Author's Note: I've never written Twilight fanfic before and it was admittedly a challenge for me. BUT, I love Jacob and reading Jacob/Bella fanfic. So, I tried my hand and here is the result.

Disclaimer: The characters, settings, world, and any recognizable plot points all belong to Stephanie Meyer. The rest is merely a product of my imagination.

Pretense

pre·tense

noun: pretence

an attempt to make something that is not the case appear true.

a false display of feelings, attitudes, or intentions.

the practice of inventing imaginary situations in play.

They had never spoken of it, but somehow they understood. Sometimes it was ignorance of wolves and vampires. Other times it was merely a disregard for their difference in age. His favorite days were when Edward Cullen never existed.

"What did you do today?" She asked as she let him pull her along the beach, hand in hand.

"Slept for eight hours straight, woke up to a full spread on the table, and made an A on my history exam," he said and threw her a sideways glance with a smirk. "You know, the usual."

She laughed and said, "Well I rode my bike to school and managed not to fall even once." There was a pause before she added, "Or get caught by Charlie."

His laugh was full and warmed her from her head to her toes.

They may have been pretending, but for a few precious moments they could feel normal and whole. He knew he loomed in the background, waiting for reality to swoop in and make room for him once more. As soon as she was away from Jacob, he was sure her despair and loneliness would consume her. As soon as he was away from Bella, he knew his longing and responsibilities would crush him.

But for now, they were together. And he was gone.

He was still holding on to her hand as he pulled her down next to him on their drift wood log. As they sat side by side, he still held her hand. Her hand was tangible and reminded him she wasn't a dream, even though he wanted so much more from her than she was willing to give to him. Sometimes it seemed as if she was on the precipice, waiting for the one move or word that would send her over onto his side of the line. But she was always just out of reach. He held her back—by the tail of her shirt, his hand on her shoulder, his arm around her waist, or the memory of his words piercing her heart and poisoning what healthy matter was left. Those leaving words had killed something in Bella and he wasn't sure how to bring it back to life.

Oh, he tried. His efforts were herculean. He waited. And hoped. And kept trying and pretending she would heal and love him.

He turned to look at her and saw the smile, although tiny as it was, on her face. He hated to spoil whatever thought in which she was lost (this one seemed to be categorized as "Not involving Edward Cullen" and those thoughts were always a shame to spoil). He hated to interrupt her thoughts, but he only slept for three hours, he had waffles that tasted of freezer burn for breakfast, and he failed his history exam. And his geometry exam. And his chemistry exam. He hated to interrupt any thought of hers that didn't involve him, but she didn't ride her bike to school. Her bike was in his garage where it had been since before his first phase, gathering dust.

"Why do we do this, Bella?" he asked after the silence had pressed on them for too long and his thoughts had started slowly draining any energy he had left for pretense.

She pulled her hand out of his and he winced as he watched her tiny smile slip from her face. "I don't know what you mean, Jake," she said as she stared resolutely at the sea, avoiding his penetrating stare (she could feel his eyes burning into her, waiting for an honest answer she wasn't ready to give).

His laugh was bitter and chilled her from her head to her toes.

"Sure, Bells," he said, forcing warmth back into his words. "It's getting late and I should get you home. I have to patrol soon."

He should have stayed quiet. He should have let her smile linger and her thoughts stay free and unpoisoned. But sometimes the weight of what they tried to ignore, what he tried to ignore, pulled him down. And he didn't want her to see the cost of their pretenses. He knew she wouldn't pay if she could see what it did to him. And he also knew she needed these moments free of his lingering presence.

And sometimes he did manage to pretend the things he desperately wanted to be true were actually true. Like Bella Swan loving Jacob Black.

He had started to stand, but she reached out and grabbed his forearm, pulling him down to sit beside her once more. He looked at her questioningly as she trailed her hand from his forearm to his wrist until finally she laced her fingers with his.

He didn't say anything, just squeezed her hand in reassurance. She was glad, because she wasn't sure what she wanted or needed to say. She knew she had been awful. Her fog of despair had been pushing on everyone around her for too long. She knew Edward (she only felt pin prickles) had choked and squeezed and wrung everything independent and healthy out of her. And she knew his leaving words had killed something inside of her. She knew Jacob tried to bring that something back to life and that he tried to make her something good again. (Jacob deserved everything good.)

