Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Twilight saga.
A companion to Patience is a Virtue, which was meant only as a small glimpse into Quil's mind and feelings.
This is Claire Purser's story.
Chapter 1: An Understandable Infatuation
Crush: verb.
1. To squeeze or force with pressure as to alter or destroy.
2. To press, pound, or grind into smaller pieces.
3. To put down.
4. To overwhelm or oppress severely.
5. To crumble
6. To hug to oneself with great force.
7. To press against.
8. a) A temporary adolescent infatuation.
b) The object of such an infatuation.
Temporary? Not quite. Claire flipped the dictionary to the "I" section and searched the guide words carefully. It took less than ten seconds to find the correct page, as familiar with the process as she was. Below "infarction" but above "Infauna", which she decided would be the next word on her list to learn, was her desired entry. Not that she didn't already know what the words 'crush' or 'infatuation' meant, she only wanted to be sure those were the correct terms for labeling her...situation.
Infatuation: noun.
1. A foolish, unreasonable, zealous, temporary passion or attraction. (See also love)
2. The object of an extravagant, short-lived passion.
Hm, temporary again. Her feelings were anything but short-lived, and certainly not temporary. At least, for now. Perhaps once she got it through her thick skull that her emotions were exactly that as every other smitten teenager since the dawn of time she could finally lay this issue to rest.
She was an extremely analytical person by nature, far less prone to emotional upheavals as those she was graduating with. High School was mundane, even the excitement she felt for her impending graduation was less thrilling than she had hoped for. She preferred La Push and surfing to the boring institution she was being forced to attend for another month.
Too bad she was so good at it. School had been her niche, she got it. She understood it. She wouldn't go so far as to say she actually fit in, her practically non-existent social circle being proof enough for that. But still, her grades validated that her calling was somehow linked to education. Math, not so much. Her mathematical skills were about as deft as her ability in Chemistry or Molecular Biology: intermediate at best. So no, she was not Valedictorian nor Salutatorian, she was merely fourth in her graduating class of, oh, about fifty.
Small school, small town...small was the story of her life.
No, her calling was geared specifically toward Liberal Arts. Her transcript was practically a love letter to the Humanities department: World Literature, Classical Literature, American Literature, Greek Philosophy, Sociology, Psychology, Anthropology. All histories, all applied sciences, all linguistics classes. Her schedule was nothing but College Preparatory, Honors, and Advanced Placement. Anything her school offered in those categories were included in her transcript, and with no less than a 97 percent average.
She snapped the dictionary shut when she heard the teacher mention her by name.
"Miss Purser, I guess I am just wasting my breath up here for all the attention you're paying me." The teacher had a hand on her hip for dramatic effect.
Claire felt her cheeks burn without her permission, her hands felt clammy instantly. How she hated being placed front and center, everyone's eyes brought to her alone. Habitually, she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and curled her long, thin, board-straight hair around her index finger.
"Sorry Mrs. Hampton." She said loudly, trying to dismiss her unease with an over exerted air of confidence.
"Yes, well, you all need to pay attention. None of you have graduated yet." She turned and continued her spill over Don Quixote, which Claire had read once in tenth grade and had no intention of rereading. She was maintaining an easy "A" in this class so she allowed her mind to wonder, as usual.
And, as if for no other reason than for her own personal torment, her subconscious produced the one person on the planet that occupied most of her thoughts. In fact, since her early teen years, he had monopolized all her excess time. It had started at fourteen, during those terribly awkward middle years, and bloomed into the unhealthy obsession she now had.
Quil. Just the name made her heart beat too fast and skin tingle. It was a condition she had absolutely no control over whatsoever. It had not always been this bad, in fact when she was younger she knew it was no more than an inappropriate crush. She loved him dearly but until the summer of her fourteenth birthday she had not seen him in any other light but one of her big brother.
He became her best friend. She told him everything about her life, confided all her doubts and worries with him. There was no problem in the world that Quil couldn't fix with Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream, a movie rental, and a bowl of popcorn. He could make her laugh until she cried, make her warm with the slightest touch, and never allowed her to fell less than 100 percent appreciated.
It was that strange summer of her fourteenth birthday that Quil explained his magical transformation into a wolf. She, of course, had thought he was joking. Quil always joked, because she never joked. She was always serious as a heart attack and Quil was anything but serious. The were exact opposites. So, obviously she did not truly believe him. The old legends were...legends. Myths, not facts meant to be taken literally.
