A/N: So this is the possibly much awaited Paul and Rachel story that goes along with our other story about Nessie and Jake. They take place in the same universe. One which we affectionately call the Bound Together Series. Once we start posting more of the stories, you'll likely see that in the summaries. We hope you enjoy it!

PAUL

Sometimes you think you're having an ordinary day. Like you go to school, you morph into a big wolf during lunch to cover your patrol shift, you phase back and finish the school day, make out with that girl in your English class out in the woods because she thinks it's dangerous and danger turns her on and because you know it's safe. Anywhere for me is pretty much safe these days, though, like I said, I turn into a giant wolf. The only thing I really have to fear is getting ganged up on by too many vampires. And that hasn't happened yet, not even when we fought the war with the newborns. So, anyway, like I said, you can pull into a gas station, thinking you're having a normal day. You get out. You fill the gas tank. You're about to walk away...and then it happens. The one thing I can't stop. The second thing I fear, the one thing I should have been smart enough to fear before it happened.

As I put the gas pump back I hear an aggravated sigh. I smirk. Someone's not having a good day. I on the other hand, have had an excellent day as visions of English girl dance through my head. A very good day. And then I hear sniffling. Like that person's crying. Okay, so gas prices are high but that's not really a reason to have a meltdown. I can't resist casting a glance over my shoulder. And that's when it happens, when I see her. Everything disappears, I don't hear the cars passing on the road nearby, I don't even see the gas station around me. All there is is her and the water pooling in her eyes that she's battling with to not let go. I feel tied to her, tethered to her. She is my everything. It's happened. Why the fuck did I have to go and imprint! And why on someone so perfect. I wasn't made for this. For love. For doing the right thing. For being the hero. I messed up everything with my big mouth and quick temper, so how was I going to fix her?

She sniffled again and I immediately felt the pull. As I continued to gaze at her long silky hair, the curves of her body, my mind racing far ahead of itself as I thought of the two of us together, naked, of her rasping out my name breathlessly, as I watched, every sniff put a crack in my heart. And I came back to reality. She wasn't panting my name, like my mind desperately imagined that she was, she was upset. And I was supposed to help her. Somehow. I pondered how as I put the gas cap back on, fiddling a little longer to think, but I was no closer to any real solution. But I couldn't keep away any longer, the pull was undeniable, as was the desire to touch her, be close to her. So while my eyes were still taking in her every feature, my feet were carrying me forward, forward.

And now I was at her side. What was I supposed to say? I clenched my fists and unclenched them to keep from impulsively touching her hair, the skin on her cheek, her neck, grabbing her butt. None of that would be smooth. She behaved as if I weren't there, trying another credit card in the machine. When the words "Not Approved" flashed across the screen, I realized the problem. And I didn't have a lot of money. A monthly allowance, a part time job that I was rapidly losing time for because of pack responsibilities, but I could surely put gas in her car. That was easy. An easy fix.

I look at her, full on, and I feel something in me shatter. She looks completely grief stricken, depressed, frustrated, embarrassed. "Don't cry, please," I say to her in a quiet tone that I previously had no idea that I even possessed. I just wanted to know she would be okay. Before she could respond, I pulled out my bank card and swiped it for her, then I grabbed the pump, removing the gas cap and beginning to pump gas into her tank for her. I guess sometimes, even I, Paul, king of screw-ups, can be a hero.

RACHEL

Okay. Get home. Take a shower. Do the laundry. Fix dinner. I make a mental list of what I've got to do when I get home. I roll my eyes at myself as I realise how I seem to have slipped into this dull routine of domestic life lately, something I've always known I'd never want. The whole floor-scrubbing, cookie-baking deal that Rebecca's happy to settle for. I've always wanted to make something of myself, not have to depend on anybody, not have to pick up after anybody. But here I am driving home from work, thinking about what to cook tonight. Work being standing behind the cash register at the supermarket. Funny how they told me that my college qualifications would actually be worth something when I got out. I guess they lied.

I give a yawn as I pull into the gas station. Somehow it already feels like it's been a long day. I've been feeling so tired lately, stressing out about how to make things work at home. With Dad, with Jake. With keeping things together. And keeping us out of debt. Maybe I should take a nap first when I get home, worry about it all later. Yeah, I think that's what I'll do. Right after I fill up the tank, because I'm running low.

