly didn't.

"I don't know anything about that," Embry lies, deflecting with a wave of his hand. "I'm just here to do a job. Unpaid, at that. Where's your bloodsucker?"

Bella presses her lips together, unhappy with the name-calling. "He's busy," she retorts.

Embry snorts. "Sure. Guess I deserved that. Did he say where the scent is the worst?"

"My bedroom, I think."

"Creepy," he says. Leah feels the shiver that runs up his arm against her own, squeezed as tightly as they are against each other in the heart of enemy territory. Or maybe it's just because Embry wants to be ready to hold her back in case she lunges forward to scratch Bella's eyes out.

It's a possibility.

"I suppose I should get to work," Embry says, squeezing out of the archway they're crammed under to start for the stairs. "I wouldn't want to give your bloodsucker an excuse to say we're slacking on our side. Behave, you two," he tells them with a playful wink, although Leah is not entirely ignorant of how his gaze lingers on her just a fraction of a second longer than it does on Bella.

She ignores him. She's already promised to be on her best behaviour, irrespective of the fact she's dying to give their host a piece of her mind. As far as everyone else is concerned, Bella is barely a blip on her radar.

Leah leans uncomfortably against the laminate counter, finding herself more unsure than ever. Should she try to make small talk? Should she ask the Swan girl why exactly she cannot release Jacob from her spindly little fingers (fingers that are noticeably free of an engagement ring, despite the rumours Quil retold so earnestly)?

Bella clears her throat. "Did you volunteer too?"

Leah shrugs, schooling her features. "Bad things tend to happen when Em is left unsupervised."

"I heard that!" he hollers from upstairs.

She smiles without humour. "It's probably in your best interests, anyway. I'm not so sure Edward would approve of bare-chested men traipsing around your living room."

Bella's cheeks darken as she looks away, unable to hide her discomfort. "I guess I didn't think about that," she mutters.

"Don't worry," Leah chirps, toying with an ugly ceramic bird pepper-shaker on the countertop. "That's what I'm here for."

"Leah!" Embry calls, his tone markedly clipped. "I'll only be a few more minutes!"

The subtext is clear: play nice, even if it's your newly-minted boyfriend's ex-darling.

Leah sighs, reluctantly lowering the misshapen blue-bird to rest back on the lazy susan. "Look, I'll make it up to you. You wash, I'll dry."

Bella's pinched expression conveys no friendliness, although she obviously doesn't have the backbone to shoo Leah away. Instead, she silently passes over the terry cloth towel, sweeping her other hand through the bubbly water until it emerges again, her fingers tightly clenched around a scrubbing brush. For what feels like a lifetime, the only sounds in the kitchen are that of the plastic bristles scraping against the ceramic crockery, massaging the bubbles against the dishware for far longer than necessary.

Leah clears her throat, feeling a touch guilty when Bella jumps, needing to gather herself again before she hands the next plate over. Her eyes remain fixed on the sink.

Leah runs the towel over the plate, contemplating her next move. "Can I ask you something?"

Bella quickly glances at her, clearly nervous as she weighs her words. "That depends on what you want to know."

"I'm not trying to be a bitch or anything — I'm honestly curious," she replies, sliding the plate into the cabinet.

"Fine. Go ahead."

Leah quietens for a moment, taking a sudsy bowl from Bella. "What's it like — having a vampire for a boyfriend?"

Bella rolls her eyes. "It's the best."

"I'm serious. Doesn't it creep you out?"

"Never."

They work in silence for a while, simultaneously lost in thought. How long can it possibly take Embry to scent Bella's tiny bedroom?

Eventually, as if prodded, Bella speaks. Her thin voice cuts through the still air, making the hairs on the back of Leah's neck stand up. "Anything else you want to know?"

Leah wrinkles her nose. "Well . . . I was wondering . . . do you . . . y'know, kiss him?"

Bella laughs. "Yes."

"You don't worry about the fangs?" she asks. Perhaps she's looking for some sign of revulsion as she peers at Bella, a hint of regret, but there's nothing but a blank slate staring back at her.

"I'm sure Jacob's told you some tall tales, but they're not true. Edward has perfectly normal teeth."

Leah pulls another face. She's more inclined to believe Jake than she is a vampire lover, even if his claims do seem to be a little outlandish. She is nothing if not a loyal girlfriend. "Can I ask another one?" she asks then, taking the gleaming boning knife from Bella. "Just curious again."

"Fine," the girl mutters, less patient than before.

Leah turns the knife over and over in her hands. When she speaks, it is only a whisper, barely audible above the flow of water. "Jacob said it'd probably be a few weeks until you're . . . When, exactly . . . ?"

"Graduation," Bella murmurs after a few torturous beats, watching the older girl warily.

"That soon," she mutters, her eyes closing. It doesn't come out as a question — more of a lament, for Jacob, for Charlie, for a life snuffed far too soon.

"Good news!" Embry announces, striding into the kitchen, his footsteps whisper-soft by comparison.

"OW!" Leah shouts. It had become so still in the room that, whilst Bella had jumped a foot into the air, sending the scrubbing brush clattering to the tiled floor, Leah's right hand had curled into a tense fist around the blade of the knife . . . that is now strained crimson with rivulets of her blood.

Shit.

Embry takes one look at her, at her hand, and swears loudly — and very creatively.

"Christ, Lee, let go," he orders, immediately reaching out to uncurl her fingers with a steady but gentle touch.

When she relents, the knife drops with a clatter, dousing the cream tiles with a generous spattering of blood, and she watches kind of absently as blood streams unceasingly down her fingers, dripping on the floor like some cheap scare from a D-grade horror movie. There's a long, deep gash across her palm — the sort that her mom would totally turn into nurse-mode over and insist on personally stitching at the clinic — and she's so stunned that she can't even rebuke Embry for using that damn nickname.

"Crap." Bella turns a shade of white that rivals Edward's stony complexion. "Take this," she moans, thrusting Leah's discarded dishtowel back in her direction.

"Don't worry, Bella," Embry declares, deftly wrapping the cloth around the wound. "I'll take care of it; I've got everything I need. Tell Edward that Sam will call later, will you?"

Leah curls her uninjured palm around her wrist as he begins to lead her out, muttering something so low and soothing in her ear that even she can barely hear a word, when he stops suddenly, rounding to stare at Bella with hopeful eyes.

"Hold up — do you think you can come to La Push tonight? We're having a bonfire. You know, being Memorial Day and all," he says. The boys will use any excuse to build a fire bigger than their last. "Emily will be there, and you could meet Kim . . . And I know Quil wants to see you again. He's still pretty peeved you found out first."

Despite her obvious discomfort, Bella grins, a momentary flash of bright white before the frown resettles across her face. "Yeah, Embry, I don't know about that. Things are a little tense right now . . ."

"C'mon, you think anything's going to get past us? You'll be perfectly safe."

"I'll ask," she says doubtfully, her eyes darting towards — and then quickly away — from Leah's bloody hand.

Embry makes a noise in the back of his throat. "Is he your warden? You know, I watched this story on the news with the guys last week about controlling, abusive teenage relationships and—"

"Okay! Time to go!" Bella announces, uselessly shoving at Embry's shoulder.

He grins. "See ya, Bella. Be sure you ask permission. Call us at the clinic if your jailer approves."

He ducks out of the door before Bella can protest further, all but dragging Leah behind him towards the Rabbit.

"You're going to get us both killed, you know. What if he—"

Leah slides back into the passenger side, woozily reaching with her uninjured hand for her seatbelt. She's not bothered by the blood, rather more at the idea that she's probably going to have to get stitches. With a needle. "Relax. You've been part of the Pack for how long already? You could take Edward, no sweat."

"Ooh, Jake's going to kill me," Embry moans, roughly pumping the clutch with more force than even she approves of until the car slides into gear. "Let's get you fixed up before he finds us."

➰

They have been gone so long that Leah's honestly not surprised when Jake tracks them down to the clinic. She hears him bellowing her name before she sees him, almost deafening as his thunderous voice echoes through the corridors, and it makes her stomach lurch from a weird mix of relief and trepidation.

Where he is keeping sentry at the side of her allocated gurney (and allowing her to squeeze his hand as tightly as she needs), Embry looks a little pale, but perhaps that's because of the bitter tell-tale smell of the clinic already settling into their clothes. It's enough to turn anyone's stomach, being here. It makes her think of her father.

Embry swears colourfully underneath his breath. "Who told him?"

Leah looks accusingly at her mother on her other side, who is unflinching by comparison. Sue doesn't so much as blink as she focuses on her next stitch.

"Don't look at me — I'm grieving, not stupid. Stop moving," the woman admonishes. She's in nurse-mode, just as predicted. Leah rarely sees her mom at work, but even she knows that Sue is not the nurse who is called for their sunny bedside manner. She's the one they call when patients are being difficult. And after weeks of absence, she seems to have finally found that same fire again. "The boy can scream and shout all he wants, but you're not leaving until I'm finished here."

Leah tips her head back with a groan, squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as she continues to squeeze Embry's hand in a poor attempt to keep still and stop herself from barking out in discomfort. The first needle prick had been the worst, and technically she shouldn't be able to feel much of anything with the small amount of numbing medicine she's been given, but still there's a flare of distant pain from somewhere deep inside. Instinct tells her that it's not coming from her body.

Something occurs to her then. "Bella hasn't called, has she?" she asks Embry.

"Shit," he groans in realisation. He doesn't have to voice what they both know has happened: Bella has called the house instead of the clinic like they asked, and she's let the accident with the kitchen knife slip. Probably on purpose. Who knows. The girl can't be trusted.

The door bangs open.

Embry immediately yanks his hand away and springs to his feet, mouth opening and closing repeatedly as he stares at Jacob, struggling to spit out an explanation. With the mixed scent of still-drying blood and antiseptic around them, and the tears that are pricking at the corners of Leah's eyes (some of which traitorously slipped free at the sight of her mother wielding a syringe) — not forgetting the frown that has been on her mother's face since she and Embry walked into the clinic and left a trail of blood all over the pristine floors . . . Anyone would be blind to realise that it's not looking good for them.

Leah doesn't have to open her eyes to know that Embry is likely trying to disappear into the nearest wall and Jacob is about five seconds from losing his shit entirely; she can practically feel him vibrating from here. Still, she can't help but peer at him through half-lidded eyes.

His nostrils flare, his chest heaving. "What happened," he demands in a timbre deep enough to rival Sam's commanding tone.

She thinks about joking that Bella knifed her — or worse, Cullen — but she's smart enough to know that he probably won't appreciate hearing any jokes right now. "Don't freak. It's totally my fault — wasn't paying attention like I should have been. Not everyone's so lucky to have super healing powers, I guess, even if you do have the right pedigree — ow! Mom!"

"Keep your voice down," Sue scolds her, pinching her arm.

Leah rubs her bicep with her uninjured hand. "That hurt."

"Oh, stop it. I barely touched you. Look, there — all finished," her mom declares, although the only person who's brave enough to actually look is Jacob. His hands ball into tight fists the second his eyes zero in on the dissolvable stitches Leah spied earlier.