Until he showed her. By all the powers that be, she never thought he would actually show her. He had given her plenty of warning but, still, she thought he'd come jumping out from behind a tree, hands in the air, screaming "Gotcha!" like it was another one of his terribly lame, but ultimately adorable, practical jokes.
No such luck. She watched a large, horse-sized wolf with deep brown fur walk cautiously out of the forest bordering the beach. Of course her first reaction was to stumble back wide-eyed and frantically slam herself again the boulder she had previously been using as a seat. The wolf paused and slunk his huge frame down to the ground, whimpering slightly. She took deep breaths and stared at the creature for several minutes before it slowly, carefully raised its head and sat on its haunches.
She narrowed her eyes at it, taking it all in. Then the eyes, the deep liquid brown eyes gave him away. It was her Quil in that body, she would know those eyes anywhere. They were too expressive, too human and full of emotion to belong to any animal. So she stood and began walking the short distance to him.
She felt intimidated by Quil for the first time in her life that day because even standing up, even stretching toward his large, furry head she was not tall enough to reach him. He leaned down and let her touch his cheeks, stroke the top of his head and down along his back. The fur was very course, much more course than Quil's own hair. She still loved the feel of it.
He licked her face the next moment and it made her both laugh and gag playfully at him.
"Ug! Quil!" She yelled and he barked at her, a growl that lingered and shook his frame. It startled her at first until she realized it was the wolf version of a laugh.
He lowered himself completely to the ground and inclined his head toward his back. She was confused at first because, for all her open-mindedness, she never entertained the idea of riding on him. He leaned himself up and made another muffled barking noise.
"I don't understand, Quil." She admitted, patting his cheek again and caressing the patch of thick fur along his neck. "Sorry. I guess it would help if I could read your mind."
He gave another spine-tingling chuckle that rumbled inside his large chest like distant thunder, then stood up enough to walk around her. He slowly rubbed his side and head affectionately against her, gently so he didn't knock her down. It reminded her more of what a cat would do rather than a wolf, but she never said so. He curled himself around her and laid on the ground at her feet, his massive head leaning against his forepaws.
She sat down and buried her head and shoulders into his warm side. Even as a wolf he was much more warm than any normal person...or animal...should be. She remembered they laid like that for a long time and when she eventually shivered from a gust of cold wind he wrapped his huge, furry self around her more. His tail was covering her legs and his head was leaned across her arms.
She did not shiver again. She was toasty warm and fell asleep. The next thing she remembered was waking up being moved. It was dark and Quil nuzzled his nose against her neck, which tickled, and it roused her enough that she could sit up on her own. She leaned forward and her wolf slipped away into the woods, only to reappear less than a minute later in cut-off jeans.
Quil and every single one of his friends were big fans of partial nudity. She rarely saw them in much more than cut-offs or sweats. She understood now that Quil had explained everything but, still, it wasn't until that moment that she really appreciated what he looked like. She blatantly stared at his abs, his pecs, his enormous biceps, thick neck, and by the time she made it to his face she was blushing too fiercely to meet his eyes.
Then he walked her home, holding her hand the whole way like they had always done.
That was her favorite memory of Quil. She had millions to choose from but that one was definitely her favorite. It was a shame, though. He felt more inclined to clothe himself after that day and never came around her any less than fully dressed again, barefooted was the best he could do after that. Ah, but she still had the memory of his bare chest and perfect masculine figure.
In fact her first memory ever was of Quil. She didn't remember most of the details or how old she was at the time but she did recognize her Quil in the small flashback. Like an old, tattered filmstrip without sound and replayed in slow motion she could only vaguely catch glimpses of the other people and objects around her. The entire vision was blurry and out of focus, nor could she catch the movements or hone in on what exactly the backdrop entailed. But the one thing she did remember with perfect clarity was Quil.
Like the pillar of a house he was the support beam of her life. Every single important event of her existence had him in the foreground, smiling and encouraging her. Even the terrible, Earth-shattering divorce that effectively ripped her family apart was dulled by the support of Quil. Her parents never really worked well together, it was an obvious fact. Late at night she could hear them fighting, arguing, even throwing things against the walls.