And then all thoughts of sleep vanish in a wisp of smoke as my credit card gets its response from the machine. Apparently I'm not allowed to worry about it later. "Come on, please don't do this to me," I mutter under my breath, shifting the weight between my feet as I swipe again. Not Approved. Again. Not Approved. I feel the panic start to rise in my chest as I try to ignore the tears stinging the back of my eyes. Not Approved. This can't be happening. I knew we were having problems, but now I can't even pay for gas.

I chew on my lip as I reach into my wallet. I've got a back-up. It should be okay, I tell myself. No need to get ahead of myself. Things can't be this– Not Approved. …bad. Apparently they can. Apparently they can get worse. As I feel the first tears start to slide, I realise that someone's come to stand beside me. I thought it was one of the attendants or something, but when I look up it's pretty obvious that he's not. He asks me not to cry, his voice so gentle that it makes me want to cry even more, I'm so embarrassed.

And then he does something completely unexpected. He swipes his card through the machine, grabs the pump, and starts filling up my tank. I stare at him wide-eyed, stunned. For a long moment, I just stand there not knowing what to say. Did I just get myself into so much trouble that I've actually resorted to imagining a kind, handsome stranger coming to my rescue? "I…" I'm at a loss for words. I wipe my damp cheeks with the back of my hands and start over. "I…" Nothing. This is embarrassing. "You… you didn't have to do that…"

PAUL

For a moment as she watches me begin to pump her gas, she looks like she might cry more. Crap! Even when I think I'm doing something right, I'm doing something wrong. All I did was help her, but she looks closer to tears now than she did before. Please don't cry more, I silently plead with her, unaware that the look in my eyes is pleading for her to be okay too. When it dawns on me, I realize I must look like a loser. A loser in love with a stranger. And I tear my eyes away from her to look down at the asphalt. I stare at it, memorizing the oil and gas stains as if my life would later depend on that knowledge. I couldn't risk looking at her again. And looking once again like a loser in love with a stranger. Even if it was the truth. How would I possibly explain it to her? Oh, yeah, by the way, you're forever bound to me, whether you like it or not, because of some magic, because I'm a big giant wolf when I wanna be. And why the hell would someone as beautiful and perfect as her want to be bound to me? I don't know the first thing about how to love something. How do I love her? How do I make her happy? It's just not in my nature.

And then her reason for wanting to cry deeper becomes apparent. She's nervous. And probably thinks that I'm loco for doing this. We are after all, like I said, strangers. She doesn't know me from Adam. And I don't know her from Eve. Other than the fact that I crave to be near to her. I crave to touch her, to hold her, to wipe her tears away, to comfort her somehow. But I'm not really good with that sort of thing, unless you want physical comfort. I'm not big on emotions, and even less big on talking about them. But she looks about to break so I say to her, again in that gentle voice I didn't know I possessed, "Don't worry about it."

Then my eyes are directed back to the ground and I can't help but scowl at the seeming inability I had to even control my own tone of voice around her. Not that I wanted to talk harshly to her, but this tone made my voice sound foreign to me. Not that I wanted to raise my voice, especially not right now, when she looked so fragile, like glass. I couldn't be the one responsible for breaking her, shattering her into a million pieces. And I would seriously kill anyone who ever did.

Then she said that I didn't have to and I spoke, somewhere between a murmur and a mumble. "Yes, I did." And I did. I had to help her. I had to be there when she needed me.

RACHEL

In the gentlest, sweetest tone he tells me not to worry about it, and it almost seems like a voice that doesn't suit his strong, sturdy frame, yet at the same time I find it having a surprisingly calming effect on me. As if I really don't have to worry about it, even though clearly I haven't been worrying about it enough. But as I watch him, still rather dumbfounded, I notice the way his eyes lower to ground, the way the muscles of his jaw seem to tighten and his lips press together in a hard line. I don't know what to make of that. Just a moment ago he seemed so kind, and I mean, he must be, considering he's standing there filling up my tank for me like he's got some kind of obligation to do it.