Sue pushes her stool away from the side of the gurney and begins rooting through a couple of drawers. "I'd rather you keep a dressing on for at least a couple of days, just to be safe. I'll be able to change it at home."

"Lucky it wasn't my left hand. I might not have been able to graduate otherwise," Leah jests, wiggling her free fingers that are caked in dried blood.

Embry is the only one to laugh. He covers it with a poorly disguised cough, and he looks as if he instantly regrets it when Jacob turns his razor-sharp glare on him and puts one foot forward.

"Take it outside," her mom warns over the sound of the sterile bandage packets being torn open.

"Hey," Leah says quietly, drawing his attention back to her. "I'm fine, really."

Jake's head jerks in some semblance of a nod that still manages to seem partly disbelieving. He begins to drift towards the end of the gurney, his mouth pressed into a tight, flat line as he stares at her, drinking her in.

"I'll just . . . go," Embry mutters, head down as he shuffles past his brother and hurries through the door. "I gotta speak to Sam, anyway."

Jacob doesn't look as Embry skulks away. His stare remains fixed on Leah, his expression inscrutable. He waits until Sue has the dressing wrapped firmly with layers of medical tape, sealing the ugliness away from sight. Even when Sue shoos the pair outside, begrudgingly agreeing to cover the bill, he is silent — unsettlingly so.

Finally, after she is tucked into the passenger seat, her bandaged hand curled in her lap and seatbelt tightly latched as he pulls away from the curbside, he speaks.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Disturbingly, his tone isn't angry — it's something closer to disappointment, the sort of resigned tone that she associates more closely with her father, and that stings far worse than fury ever could.

"Well, I wasn't. Hope that clears it up."

Jacob jerks the hand brake up as he swerves into the gravel shoulder, impervious to the furious honking of the truck that nearly takes off the rear bumper. The moment the Rabbit shudders to a rough stop, he is out of the car, not even bothering to close the door. He bends over, hands on knees, and it's abundantly clear as to why — his body, undulating with fierce tremors, is all but a blur before her.

She knows better than to reach out for him.

"This," he hisses through gritted teeth as he coalesces back into himself for the umpteenth time, "is what I have to deal with every time you get hurt. Maybe you thought it would be fun, messing around with Embry in this little club you've got going on, but your safety — it isn't a joke to me, Leah. As if we've not got enough going on already with Sam, and now Bella—"

His voice cuts off with a strained growl. Unconsciously, she strokes her index finger over the dressing, shuddering at the sudden twinge of pain that courses through them both.

"I have to go," Jacob growls, managing to shuck his shorts moments before he explodes into fur.

In a flash, he is gone, melting into the scraggy brush by the side of the highway, leaving Leah with a soggy pair of jorts and a car she can hardly drive.

➰

The minutes tick by slowly in the quiet of the Black's garage, illuminated only by the dome light of the Rabbit. Leah settles into the passenger seat to wait for Jake's return — the driver's seat is his, even when he is absent, leaving a great big gaping chasm in her plans (as well as her chest, as much as she'd care to deny it).

She leans back into the headrest, closing her eyes to think. Why did she push him? What good could come from deliberately needling one of his only weaknesses? And to what end?

"You look comfy."

Her eyes shoot open, aching with the sudden burst of brightness. Jacob collapses into the empty seat beside her, dirty and entirely nude. He takes the shorts from her extended hand without comment, dressing in seconds before climbing back into the Rabbit.

"Hey, look, about what I said before—"

"No, I was out of line." He reaches across the gearbox to squeeze her hand. "Should be used to your smart-ass mouth by now."

Leah shakes her head. "I was being a bitch. I'm sorry."

"Par for the course," he mutters, laughing as he dodges her swat to his shoulder, already back to his normal jovial self. Unless there are vampires involved, Jacob cannot hold a grudge to save his life. "Easy, easy. So, what did you and Bella talk about? Did Embry find anything?"

Leah stares through the windscreen into the darkened garage, counting back from ten. When she gets to zero, she will need to tell Jacob the truth, and living with the consequences will be her punishment.

"What?" he asks, his frown immediately reappearing. "Tell me."

"Edward's changing Bella at graduation," she whispers.

After a long moment of painful silence, Jake still hasn't moved an inch; his serious expression remains unchanged.

"Graduation, huh? I guess that makes sense. Bella's always been weird about birthdays. At least I won't have to suffer through another round of present planning. Don't think she even remembers what I got her last year."

Leah all but gapes at him. "Are you on drugs?"

"Honey, you and I both know it was a matter of when. Not if. What do you want me to say? Condolences?"

"I guess I expected you to care a little bit more. You know, considering you've spent the past few months wishing death upon Edward."

"That part's staying," he says, mouth twitching with infinitesimal amusement. "I'm mad, yeah, but . . . I suppose I'm tired of helping her — hell, Bella doesn't even want to help Bella."

Leah laughs quietly. "Yeah, that's true."

They have approximately thirty seconds to mull it over before Dumb and Dumber appear, pushing and shoving — as per usual — their way into the garage.

"Jeez, Jacob, did you miss the utility bill?" Quil cackles, elbowing Embry in the ribs. "What d'you reckon, should we start a collection plate?"

Embry opens his mouth, snapping it shut after seeing the stormy expression clouding Jacob's face. He fumbles for the switch, and they all blink rapidly against the sudden light from above.

Quil scratches the back of his neck. "Uh, so I hear Bella called. Is she coming tonight?"

"Yeah." Jake sighs. "I'm late to head over, and you know what she's like—"

Before she can think about what she's doing, Leah blurts, "I'll go."

There's a beat of silent shock, and then — and then they laugh. All of them. At exactly the same time. Even Jacob, which hurts a little bit more than she expects it to. She can't even blame the sensitivity of the imprint this time.

Quil exaggerates a wheeze and pretends to wipe tears from his eyes. "Good one."

Her scowl comes easily. "I'm serious."

"Oh, leave her be. She only wants to go out and stake her claim. Don't you, sweetheart?" Embry grins and reaches out to ruffle her hair, but Leah ducks and sends a swipe to his gut with her uninjured hand. It only makes him laugh harder. "Bold. Did I ever tell you how much I like her, Jake?"

Her wolf in question rolls his eyes. "Yes, Embry. We all know how much you love Leah."

"'Leah's so awesome,'" Quil mocks in what is probably supposed to be an intimation of their friend's voice as he parades around the car. It's a poor attempt. "'I wonder if she'll let me be her best man at the wedding.'"

"'Leah's the best,'" Jacob chimes in. "'I wish she could phase.'"

"'Are we seeing Leah today?'"

Embry nods along, almost as if he's trying to be part of the joke rather than the butt of it. "Alright, very funny—"

"'You're so lucky, I wish she was my—'"

Quil doesn't get to finish whatever he was about to say — though Leah can take a good guess, and it is her turn to laugh as Embry lunges for him. The two boys go down in a tangle of arms and legs, pushing and shoving at each other and rolling around on the ground.

Leah and Jacob watch them for a second, quickly turning back to each other at the same time with matching expressions. A fond resignation, of sorts.

"Well, if you're sure," he says carefully. He's never been one to tell her what to do. "You'll be alright with your hand?" She nods, and he finally concedes. "Alright. You better take the Rabbit. She drives nicer than your car, anyway."

➰

Leah focuses all of her brain-power on parking perfectly straight on the Swan's driveway — partly because she doesn't want a single thing to go wrong, but also to keep Edward away from her actual thoughts. The thoughts that he is undoubtedly presently reading, making him very much aware of her discomfort.

Perfect.

Edward frowns as she pushes open the driver's door, beckoning over to Bella. "I thought Jacob would be meeting us here."

Leah knows that she could easily be called out for lying. She lies anyway. The moment she thinks of it, Edward will know exactly why she's here and what she's doing. "He sent me instead. That okay?"

They stare at each other. In the corner of her eye, Bella shifts anxiously on her feet.

"Here," she says, scrambling for a faded receipt and pen in the centre console before scrawling down a series of digits. "This is my cell. We'll have her back at eleven."

Bella shuffles forward to take the note, smoothing it out as she hands it to Edward. "I'll keep an eye on the time," she promises, sounding just as sweet and innocent as she looks.

"I suppose I'm letting my worries get ahead of ourselves, love. I'll see you here at eleven," he intones, pressing a chaste kiss against her forehead.

Bella sinks into the passenger seat, allowing Edward to secure her seatbelt and close her door and somehow making the things that Leah finds most endearing about Jacob seem the most repulsive about him.

After hearing that errant thought of hers, Edward smiles drily. "Have a pleasant evening."

"I'm sure we will," Leah responds as coolly as she can manage, peeling out of the driveway.

She drives in silence for a few minutes (Jacob has already advised her of the strict no-music policy), until she is quite sure that Edward is no longer within hearing distance — both physically and mentally — before she opens her mouth again. Except it's not until they hit the 101 that Leah finally inhales, taking a steadying breath and tightening her one-handed grip on the steering wheel. When she speaks, it is controlled and careful.

"Look, I'm just going to say it. About what you told me earlier, before Embry interrupted — I don't want you to die, Bella."

The other girl suddenly looks as if she's searching for her escape route, eyes wide and darting around her — landing anywhere except the driver's seat. Her pale fingers grip the handle on the door.

"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable," Leah carries on, her tone still casual. She is telling half-truths because she does mean to make Bella uncomfortable — but only because she wants her to think, to understand. Not because there's any pleasure to be found in it.

"Y—you haven't," Bella replies, her voice pitching just enough to betray her. As if everything else about her doesn't.

Leah bites back a smile. "I have," she insists a little blithely, and she is forced to check herself and her emotions before she ploughs on. "But I want you to understand. Because I'm . . . unhappy, let's say—" (another half-truth; she is furious, but she's aware her temper will not help her here) "—that you've upset Jacob."

My Jacob, the imprint trills adoringly, right on cue — exactly as it always does. Mine.

Shut up, Leah tells it, pulling the shutters down and stepping on the gas. This is important.

Bella looks truly terrified. "When — when did I upset Jacob?"

"All the time," she answers without missing a beat, "but most recently with your . . . 'graduation' plans."

Bella doesn't need to know that it was actually she who was more disturbed between the pair of them, and that Jacob was less upset about the news than she had assumed he would be.

Comprehension dawns from the passenger side, followed by a softly spoken "oh."

Neither of them seem quite sure what to say after that — advice columns have hardly prepared Leah for these sorts of conversations, and Bella is hardly the typical conversationalist. That is until, after a fair while of simmering, she hears her sniff.

"But Jake and Edward — they're working together now," Bella protests. "Surely Jake will be able to . . ."

"Bella, I'm going to tell you something, and I don't want you to repeat it to him lest it makes his head bigger than it already is: Jake has a lot of self-control. More than you realise. He has more than the rest of the Pack put together."

"I don't see the problem," she continues to argue stubbornly, bolstered by her belief that her becoming a vampire poses no problem to the only friendship she intends to keep.

"Just because Jake has a truce with your bl— . . . your boyfriend," Leah corrects herself, inwardly damning the Pack's terminology to hell, "that doesn't mean he's given up trying to change your mind."

"I know that."