Those nights were the worst. Her parents probably never realized the damage they were doing, it must not have crossed their minds that Claire could hear them. Still, the first time she woke up crying from listening too long to their arguments she was eight years old. She remembered vividly that Quil had somehow managed to silently open the window and climb inside her room. For someone so very large and brawny he could move with more stealth than an acrobat and more silently than a ninja. She supposed it must come from being magical.
He always sat on the floor with his back against her bed letting her hug his neck, crying all night into the crook of his shoulder. He would pat her head and sooth her the best he could with little whispers of: "It'll be okay" or "They don't really mean that" or "It's not your fault, honey".
He made her promise not to tell her parents that he visited her at night. If she told they would certainly never allow him to come over again, so she had crossed her heart and hoped to die, but Quil never let her finish that promise. He always told her it was bad luck to say anything so terrible. He could never imagine her dying.
Then the day came when her father packed his bags and was kicked to the curb, or rather moved on his own to Carlsborg. Forks didn't appeal to him and in Port Angeles, only twenty minutes away from his new home, he found a lawyer that very nearly took her away from her mother. It was a terrible custody case and Claire was hauled off to the courts two separate times to give her own opinions of her parents. She was not old enough yet to choose who she would rather stay with, what she said would be interpreted by the judge.
Quil waited outside the courthouse both times and sat on the steps until he saw her. His warm hugs soothed away the stress and tears she had accumulated from the lawyers and judge. He said he would have gone in to be with her but thought it was better that he stayed out of the way. It was family business and he was, unfortunately, not family. Her Aunt Emily and Uncle Sam came to give encouragement to her mother, sitting on the bench looking anxious for the entire drawnout process. Emily was her mother's sister by blood and they looked a lot alike...aside from Aunt Emily's scars, of course.
Claire didn't pick up on why Quil remained away from the hearings until years later. Her father had made her relationship with Quil seem inappropriate, trying to paint Quil and life with her mother on the reservation negatively. It was a tactic to win the custody case, she was sure, but it did not help her regard toward her father. No, in the end he was rewarded every other weekend, summers, and holidays until she turned fourteen.
Quil was more devastated when it was time for her to leave than anyone, even her mother. He always had this detached, out-of-body type of experience when her father would show up and pack her suitcase into his car. She would watch him from the passenger's window and wave goodbye. He always followed their moving car with his body, like there was an invisible string linking him to the vehicle, and waved back at her until she couldn't see him anymore.
When she was fourteen and chose not to go back with her father it was not as difficult to do as she had first feared. He had remarried a year prior and her new step mother, although tolerable, was eager for her birthday. Claire was given the distinct impression that the sooner she was out of their hair, the better.
She called Quil nightly from Carlsburg, sometimes more than once a day if she was in a lousy mood. The weekends weren't as terrible but it was the summers that killed her. There were days during the long summers that she would get bored out of her mind. Her father would be gone to work and she was left with the babysitter or her new step mother. It was absolutely no fun at all, so she would call Quil.
If she asked him to, and sometimes without even being asked, he would make the nearly two and a half hour trip to pick her up to take her out to Port Angeles and raise her spirits. Sometimes he would already be "in the area" and come to get her, but she knew he never went out of La Push any other time. It had made her suspicious that he came up just for her but she never questioned him. She was just glad he came at all. He often told her that when she was unhappy it make him miserable too. So he did anything he could to cheer her up.
Turning fourteen was a big year over all. She made the choice not to spend the summer with her father for the first time in three years and, in return, Quil revealed his biggest secret to her. Perhaps she had proved her loyalty by staying in La Push; or maybe he just trusted her more now that she was getting older. Either way, she was sincerely glad he had let in her on his world of magic, werewolves, shape-shifters and vampires.
But even as a younger child she remembered knowing, no matter what, she could get her way with Quil; even if all the other adults wouldn't indulge her. But then, she didn't think of Quil as an adult. He was honestly like a big kid, a five year old stuck in the very large body of a man. Albeit, the most handsome and ridiculously fit body she had ever seen.
She remembered the first time she got jealous over him. It was probably something that made Quil laugh to this day, but she tried not to dwell on that.
When she was five years old and started school Quil seemed more unhappy about their time apart than she was, but he put on a smile for her and went with her parents to visit the class she would be in. She had never went to preschool, which she guessed was at Quil's request, so kindergarten was her first real experience in a classroom.
