Disclaimer: Characters, places and events belong to Stephenie Meyer. The plot is, however, mine.

A/N: I've had this story on my laptop at least a year and a half, but gave up on it. But yesterday I was once again inspired and decided to post it. It's AU and a Jacob/Bella story, so if you're not a fan, you've been warned.

Walking that Extra Love Mile Barefoot

I. The Beginning of the End

He had run with nothing else in mind but the image of her, excruciating and ripping his insides to shreds. They'd all thought they wouldn't see him for quite some time and truth be told, Jacob hadn't been planning on returning. But he did and it was to find Billy sighing with relief. He wasn't sure what he had in mind as he neared home, or as he entered through the front door, but as soon as he saw his dad, he was glad he'd made that impulsive decision of coming back. He realized that he'd missed home while being away.

The following days and weeks, he didn't hear much – or listened more like – of the town gossip. About her, them or the wedding. Whatever it was that had happened. If she was where she was meant to be, then what more could he do that he hadn't already done? He avoided everyone, even his father, whose worry was visible on his aging features. It made him feel bad – maybe he shouldn't have returned, he would think.

The weeks continued dragging on. He still hadn't heard anything. He barely got together with the pack, knowing they would know whatever was going on. He didn't want them in his head either, not feeling like sharing the pain or hopelessness he felt. Still not wanting to feel their pity for him.

If Charlie had come to see them, he wouldn't know about it, constantly locked in his room when visitors came by. But then it had happened. What he'd been waiting for, even though he hadn't even known it at the time. He'd been sitting in his kitchen; carving a little figurine like the one he'd gotten Bella, when he heard the unmistakable roar of her truck pull into their driveway. It couldn't be her, he'd thought. It's all in my head.

He doesn't know when he let go of his tools or when he stood up. He can't remember what ran through his head as he walked to the front door, as though he was walking through a haze, a fog, in a dream. He knows nothing of that moment, but the sound that finally woke him: three raps. Knock, knock, knock. What had he expected? A smile? A hug? He can't remember.

He masked his emotions and opened the door. But it was a façade he wouldn't be able to keep for long. She looked broken, fragile and had her arms across her chest, like she used to when it got to be too much for her, the times when it was him and her, they, together. Her eyes were filled with such a sorrow that seemed too much to bear – too much for her to bear. She was paler than usual and the purple bags indicated the lack of sleep. She raised her gaze tentatively with a guilty, hurtful expression on her face. He wanted to kiss away the sadness.

"I'm sorry," was all that came out through her lips and in that instant, he knew everything. She wasn't only apologizing for the pain she'd caused him as much as she was apologizing for having kept him waiting. Jacob realized then and there that she had left him, them, and that immortality was no longer set out for her. She had come home to him.

He opened the door wider and stepped aside, allowing her to walk past him. Tears ran freely down her cheeks as she looked around her, taking everything in. He put one arm around her shoulder and she leaned into him.

"Bella," he whispered, barely audible.

"Not now, Jake."

There would be no explaining that night.

"Can we…" she hesitated, lowering her gaze. Jacob removed a tear from her cheek and gently lifted her chin with his hand.

"What?" he asked curiously.

"Sleep. I need to sleep… Can we?" Bella asked in a tone that actually managed to break his heart a thousand times over. He looked into her lifeless eyes. Will I bring them back to life?

Jacob said nothing, simply led the way. Before no time, she had her head resting against his chest, her body pressed lightly against his; his body working as a shield of some kind.

It was as though she counted on him to shield her from the pain of existing.