Summary: He waits for an old friend. The ember still burns.
Embers
He stands on the back porch, his eyes trained on the trees. The day grows ever dark, clouds splitting over the horizon as the skies rumble. He can hear the beach from were he stands, waves crashing and breaking against the cliffs on the southern shores. The trees sway, scratching at the skies, dancing to the howl of the winds.
His arms are crossed, muscles bunched, tensing in anticipation. His chest tightens as he rolls his shoulders, tilting his head from side to side relieving the increasing pressure in his neck. The anxiety builds as he waits. There's some part of him that can feel her approach before she arrives. He breathes deeply, scenting the air. The moisture in the air is thick and he closes his eyes remembering a time when he was part of the trees. A part of the forest around him.
"Leah," he whispers as he opens his eyes, blinking away his thoughts. The fine lines around his eyes crinkle as he smiles widely.
"Hey." she smiles just as widely, as she stops in front of him.
He lets her image soak into his mind as he does every year. She hasn't changed. Her nose is still splayed lightly with freckles, her hazel and green almond eyes shinning. Her hair is longer though and he takes his time looking over her. There are no lines on her face, no change in colour to her jet black hair and her body is still shapely. She's wearing a dark green sweater, her long legs covered in dark jeans and feet bare.
He hates that she still takes his breath away and it almost hurts to look at her.
They sit comfortably on the porch chairs and he rubs the back of his head. He can't help but watch as she pulls her knees up, resting her arms around her legs. She turns her head and lays it on her knees waiting for him to say something. He can see her thinking and her usual tick of biting her bottom lip into her mouth appears. He licks his own bottom lip before offering her something to drink or eat.
"I'm good." she hums, her eyes still trained on him.
He wonders if she's evaluating him, the same way he does every time he sees her. He wonders if she notices the slight greying of his hair, or the way his skin is softer. He wonders if she's noticed how much more effort it has taken to keep his former physique. He wonders if she can tell his knee aches in the mornings and it isn't until he rubs it out can he get up and go to work.
"You look good," he says slowly.
Leah chuckles as she moves a piece of stray hair from her face. "That's never been the problem," she starts, her lips still offering a smile.
"I know," he sighs as he rubs his chest through the white tee. The dull ache in his chest doesn't stop. It hasn't in years. "How long will you stay?"
Leah blinks as she eyes the action. He almost catches sight of darkness in her eyes, but as fast as it comes, it goes. She leans her chins on her knees now, gaze trained on the forest in front of them. Her side profile is almost as beautiful as her front. Eyelashes brush her high cheeks as she scrunches her nose. Thunder cracks softly in the distance as she answers, lips pressed into a thin line. "Until the rain stops."
"It's not rain -" He's cut off by the soft trickle of tears from the sky. It's like a hazy mist at first as the clouds open above them but soon it turns into hard fat drops of water. It makes music on the tin of the patio as they sit together, silence engulfing their conversation. The wind howls as the sky falls, darkness creeping over the small Canadian town.
"We're alone. You hungry?" he motions a thumb to the kitchen behind them. He remembers the insatiable hunger he had always felt and wonders if she suffers in the same manner.
He knows how she feels being inside the house he shares, she's voiced it each year when visits. She didn't like the smells or the decoration or anything about it. But there's no one else here now, he's made sure. He doesnt want her to be uncomfortable. He's even tried to clean up a bit, cutting flowers from the garden and placing them in a small glass cup.
He stands, his boots still on his feet from the morning errands he'd run. Offering an outstretch hand, he shudders as her slim hand slips into his. She's like a stray as he pulls her into the house after he kicks off his shoes and leaves them at the door. Her eyes flicker around the small kitchen and living room, her feet dragging and unsure of the surroundings. He feels hurt that she doesn't trust him like she used to.
"Leah?" he calls, snapping her out of her thoughts. He'd give anything to be inside her head again.
He leans into the kitchen bench, their hands still connected, his thumb drawing circles in her warm palm. She's standing in front of him, her back to the moderate table which the glass of flowers sits on. The kitchen smells like wildflowers and wet grass because of a window cracked open above the sink. He thinks about closing it but remembers what Leah had always said about loving the rain.
"I think we're in for a long night," he sums as thunder cracks outside, closer now to the house than it had been previously.
She nods as she pulls her hand away from his. His stomach drops as he loses her heat but is soon surprised when she steps forward, her long legs between his. He's watching her with baited breath, waiting for what would happen next. Her fingers tug the hem of his tee. Another step closer and she's almost a part of him. The warmth emanating from her body burns his skin, the heat seeping even through his jeans.
"I wish it could rain forever," she mumbles, her full lips releasing a sigh.
He tentatively touches her elbow, his hand sliding up to her upper arm. "I know, Leah."
She's fisting his shirt now, her eyes down cast.
He moves his hand and places a finger under her chin, raising her face to his. "Hey," he ebbs, his thumb following the edge of her jaw. His finger passes over the tiny scar there and he sighs remembering a time when he was younger and stronger. She would have done anything for him, followed him anywhere. He didn't deserve her. "We still have time though, right. Let's eat and then watch something, yeah?"
His errands had included picking up some groceries and he moves to grab ingredients out of the fridge.
They fall into a comfortable silence, Leah chopping tomatoes and basil, him placing the pasta in hot water. They move in sync around each other, hyperaware where the other was. Soft glances and accidental brushes on hips and fingers had his chest feeling heavier. He winced silently.