Her teacher's name was Miss Bellew and she was young and very attractive. She introduced herself the moment Claire's parents walked into the room. However, her attention was on Quil from the time he pranced into the tiny room holding Claire's hand. Claire always knew she had Quil's undivided attention at all times. If she so much as giggled, Quil was right beside her wanting in on the joke.
"Hello, I'm Clarissa Bellew." Her new teacher said, looking at Claire. Then her gaze went to the six foot, five inch muscled body builder standing next to her. He was slightly leaned over to his right because her arm did not yet reach to his hand. He had to accommodate, which he always did for her.
"And who's this? Your uncle?" She asked sweetly, looking at Quil and extending a hand.
"Oh, um, no. We're not related." He said, awkwardly using his left hand to return the greeting. He refused to let go of Claire's hand unless necessary.
"This is my Quil." Claire said indignantly. Her eyes narrowed at the teacher slightly as she emphasized the possessive pronoun.
Her teacher was fond of Quil right away and she tried making small talk with him, which did not set well with Claire. Quil belonged to her, everyone knew that. Aunt Emily even said so, Uncle Sam joked about it. Quil belonged to her, so why was her teacher looking at him so much? She didn't realize at the time but she knew now that her teacher had been flirting like crazy that day.
Claire was happy to pull Quil away from the lady and find the desk that would be her's for the year. Quil knelt down beside it and watched as Claire huffed into the seat and kicked her legs underneath it. Quil grinned at the little five-year-old fireball and her jealous streak. She was always so possessive of him, it was endearing when it wasn't downright laughable.
A domineering five year old controlling a full grown wolf-man. Looking back on it made Claire wonder how she ever pulled it off and it made her blush for an unknown reason.
"Hm, is my Claire-bear upset?" He asked her sweetly, looking like he was biting the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing.
"I'm dandy." She answered, carefully writing her first name on the ID tags just as she had been instructed to do.
She felt proud that she knew her first and last name, some of the other kids couldn't do that yet. Quil had practiced with her repeatedly for weeks until she knew all her letters and numbers perfectly. Her parents worked a lot and didn't have the extra time, even though her mom certainly gave a convincing effort.
"Yeah well," He started, removing her name tag from its cover and sticking it on her desk. "You're acting kind of angry. Don't you like your teacher?"
Claire's eyes shot up and she momentarily glared at the lady at the front of the room.
"She's okay, I guess." She muttered, writing her name for the second time and concentrating even harder on the patch that would go on her shirt every day.
"Oh yeah, just okay?" He asked.
"Hm-hmm." She hummed, scowling at her patch and slowly finishing the letter "e" with a bold, black pen.
"Well, do you know what I think?" He asked her.
Her eyes slowly lifted until she met his gaze and she shook her head. He smiled at her and leaned in like he was going to admit a very important secret.
"I think she's got nothing on you." He whispered, she didn't quite understand the phrase so he added quickly. "You're still my favorite girl."
Claire smiled brilliantly at him. "In the whole, wide world?"
He chuckled at her and nodded largely. "The whole world."
She put the pen down and asked for a sheet of paper, which Quil got for her from the bin, and she began drawing on it.
"No peaking Quil." She said, pointing to the bookshelf. "You go read and I'll draw, this is a secret."
He ginned at her and walked away aimlessly. She always watched to makes sure he was doing what she said and, amazingly, he always did. She knew he was sneaking peeks at her because he always did. If she made a noise he would have bounded over to her in less than a second, she knew it without a doubt.
When she was five it was strange to have that kind of power over someone, let alone an adult. She never really thought of it as power but she recognized how easy it was to get what she wanted from Quil. Sometimes it was like he knew what she wanted before she even thought about it herself.
She finished the picture and drew a heart around it. Her Quil was holding hands with her in the picture, they were smiling and it looked very good.
"Okay Quil." She said. She did not yell, she never needed to. It was like he could hear her a mile away and responded immediately at her call.
He was next to her before she had the chance to turn around and try to find him.
"Oh, that's nice." He said, bending down and staring at the picture appreciatively.
"My Quil." She said, pointing to the picture. "And me."
She watched him smile and nod. "Very good."
"You like it." She said, without making it a question.