"No, you don't," Leah snaps. "You think that he'll forgive you if you go through with it anyway. And that he'll still be your friend once you do. But that's the point — his control might be out of this world, but it isn't perfect, Bella. Just because you've seen him within half a mile radius of Edward without killing him, that doesn't mean that he's stopped wanting to actually do it. That's just who the Pack is — are. How we are. It's unnatural to feel any differently."

"They could just . . . try not to," Bella replies, evidently upset. "Like you said. Jake already manages to stop himself."

"But he's not supposed to stop himself! Don't you know anything? He can't help who he is any more than you can help being so freakin' stupid about all of this!"

Bella doesn't answer that.

Leah doesn't care. She's not going to apologise.

A headache blooms at her temples, and her voice is clipped as she tries to start again. "Bella," she says with an aggravated sigh. "Have a bit of sense. Them working together — this truce to stop that red-headed bitch from ripping out your throat, it's not exactly a foolproof way to stop Jacob from doing the same to you when you change. He will think of you the same way he thinks of Edward."

Bella gasps. "He wouldn't. I — I don't believe that."

"Except you kind of do. You're not sure, are you? Not anymore. Because it might have been true, once, but things have changed since then."

"Why? Why did things have to change?" Bella mutters, brows furrowing.

It's not really a question — at least, not one directed her way. But Leah answers it anyway.

"Jacob imprinted," she says, and the sigh she receives in return is defeated. "I know. He didn't ask for this."

"He told me. Didn't sound like there was much choice involved for you, either."

Leah really doesn't want to divulge the details. She awkwardly shifts gears and uses the minute's silence to pull herself back together. They're getting off track, and her hand is really starting to hurt.

"Look. I meant what I said. I don't want you to die, okay? Even if my reasons are a little selfish, and — fine," she amends at the Look thrown her way, "—a lot selfish. But I don't want Jacob to feel like he's a murderer, alright? There is no way in hell that I'm going to spend the rest of my life — our life — trying to convince him otherwise. It'd be such a waste of time. And as far as I'm concerned, it'll be entirely your fault. Not his. Why should the rest of us be made to suffer for your choice? Why should he? I refuse to . . ."

Leah takes yet another deep breath, feeling herself getting too angry again. If she were any different, she probably would have spouted a fur coat by now.

"I just won't let him live that way, okay? Not if I can help it," she adds, trying to be a touch gentler, for all the good that will do her. She's not quite begging yet, but that does not mean she's not above it. She has no limits for Jacob.

Silence.

And then, with her tone on the verge of wonder, Bella says, "You love him." Her gaze is curious, searching. Leah can feel it. "You love him that much already you'd go to bat for him over this, even though you don't really care either way what I do — do you? I'd even bet that you'd prefer me to be a vampire."

"I'd prefer it if we didn't have to talk about this," Leah says, scowling. She's aware of exactly how defensive she sounds, but she stopped caring about three miles back.

Bella smiles. "You love him," she says again. But she's accusing now, amused by the validation she's received to her conclusion.

"That's none of your business."

Bella is unfazed. "He does. Love you that much, I mean. I bet you're all he ever talks about," she says as if to be conversational. She doesn't sound as disapproving as Leah might have expected her to. The girl sounds almost friendly, in fact. Leah wonders when that changed. Before or after Bella realised the depth of her true feelings — feelings that Leah hasn't shared yet. With anyone.

Especially not Jacob.

"You probably don't believe it," Bella continues, "but I'm glad for him. That he has you. Sometimes it seems like the rest of his . . . brothers aren't really in his corner, and it annoys me."

Leah frowns. She can't decide which issue bothers her the most — the indisputable delay before Bella chokes out brothers, or the implication in her words. Like she feels about Jacob, the boys have very few limits when it comes to each other — oftentimes, none at all.

"Why do you say that?" she asks hotly.

Bella turns down her gaze and picks idly at the sleeve of her jacket, clearly conscious that she's caused offence by her comment. She doesn't apologise, though. "They wanted him to stay away from me, at first. And Paul calls me 'leech lover'."

It's a great effort for Leah to stop herself from laughing a touch too scornfully. "They knew you were in bed with their enemy long before Jacob did, Bella, and it wasn't as if you didn't know what you were getting into, was it? So I think you can forgive them if they were a little hostile."

Bella shrugs. "It was just Paul, really," she mutters, backtracking now.

"Well, you can't pretend to sit on that fence of yours forever. Paul knows you've picked your side — he's just protecting his. "

"I'm not sitting on the fence."

"You're playing for both teams. Trying to, anyway."

"What's so wrong about that?"

Leah laughs without humour. "Knowing you? You'll hurt yourself," she says plainly. Her words turn Bella's face red, but Leah can't tell if it's anger or embarrassment.

"You're just as bad as Paul," the girl grumbles.

"Thanks." And then at the sceptical look she receives, Leah adds, "I like Paul. That was basically a compliment."

"I find you less annoying than him, though."

A shame, she thinks. "Do I scare you, at least?"

"Yes."

She nods, satisfied with the answer and appreciative of the bravery within it. "Good. Someone has to."

"Victoria scares me," the other girl confesses again, quieter now.

Leah snorts. "I don't really count Victoria as a someone, Bella," she remarks, her tone dry — although if she looks suspicious, that's because she is. "Whose good books are you trying to get into here, exactly? Because don't kid yourself that I'm going to pretend to start liking you or anything." She sniffs in the way she has long since perfected — haughty and heartless. "That shit just goes against the grain."

She takes her eyes off the road for a second to glance sideways. Surprisingly, Bella is smiliing tentatively back at her, appearing very much not offended.

The girl cocks her head slightly, thoughtful. "He wants us to be friends, doesn't he?"

Leah harrumphs, glaring through the windshield. Jacob hasn't explicitly stated that's what he wants, but it wouldn't come as a surprise. It would certainly make his life easier.

Bella giggles, her nervousness returning. Or perhaps it never left. "I knew it."

Mercifully, they're mere moments away from the beach, and they're able to get through the rest of their time together without speaking. If Bella is disturbed by her stillness, she says nothing of it, electing to burst from the Rabbit the moment the parking brake is engaged.

"Jake!" she chirps, taking off at a run, voice fading with how quickly she has bolted away from the car — amazingly managing to walk and talk at the same without stumbling. God knows the whole of Washington knows how clumsy the girl is.

Leah watches her go and sends a silent prayer up to whatever deity may be listening to her tiny, human worries.

Divine intervention may be her only option.

Chapter Text

(Jacob)

Jacob's private fears — Leah veering off the road, unable to control the car one-handed, ending up in a ditch somewhere along the 101, dead — are allayed the second he hears the Rabbit's engine approaching. His first thought is that he needs to spend a day with his head underneath the hood because the timing belt sounds a little off. The second is a fleeting but hopeful wish for the evening to pass quickly, ending with Leah at his side. The third is his regret that Embry ever extended an invitation to Bella.

After last weekend, he's spent the week unsure if he still wants to be friends with her anymore — or even if she still wants to be friends with him. Hearing that her plans to be turned into his mortal enemy after her graduation have apparently solidified seems to have helped make his decision — because surely it will be impossible to maintain any kind of relationship when she has red eyes and wants to devour Charlie (or, God forbid, Leah) — although it appears that Bella has made a different decision entirely.

It's as if she has forgotten all about the last time they saw one another. His friend (ex-friend?) bounds down the sandy banks of First Beach, barreling towards him with a grin on her face that stretches from ear to ear as she calls his name. She even manages to make it all the way over to where he is sitting on the log bench with his brothers without stumbling. That is until the last five yards or so, anyway, when she inevitably trips over her own feet. It is only owing to muscle memory (because it's Bella, after all), or perhaps their innately superior reaction times, that Quil's hands shoot out to catch her just in time.

"Wow. Thanks." She is a little dazed as she looks up, hands gripping her saviour, although Jacob thinks that he sees a flash of disappointment in her wide brown eyes as she registers who exactly it is that she clings to. "Oh hey, Quil."

"Hey, vampire girl. I see you survived," he teases easily. "We all took bets on if you'd—"

Embry nudges Quil with his elbow, a little too forcefully for it to go unnoticed by anyone else — least of all Bella, whose gaze narrows suspiciously when Quil takes the hint and very quickly snaps his mouth closed again.

"If I'd what?" she presses, straightening defiantly.

"Be allowed to come," Jacob says quickly. He's not about to tell her about Quil attempting to earn some quick cash based on whether she'd arrive in one piece or not. Particularly not when it's his girlfriend's name on the line.

(Paul had been so sure Bella would turn up in tears and practically on her knees, begging for someone else to drive her home, that he'd put down fifteen whole bucks. That was if Leah allowed her to make it as far as La Push, of course, a caveat that Quil had wholeheartedly endorsed.)

"Of course I'd be allowed," she replies, perhaps a little too defensively for them to believe that her accepting Embry's invitation didn't require her bloodsucker to be thoroughly convinced. She turns back to Jacob, her disapproval clear for all to see. "Where were you?"

He doesn't have to ask what she means. He shrugs. "Leah offered."

"Where'd she get to, anyway?" Embry asks. He hasn't quite recovered from the mishap in the Swan's kitchen earlier this afternoon — nor the subsequent visit to the clinic — and Jacob isn't entirely ignorant to the fact that the pair of them haven't been alone yet. Likely because Embry fears there will be yet more blood spilt, which of course means that he is totally going to go completely overboard with Protection Duty over the next few days to make sure nothing else happens to Leah on his watch.

"I don't know . . ." Bella makes a show of looking around as if Leah's absence has surprised her. "She was right behind me."

Embry tilts his head, considering. "Did you kill her?" he asks then, entirely straight-faced.

Although Quil laughs, Jacob knows from the tightness in Embry's shoulders that the question is not entirely a jibe, and he can't help but throw a worried glance over the dunes where Bella first appeared. He feels as if he is forever toeing that dangerous line between reasonable sanity and unreasonable insanity: one part of him knows that Leah is alive, of course she is, yet the other part of him — the animal part of him — wills his legs to move so he can see that for himself.

Jacob leashes his irrational wolf and plants his feet. Leah will not thank him for hovering.

Beside him, Bella tucks her hair behind an ear, suddenly nervous to the point that she is barely able to look at any of them in the face. "We just talked, that's all. She's . . . intimidating."

"She's a pussycat, really," Quil says cheerfully, his laughter only getting louder — likely buoyed by the fact he's up fifteen bucks and has more money coming, because Bella's not shed a single tear yet and isn't showing any signs of trauma from being left alone with Leah for nearly half an hour. Jacob estimates at least twenty-five dollars going into his friend's pocket by the end of the night.

Bella gives a tight, polite smile as if she doesn't believe it but isn't willing to argue the point. Not in front of Jacob, anyway, who is now both wondering where his girlfriend has gotten to and dying to know what she talked to Bella about. That, and trying to stop himself from seeking her out.

"Don't let Leah hear you say that," he says, dragging his eyes back to the group. His girl throws punches for those kinds of comments. Anyone would be better off calling her feral — at least they would have a better chance of surviving, then. The most they'd be in danger of would be a wicked smile.