Jacob could read her better than anyone. For a long time everything about her was transparent. He could always tell when her thoughts revolved around Edward. He could tell when she was worried, feeling guilty, or scared. But as he helped her come back to herself, she learned how to keep some things for herself only. Jacob was perceptive, but this he still hadn't realized.

Slowly, as they pretended the world was their own and only what they needed, she built herself into someone that might be worthy of Jacob's love. Maybe it was the simplicity of those moments (the moments when impending doom and love lost weren't backing her into a wall) that allowed her the sanctuary she needed to sort through her feelings.

With every pretended moment, she was a little closer to His Bells. It was easier when it was just them living the way they wanted and ignoring everything threatening to their contentment. The peace of these moments had allowed her time to repair the broken pieces of herself that no one but her could fix. Oh, he tried. But she knew those broken pieces were too deep in her heart for him to reach. It was okay, though. Better this way, even. Jacob was responsible for fixing so much of her. It was only those tiny little broken pieces that he couldn't reach that she managed to piece together herself, but she did it. She put them together herself. And that little piece of her heart that she mended herself she hoped would be worth more to Jacob than a thousand perfect and healthy hearts.

"I'm sorry," she said to him, squeezing his hand the way he had squeezed hers. "Ask me again."

He knew this was dangerous territory. After all, they never spoke of it. But those herculean efforts…

"Why do we do this?" he asked quietly, as if the volume of his question would somehow make it less obtrusive. (Better to rip their pretense slowly to pieces than shatter it quickly.) He rubbed circles on the outside of her hand with his thumb, soothing the hurt from the damage he was sure his words would cause in the end. "Why do we pretend? We both know I'm flunking out of school." Trying to lessen the destruction he would leave in the wake of his question, he teased, "And that you can't make it down the stairs without tripping, much less a trip to school on your bike without taking out at least two pedestrians."

She let a smile take over her face. It wasn't huge, but it was true and it was warm (just like Jacob).

Continuing his path of destruction, he added (quietly, to make it less), "And that you don't love me the way I want you to."

The sound of her soft laughter shocked him. He knew she could hurt like a knife in the gut, but she was never so blatantly cruel as to laugh in a moment such as this. He turned to look at her with his eyes narrowed and his gaze sharpened by too much hurt and too many herculean efforts.

But he nearly choked at the look on her face as she turned to stare right back at him, her eyes bright and her gaze softened by just enough of his love and just enough of his herculean efforts.

"I think it's fair to let me pretend I can make the trip and only take out one pedestrian," she said with a chuckle. She unlaced their fingers, but only so she could touch his face and rub soothing circles on his cheek with her thumb (although the damage she had already caused would never be undone).

His eyes closed as he reveled in the feeling of her tangible hand on his cheek, reminding him he wasn't dreaming and that she was real.

"But you don't need to pretend that I love you anymore, Jake." She whispered as she traced his bottom lip with her thumb, causing his eyes to fly open and stare at her with a mix of confusion and hope.

She moved her hand (still tangible and still real) to the back of his neck and pulled him down to her lips. Her kiss was an offering of those tiny broken pieces she put back together herself (he already had every other part of her that he had painstakingly pieced back together). She hoped it was enough, that she was good and worthy of his love.

He moved his hands to her face, tracing her cheeks with his thumbs as he poured every ounce of every one of his herculean efforts into that kiss. He had hoped and tried so much and it had cost him so much. But she was offering herself to him and he wasn't going to pretend he didn't know what her heart was worth. Because he knew what it was worth. It was worth hours of pretense and ignorance of wolves and vampires. It was worth every moment he suffered the looming presence of Edward Cullen as he breathed down his neck, mocking his love of Bella (for she had been Edward's so fully and would surely never be his).

But she was now. She was His Bells.

He loathed to pull away first, but he had to be sure. He moved his lips away from hers, but left a smile in their place. His hands were still caressing her cheeks and her hand was still on his neck (she was real and this wasn't a dream).

With his eyes reflecting all the hope in his voice, he whispered, "Are you mine?"

Never before had her smile been so infused with love and warmth (just like Jacob) as it was right then.

She smiled, just for him (just like him), and said, "Yes, Jacob. I'm yours."