He grabs two beers and asks Leah for the bottle opener in the drawer behind her. She rolls her eyes, taking both bottles from his hands. Popping them, she pushes one into his hand with a laugh.
They eat and settle into the couch, both at each respective end. They talk about her family and he talks about his. They recall the year since they'd seen each other. Leah had met a new friend, and if he'd still possessed the strength of the wolf, his beer would have popped in his fist. But she seems somewhat happy, so he doesn't say anything. He's conflicted but tries to keep his face stoic as she talks.
The TV is low and they really aren't paying much attention to the colour snippets of picture. Her legs are stretched out in front of her across the couch, her toes resting against his jean covered thigh. With all of the running around in the forest he would expect her feet not to look so soft and dainty, but they do. They laugh talking about the original pack, about their brothers. He rubs his chest, feeling that familiar ebb.
"You okay?" she asks with drawn brows, her toe poking into his thigh.
He waves it off. "Yeah, I'm good. Probably from something I ate."
She knows it's not, and he wont admit it isn't.
His hand drops down to grasp her ankle. He applies a small amount of pressure before he starts rubbing his thumb into her bronze skin. Her skin is still supple and smooth, a stark contrast to his large, slightly calloused palms. Construction work had taken a toll over the human years but he really loved what he did. There was something satisfying about hitting nails and wood, about building something, about finishing something.
"We shouldn't," she insists as she tries to slip away. He holds her firmly. A storm brews in her eyes and he has the feeling she's about to kick him in the face. But he doesn't want her to go. Doesn't want this to end. He hadn't wanted many things in his life and still ended up with a life not of his choosing. "Let me go," she warns.
His anger is getting the best of him and his heart races. "Why? So you can run back to your toy boy?"
This time she does try to kick him but he moves out of her path of destruction. Rage blinds them both. "You're a son of a bitch!"
"Well it's true, isn't it. Why did you even come, Leah? You know what, show yourself out. I'm done."
He's saying things he doesn't mean but his stupid mouth wont stop. He's hurt, blinded by fear and jealousy, but he can't help the mean thoughts and words that infect his being.
"That is not fucking fair!" she accuses, a tremble firing under her copper skin. It ripples, shaking her very core, her thoughts, her everything. Her vision blurs and she bites back the crippling pain in her chest.
"What do you want me to do?" she hisses. "Grow old for you? Stay close by and be your little fuck puppy? You want me to come here, every. single. year. just to make sure you're okay? Just to comfort you? To make sure your chest doesn't fucking hurt - burn - as much as mine does when I'm not near you? To make sure my world continues to move around you?" Stray tears streak her cheeks. "You can't just touch me and think twenty-fucking-years is forgotten."
"You think I don't know that?" he roars back, tearing after her and she tries to leave the house. He slams the door closed before she can fully escape. "You think I don't know how much I hurt you? You think I don't feel the fucking chain in my heart that's tied to yours? You have no idea how worried I am - all the time - about you. I think about what you're doing, who you're with, how you are. I can't get you out of my fucking head." He taps his head in frustration. "You're always in here, Leah. AND here!" He punches a fist over his chest.
Her lashes are damp, her cheeks wet. She feels tightness, as if there is a stone over her chest, holding her under a lake.
"Then why did you choose her?" she screams as she launches the narrow table beside the door out of her way. It hits the opposite wall, splitting into a million pieces.
The message is loud and clear. Why didn't you choose me?
His eyes soften as he reaches out to stroke her face. Her hand comes up, grasping his wrist, ready to push it away. But she doesn't. He can see her swallow hard, her hands trembling around his. His thumb runs across her plump lips, back and forth. He doesn't know how to answer her question. He doesn't even remember how and if he ever made the choice that wasn't her. He pulls her into a hug, heat searing to every corner of his body. She's lithe and tall and fits against him like they'd been cut from the same cloth. He lets her cry against him, strokes her back, kisses her head. He whispers sweet nothings into her ear about how brave and how beautiful she is and how fucking sorry he had always been.
The rain beats softly on the roof, thunder dissipating into the distance as he holds her. They stand like that, time dissolving what little pain it could.
Slowly but surely the soft taps cease, rivets of water only now falling from the edges of the roof onto the vibrant grass below.
He catches a glimpse of them in the window. She's pure fire and heat. A supernatural Goddess. She's all that's good and bad in the world, rolled into an ancient reflection of beauty. Both terrifying and devastatingly broken. And he's nothing but a human man now. A human that can't offer her anything more than a human life. She was five years older than him but she didn't look a day over twenty three. The years had been good to him, and better to her, but he still saw it. After he stopped phasing he saw it. Every single day in the reflection of his bathroom mirror. He wasn't her Alpha anymore. He wasn't even her 'brother'. He wasn't the carefree boy who ran around LaPush, fixing bikes and hanging out with his friends. He wasn't anyone.
"I have to go," she mumbles, drawing him out of his stupor.
"Okay," he swallows, giving her one last squeeze.
"Bye, Jacob."
She doesn't turn back as walks down the porch steps. The wet grass squelches around her feet as she breaks into a jog across the lawn into the darkness.
He watches with a hard face, crossing his arms over his chest. He breathes deeply, scenting the air. The moisture in the air is still thick and he closes his eyes remembering a time when he was part of the trees. A part of the forest around him.
The heat in his chest dies down but doesn't go out, the uncomfortable pit of coal burning low, encased around his heart. He watches until he can no longer see her, before slumping on the porch chair, hand rubbing over his face. He would circle the date, wait another year to see her again. It was the only thing he could do.
He would wait. Allowing the ember to burn.
.