Quil rolls his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. "I'm not scared of her." His voice is steady, but everyone recognises the flagrant lie.

"Come on Bella." Embry assumes the responsibility of steering her towards the group, which Jacob suspects is so Quil can't assume the task and leave them alone together. "Come sit down and say hi to everyone."

The girl looks worried, but she allows herself to be ushered away. Meanwhile, Quil is left to push Jacob towards the bonfire, who is too busy looking over his shoulder to pay his friend's persistent nudging any attention.

Go, stay. Stay, go.

It's a no brainer. He goes. Fuck his irrational wolf. It's not exactly as if he wants to be here anyway. If Leah's found something better to do, then he wants in on it.

Quil is too fast, all but grabbing him by the scruff of his neck a second before he manages to dart out of reach and head towards the sandy banks. "Oh no you don't. Leave her be, man."

Even with two or three inches of height advantage, it is surprisingly difficult to shake Quil loose. Seems someone has been working out.

"When you imprint," he growls, "I'll remind you of this, and you'll—"

Quil chuffs a laugh, his grip unyielding. "God, I hope not. I don't want to turn into a complete sap, thanks."

"I'm not a sap, you bast—" he starts to protest, even though he knows he kind of is where Leah is concerned and that she would be the first to say so.

"Oh, shut up. Stop struggling. She'll come when she's ready, alright? Y'really think chauffeuring your sort-of ex-girlfriend up here was on her bucket list? Give her a minute to recover."

"What? She offered! You laughed at her!"

"Yeah, so did you. It was funny. But we all knew she was offering just so you didn't have to do it," he says, and Jacob freezes at that. He's still frozen as Quil sighs and pushes him away. "Well, Em and I did, anyway. Jeez. You used to be smart, dude."

Huh.

"Hang on, you haven't got a bet on whether she actually turns up, have you?" Jacob asks suspiciously.

"No, but that's a good one," Quil says, suddenly thoughtful. "Ten bucks she disappears and we find her holed up studying somewhere. Who'd be stupid enough take it, y'think? . . . Hey, Jared!" he yells. "Come here!"

The bonfire is in full swing by the time Jacob and Quil eventually meander over. Bella is still working her way around the Pack in Embry's shadow, greeting his brothers with all the enthusiasm that only a totally oblivious person could muster. Emily seems the most pleased to have her in their company; in contrast, Paul is the only person who doesn't stand to greet her, opting instead to make a show of flapping his hand back and forth in front of his face.

"Keep the bloodsucker stench downwind, will you?"

Other than that, Jacob is surprised to see that, despite everything, she's (mostly) treated like someone who belongs. Of course, Sam still seems a little upset with her, considering that she welcomed the Cullens back into her life so quickly, but then again Sam is upset about a lot of things lately so Jacob doesn't dwell on that too much. Besides, it's not just Sam — although they appear to have moved on from it, the whole Pack felt varying levels of betrayal when Bella ditched them as soon as the bloodsuckers returned from Edward's failed suicide mission.

To his credit, not even Billy treats her any differently than he usually would when she nervously waves at him (likely cowed by all her relentless phone calls that he had to answer before she was told about the imprint), although that may be because the old man is a little preoccupied with grumbling about this afternoon's Mariners game against the Texas Rangers which they lost. They're set to lose the next two games, too, if they're all being honest, but of course nobody says that to his face.

It's not until Bella finally sits on the ground beside Emily that Leah finally crests the dunes, and Jacob knows he is not the only one on the beach who lets loose a sigh of relief. Her expression is as enigmatic as ever, skin gilded with the last rays of the summer sun, and it requires actual physical effort to abstain from running to her in a pathetic show of imprint-infused adoration.

Sue, who had been particularly unimpressed to learn that her only daughter was driving to Forks and back with an injury that's barely begun to heal, looks as if she is ready to deliver both a stern lecture and a tight hug. Even Sam's stormy expression seems to soften a fraction (much to Jacob's eternal chagrin), although his eyebrows quickly knit together again once he spots the bandage she is sporting on the hand she holds close to her chest. It seems that not even a first-hand replay from Embry has been able to prepare him for seeing the after-effects in the flesh.

Jacob feels Sam's gaze before he notices it, and he turns slowly to face his stare. The indisputable accusation in his Alpha's eyes is clear, the silent question as loud as it would have been if he'd roared it across the fire: What the hell were you thinking, letting her drive?

Leah would answer by saying that nobody lets her do anything. Jacob answers by shrugging, knowing that it will infuriate him. Unfortunately for Sam, the Alpha inside is powerless to act upon his ire, not unless he wants to be having an awkward conversation with Emily later tonight.

Sam turns his back on him. Maybe it's not a conversation he'll be having with Emily, but Jacob has a feeling that it'll be a conversation they will be having before long.

Not that Sam will care for his rationale.

In truth, he had stopped himself from voicing his reservations about Leah going all the way to Forks for the second time in a matter of hours. Not because she was going to be alone with Bella and . . . things . . . were undoubtedly going to be said (because Leah has never been known to keep her thoughts to herself), but because the imprint had felt frayed enough with everything that's gone on today alone. He might not have considered her true motive (according to Quil, anyway), but he had known that another misstep between them was all that was needed for him to regress into the same nervous wreck he'd been in that first week after imprinting. Leah would surely run away screaming — for good this time — and he wouldn't be able to hold it against her. So he'd bitten his tongue and watched her go, fighting to ignore the miasma building in his belly.

Now, when their eyes meet, the bond between them feels almost tangible; it tugs on his every breath, yanking impatiently as it yearns to reunite them despite only being separated for a little over an hour, and he wonders whether she is fighting as hard as he is to keep her cool after the long day they've had. So much for taking Memorial Day to rest and spend time together. Tomorrow she'll be back at school, he'll be back on patrol, and within the week she'll be starting her finals. They're hardly going to get a minute to themselves.

Leah bestows him a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, one of understanding, and it doesn't take long for their feet to carry them towards each other.

Jacob stops himself short, raking his eyes over her form just as hers rove over his, and it feels as if they spend an age scanning each other for any sign of change, injury, or otherwise. He has a million questions building in his throat and wants nothing more than to pull her against him, but the thick bandage around her hand and the unnaturally subdued look in her eyes make him hesitate. He can't blame her if she is wary of him. It wasn't too long ago that he was losing his temper and shedding his skin, after all.

He knows there is very little that frightens her these days, but that side of him is still something that she has rarely ever seen. And aside from apologising to one another, they hadn't had too much time to recover from it before Embry and Quil had been barging their way into the garage — not enough time to determine whether things have changed between them. They've bickered before, sure, but today is the first time he's had to leave to phase out of anger — to actually put distance between them. It's usually the opposite way around — she's always the one who's calming him down, the only one who can soothe the wolf when it rises to the surface.

A new smile plays at the corners of Leah's mouth as she watches him, quiet and dry. "Guess the honeymoon period is well and truly over, huh?"

As always, he is unsurprised that she can read him so easily, that she understands the concern he is trying so desperately to hide. Sometimes it makes him wonder if Leah has a direct line to his thoughts, navigating the valleys of his brain just as adeptly as his brothers. She calls it her sixth sense, or her freaky radar — if she is in a particularly jovial mood. Personally, he'd settle for it just being freaky, the way they understand each other.

"They do say the first year is the hardest," he tells her solemnly.

Leah bites down on her amusement, pushing her hair away from her face with her good hand. "Isn't that meant to be about marriage?"

"Are you proposing?" he asks, and he grins triumphantly when it elicits the same kind of laughter from her that he was seeking. Maybe things haven't changed that much after all.

"Shut up," she scoffs. "Come here."

He doesn't need telling twice. He all but falls into her, or perhaps she falls into him; he can't tell. He only has the presence of mind to make sure that he doesn't crush her injured hand as he gathers her close, not caring that the whole Pack or the Council or even Bella are probably watching. It wouldn't be the first time, or the first bonfire they've begun this way.

Leah presses her cheek against his chest and draws a deep shuddering breath, instantly relaxing, and he tightens his arms around her in response. She is the perfect height for him to comfortably rest his chin atop her head.

"Are you okay? Are you in pain?"

"Some. Nothing I can't handle," she mumbles, stubborn as ever. She presses her bandage against his back, pulling herself even closer as if to prove a point. But she can't fool him.

Guilt starts to work its way back in, and he holds her as tight as he dares. "I should have gone with you."

"That would have defeated the whole point," she says, all but confirming what Quil told him about her reasoning for going. It still stuns him a bit stupid that she would go to such lengths for him — that she has and will go to such lengths. These are the things that he is meant to be doing for her. "Besides, I wanted to talk to her. Did she say anything?"

"Only that you're intimidating."

"Good." Leah's tone sounds as equally proud as it does pleased. "She said as much in the car, but I thought that she might have been playing it up a bit to get into my good graces. She thinks you want us to be friends."

That new detail throws him off for a second. "Is that something you want?" he asks carefully, but her snort is a touch too scornful, revealing all he needs to know. "I thought so. Me neither. In fact I'm pretty sure I can't think of anything that would be weirder. Or more awkward."

"Thank God. For a second, I wondered if I might have to start playing house."

They share a quiet chuckle. Although the idea is somewhat . . . intriguing, to see what kind of friends they would be, what kind of relationship they would have, it's not something Jacob is entirely convinced would work out when Bella's life has an expiration date.

"S'pose we better go and sit down," Leah mumbles a few minutes later, when they both finally feel somewhat normal again and the thing that binds them is feeling a little less taut.

"Yeah. Probably," he agrees, peering down at her. "You wanna go say hi to everyone first?"

Leah screws her face up, hand fisting in the back of his shirt. "Not really. Today has just been . . ."

She has no word for the end of that sentence, but whatever it might have been, he would have agreed. "I know."

She sighs. "Can we just go home?"

"Whatever you want, honey." She always has the best ideas, but he knows better than to tell her this, or else he'll have to live with her shit-eating smirk for the next few days. "One of the guys can drive Bella back; they won't mind."

"Ugh. I almost forgot about her. I promised her bloodsucker we'd have her back by eleven."

"She has legs, doesn't she?" he grumbles into her hair, feeling petulant all of a sudden. Toying with the idea of going home and potentially climbing into bed with her, only to have it taken away from him in the same breath may have something to do with it.

Leah laughs as she reluctantly pulls away, taking her sweet time. She puts her game face on and wraps her good hand around his, straightening her shoulders.

"Come on then. Let's get this over with."

➰

Six hotdogs, a bag of supersized chips and two litres of root beer later, Jacob is finally relaxed enough that he doesn't scowl when Bella predictably finds her way back to his side.

She scoots close enough that he doesn't have to look to know Leah's gaze has sharpened with displeasure from where she's squished between Paul and Embry (he can sense it) — they're debating the merits of pineapple on pizza, with Collin and Brady chipping in their two cents whenever they can get a word in edgeways (or at least, Brady is; Collin is too busy staring at Leah, mouth agape in something like awe — or maybe that's just owing to the fact the kid has the biggest crush on her known to man; he can never string a full sentence together when she's within ten feet of him. The only reason Jacob hasn't injured him is because the kid is thirteen-years-old, as clueless as he is harmless. He also happens to be his first cousin). Sam, Jared and Quil are sitting with the elders, locked in a discussion about something or other — nobody has a chance of eavesdropping over Leah and Paul yelling animatedly at one another about the yellow fruit (although if the looks on Emily and Kim's faces are anything to go by, who are practically wrapped unashamedly around their wolves, Jacob is willing to guess it's a rather explicit conversation about how close they have been to catching and decimating the redhead).

