A/N: This one was kinda tough for me to write, and trust me when I say that it was the closest to smut that I've gotten, ever.
Thanks a million to darklyromantic, who fixed this one up like nobody's business, and to DQRC/diamondqull/Claire, who looked it over and gave me a double-whammy ego-boost.
If you haven't read Claire's fic, Seducing Ms. Swan, then you are sorely uneducated. It's like the bread and butter of the canon!fic-dom in Twilight. Scratch that – it's the brioche and strawberry jam. The best canon fic that I've read, ever. And that's saying a lot, since I hate canon (and especially Bella/Fuckward) with a fiery, undying passion.
Warning: Those of you who haven't seen Hellboy, might not understand a large part of this fic. That being said, enjoy!
Atlas was permitted the opinion that he was at liberty, if he wished, to drop the Earth and creep away; but this opinion was all that he was permitted. –Franz Kafka
Dead. That was what I wanted to be.
Six feet under, far enough away from the male population of La Push so that they couldn't look at me with a mix of fear, pity, disgust, and curiosity. Fear, because I have to be defective in some nasty way; pity, because they saw them together; disgust, because said defect must be major for him to have dumped me; and curiosity: what does Emily Young have, that Leah Clearwater doesn't?
I've been getting those looks ever since the day after that fateful afternoon. I've transformed since then, but that doesn't necessarily mean that the whole rez started morphing into giant balls of mutant fur. Some of them still thought Sam and his 'friends' were into drugs, but most of them were less suspicious and more... jealous.
Jealous, since Sam was such a leader. Jealous, since he had the kind of quiet confidence and unspoken authority that any male, teenage or geriatric, would kill to acquire.
Jealous, because—apparently—he had his pick of the women. They flocked to him, circled him, stared at him, and lusted after him. It wasn't obvious, but it was close to crossing the line between subtle and pronounced. They thought that he threw me off easily and picked up the best looking lady from the neighboring rez. For some reason, the three claw marks down the side of her face didn't concern them.
If only they knew. If only they knew the truth.
In touch with the ground, I'm on the hunt, I'm aft—
I flipped the phone open before the song could continue. Jake dared me to walk around with that song as my ringtone for a month, and I'd be damned if I couldn't do it.
Still. It irked. I hate Duran Duran.
"Who are you, and what the hell do you want from me this early in the morning?" I barked.
"It's two in the afternoon, Leah." I grinned involuntarily. It was hard to stay annoyed at Embry for long; he was just so Embry-ish. He was like Jake, sans the tortured-angst façade.
"Which is morning for me, doofus," I replied and sat up in bed. My head rebelled, but I exercised my super-intensive self-control skills and managed to keep my eyes open and my stomach acids dormant.
"Damn, Leah," Embry exclaimed into the phone, "were you having a one-on-one with your liver again?"
I laughed. "Don't you just wish you were my liver?"
"Hmmm..."
"So, wassup?" I stood up, found my center of gravity before falling on my face, and padded over to the mirror. Apparently, the bags under my eyes had extensions sewn on last night. Great. Like I really needed another reminder of how pathetic I was.
"Guess what's on tonight, Leah."
"Dora the Explorer?" I put him on speaker, placed my phone in its beach chair on my desk, and pulled off my oversized navy blue shirt. "Dunno. Someone's birthday?"
"Of sorts." Embry sounded like he had a bad head cold suddenly. I turned around to the phone with a short-sleeved plain red tee over my shoulder, when I saw Embry's face staring back at me from the screen. His face was scrunched up, as if he didn't know if to run away or jump forwards.
"What the he...?" Then it struck me.
I had pressed the wrong button. I was giving Embry Call a striptease via cell phone video call.
Shit.
I promptly shrieked and dove behind my bed. I buried my head in the shag (haha) carpet there and waited for the lewd remarks... that didn't come. No guffaws, no clearing-of-throat.
Double shit.
I felt around blindly for a bra under my bed, my face still firmly affixed to the musty burgundy acrylic, and snapped on the first one I could find. With my eyes still closed, I pulled on the tee and pulled my hair out of the neckline.