And then I hear him say something. It's barely audible and I wonder if I'm hearing it right. He says he did, in response to what I said, but he says it in a way that makes me rather confused. It somehow sounds like he's hovering between doing it wholeheartedly and being forced to do it and feeling embarrassed about it. I don't know how to respond to that. But as I watch him, my heart starts to feel all warm inside at how he stepped in to help me when, contrary to what he just said, he didn't have to. I didn't even ask, and he didn't even offer to help – he just helped.

"Thanks…" I say quietly as I sniffle and try to get my emotions back under control. But it's so hard to do that when just seeing him do this for me tells me just how bad my situation really must be. "Thanks… I... I'll pay you back." That sounds lame. He just saw the Not Approved Not Approved Not Approved practically jumping out of the screen. "Well… I mean… I can't right now, but I'll take down your number and, I promise I will once I can." It seems trivial, but it's already bad enough that I'm in debt without having to owe money to someone I don't even know. Besides, accepting monetary help from a stranger doesn't feel right. And face it, he doesn't exactly look like he owns Microsoft.

PAUL

I feel her eyes burning into me as I pump the gas. She's definitely looking at me. Staring at me. Studying me maybe? But why? Why? I mean what is there to puzzle out. She was in a bad spot and I helped. Because that's what good people do. Or, in my case, generally good people who are smitten with their magically bound imprint. It's simple really. So what the hell has got her so confused? Or maybe, just maybe, she likes what she sees. Maybe she's checking me out. And while I would like to think that, I know that that probably isn't it. She wouldn't be thinking about that, while she's still so upset.

The gas pump clicks, signaling that the tank is full. I hang it back up and replace her gas cap. She starts to thank me. And usually if I did something like this, something this seemingly selfless, I'd either want a parade thrown in my honor, or have ulterior motives, ones that would involve me, the girl, and a bed. And while I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't be thrilled if this ended with me, the girl, and a bed, that's not the motivation. The reasons behind my helping are pure. Because I would never, could never use this beautiful woman standing in front of me. She needed help. And I needed to take away her tears. I needed to make sure she was okay, provided for, had what she needed.

I stuffed my hands deep into my pockets as I walk over to her. I tried my hardest, but I couldn't stop the smile that began to spread across my lips, small and gentle, lighting up my face at her rambling. "You really don't have to worry about paying me back," I said to her gently, wanting to reach out and touch her, pushing my hands deeper into my pockets. She made swiping motions at her own tear stained cheeks, and I felt inadequate for not being able to dry her tears. "I'm sorry," I said to her quietly, as I saw it already starting. I was already letting her down. "But let me give you my number," I say, wanting her to have it, in case she ever needed help again but I didn't want this to sound like a come on. "You know, in case you ever have another gas emergency." She looks so embarrassed, that I want to smack myself. I hadn't meant anything by it. But she looked humiliated. What could I do to fix this? Why did I always have to put my goddamn foot in my mouth?

RACHEL

I feel the heat rise to my cheeks as he smiles at me. A warm, kind smile. On what I'm becoming increasing aware of as being an incredibly handsome face with strong, well-defined features. I can't help but feel myself smiling back shyly as he tells me not to worry about paying him back. How can I feel so lucky and unlucky at the same time? He's so sweet. And so when he says he's sorry, I'm a bit confused. I assume that he's referring to my little – well, kind of big – predicament, but it almost sounds like he's actually apologising for himself. Apologising, when he just swooped in and came to my rescue. That sounds silly, maybe I really do need to get myself some good sleep.

He then goes on to say that he'll give me his number anyway, and for some reason I feel my blush deepen. And I can't help but give a small, embarrassed laugh when he mentions another gas emergency. "I sure hope it won't come to that… But yeah, let me just get a pen." I open my car door and lean in to reach across and grab one from my glove compartment. I can't be bothered digging around to fish out some notepaper, so I figure my palm will have to do. That way I won't lose it. When I hop back out again, I realise that we still haven't even introduced ourselves yet. Now I feel kind of rude. "My name's Rachel, by the way," I tell him, holding my hand out to shake his. "Rachel Black."