"You grew again," Bella accuses lightly, drawing his attention. It's a poor conversation starter, even by her standards.

Although they are sitting, Jacob has to look down to see her face properly. She seems strikingly pale underneath the waxing crescent moon, more so than usual. Smaller, too; he noticed earlier that her head doesn't even reach his shoulder these days, although she seems to have gained back the depression weight she had lost over winter. She doesn't look like a strong wind might knock her over anymore, and the gaunt look she'd adopted whilst her darling tick family were God-knows-where has almost completely faded.

Jacob harrumphs loudly around his seventh hot dog, stomach close to bursting. "Guess I did."

Bella mistakes gluttony for hostility and shifts nervously. "Are you okay?"

He's aware of what she is asking — they haven't seen one another since he told her about the imprint, after all, when anything that could have been between them was shattered with such finality — but right now he is more concerned that he's not going to finish his seventh hotdog. Maybe if he ditches the bread . . .

"Jake?"

He groans. "I'm so full that I'm about to puke."

An empty bottle of root beer hits the side of his temple, and he lazily turns his head to see Seth close by, who is sprawled out after eating his body mass. "My dad used to say all pigs sleep after they eat."

"Explains why he and Billy were always snoring before our moms could make them do the dishes," Jacob responds, and the grin he cracks is easily mimicked by Seth — way easier than it would have been six weeks ago.

Bella sits forward, the smile on her face not as easy — nervous, even, as she edges her way into the conversation so as not to be forgotten. "Charlie's the same."

Seth smiles good-naturedly. "Just wait 'til my mom cracks Dad's fish fry recipe. You'll never be able to wake him then," he says, stretching long and wide with a yawn to match. "Man, I gotta get up or I'll be the one asleep. D'ya think I should go defend my sister against Paul before they kill each other?"

"Sounds like she's doing just fine," Jacob laughs. "It's Paul you should be worried about. Maybe go and make sure she hasn't made him cry or something, or else we'll never hear the end of it."

"Good idea."

Seth sluggishly pulls himself to his feet and lopes over to the other side of the fire, leaving Jacob to his full stomach and a quiet Bella, whose eyes he can feel watching him. She's probably chewing on her lip in apprehension, maybe even flushed red as the last time they were left alone together springs to mind.

If she's expecting him to apologise, then she'll be waiting a long time. Luckily, he's not holding his breath for an apology from her, either. He'd just rather forget the whole thing and carry on with the pretence the last few weeks haven't happened.

The silence between them ticks on for a few minutes, during which Jacob begins a fight against his eyelids which are starting to droop (pigs indeed) when Bella finds her voice.

"Did Jared imprint on Kim?"

"Huh?" is all he can reply because it's not what he'd been expecting her to say — or even that she was going to be brave enough to say anything at all. He lifts his head, following Bella's line of sight. She is studying Jared and Kim with thinly-veiled interest; his own is brief, quickly returning to watching Leah. "Oh, yeah. They're a bit obvious about it."

"I'll say," she mutters. "What about Sam and Emily?"

"Yep. Imprinted. Thought you would have figured that out with all the time you spent around them before — well, you know. Before Italy."

"I just thought they were really in love," Bella tells him, embarrassed.

"If only it was as straight-forward as that," he scoffs over the crackling fire, unable to stop it from sounding completely derisive, or at least, even enough to cover the underlying bite to his words. Then again, he doesn't think anyone would have been able to miss it — it's not an easy thing to hide, not where Sam is concerned.

"What do you mean?"

He shakes his head. "It's complicated. And not exactly something I want to explain where everyone can hear. They won't thank me for it."

(Plus, Sam looks a heartbeat away from killing him still, and it's plain to see that he's hardly thrilled that Bella's hanging around again. It's no secret that he had kind of been counting on their shared hatred for the Cullens, thinking that she was the one person in the world with as much reason to hate the Cullens as he did. It is an understatement to say that Bella accepting them back into her life as if they'd never hurt her has not only been a kick in the teeth for Jacob, but also to their longest-serving Pack member, too — especially when Sam had been the one to find her in the forest. It's a wonder any of them are managing to treat her normally.)

"Okay." She sounds disappointed but, surprisingly, somewhat understanding. "Tell me later, then."

"Maybe," he says, looking over at her cautiously. "It's not really my story to tell."

It doesn't shake her determination. "I want to understand imprinting better. I mean, I didn't really . . . We didn't talk about it much last time," she says quietly, ducking her head to hide her cheeks that are deepening with colour because she knows she is as much to blame for that as he is.

Maybe more so.

She takes a few seconds to compose herself. "Today's made me think that perhaps there's a lot more to it that I don't understand."

"Nobody understands it — not fully. We're not even one-hundred percent sure why we imprint. Everyone's got their theories, but it's just . . . something that happens, I guess. But it's like I said the other day — it doesn't happen to everyone."

"The rare exception, not the rule," she mutters, recalling his words.

He's not surprised that she remembers so easily. "Right," he says, and turns his attention back to his imprint across the fire. He doesn't really want to talk about it anymore.

Leah and Paul haven't killed one another yet, though it's more down to their mutual respect for one another than Seth's insistence to referee their debate. They enjoy riling each other up too much to truly cause any upset between them. In fact, Jacob thinks that Leah is about the only person who can match Paul blow-for-blow in a verbal sparring match. A physical sparring match, however — that's something Jacob claims for himself.

"I have another question," Bella says then.

It's a damn miracle that he doesn't groan. "What?"

"Have any of the others imprinted?"

He smirks at her, leaning back on his arms. "Hoping for a change of scenery?" he teases.

"No," she says, face reddening again. "Just trying to understand. You and Leah don't act like Sam and Jared, or Emily and Kim. You're less . . . obvious."

"Trust me," he laughs, "we're really not. But being around imprints can be kinda strange to someone who's not Pack. I'm guessing that she's just trying to give us a bit of space, considering what happened the last time we saw each other."

Bella's eyebrows knit together. "You told her."

"Of course. Don't you and Edward tell each other everything?" he asks. He doesn't mean for it to sound like a challenge, but he knows she takes it as such when her shoulders stiffen and she turns away from him.

Belatedly, he supposes it was probably the wrong thing to say. After all, Edward knew about the imprint and didn't tell her for weeks and weeks, and it only makes Jacob curious about what else they might be keeping a secret from one another. Not that he particularly cares.

Either way, he's struck a nerve.

"It's getting late," she mutters.

He rolls his eyes. "It's barely nine, Bella. Come on, you're here now, so you might as well stay. The elders haven't even started yet."

She looks skeptical. Almost suspicious. "Started what?"

"We didn't meet just to eat through a week's worth of food," he says, rolling his eyes. "This is technically a council meeting. It's Collin and Brady's first time — they haven't heard the stories yet. Well, they've heard them, but this will be the first time they know they're true. That tends to make a guy pay closer attention."

"A council meeting? Should I even be—"

"Embry invited you, didn't he? It's fine. Just . . . listen."

Although still visibly confused, Bella draws herself upright as the atmosphere begins to change and the circle around the fire begins to settle. She sits pin-rod straight, apparently prepared to do exactly as he tells her for once. It leaves Jacob wondering whether there was a method to Embry's madness after all, despite how little he cares to investigate that thought — because it'll be her first time, too, and maybe she'll finally learn something. Maybe she'll pause to think, however inevitable her future seems right now. Perhaps she thinks she's going to get some of her answers about imprinting.

Seth traipses back over to their side of the fire and sits on Bella's other side, closely followed by his sister, Embry, Paul, Collin and Brady; the younger boys look particularly anxious about their first meeting, dithering about as they take an age to decide where to sit. They phased weeks ago but are still unsure of exactly where they fall within the Pack's hierarchy.

Eventually, Leah seems to make their decision for them when she sits next to Jacob, forcing the pair to nervously take up residence between Paul and the elders once she drags Embry down beside her and Quil inevitably scoots over to fill in the last gap. Their own hierarchy has been established for months now.

Jacob opens his arm for her, and she tilts her head up to kiss his cheek before leaning firmly against his side. "Hey."

"Hey. Did you have fun?"

"Oh, yeah. Fun," she says, gathering every last modicum of sarcasm this side of Washington into that single syllable. She tucks her legs underneath her. "Paul chose a weird hill to die on. Next he'll be telling me pineapple and chocolate go well together. Freak. What about you? Did you have . . . fun?"

"Oh, yeah," he retorts in the same tone. "Fun."

She presses her lips together, hiding her smile in the crook of his shoulder just as he hides his own in her hair, and neither of them moves again for the longest while as his father begins to recount their history. It's mostly for Collin and Brady's benefit, but also for Bella, who Jacob can tell is listening with rapt attention, if her stillness on his other side is anything to go by.

Even when Old Quil takes over from Billy and launches into the story of the third wife's sacrifice, her attention never waivers. The same can be said for Leah, who Jacob realises has not heard this particular tale in full before (at least, not with renewed perspective) — she seems to be hanging on to Old Quil's every word, and he wonders whether this story has been specifically chosen because of the two people who sit either side of him.

Maybe he's just being paranoid and thinking too much into it. Nobody knew Bella would be in attendance. Either way, despite his very best attempts, Jacob cannot distract Leah, not with his fingers dancing over the small of her back or running through her loose hair. She doesn't stop him though, and nobody else mocks him for it.

"—then the third wife did something the Cold Woman did not expect," Old Quil's gravelly voice continues over the fire, though Jacob has heard this enough times that he could speak the next words by heart. His fingers keep up their dance across Leah's skin — he is more intrigued by her reaction than anything else. "She fell to her knees at the blood drinker's feet and plunged the knife into her own heart.

"The blood drinker could not resist the lure of the fresh blood leaving the third wife's body. Instinctively, she turned to the dying woman, for one second entirely consumed by thirst that she was unaware of Taha Aki's teeth closing around her neck.

"He was not alone now. Watching their mother die, two young sons felt such rage that they sprang forth as their spirit wolves, though they were not yet men. With their father, they finished the creature.

"Taha Aki never rejoined the tribe. He never changed back to a man again. He lay for one day beside the body of the third wife, growling whenever anyone tried to touch her, and then he went into the forest and never returned."

Hell, even Bella seems to understand the significance of that. Seems to understand what they all do: that the third wife was an imprint. She sucks in a sharp breath only half a second after Leah does on his other side, and he wonders whether he sees the significant looks that seem to be passed around the fire between certain members of the Pack — whether Leah notices them, too, and if she returns them in kind.

Well, at least he's not as paranoid as he thought — the Council definitely picked this story for a reason.

"Time passed, and not all of Taha Aki's descendants were destined to become wolves when they reached manhood. Only once in a great while, if a Cold One was near, the wolves returned.