Only then did I dare to look over the top of the bed—to find my damn cell phone's screen on its regular background. No Embry in sight. I was dismissing it all as a very bad dream; by the time I'd brushed my teeth and hair, washed my face, and concealed what needed concealing under my eyes, I almost believed myself.
A loud animal cry, followed by drums, nearly made me jump out of my skin. Instead, I poked myself in the eye with the concealer stick. HARD.
"Shit!" I cursed, and reached for my phone. Flipping it open, I saw a text message from Embry. I opened it, and read: Hellboy marathon tonight, Jake's place. Be there or be square. There will be beer, but you'll have to bring your own heavy artillery.
I grinned, typed in my reply and hit SEND. Pussy. Don't forget to pre-order the 10 standard pizza pies.
His reply was immediate. I beg to differ. If anyone's the pussy—literally—it's you. We men don't fear cell phone video calls.
...
Triple shit.
"Yeesh. Who bit you today?" was Jake's response to my murderous expression when he opened the door. I was standing there with a black bag that clinked, since it was housing several solutions to life's problems and car accident-perpetrators, and my standard canvas bag with a minimal change of clothing, seeing as I tended to burst into wolf form erratically these days.
"Embry," I growled, and stomped past him, into the Blacks' living room. The kitchen was right off the living room, so I headed there and set my liquid courage down on the counter. "Jake, where are the glasses?" I called over my shoulder.
He appeared behind me, grinning. "Bottom, two cabinets to the right of the sink." He peeked into my bag, and his smile grew wider. "I see you brought along your friends."
"Jack can't resist Ron Perlman," I replied, bending down to fish the glasses out of the cabinet. They weren't dusty – they actually looked well worn; with a son like Jake, I wasn't surprised that Billy imbibed more often than not.
"So he brought his friends José and Jim along, too?"
My heart stuttered, and then started working overtime. Shit.
"Jake, the pizza's here and the delivery boy's yapping about a bonus."
"Aw geez, Embry..." I could hear Jake mutter under his breath as he dragged his feet to the door, leaving Embry and me in the kitchen alone.
I selected the two largest glasses and stood up, placing them on the counter. For a fleeting moment, I thought that I was hallucinating—again—and Embry had gone back into the living room. When I turned around to get the ice cubes, however, my wild hopes were shattered. Embry stood there, leaning casually against the island, with an unreadable expression and his arms crossed against his chest. He wasn't even smirking.
That's when I started shaking. Usually, when something as embarrassing as that morning's mistaken video call happened with any of the guys, they ribbed me for it for a few days (or weeks, depends how bad it was) and then let it go, bringing it up only when drunk. Not only that, they never kept it back—they let everyone know how stupid I'd made myself look.
Jake didn't mention anything about me topless, nor did Quil catcall from the living room, as I thought he would. Either Embry had told them to shut it until he gave a sign, to disarm me further, or he didn't tell them at all...
Which scared me with its implications.
"Leah," Embry murmured, and I nearly punched him. Some girls' knees go weak; I morph into Silk Spectre. Not the slutty, yellow-vinyl wearing Silk Spectre – the kickass-neck-breaking Silk Spectre.
"What?" I snapped. His eyes were unreadable, and I hated that. I hated being unsure with Embry, I hated feeling awkward with my best friends, and I especially hated being the odd girl out.
"I..." He moved his lips for a few moments, searching for the words. I raised an eyebrow, impatient.
"Is this about this morning?" I cut him off brusquely, feeling like an utter bitch. When did that ever bother me, anyways?
His dark skin was immediately infused with a burgundy color. I blinked. Sure enough, Embry was ducking his head and cursing under his breath, with the blush reaching as far as his ears.
Embry? Blushing?
Suddenly, I was the one standing there, searching for words to say. I had no idea what I was trying to do by talking, but I sure wanted to find out why Embry was blushing.
Instead, I popped open the bottle of gin. Embry eyed the bottle and raised an eyebrow.
I shrugged, pouring myself a measure. "I've been watching MASH lately," I explained. "Hawkeye said something about gin that I agree with, especially after the wedding." I winced involuntarily and Embry twitched. He popped open the bottle of tequila and poured himself some into a glass.
