Author's Note: This fic takes place six months after Edward and Bella's wedding, but they have never returned to Forks, and the rest of the Cullens are gone; therefore, Jacob has never met Renesmee and the divide between the werewolves has never occurred. Enjoy!
Oh also, I don't own Twilight or any characters or anything like that.
When Jacob gets home from Sam and Emily's at eight o' clock on Sunday night, Leah is perched on his front step, meditatively smoking a cigarette.
"You know those are going to kill you, right?" Jacob asks, deciding against asking her what in God's name she's doing on his porch.
"Die young, stay pretty," she says with a wry smile. "I baked a blueberry pie. It's on your counter, if you'd like some."
Involuntarily Jacob makes a face. "You made a pie?" It wasn't something you thought of Leah doing. You thought of Leah smoking, drinking heavily in an impassioned but fruitless effort to obliterate herself. You thought of Leah yelling and throwing punches and sulking. And maybe having angry, violent sex. But you tried not to think of that too often.
Leah scowls. "Nothing to what Emily could make, of course, but I got the recipe from her. So it won't kill you, you ungrateful jackass." She takes a long drag off the death-stick pinched between her slim fingers. "It's the least I could do for Billy, after he's been helping me out."
Jacob sits down next to her. He hasn't said much to Leah in a few months, or seen her, for that matter; since the departure, apparently permanent, of the leeches, there haven't been many patrols. "You mean you went to Sam's and saw Emily of your own free will? And... Got her pie recipe?" He snorts at the image.
"Yeah. Figured it was time I let bygones be bygones. I've been doing better, you know."
She sucks on her smoke so violently that Jacob is sure she'll start coughing, but she doesn't. Instead, she says, just a little jerkily, "I suppose you've heard the news?"
His first instinct is to deny it, or say simply, "What news?" But from the tone of her voice and the way she's looking at the ground, he knows immediately – Leah always looks you right in the eye, and it's disconcerting that she isn't. "Yeah," he says in a low voice. "Yeah, I heard it. I'm sorry, Leah."
"It's okay, I'm okay, I think," she says, picking up a stick and starting to draw in the dirt with it. "Just hearing it was a little like a punch in the throat. You know how I feel, don't you?"
He nods. Yes, he knows how she feels. He's mostly over Bella; she's been gone a pretty long time, but he'd probably be a wreck if he heard that she was having a baby with Edward. He tries not to talk about her, though.
"We're in the same boat, you and I," she muses.
"All right, there, Leah. Let's not go too far with this sharing stuff. "
"Right," she says, a slightly sarcastic edge back in her voice, after the brief reprieve. "I'll keep in mind to go to your dad if I want to talk." She tosses her cigarette butt on the ground and squashes it thoroughly under her dingy flip-flop. "I'm going back inside. Hope you don't object too much to my presence in your home." Her tone, though sarcastic, is more teasing than he's used to from Leah and the old bitterness is barely present.
She stands up, and he finds himself glancing at her long legs as she stretches. He's seen Leah naked during their times on patrol together so long ago, and she's even been in his fantasies before, but she's always been too much of a bitch to think of anything more than casual sex with. She's attractive, of course, not that she seems to notice. Today she's wearing grubby denim cut-offs and an Aerosmith T-shirt that was probably born the same year she was.
She opens the door, and Jacob says, "Wanna bring me a piece of pie? I'll be in my garage."
She snorts. "I'm not your maid, Jacob, get your own pie, you lazy sack."
"I wouldn't say no to a sandwich, either!"
"Weren't you the one who was just making fun of my cooking? I haven't forgotten the look on your face when I said I'd made a pie -"
"I like turkey, and bacon, roast beef, pickles, cheddar, lettuce, onion –"
She laughs briefly. It's an unfamiliar sound. "Oh, fuck off."
"But no bologna. That shit is made of hooves. Or other lunch meat that fell on the floor."
"You should have your own comedy show. I can barely stand how hilarious you are," Leah mutters, rolling her eyes. "Any other ridiculous requests? Standing here with the door open is letting all the mosquitoes into your house."
"Seriously though, you should come see the Chrysler I'm working on." Jacob says, surprising himself. "You don't have to bring the pie and sandwich."
She turns around and looks at him quizzically, her hand still on the door. The moment of silence is long enough to be a little awkward. He realizes he probably overstepped some Leah-boundary by inviting her to engage in an activity that might be considered 'friendly'.
He's getting up to make himself scarce when Leah says finally, "Yeah, maybe later I'll come have a look."
He senses her presence at the door before she says anything.
"If there's bologna on my sandwich, I'm going to flip," he says seriously, without looking up from the task at hand (removing the steering wheel).
Leah doesn't say anything. When he does look up, she is empty-handed and looking more out of place than he's ever seen her. Her brow is furrowed and her hands are jammed in her shorts pockets. Frankly, the shorts are so tiny that he's surprised they can accommodate pockets at all.
"Well, hello there, sunshine," he mutters.
Leah stalks over and looks at the car. It appears the mood for witty banter has abandoned her.
"You're sure that's a car, huh?" she says dryly.
"Yup. I'd tell you what kind, but I'm guessing that beyond the word 'Chrysler', my explanation wouldn't mean much of anything to you."
"You were always a perceptive one, Jacob Black," she says without smiling. She flops over on the moth-eaten couch he keeps in the corner of the garage, usually for Quil and Embry.
"If you're squeamish, I'd avoid that couch," he warns. "That is, I've seen you turn into a giant wolf, so I'm thinking you're probably not all that squeamish about a few... well, mice, or rats, that may or may not exist."
"You're thinking right. After you've eaten a raw deer and had its entrails smeared all over your snout, there's not a whole lot more you can be squeamish about."
"Do you still change, ever?" Jacob asks casually. Maybe it's too personal a question. But then, she was the one who brought up the topic of Emily and Sam's baby.
"Never. Not since six months ago, when the bloodsuckers left. Why, do you?"
"No," Jacob says, "no, not lately. Not in the last few months. It's been kind of nice, I have to say, having my thoughts to myself."
"Someone with a face as expressive as yours could never have their thoughts to themself," Leah observes, but without venom.
"Easy for you. You want everyone to know what you're thinking, we could never get away from it before," says Jacob, a little stung.
Leah looks at him for a moment, her eyes narrowed slightly, but the snippy remark he's anticipating never comes. "Not anymore," she murmurs.
"Oh, yeah? I bet I could tell what you're thinking right now."
"I bet you anything you couldn't."
Jacob narrows his eyes and stares at her in mock concentration, pushing his index fingertips into his temples. "You're thinking..."
"Oh, this should be special."
"You're thinking how much you want to make me that sandwich!"
She laughs before she can stop herself. "This is why I like your dad better than I like you."
"Then why don't you go harass him, you lazy, cruel woman?"
Leah stands up. "I should probably get home anyway. I've been trying to make things a little easier on my mom by coming home before midnight these days." She heads to the door, turns around. "You'll probably see me when I visit Billy in a few days."
She leaves and he can hear her crappy little Jeep start up in his driveway.
"Night," he mutters, and turns back to the removal of the faulty steering wheel.
A/N: Next chapter will be more fun, I promise :) thanks for reading!