He nodded and stopped her before she began to wad it up, carefully taking it away and folding it neatly to put into his back jeans pocket. She drew lots of pictures all the time, she never kept them unless Quil was around. He always kept everything she drew that was any good. Her scribbles didn't count and coloring books didn't either, but if she tried to draw something from scratch he never let her throw it away.
"I'll take that." He said.
"What d'you do with them?" She asked, sounding far too highpitched for her liking.
She swore she saw Quil's cheeks turn a darker shade of red.
"Oh, I just keep 'em around. You know, like in scrap books and stuff." He shifted uncomfortably.
SLAM went a ruler across her dictionary. She sat bolt upright and stared at the intrusive object on her desk.
Her pleasant memory was quickly and loudly interrupted by her obnoxious teacher.
"Miss Purser!" She heard and instantly her head popped up to the shrill voice. "Answer the question."
Claire's shocked expression faded and she licked her dry lips.
"Could you be more specific, please?" She asked mildly.
Her teacher actually looked puzzled for a moment and did exactly what Claire wanted, she repeated the original question.
"Please explain Cervantes' foreshadowing at the end of Part One, I can't be more specific than that." She said with a huff, then tightened her lips. "Unless you also want to tell us all how it applies to part two."
Claire did not want to sound like a know-it-all, but she also did not like being given a challenge without facing it head on. Part Two was not required reading for this class so, unless there were other overachievers in the room, no one would have read past the necessary assignment.
"Don Quixote anticipates his own death while his niece and housekeeper confirm this suspension with speculations that he might run away again...as for the second part of the book I don't want to ruin the ending for anyone."
Claire winced as she heard a few snickers from beside and behind her. She hated being the nerd sometimes, and relished in it at others. She was smart. She knew that, everybody knew it, but it ended up repelling her classmates more often than not. She had not intended on being a brat, but she could tell by her teacher's tone that was the case. That, or the teacher truly did not believe she had read the entire book already.
"By all means, explain it to us." She offered, this time it sounded very much like a challenge.
She desperately wanted to be the quiet geeky girl in the glasses that no one paid any attention to again. She didn't want to set herself apart from her classmates any more that day.
"Um, in the second part he dies of a fever." She offered.
"Ah, well, that would be easy to google. Maybe you can tell us the symbolism behind his death."
Claire felt herself sink into her seat a little. "At the end of the story Benengeli comes back and says that Don Quixote's death illustrated the death of chivalry and knights-errant...basically." She added lamely.
Her teacher nodded and walked back to the front of the room, there was no laughing now from her peers and she could feel herself start to relax.
When the bell rang she grabbed up all her belongings and rushed out of the door, eager to get outside and home again. Along the way one of her few friends caught up with her in the hallway. Melissa was fifth in their graduating class, shorter than Claire by a few inches with short, brown hair. She was also slightly pudgy but, then again, Claire was more curvy than she wanted to be herself.
She would never be thin and evenly proportioned like the cheerleaders. Her hips were too wide, her thighs too thick, breasts too large, and a gut that she couldn't make into washboard abs so save her life.
Luckily, all of the students had dark brown or black hair because it was a reservation school. All the students there were directly Quileute or, less likely, Makah. She, herself, was Makah and only a small portion of her fellow students were too. She couldn't remember the Makah reservation she had been born in; she moved to La Push too long ago for her to recall. So it amused her greatly when she saw some of the girls, and rarely some guys, with obviously dyed hair. Unnatural shades of red, blonde, and some strange combinations in between made her shake her head in disgust - or laugh out loud, depending on how idiotic it looked.
She stuffed her books securely into her backpack and smiled at Melissa beside her.
"What are your plans for the weekend?" She asked, receiving a shrug of indifference from Claire.
"Family cookout on Sunday but absolutey nothing planned for tomorrow." She answered, knowing that Melissa was well aware of her family's weekly ritual: a cookout every Sunday at Emily and Sam's house. The entire pack came with their wives or girlfriends and children...except Leah, who didn't date or have kids.
"We should go see a movie in Port Angeles." Melissa offered. "I could drive."
Claire nodded. She desperately wanted a car but could not afford one, she planned on getting a job the moment she moved for college. As it was there was no need for a job until then. She would be starting at Seattle University in the fall, she had a scholarship there so long as her grades remained an "A" average. She smiled as she realized her nearly perfect record meant she would have to fail three classes per term the first year to lose her scholarship.