"And what's that?" He picked up his glass and downed the liquor in one gulp. I smirked.
"'I prefer gin. Champagne is just ginger ale that knows somebody.'" I took a dainty sip of the gin in my glass and grinned.
Embry rolled his eyes. "Champagne has alcohol in it, Leah," he said. "I thought you cherished anything with alcohol."
I refilled my glass, this time with good ol' José, and strode into the living room. "Not if the percentage is lower than 10%," I clarified. "Jake, move your fat ass over, I won't be able to appreciate the awesomeness that is Ron Perlman bare-chested from the floor."
Jake grumbled, but instead of arguing with me, he just slid off the couch to join Quil on the carpet.
On the other hand, being the odd girl out sometimes DOES have its advantages...
An hour later, I was running into alcoholic oblivion; after that initial pre-movie drink, I had started to drink straight from the bottle. Since I had a high tolerance for alcohol, half a bottle of tequila was gone and I was only mildly tipsy.
As Hellboy nearly pummeled Manning to a pulp, my legs started tingling. I really didn't feel like having to wake my legs up, so I shifted and brought my legs out from under me. Looking for a place to let them perch, I looked straight ahead of me and down. The first thing that landed in my line of vision was Jake's shoulders.
Wasting no time on petty issues like asking permission, I moved my legs from stretched out across the couch to resting on Jake's shoulders, placing my feet next to his ears.
"Ah, much more comfortable," I sighed. Jake didn't move, but since my heels were flush with his jaw line, I could feel him smirk. Since I knew that Jake wasn't a foot fetishist, I had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to get his revenge very soon. I had no doubt that my pride wouldn't let him get away with it.
Ah, fuck it. I need a prank war to release some aggression.
Right when Hellboy nearly didn't make it to the next roof while following Liz and John, I looked up from the movie to find Embry staring at Jake and me. Again, I couldn't see his expression; this time it was because of the dark, but that didn't keep the shaking from starting. It was stronger, more obvious, than before, because of the alcohol; Jake felt my feet tremor, and he twisted around to see me.
"Is Rasputin scaring you, Leah?" he teased me, a smirk making his grin malevolent. I gave him the Death Glare™; he flinched and turned back to the screen, just in time to see the fictional Hellboy breathing fire.
"Shit, I hate this part," Quil muttered. "He's such a pussy."
"What's a dying man supposed to do against Rasputin, Quil?" I snapped. "He knows he has no chance, running will just make him look highly undignified."
He snorted. "Give the movie about five minutes, Leah, and let's see where you'll be."
Quadruple shit.
Not the damn shirtless scene.
I didn't hate the muscles part; in fact, that was the cause of my downfall. I nearly always drooled at that part. It was the lines spoken that made me recoil, that made me die inside every time I heard them.
I always found a reason not to be in the room when that scene came, but this time, I was trapped. I had peed five minutes ago, all the booze was here, and even the popcorn bowls were still full. The temperature was warm, I didn't have a wedgie, my period had been last week (the pack would never let me get away with that, because the horror that is sharing PMS with three guys is still branded into our collective memories), and my cell phone was shattered, hidden under my winter sweaters, deep in my closet.
Quint-a-shit.
My shaking resumed, full-force. It was all I could do to keep my teeth from chattering. I hugged my middle, acutely aware of the tentative stitches on the gaping hole tautening. Soon they would snap, and I would be left here, gasping, trying to sew it back closed.
Hellboy's agonized face appeared on screen, and I knew that I didn't have much time left. I concentrated on the small details in every frame.
I watched Abe's Rubik cube, revolving in his hands, counting the squares in my head. I watched the grid move across the map of Russia that Manning was talking about with his agents. I counted Liz's steps along the corridor.
I could hear the knife sawing against the threads, fraying them, fiber by fiber. I choked back a sob. I couldn't hear or see anything, but the screen. I was drawn to the source of my pain, as a moth is drawn to its death by the flame.
I could see, out of the corner of my eye, that everyone had noticed my trembling. It probably looked like a seizure to them, but I couldn't stop it. To me, it was the dull throbbing of the chainsaw that replaced the knife – not that it had to. The threads that were holding me together had snapped already.