"When another coven came, your great-grandfathers prepared to fight them off. But the leader spoke to Ephraim Black as if he were a man, promising not to harm the Quileutes, and a treaty was agreed.

"They've stayed true to their side, though their presence does tend to draw in others, and the sheer number of them have forced a larger group of protectors than the tribe has ever seen," the elder ploughs on, his voice turning somewhat hoarse now, but for one moment his gaze seems to rest solely on Bella. They all notice. "Except, of course, in Taha Aki's time. And so the sons of our tribe again carry the burden and share the sacrifice their fathers endured before them."

The circle is silent for a long moment. And then—

"Burden," Quil scoffs loudly, a sentiment that is loudly agreed by the youngest members of the Pack.

It still amazes Jacob that his friend is the person who fears Old Quil the most and yet is the only person brave enough — or stupid enough — to openly mock anything that his grandfather says, especially in front of the whole damn tribe. Jacob's own father would have had his hide before he could blink if he'd dared do the same.

Several members from both the Pack and the Council roll their eyes at Quil, their collective sigh long-suffering. Then Jared throws something in the youngest Ateara's direction; Jacob thinks that it looks suspiciously like a rock. Whatever it is, it bounces harmlessly off the side of his shoulder, but save for a lazy flip of the bird he tosses in his brother's direction, Quil barely seems to notice it.

And just like that, they all fall back into their natural rhythm.

Bella doesn't speak, and neither does Leah — they are both so still beside him, their breathing even and deep, that Jacob thinks they might quite possibly be asleep.

God, he hopes not. But before he can bring himself to check (the guys are really going to get a kick out of this one), Leah lifts her head from his shoulder and offers him a quiet smile. It blinds him, and he doesn't have any words to give her because there aren't any that seem right — not even the three that have been playing at the forefront of his mind, begging to be said. He almost forgets where they are.

Her cell buzzing without warning from her pocket ruins the moment.

"Dammit," she mutters, awkwardly fishing it out of her front pocket and flipping it open. "I set an alarm. It's nearly ten-thirty. We gotta leave if she's going to get back in time."

Daring a look down at his other side, where Bella has still not moved a muscle, Jacob sighs.

"She's asleep," he says, which only makes him start pining for his own bed again. Or Leah's — he's not particularly picky where they end up as long as it's in the same place. "Ugh. You think he'll meet us at the treaty line?"

Leah's scoff is quiet and dark. "Are you asking me if I think that he's waiting as close as he possibly can without starting a war?" she asks humorlessly, stretching her legs out and rolling her neck. "Because he's definitely doing that. I bet he followed us right outta Forks and has been parked up halfway down the one-oh one all evening, plotting murder."

She has a point there, but at least it's better than the thought of Edward actually crossing the treaty line to come and find Bella himself. Jacob does not doubt that the bloodsucker would do it if he thought that Bella was being held hostage, in danger, or something equally as outlandish.

"Are you up for another trip?"

She is already fishing the keys to the Rabbit out of her other pocket. "Nah, I think I'll stay here," she says. And then, at his incredulous look (because he hadn't banked on actually being alone with Bella, even if it is rightfully his turn to take one for the team), Leah shakes her head.

"Oh, you're so easy. Of course I am. You're driving this time, though. And we're coming straight back home," she says in a tone that leaves absolutely no room for argument. "Some of us mortals have school in the morning. Finals to study for, lives to live, that kind of thing."

"Yes, ma'am," he quips, snapping a salute. "That just leaves one last question . . . Are you going to wake her up, or am I?"

Leah is up on her feet before another word can be said, already starting off towards the banks of the beach without so much as a goodbye to any of their family.

"Thanks," he calls dryly, and he swears that her answering laugh matches his brothers'.

Chapter Text

(Jacob)

Exactly as Leah predicted, they're hardly halfway to Forks before a familiar silver car comes into view — though it remains to be seen whether the rest of her predictions prove to be true: Edward has parked just off the side of the highway, as close to the treaty line as he can legally be. And though his impassive expression is easy enough for Jacob's keen eyes to read, it reveals nothing immediate about potential murder plots.

Although . . . If the way Edward frantically paces around his car is anything to go by, then there is every chance that he has indeed been considering it.

(Nothing new there, Jacob thinks. He has spent hours, days, thinking of ways to kill Edward Cullen, and anyone would be stupid to believe that the same courtesy is not being returned — because despite what Bella thinks, no vampire is that saintly.)

To her credit, Leah doesn't say "I told you so". Instead, she glares through the windshield at the piece-of-shit car and its piece-of-shit owner (Jacob can't blame her; he wouldn't allow either of them to be seen dead driving a Volvo), and says, "I just had to go and open my big fat mouth, didn't I?"

Jacob stops the Rabbit a healthy distance away and cuts the ignition. He's not particularly surprised this is the way his night is going, and he's aware that his resignation shows, even from all the way across the boundary line. "Honestly, I would have been shocked if he wasn't here."

He had hoped to avoid Cullen at all costs, but as long as the bloodsucker stays on the right side of the line (or rather, the wrong side of the line, where it smells like Bella's terrible life choices and a whole lot of vampire — seven of the bastards, not including the redhead and that other damned leech with a clothes kink who they have yet to track) then he is more than happy to get this day over with as quickly as possible and find his way to his bed . . . Not that he would ever admit to being grateful to the enemy for such things, of course.

Beside him, Leah grumbles underneath her breath, crossing her arms in a show of mild petulance. She lets them fall back in her lap once she remembers the stitches across her bandaged palm. Her mom will skin her hide if she starts bleeding out again. "I hate it when I'm right."

"When are you ever wrong?"

Her answer comes easily. "Never," she declares, and they share a quiet grin. Until she remembers herself, anyway, blinking back and ever so slightly lifts her chin, almost as if she's steeling herself for battle. The look on her face is one he has seen before — he will never forget her facing off against Cullen in the middle of the Forks High parking lot for as long as he lives. She had been invincible.

Jacob bites down on a smile. "Are you cussing him out again already?"

"Maybe." The crease between her brows deepens in concentration, bothersome enough that he has to refrain from rubbing it away. He settles for reaching over and tucking loose strands of her dark hair behind her ear. "Stop distracting me."

"Sorry," he tells her, sounding anything but. He drops his hand and looks away before she can catch him laughing at her. "As you were."

Leah waves him off with a vague gesture, although she seems to share his amusement, so he knows he's not in too much trouble.

Behind them on the back seats, Bella is curled up against the door and sleeping again, although Jacob doesn't think she was completely conscious to begin with — not when he woke her up and not when he steered her away from the fire and into the car. She had muttered nonsensically the whole way up the dunes, barely able to pick her own feet up, and when they had finally caught up with Leah, she had looked about as unimpressed with the other girl as she often looks with Billy whenever the old man eats something loaded with sugar.

"Bella? Bella, c'mon." Jacob reluctantly reaches over with one hand, awkwardly pushing at her knee. "Wake up. We're here."

It takes another nudge for her to stir. She blinks in confusion, looking around and— "Crap!" she exclaims with sudden alertness, jolting upright before diving straight into panic mode. "What's the time? Oh, man, he's going to be so worried. Dang it. Can I use your phone?"

"Woah. Sheesh. Take it easy. It's not even eleven yet," he tells her. "Leah set an alarm just in case, although it looks like it wasn't needed. Your bloodsucker met us halfway."

"Eleven?" Bella repeats stupidly, still confused. She looks around — first at Leah in the front passenger seat, then at him again, twisted around in the driver's seat as he is, before she turns her eyes on the darkness outside. No doubt looking for . . .

"Edward," she breathes. "He's here?"

The familiar sound of Leah's snort fills the car. "Yeah. And he's getting impatient."

Indeed, when Jacob turns back and reaches for the door, he can see that Edward is pacing a little more wildly than before, his too-quick shadow illuminated by the headlights across the highway — either down to his eagerness to be reunited with Bella or because Leah has won their mental battle and has royally pissed him off. Maybe a bit of both.

Jacob gets out of the car and pulls his seat forward so that Bella can slide across and hurry on home. "Better hustle. I'm not in the mood to fight him tonight," he says.

He's only half-joking, but he receives a frown from his friend-not-friend nonetheless. "I'd rather you didn't fight at all," she mutters as she climbs out of the car, sullen, and her words earn a second snort of derision from Leah.

Somehow, Jacob manages not to laugh. "Lighten up, Bella. We're playing nice now, aren't we?"

"Are we?" Leah asks from inside the car, too quietly for anyone but him to hear, and he shushes her underneath his breath, still fighting not to laugh.

Bella looks across the treaty line. "Yeah, I guess we are. Thanks, Jake," she says, turning back to him. "And thanks for inviting me tonight. That was . . . Wow. Something else."

He leans against the door, not bothering to point out that it was Embry who did the inviting. "Sure, sure. Glad you liked it. It was . . . nice."

"It was, wasn't it?" she says, smiling. She dips down, peering into the car. "'Night, Leah. Thanks."

"See ya, leech lover," Leah replies easily. And, surprisingly, Bella's smile doesn't waver. If anything she seems to be more amused by the response, and — not for the first time tonight — it leaves Jacob wondering exactly what they spoke about for this kind of understanding to have been reached between them. Clearly, there's a lot more to it than Leah has already shared with him.

"'Night," Bella says to him, and she hurries away.

"Thank God that's over," he huffs as soon as he gets back into the car and shuts the door behind him, not caring who can hear him. He turns the ignition. "Yours or mine?"

Leah's lack of response has him looking up, his heart sinking from the tension he can suddenly feel emanating from her.

"What," he demands flatly, a sense of foreboding settling over his bones as the dome light above them dies. It appears to be too much to ask of the world to just allow him to go home and sleep.

"Look." She jerks her chin towards the silver car, her expression inscrutable save for the slight tightness to it and the loathing in her eyes. "I think he wants something."

Jacob considers feigning ignorance and turning the car around to speed back to the Rez, but inevitably he looks and sees that Bella's bloodsucker is . . . waiting?

Across the highway, said bloodsucker in question nods as if to say, yes, he is.

Great.

It is with no small amount of irritation that Jacob gets back out of his car for the second time in as many minutes. He waits just long enough for Leah to follow suit, waits until she wraps her good hand around his, a steady force at his side before they make their way towards the treaty line together — if only because Edward cannot save them the walk by crossing it for them. Jacob can't possibly imagine what else the bloodsucker wants from him, or from Leah. It's not as if they've exactly got anything left to give — nothing that they're willing to part with, anyway; Bella and her beloved ticks have robbed them of everything else.

The boundary line is invisible but potent — at least, it is to him. Maybe it's because his senses are heightened, or because the treaty was agreed to by his bloodline, or maybe even because he's tied to this land in ways the undead can never be. Either way, he's as aware of it as he is of Leah, and stepping across it sends a ripple up his spine and has him clutching her hand a little tighter.

"This better be good, bloodsucker," he grumbles on their approach.

"Good evening. Thank you for coming over," Edward responds, annoyingly amiable as he inclines his head to them. Bella is tucked safely underneath his arm, looking tired but wary. It seems she doesn't know anything about this impromptu get-together, either.