She had never failed anything in her life. There was no way that would happen.
She would have gladly gone to a community college but the two closest had nothing in the humanities department, so her choices were limited. She had just received the acceptance letter yesterday and was waiting for the weekend to tell the family, except Quil. He would know tonight. She always confided in him, he knew everything that was worth knowing about her long before anyone else.
Except that she was deeply infatuated with him. She never led him on to that succulent piece of information. She would die of humiliation before that day came. He was so perfect and somehow allowed himself to be carried over from glorified babysitter to best friend throughout the years. She wondered at times when he would finally settle down and leave her behind.
She shuddered at the thought. The idea of her handsome, strong, warm, perfect Quil with a trophy wife and three kids made her want to vomit. Literally, she could feel the bile churning away in the pits of her stomach. Melissa walked beside her oblivious to her inner strife.
Everyone was clueless about her feelings. She was an emotional recluse. What had happened in her past to make her so was beyond her knowledge. Her mother called her a robot, told her she needed to go out more often. Have fun, live a little, get into some trouble.
Was she seriously so pathetic that her own mother had to tell her to get a life?
Quil rebuked her mom the first and only time she had said that, defending Claire's social awkwardness with a zeal she didn't even realize he possessed. He called her a 'good, smart girl' and profusely argued she was perfect exactly as she was, that there was no need for her going to wild parties just because she could. Claire was seventeen at the time and had been invited to a 'get-together' with most of the other seniors. She wanted to go about as much as she wanted a root canal. So she watched a movie with Quil instead, which seemed to suit them both just fine.
She had been to only one of those 'get-togethers' before and regretted going altogether. She had called Quil after thirty minutes and begged him to pick her up.
There was little begging required. He was already walking out his door to his truck before she asked him for the favor. The only boyfriend she had in high school, because she did not consider anyone earlier than that to be substantial enough, broke up with her over that. He didn't want to leave, she did. It was a simple enough problem that was easily fixed when Quil came to get her.
Mark, who was no one of any real popularity to begin with, followed her out to the street corner away from the house full of boozing teenagers. He begged her to go back inside and she politely refused, explaining herself fully. She had no interest in drunken, slovenly delinquency. It did not amuse or appeal to her.
He shook his head at her and grunted out a few choice curses. "You're such a freak, Claire. Don't you know how to have any fun at all? We're sixteen, we're suppose to do stuff like this!"
She narrowed her eyes at him and looked down the road toward the direction Quil would be coming from.
"See, no reaction at all." He said to her, grabbing her arm. "You never do anything. I might as well be dating a rock for all the fun you are."
She didn't understand his harshness at the time, she had been nice to him. He had been her first kiss and her prom date. They were on the chess team together, in the Beta club, and he even wore glasses thicker than her own. It wasn't like she was trying to date the quarterback of the football team, that would never have happened. First because she was not his type and second because he was far from her type.
Her mind briefly imagined Quil in a football jersey much too small for his huge frame. She would be willing to bet money that Quil could play, and excel, at any sport he attempted. She frowned when she realized that if he were in her school now he would probably be the head of every sports team and dating the head cheerleader. Such was her luck, that she would fall for someone so impossibly out of her reach.
"Claire, are you even listening?" He yelled at her and pulled the bend of her arm toward him. It was not rough, he was not hurting her. Still, she did not like the violation of her personal space.
"Let go, Mark." She said coolly, but he didn't. He just scowled at her.
"I'm breaking up with you, Claire. I thought we would be perfect for each other. Looks like I was wrong."
She nodded her head and pondered on her lack of response. Shouldn't she be upset about this? It was a breakup, after all.
Still, she felt her heartbeat heighten at the sound of Quil's old Ford truck, equipped with rusted paint and bald tired, as it came within earshot. Mark immediately grimaced and let go of her arm.
"Figures." He muttered, walking away.
Quil was slightly scowling in Mark's general direction as he pulled up and halted at the driveway. Mark had decided long ago to simply stay out of Quil's way, though Quil never actually did anything to Mark. There was an animosity there Claire couldn't quite put her finger on or even understand.