By the time Liz had declared her traveling plans, my teeth were chattering. Instead of breaking down in front of the guys, and shaming myself more than I had already in the process, I picked myself up from the couch and dropped my feet to the floor. Ignoring the guys' various looks of shock, I padded to the kitchen in my socks, snatched the nearly-full bottle of Jack Daniels off the counter, and shoved my feet into my crocs. (Fashionable? No. Handy when you want to make a quick getaway and not mess with laces? Yes.)
"Leah?" Embry's voice called behind me. If anything, I started shivering harder than before. I shrugged on my jacket and opened the front door, where I was met by a soft drizzling of rain. Even better.
"I'm going to follow you, whether you like it or not."
I snarled and grabbed a canvas bag from next to the door. I sprinted outside and ran as fast as I could, shoving everything I wore into the bag; the Jack Daniels went in last and was followed by my jacket. When I was naked—and sure that I had lost Embry, for now—I put the bag down for a moment and let my emotions wash over me.
Within moments, I was in wolf form. Without wasting any time, I grabbed the bag in my mouth and ran like the wind.
I didn't know where I was. I didn't want to know.
I was still in wolf form, loath to transform back. My fur was dripping and my paws were caked with mud, but I didn't care.
Leah...
This time, he was closer. I considered getting up and putting one or two miles of distance between us, again. Considered it, and let my head fall back on the ground, too spent to put much effort into anything.
Go away.
You've tried that for the past three hours, and it hasn't worked.
I snarled.
I heard that. His voice in my head was triumphant.
Sext-a-shit.
Say what? And he stepped out from behind a large tree, wearing the largest shit-eating grin that a wolf can wear. His gray fur was darker, and plastered to the skin underneath it. The spark in his eyes disappeared, however, when he got no response from me.
Leah?
Don't ask if I'm fine, I feel like crap.
I wasn't going to ask you to state the obvious. He sat back, shaking the water off himself; the rain had softened to a hazy mist.
I want to know what's wrong, Leah. His eyes were patient. I didn't burst out of my new leather jacket for nothing, you know.
I snorted despite myself. You're so gay sometimes.
Hey! It cost me 200 bucks!
Sucker. I got up, shook off the mud from where it had stuck to my fur, and picked up the canvas bag with my teeth from where I had placed it against the tree. Give me a few minutes to change.
I found the thickest tree trunk and shifted back into human form. I got dressed hurriedly, noting with dismay the loss of my crocs. Not that much of a loss. In fact, I think I prefer going barefoot. My clothes were slightly soggy from when I had run out of the house, but they were kept dry by the lining in the bag. I carefully placed the bottle of Jack Daniels back in the bag, zipped it closed, and shouldered the strap.
I stepped back into the mini-clearing where Embry had found me. He was there, bare-chested, leaning against a tree with his hands in the pockets of his cutoffs. His eyes were unreadable, yet again. His chest gleamed, narrow rivulets of water running down his upper torso and snaking across—
"Enjoying the view?"
Sept-a-shit.
"Call it revenge for this morning."
His eyes darkened, and then he smiled his easy grin. "Touché." His grin faded, and I could see the concern in his eyes as he asked me, "What happened back there?"
I winced, sinking down onto the ground, not caring that my jeans were getting filthy. Unzipping the bag, I pulled out the bottle of whisky. Embry slid down onto the ground as well, and watched me warily as I opened the bottle and took a healthy swig. I offered the bottle to Embry, but he declined.
"Well, then," I mused. "Where do I begin?"
"At the beginning."
I eyed Embry again and held the bottle out to him. "This isn't a request, Call," I said harshly when he tried to turn it down again. I closed my eyes to collect myself, then opened them to see Embry down roughly two glasses' worth of liquor in one gulp. "You're going to need it."
"When Sam first transformed into a werewolf, he told nobody," I began, aware of Embry's eyes trained on my face. "Everybody that didn't guess correctly was left in the dark. Especially me.
"When he would see me, he'd try to avoid me. When I was able to catch him, he muttered excuses and ran away. I felt like he was shattering my heart every time he did that." I paused for a moment, and then continued. "It wasn't like him to avoid me, at all." I swallowed thickly, feeling the lump in my throat grow.