"Yeah, yeah." Impatience works its way into Jacob's voice before he can muster enough energy to check himself. It's all he can do to remember to not breathe too deeply lest he gags on the stench. "What is it? Have you found out who the bedroom stalker is?"

"Not as such. Have you and your pack come across anything?"

"Give them a chance," Leah says. "Embry only passed on the scent this afternoon."

Edward's golden gaze flickers to her wrapped hand she is holding stiffly at her other side. "Of course. I merely asked you as a precaution, anyway. I imagine the perpetrator will be long gone by now."

His words feel like an insult, but Jacob allows them to wash over him, valiantly attempting to keep his mind clear of any stray, private thoughts. He silently wills Leah to do the same. "So why are we here?"

"Bella and I thought of something this afternoon which I believed might be of interest to you and your Alpha," Edward tells him calmly. There is malice lurking, of course — anyone would be stupid to believe a vampire wishes a werewolf well — but he is more skilled, more experienced at hiding it than anyone else present. He's had decades to practice. "I wasn't sure if she would find the time to raise it with you tonight, so I wanted to speak now, should we not get another opportunity before studying for our finals takes over."

"Finals?" Jacob scoffs. "Haven't you graduated six hundred times over already?"

"Eighteen," Edward says, smiling back at him with the barest hint of humour.

"I'd say get a life, but I wouldn't want to offend you or anything," he retorts, bolstered by Leah's warmth at his side. She leans on his shoulder, and he knows without looking that she's hiding her smile against him. "You know, considering."

"Jake," Bella protests with a slight groan. "Playing nice, remember?"

He waves her off. "Yeah, yeah." She's right. No matter how much he enjoys it, butting heads with bloodsuckers is the least of his concerns right now. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I thought it prudent to let you know that whoever Bella's . . . visitor was, we believe they were gathering traces — evidence, if you will, to prove that they'd found her."

"What do you mean, found her? Jeez, Bella. Don't you have enough of the undead trying to kill you? We're already working overtime as it is." Jacob runs a ragged hand over his face, his breath equally as unsettled. The second he tells Sam about this . . . Forget double patrols, he and his brothers are all going to be running triple shifts before their Alpha is satisfied there's no threat to their people. "Fine. Whatever. What's one more leech?" he asks sarcastically. "Tell me the plan, then. I assume your psychic is keeping a lookout."

"Of course," Edward says. "But it's quite hard to see something — or rather, someone — she's never seen before. Those visions don't come as easily to her unless they're tied to our immediate future, but she's watching nonetheless."

Jacob nods. "Good. Anything else? The redhead?"

"No, nothing. Except . . . Well, I assume you're tracking the situation in Seattle as closely as we are?"

"What situation?" Leah asks, straightening.

Edward's blink is the only show of surprise he allows himself to display. "It's all over the news."

"Forgive us if we're a little too busy to pick up the daily paper," Jacob drawls. As if they've not got enough on their plates with two vampires lurking around.

"Do you not have a television? Radio?"

"Seriously? Who has time to watch television in between spending all hours hunting your kind and protecting—"

A warm palm against his chest interrupts him, and he closes his mouth obediently.

"What situation?" Leah repeats, her frustration audible. There is not an ounce of fear about her. "The short version, if you would. It's late, and I reached my limit for supernatural crises a long time ago."

Jacob fights to school his face. Butting heads with the enemy might be the least of his concerns, but it's something Leah enjoys just as much as he does. He will even yield that she is more skilled at it than he is, managing to earn a rise out of her intended target every time.

"There's been significant activity in Seattle," Edward begins to explain without preamble. He regards them both carefully, though his glances towards Leah seem to last a second or two longer. It sets Jacob's teeth on edge. "We initially thought that it was all down to a single vampire, a newly-turned one, but the rising numbers of disappearances and murders suggest there may be more, and we believe the Volturi will intervene soon unless we can find some way to calm the situation."

"The Volturi," Jacob echoes. He processes that for a second, his breathing turning shallow, and he looks down at Bella. She has turned unnaturally pale — more so than usual, if that is even possible. "They're those Italian leeches, aren't they? The ones you went to and—"

"Yes," her bloodsucker says before that sentence can be finished. "As you can imagine, I'd rather they didn't visit Seattle. If they come this close, they might decide to check on Bella."

If Jacob clutches Leah a little tighter than before, she doesn't complain. The thought of all those leeches coming anywhere near the Rez — near her, let alone Washington . . .

She is the first to voice the question on both their minds. "Check on her?"

"Check that she's still human," Edward clarifies, and Bella's heartbeat stutters in fright.

Jacob's blood runs cold.

"Exactly," says Edward, apparently agreeing with the sudden gut-wrenching feeling that Jacob knows courses through him and Leah both — although he is willing to bet that Edward is not agreeing for the same reasons. "It would be more preferable for us to intervene instead and prevent them from coming here. It's not just Bella's life we're discussing here — it's yours, too. Certain members of the Volturi would be against your very existence."

It doesn't need pointing out that the Pack's existence is entirely down to one thing and one thing alone.

Edward hears the thought and dismisses it, shaking his head. "As long as you stay off their radar, you'll be safe."

Jacob takes a step forward without thinking about it, preparing to fight before the implication of the bloodsucker's words settle. "If you ever—"

Edward raises a white hand, the other splayed wide to shield Bella. As if she is the vulnerable one here. "There's no need for threats," he says. And, after a beat after listening to unbidden thoughts, he adds, "Verbal or otherwise. You misunderstood me. Carlisle would never allow us to dishonour our agreement like that."

Unsurprisingly, that does little to calm Jacob's temper.

"He will insist we learn more before we decide on any course of action," the bloodsucker continues, "whether that includes the Volturi or not. Perhaps if we can talk to the newborns and explain the rules then it can be resolved peacefully . . ."

He trails off, snapping out of that thought as his eyes narrow on Leah, deliberating.

"I'm not sure," Edward says to her then, though he sounds intrigued nonetheless, inching ever closer. The bastard even inclines his head slightly as if to hear more clearly.

Leah shrugs, unperturbed. "Why not?" she challenges. "Seems pretty plausible to me."

They stare at each other as their discussion turns silent, driving Jacob — and Bella, it seems — to the point of insanity. Edward's expression shifts every few heartbeats, listening and responding to whatever Leah is saying to him. Listening to whatever she is thinking whilst her emotions play out across her own face.

"What are you talking about?" Jacob asks, not bothering to mask the sourness to his tone.

"Interesting," Edward says to Leah instead of answering him. "I can see why you would come to that conclusion. It's not something I considered — if only because it's so far-fetched . . . I'll admit there is some merit to your way of thinking, even if you are wrong. Perhaps there's another angle I'm not seeing . . ."

Leah turns to Jacob, dismissing the bloodsucker with disdain, and finally explains. "I was just thinking — it seems a little unbelievable to me these are all separate issues. I mean, it's like you said, isn't it? How many enemies does Bella have, exactly? Nobody could possibly think they aren't one and the same."

Jacob looks at Edward, eyebrows raised. She has a point.

The vampire doesn't seem convinced. "It's impossible that the Volturi, Victoria, the newborns in Seattle and Bella's visitor are connected."

"Fine, so not all may be the same," Leah concedes rather impatiently. "But they are related, at least. You say the Italians are coming to see if Bella's still human. You say her clothes have been taken to prove that someone else has found her."

"Found me . . ." Bella says slowly, eyes widening more and more as the pieces start to fit together. " . . . Or checking that I'm still human."

"Thank you!" Leah exclaims, throwing her hands up. "At least someone sees where I'm going with this. I'm telling you: this is all connected. It has to be."

Edward shakes his head. "You don't understand the Volturi; they don't make house calls. And I imagine that even if they did, they wouldn't have left Bella's father alive."

Jacob scoffs. "Maybe they made an exception for old friends." He ignores the way Bella's knuckles whiten around Edward's arm. He has no time for softening the blow of his words. No time, and no patience. "Or maybe," he adds heavily, recalling Bella's reluctance to tell him the whole story of what happened in Italy — he'd just known she had been withholding the life-threatening details from him, "you didn't get off as lightly as you thought, and they're sending you a message."

"No. Alice would have seen them decide."

"Everyone makes mistakes," says Leah. "Even vampires."

"I will . . . consider it," Edward says slowly, evidently not liking the idea — that Alice could be wrong, or that Leah could be right. "In the meantime, we'll keep track of the situation in Seattle and let you know once a decision about our course of action is made."

"How kind of you," Leah mutters.

Jacob puts his arm around her shoulders, eager to start making their way home. "Well, once your decision is made, you better let Sam know. If these leeches get any closer, you'll have to answer for a lot of kids suddenly phasing." The idea of more kids younger than Collin and Brady running around the Rez has him wrestling his wolf into submission as it scratches at his bones, yowling to be let free. "He might have turned a blind eye to your last breach, but he won't forgive that. None of us will."

Jacob doesn't need to add that there will be a reckoning — one that he will personally lead if he must.

Edward knows. Knows that he has no intentions to be Alpha, but that there are some things he's willing to make an exception for if it ensures his people's safety. Leah's safety.

"As his second-in-command, I imagined you would inform him," Edward says pointedly.

Bella lifts her head, eyes suddenly bright. "What?"

Jacob doesn't give her sudden piqued interest any attention. There's a reason he has not mentioned this to her before, if only because her questions will be relentless. His thoughts about hierarchy can be heard just as loud if he deigned to give them a voice, anyway, and anything that goes unsaid will only be shared with her later on. It's not worth the oxygen, trying to explain himself. Certainly not to a goddamned leech who is holding court at this time of the night. Who knows exactly what wounds are being opened up by mentioning these things.

"Let Sam know," Jacob repeats.

"If you prefer." Edward is cordial, the perfect gentleman. But Bella doesn't see the slight lift of those stone lips, the only private indication the bloodsucker dares give that he believes he has won.

What has been won exactly, Jacob doesn't know; there are a lot of things he still doesn't understand about Cullen, still a lot he doesn't understand about his motives behind his actions in recent weeks: withholding the truth from Bella about the imprint, spiriting her away to Florida, allowing her to step foot on the reservation — to name only a few things.

Jacob holds his stare, trying to figure it out. Waiting to see who will break first and rise to the challenge hanging in the air between them until Leah's voice suddenly slices through the night.

"Are we done here?" she asks, though she doesn't wait for an answer before she's tugging on his fingers and moving her feet. Because whatever he is feeling, she is feeling just as strongly, and she knows that he is only moments away from exploding into fur and teeth and claws on the wrong side of the treaty line.

"We'll be in touch," Edward promises.

"Awesome. Can't wait," she says, her tone sharp and dangerous. Jacob barely hears either of them over the roaring in his head. Barely hears her as she adds, more gently this time, "Come on, Jake, let's go home."

It's only because of how much she means to him that he allows her to push him back to his car — before any irreparable damage can be done.

He's not sure anyone else would have managed it.

➰

It takes a whole half an hour for Jacob to painstakingly pull himself back together, by which time he's falling into bed, utterly drained on all fronts, and he's well on his way into unconsciousness when he vaguely realises he should have followed his own advice and reported to Sam before turning in.