"Didn't enjoy it, eh?" He asked, letting the truck idle as he stepped out and walked around to the passenger door to let her in. She had learned long ago that Quil always did anything for her that she might not like doing herself. He opened doors for her, led the way down a rocky path, carried her over long distances if she got tired. Anything that could be remotely considered courteous he did. Always. She had stopped trying to fight it. She never won.
Once inside, the cab was too small not to feel the heat his body radiated. She knew it was a side effect of his shape-shifting but it was always amazing to experience. Even if it was snowing outside he could make it feel like summer, even rain turned to steam if it directly touched his skin. Sexy didn't even begin to describe Quil.
Then he waiting for her to buckle her seat belt before putting the truck into drive because, she knew better than anyone, he was as protective as a mother hen. Dangerous was not his middle name, not when she was involved. He was a wild wolf, a muscled mechanic and tougher than steel, but he was a worry-wart over her safetly. So without hesitation she bulcked and listened to the loud rumble of the engine as he revved the old truck forward.
"Not really." She said. "Mark dumped me."
Perhaps he was expecting a more emotional outburst because his eyebrows shot up and he looked over at her expectantly.
"Today?" He asked, she could hear the forced tone of sympathy. She didn't understand why he tried to play nice now, he obviously hadn't liked Mark from the very beginning.
"Just now." She answered, taking off her glasses to clean them.
"Hm." He said, and did not speak again for several seconds. "You don't seem upset."
She smiled. "You're quite observant...for a grease monkey."
He smirked at her and wiggled his right hand's fingers in front of her face, which were permanently rough and stained with oil. "Smart aleck."
"Always." She answered and there was a comfortable silence the remainder of the ride home.
-
Claire hastened her walking pace into nearly a mad-dash for the school's exit. Quil would be waiting like he always was in the parking lot. She had never walked home in her life, between Quil, her mother, or her Aunt Emily she always had a ride. More recently Melissa had been able to play chauffeur but she did not like using her as a free taxi service.
No, Quil was much more opportune. He never minded taking her anywhere she needed to go, he pouted the few times she suggested someone else giving her rides to the store or school. He honestly acted like he enjoyed all their time together; which, of course, she knew only added fuel to the fire. She did not need all this, it was enough that she cared too much for him as it was - and in the worst possible ways.
He didn't help at all. He kept being all charming and perfect, which meant college would be doing them both a load of good. She would get away from him, and his many distractions, and he might find someone his own age to follow around. The thought made her internally gag but she knew it was the reality. Once she was gone he would have to shower all his perfect gentlemanly affection on some other lucky woman.
Then she would never be able to come back to La Push. She already had it mapped out in her head. Four years of college and long enough times spent away that her connections to home would break, time and absence would allow her to forget what she loved so much about Quil. And, eventually, she could move on to somewhere and someone new.
That was the theory, anyway.
She and Melissa reached the doorway only to skid to a halt at the frame. It was raining, again. No, not raining, the sky had opened up and Niagara Falls was washing away everything outside. She could see the streams of muddy water flowing off the steps and onto the paved walkway that led to the tiny parking lot.
"Ugh." She groaned, steeling herself before making the final stretch to Quil's truck. She couldn't even see where it was, everything further than ten feet away was a blur.
She saw a blue umbrella come trudging up the sidewalk and toward the school doors, nothing but the cut-off jeans of the person could be seen beneath it. She was about to open the door for him when he stopped and walked slowly up the stairs. Even without seeing the cut-off jeans Claire could feel it, she knew it was Quil coming toward them. Don't ask how, she never understood it. But she could just tell when he was nearby. She could have closed her eyes and been able to say exactly when he reached the door.
That, she knew, had to be nothing but her infatuation messing with her sanity. Who ever heard of anything that insane? It was creepy E.T. the extra terrestrial stuff, more to do with the neurons in her brain misfiring than knowing when and where Quil was at any given time. Feeling a tug when he was near, it was physically impossible.
Still, she smiled when she saw him walking toward her. She couldn't help herself. An emotional recluse she might be but Quil always brought the best -and worst- out of her.
She sighed and continued to smile helplessly. She desperately needed college or she would never break this...addiction.
This is not a one-shot. There are more chapters on the way. The amount of responses I get will directly determine how far I will extend the story. Trust me, I could make it go on forever if I wanted. :-)
~ Amiko-san