"One time, I was determined to talk to him. This was about a week before... Emily..." I paused, yet again, to draw in a shaking breath. "Anyways," I continued unsteadily, "I sneaked into his room at midnight and waited for him to come back. I hadn't given up on him, I just couldn't.
"When he finally walked in, at three AM, he was buck naked." I giggled at the memory. Embry grimaced, but said nothing; by then, we were sitting with our knees touching, Indian style (ha ha), and he was close enough to smell my breath.
"After he pulled on a pair of pants, I was about to rip into him, when he held up a hand. I stopped, not even understanding why I was complying—who the hell did he think he was, stopping me like that?!
"He smiled, and it was the saddest thing I'd ever seen in my life. He smiled as if... as if—"
A sob rent the air, and I realized that it was coming from me. My knees weren't flush with Embry's anymore; I was hugging them to my chest, my arms wrapped rocking back and forth, trying to retain some form of safety. Tears streamed down my face and streaked through the dirt on my face.
Embry moved to sit next to me. My rocking didn't stop, although it was less frantic. The simple touch of his hip against mine was enough to send me into a fresh wave of tears.
"—as if he was trying to hold so much back," I gasped out. "The kind of smile that a dying man forces himself to smile, so that no one would worry."
Embry said nothing; he just stared at his knees.
"And then, the-then he said, 'I have so-something to s-say.'" I was stuttering uncontrollably. Suddenly, I noticed that one of my hands had found its way into Embry's palm. He was holding my hand, his fingers laced into mind, squeezing it rhythmically. My breath hitched. I forced myself to calm down, to breathe normally. My hiccups stopped, but I was still shaking.
"I wanted to say something, but he wouldn't le-let me, he just plow-owed on. He was like, 'I underst-stand why you resent m-me.'" My shaking had subsided to an occasional tremor, and the rocking had stopped completely.
"I was like, 'No, NO. I don't resent you.' And he looked at-t me with pity, a-as if I'd neve-er learn. And then he said, 'I'm not like all the others.'" My voice had grown stronger, and I wasn't stuttering anymore.
"He looked at the floor, and muttered, 'I wish I could do something about this', and gestured at his face. It looked older, as if he'd grown a decade within a month.
"And then he crossed the room, put his hands on my shoulders, and smiled. And quoted Hellboy."
"I can promise you two things." Embry's voice was husky. I swiveled around to look at him, and the look in his eyes took my breath away.
He was looking at me as if he never wanted to hurt me, as if he wanted to protect me, as if his will was warring with his instincts. As if, I was the focal point in his life.
He gripped my shoulders. "One—I'll always look this good."
Is this really happening? Was all that crossed my frantic mind as I searched for the origin in Embry's eyes. All I could see was a smoldering... something. Like embers that never died out, they just continued whispering with heat.
"Two—I'll never give up on you." His face was a scant inch away from mine when he whispered, "Never."
And then his lips met mine.
There were no fireworks, no rockets, no sparkles. What there was, however, was a jolt of electricity so strong that I pulled away from him long enough to situate myself on my knees, and then leaned down and attacked his lips again with my own. I fisted my hands in his hair and bit his lower lip; he put one hand on my cheek, opened his mouth, and I thrust my tongue in. He tasted like popcorn and rain, like whisky and M his tongue met mine—and stopped.
He pulled away from me and leaned back. I sat on my haunches, gasping, watching him think. My lips were tingling, and my heart was racing. I didn't know what to feel, I didn't know what to do, and most of all – I didn't know what to make of this. I didn't know anything.
It was exhilarating.
Embry sighed gustily and looked at me. "Leah," he began cautiously, "are... you sure... about this?" He grabbed my hand and traced circles on the palm with his thumb. "It's not that I don't... want to," he explained hastily. "I really want to... do this. I've wanted to since..." He stopped and blushed, the burgundy reaching his ears again. I smiled and stopped his thumb. He looked up into my face, doubt and fear in his eyes, and watched me kiss his palm.
"Embry," I said quietly, tracing his fingers, up and down, "If anyone knows about moving on, it's me." I took a deep breath and grinned. "I was a bridesmaid, wasn't I?" I felt him shift his legs; we were now sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, and he was on my left side. Both of us had our legs stretched out in front of us.