Damn it.

New information about the leeches — of whichever kind: the Italian ones, the baby ones in Seattle, that slippery redhead; and that's not forgetting this other fucking leech who has a fetish for Bella's clothes, regardless of whether they are all somehow connected or not — is exactly the kind of news Sam needs to know. Unfortunately, it is not the kind of news that Jacob is willing to get back out of bed for.

Leah takes longer to settle. She moves slowly around her bedroom, so deep in thought that she's barely uttered a word since they got back into the car, taking her time undressing. They're long past taking turns in the bathroom, although it usually takes effort of the Herculean kind to keep his gaze pointedly averted when she shimmies into her nightwear. Only this time, he's so tired that his eyes are already closed and he only knows her movements by ear.

When she eventually slips underneath the bed covers, it's with a sigh that is far too world-weary for her eighteen years, far too burdened than anyone he loves deserves to be. The sound has him reaching for her before it fully dies away, closing the distance until not even a pocket of air exists between them, if only so that he can remind her she's not alone. Because he feels it, too. The horror of what they've learned tonight . . . The dangers they are facing . . . It's all they can both do to not give their fears an inch of space.

Jacob teeters on the edge of unconsciousness for the longest while, refusing to fully give in to his own exhaustion until the sound of Leah's deep, steady breathing fills his ears and her body relaxes in his arms, but neither comes quickly. She seems to be fighting it as adamantly as he is.

He knows why when she presses her face into the crook of his shoulder, shuddering from whatever terrifying thought that has most recently crossed her mind, and whispers, "What are we going to do?"

He swallows the automatic responses the imprint demands he says to soothe her, because he knows that's not what she's looking for . . . except he doesn't have another answer to give.

"What if I'm right?" she asks then, voice filled with dread. "What if it's all connected, and we're just too blind to see it? What if—"

"Then we'll do what we were born to do," he says, because that part comes easy to him, too. "We'll kill them. All of them."

Despite her warmth, she shivers. "If they come here," she says, "— the ones from Italy . . . You heard Edward. They'll kill you first. They'll kill you for just existing. They'll level the whole reservation. Mom, Seth, Billy. Embry, Quil. People will die. And Charlie, Jake." Her voice finally cracks. "They'll kill him just by virtue of being—"

Jacob rolls onto his back, pulling Leah with him. The unexpected movement stuns her for a quick second, but that's all the advantage he needs.

He pulls her against his chest, his arms holding her in place as tightly as he dares, and thinks he could quite possibly murder Edward fucking Cullen for this. No — he will murder Edward Cullen.

"Nothing is going to happen to Charlie. Or you, or your mom, or Seth. Nobody. We don't even know this has anything to do with them, not for sure."

"But—"

"No, stop. One supernatural crisis at a time, remember?" His voice is light, entirely put on, but he doesn't feel her smile or hear her laugh.

"I don't want to be right," she says, her voice little more than a whisper as he brushes his lips against her head, "I really don't. But this . . . It feels wrong. And we're just supposed to trust the Cullens to make the right decision as if all our lives don't depend on it."

If they even make a decision, Jacob thinks but does not say. He wouldn't put it past the bloodsuckers to pack up and leave right after graduation, taking Bella with them and leaving the Pack to deal with their mess. Again.

"Do you have a better idea?" he asks gently, already knowing her answer without her speaking it aloud.

"No," she says finally, "I don't."

Pushing the point further is futile, if not entirely cruel, and so they lie there in silence, the combined heft of their dread lingering like a dark cloud. Even so, Leah falls asleep quickly after that, quicker than he would have thought possible with all that is haunting her, exhausted to the point that she sleeps atop his chest, still and unmoving for the rest of the night.

Despite how bone-tired he is, sleep doesn't find Jacob until the early hours of the morning, not until the warm glow of the sun spills into her bedroom and the world feels infinitesimally less dark.

When all is said and done, he may not be able to save them all from the marauding bloodsuckers' clutches, and Leah's dismal predictions may very well come true in a firestorm of gristle and gore to rival any of the tribe's horrific legends. Still, he knows that he will endure the atrocities of battle until his very last breath to give Leah the best chance of making it out of their pocket of the universe alive.

As long as he doesn't dwell on what comes next, that terrible purpose is — strangely, or perhaps not so strangely — the only thing which gives him comfort and helps him finally fall asleep.

Chapter Text

(Leah)

Unbelievably, she makes it to school the next day.

Unsurprisingly, Seth, Collin and Brady do not. Their absence is unexplained but not unusual enough that Leah is stopped and questioned by anyone about it. (She's not sure exactly what she'd tell them, if they did — 'risking their lives for the greater good of the Olympic Peninsula' probably isn't a response that would be accepted easily, and though Sam's Alpha Orders don't have any bearing on her, still she is sworn to keep her tribe's secrets. Not that anyone would believe her if she decided to let something slip.)

(Accidentally, of course.)

Leah yawns her way through her classes, her mind preoccupied with swirling thoughts that hinge on Jacob's safety — because God knows that AP Government hasn't prepared her for the intricacies of supernatural politics and rampaging genocidal warlords with red eyes. To add insult to injury, she slept like shit. And, considering the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the sense of disquiet that he carried out of her home, so did Jake. He left first thing to tell Sam the latest news, meaning that the boys have undoubtedly been put on red alert. It'll be a miracle if any of them come back to school before summer vacation.

With Collin, Brady, and Seth out, the only familiar face Leah catches glimpses of in the halls is Kim, who gives her a wide berth all day, not even appearing for their usual lunch date in the library — either because she knows that Leah's stress levels are at an all-time high with her finals and graduation around the corner, or because Jared has somehow conveyed their impending mortal peril. Whatever the reason, Leah isn't particularly inclined to seek Kim out, either; if her friend doesn't know, then she doesn't want to keep Kim in the dark, but neither does she want to be the bearer of grisly news.

So, no Kim. No Seth, no Brady, no Collin. No Jake.

Overall, the day is lonely. It's an honest-to-God miracle Leah makes it to the end. There are several instances during her classes where, instead of stifling a yawn, she finds herself having to press her fingers to her eyes until the sharp feeling behind them dissipates, breathing deep in an attempt to pull herself together before she can face her classmates or her teachers. A few times she has to slip away to the bathroom because she thinks she might be sick.

Luckily, her teachers aren't expecting much out of the senior class, given that the first leg of their finals begins on Monday morning. And, even without being privy to the knowledge of their impending doom, her classmates are not in any fit shape to do anything except last-minute hardcore studying, meaning that Leah can easily excuse her lack of interaction with any of them. They don't even ask how she earned the bandage around her hand — that is if anyone has afforded her the luxury of a second glance.

By the time the school bell rings to dismiss them, Leah has told herself that she has had sufficient time to have a crisis. There simply aren't enough hours in the day for her to fall apart, and it's a distraction that neither she nor Jacob needs — not when he is undoubtedly running himself ragged and she has to worry about pulling herself through graduation.

(It's minor in comparison to what the Pack are facing every day — a stupidly pathetic, normal issue compared to everything else. As stupid as worrying that she doesn't even have an outfit for the ceremony; the only dress she owns is the same one she wore to her father's funeral. She can't wear that, or she'll barely think about anything else whilst she walks across that stage to receive her diploma. The last thing she needs is to be crying in front of the whole damn student body. God forbid they think she's going to miss them, or something equally sentimental — she has to leave high school behind with at least some of her hard-earned reputation intact.)

With quiet hope that Jacob might be outside waiting for her (if Sam hasn't already run him into the ground, that is) Leah gathers her things, preparing for escape before the echo of the bell dies, and she has almost, almost made it down the hallways and to freedom when she is stopped by a teacher . . .

. . . and redirected straight to the Principal's office.

She is by no means a coward — she has faced far, far worse, is facing far worse, and Mrs Holt is a pussycat in comparison — but she still has to wipe her sweaty palms over her jeans when she sees two of her classmates sitting outside of the office, both looking as dreadful as she feels.

Head in his hands, the picture of despair, Alex Dunne doesn't look up as she approaches. Meanwhile, beside him, Ruth Anderson looks like she might dissolve into tears — exactly how Leah imagines she has looked all day.

This does not bode well.

"What are you doing here?" Leah asks, inwardly cringing at how hoarse her voice sounds.

"I don't know!" Ruth wails.

"Nobody said anything to you?"

"No! Just that we had to wait for you!"

Leah looks at the door with uncertainty, at the letters of their Principal's name emblazoned on the glass. "Me?"

"You're to go in first," Alex tells her, lifting his head. Then he sighs, running a hand through his long hair. "I thought they were going to announce valedictorian, but then your name was thrown in, so I knew it was bad."

Leah tries her best to not take offence to that, she really does, but — unfortunately for Alex — she feels her hands balling into fists at her sides, stitches stretching painfully, and knows that the shape of his nose is wholly dependent on his next words.

"We've flunked," he moans, oblivious to Leah's ire.

"Stop saying that!" Ruth cries.

He ignores her. "So much for my ticket out of here. I was supposed to be going to Duke."

"U-Dub for me," Ruth sniffles, looking over at Leah. "What about you?"

By some miracle, Leah manages to keep her shoulders straight and eyes clear whilst both of her classmates wait for her answer. "I'm not going to college."

Hope sparks in their eyes. She has never really been fond of either of them; she can't think of a better gift than not having to see them again, especially if the pair of them are planning on moving away after graduation.

If they're graduating.

If she's graduating.

Fuck.

Alex sits up, clearly encouraged. The bastard. "Well, that makes a bit more sense. Maybe she's expelling you and wants to get the bad news out of the way. No offence," he tacks on quickly. Ruth's eyes widen, but he ignores the subtle jab to his arm. "You have missed a lot, haven't you? And you did almost burn down the Science block when Uley dumped you back in—"

"I didn't do that on purpose."

"Of course not," Alex recovers smoothly. "I'm just saying. Out of us three, you don't have the best track record, is all."

"S'pose I better put you out of your misery then," Leah says flatly. She turns her back on him and, before she can lose her nerve in front of Alex fucking Dunne — or before she decks him to kingdom come (Paul would truly be proud; maybe he will do it for her if she asks nicely) — she knocks on the door of Mrs Holt's office.

And waits.

After a painful, long moment, her Principal's voice calls her to enter, and Leah's imagination kicks into overdrive: what if Alex is right, and she truly is about to be told she's failed her senior year? That there is no point in sitting for her finals because she's flunked so spectacularly? She can honestly think of nothing worse than being held back or having to sit the GED after months and months of hard work to catch up with all she missed. God forbid she has to sit through another year of this torture . . . She'll never be able to tell Jake. And forget telling her mother.

She is halfway through coming up with a dozen contingency plans (all of which involve telling the blackest of lies to her family; she will not be able to live with the shame of failing) when she opens the door, bringing Mrs Holt's face into view.

Mrs Holt is smaller than her mom, but just as formidable, and though Leah inherited every single drop of Sue Clearwater's wilfulness, Mrs Holt is not a woman whose bad side she is willing to confront — undoubtedly why she was made the Principal.