PAUL

She says that she sure hopes it won't come to that. And I do too. I hope it won't come to that because I hate to think of her going without anything. I wonder if she has money for food. Maybe I should take her out, get her something to eat. What else might she go without? What else might she need that I don't know about? I want to provide her with absolutely everything I can, everything she needs. I want her to know that she really can call me anytime for anything. "If you ever need anything..." I say to her as I gently take her hand into my warm one, afraid that if I'm not very careful I might hurt her, break her. But touching her hand. It's like nothing I've ever felt. It's a complete jolt through my whole body. Everything is tingling. I feel the pull even stronger now. And I feel at peace, like there had been a hole somewhere that had been filled now. God, I needed her like I needed to breath. And I hated that. I hated being dependent on someone. But I loved it at the same time too, because I needed her.

When I'm done writing my number down on her hand, she introduces herself. "Rachel," I reiterate quietly. It's possibly the prettiest name I've ever heard. And I like how it feels in my mouth. When did I get to be so damn corny? I like how her name feels in my mouth? But I do. And I find myself saying it again, "Rachel." I smile slightly at her. And then she continues to say that she's Rachel Black. Black! Rachel Black! What the fuck?! My hand snaps away from her, like it's on fire. Jake's sister Rachel. The one who's been looking out for Billy? Rachel Black? I curse my fucking bad luck, as I growl a little. I would have to suck up to that asshole Jacob now? So not going to happen. I don't care what she needs, but I can't be all buddy buddy with whiny pathetic Jacob Black. Not happening. "Jacob Black's sister?" I question, hoping that she says no. If she agrees, I don't know if I will be able to hold back the string of profanities.

I then realize that I'm being rude. Not that I care. I mean if she's Jake's sister I'm out of here. I really am. Imprint or no imprint. Gorgeous or not. Amazing smile. Beautiful laughter. I'm so not going to be able to go anywhere. I groaned inwardly. "I'm Paul," I tell her, "Paul Harwood." I wonder if she remembers me. I wonder if she'll hate me once she does. Because all she knows of me is that I was the kid who used to terrorize her brother.

RACHEL

I smile at how nice his hand feels over mine, how his touch sends an unanticipated shiver of pleasure down my spine. It's firm and strong yet so gentle. It feels so natural there it's kind of weird. He is, after all, still a stranger at a gas station. I wonder about how warm his skin is, hot even. Like I've noticed Jacob's has been. I'd asked him several times if he was sick or something but he always brushed it of telling me I'm imagining things. Maybe he's right. Maybe I've been away too long.

But then he shocks me by pulling his hand away upon hearing my name, so sharply that I find myself taking a step back, wondering what I did. He stares at me, disbelief written all over his face. I feel my pulse pick up speed a little, trying to register his reaction. And then he mentions Jake, a tone of recognition in his voice. "Yeah, you know him?" I reply, even though it's obvious that he does. And I can't help but notice that he doesn't seem all too thrilled about it.

When he snaps out of it and proceeds to introduce himself, it's then that I realise why. "Paul… Harwood?" I repeat after him, wondering if I heard right. This can't be the same Paul Harwood that Jake used to come home complaining about when he was a kid, the same Paul Harwood who gave my brother a black eye on his birthday because he was jealous of his new bike. Not that Paul. This guy doesn't look that young. Then again, Jake doesn't really look his age either… "You're kidding, right?" I see the look on his face and can't seem to hold back the laugh that escapes my lips. It is him, all grown up now, obviously. "Oh my gosh, we meet at last!"

PAUL

She's laughing! She's really laughing?! At what? This is so far from funny. I find the love of my life and she has to be related to one of the most annoying people that I know. That I've ever met. Probably that I ever will meet. This is no laughing matter. What if she's a whiner, like Jake? I have to deal with that double for the rest of time? After all I did find her crying at a gas pump. Could my luck be any worse? What do I do now? I shove my hands deep in my pockets. It's safer that way. No touching. I don't feel the peace if we don't touch. If we don't touch, I can ignore the pull. Really, I can. I can cut myself free from this bond. Besides she deserves better than me. She deserves somebody who didn't beat up her kid brother.

But I find myself laughing despite myself, because her laughter is contagious. "So I guess my reputation precedes me," I said to her simply. And then I wasn't sure what else to say. And I needed to get away before I ruined her life. "I should go," I tell her, heading back towards my truck. She won't think this is funny when she finds out what's going on here. That her free will has been taken away. And that the universe's idea of a cosmic joke was to stick her with me.