"There's just one thing I have to tell you," I said, concentrating on his fingers. He drew in a shaky breath, and I looked at him. "I'm damaged goods, Embry," I said softly. "I've loved like crazy. My heart's still broken." I saw his eyes darken. "I want you, I do, but just so you know what you're getting into." I gave a half-hearted laugh. "I'm a freak, Ems. A girl werewolf." I continued tracing his fingers, until his other hand reached out and grabbed my hand, again.
"Leah, I'm a freak, too." He stared at his hand holding mine, and then continued. "I don't know who the hell my dad is. I don't know who my half-brother is. It may be Jake, it may be Quil... it may be Sam.
"Everyone's imprinting, finding their soul mate," he continued. "There is nothing that I hate more, than being in a situation where I have no choice." He glanced at me and looked back at our hands. "I never chose to be a bastard. I never chose to be a werewolf."
"Me neither."
He looked at me again, a glimmer of a grin decorating his mouth. "Yeah, I hear you." He took a deep breath and threw his head back; his eyes were closed. "There are so many elements of my life that are completely out of my control," he muttered. "So many parts of myself that are far from human."
I squeezed his hand and said softly, "Likewise, Ems."
He lowered his head and looked at me. "So I chose," he said simply. "I chose to love you, and that's..." He exhaled, looked away from me, and shook his head. When he looked back at me, a wide smile stretched across his features and lit up his face.
"That's why you're the most important part of my life, Leah. Because no one forced me to love you. It's all me, no freaky werewolf hokey magic. My choice."
I opened my mouth and closed it. I never thought this kind of thing could happen to me. After Sam, I was truly broken; I held fast to the belief that once Sam discarded me like a day-old newspaper, no one else would want me.
Apparently, I was wrong. Embry wanted me, and for some strange, inexplicable reason, I cherished it more than I had ever cherished any moment that I had with Sam.
Sam and I were a natural couple, and yet – nothing about Embry and myself was given. We were like chocolate and orange, while Sam and I were like chocolate and coffee. Orange and chocolate go together, but it's less associative than the chocolate/coffee combo.
And it was sweet, I realized as I opened Embry's palm gradually. It was tangy, and some people might shy away from chocolate-covered orange peels because there's nothing standard about it. And that was the beauty of it – being something different, refreshing, original...
I brought his hand to my face, closed my eyes, and – starting from the pinky – kissed each of his fingertips, slowly. When I reached his thumb, I opened my mouth and gave the pad of his thumb a lick.
I opened my eyes and looked at Embry; he was looking back at me, naked lust swimming in his eyes alongside the love. I thrilled at both; it's been too long since someone chose to love me the way Embry had.
"Leah..." he warned, his voice gritty. I cocked an eyebrow at him – and the rest was a blur.
And a wonderful one, at that.
Afterwards, we lay there, basking in the glow. I ran my hands over Embry's back, amazed at the feelings that coursed through me, unrestrained and unprompted by some 'weird hokey werewolf magic'.
"Leah?" I heard Embry murmur, next to my ear. I 'hmm'ed in response, too sated and happy to actually use my words.
"I'm going to Port Angeles tomorrow. And you're coming with me."
I refrained from cracking a dirty joke that would be kind of awkward, considering we were still connected in more ways than one (and he had made me do that exact thing... multiple times), and asked, "Why?"
He moved his head from its previous position, where he was nosing my ear, to kiss along my jawline. When he reached my lips, he whispered, "We are going to get two cellphones with big-ass screens and the best quality cameras that money can buy, and use them all the time."
I giggled, and he smiled before capturing my lips in a sweet, slow kiss that left my toes curled.
All I'll ever need is right here with me... Embry, my trusty bottle of Jack, and the slowly blossoming love between us.
And those cell phones, of course.
A/N: Leah's call tone is Duran Duran's 'Hungry Like The Wolf', and her text alert tone is My Chemical Romance's 'House Of Wolves'. Blame Jake's sense of humor.
Reviewers get to hack into the next video call Leah makes to Embry.
-M.