A/N.: This was written a very long time ago, I just forgot to post it here. It's the first time I write something out of my J/B comfy zone in this fandom. Although I am against imprinting and Quil and the baby thing kinda creeped me out at first, this idea stuck in my head and I couldn't get rid of it until I wrote it down. It's been beta-ed by lady_ceky livejournal.

I hope you all like it and, please, drop a line or two as a review! :)

Claire Young is eighteen years old. She's still very young in the other sense of the word. She's done with high school and has decided she needs a life. She needs the world. Europe seems the perfect place to start; a fascinating mixture of culture and languages and people who are so different from her and each other that it's hard to imagine they are all part of the same kind.

The day she tells her resolution to Quil is the day it all crumbles.

Quil Ateara has always been with her. All the time. Claire can't even remember far back enough to a time where her every memory doesn't include Quil. Growing up with a 6'3'' bodyguard can be fun; until puberty starts – then it's just plain mortifying. She has lost count of how many times she has been so profusely red with a combination of embarrassment and anger because of him. He was always taking her and picking her up at every party and giving long-ass speeches and reminders on the way. Like she hadn't memorized them by the twelfth time. What she could never understand was why he was always exactly the same from her childhood memories and every single day since. When she first realized that – it had always been so obvious, Claire – she had a minor anxiety attack. It took four people to explain to her: Uncle Sam, Aunt Emily, Mom and Quil. She only heard half of the explanation; up to the point where she had been partially raised by a giant mythological creature; and ran away. She never wanted to hear the rest so she could pretend she still lived in the same world she badly yearned to know.

Quil knew that was the reason, so why was he giving her such a hard time now? She's always said this is what she most wanted in her life: to live.

Her cocktail dress is far too revealing, according to him, but she doesn't care. She keeps her walk as steady as she can on her stiletto heels as he follows her in his car, telling her to get in. She tells him no and he threatens to force her in. She yells some profanities and he catches his breath not to yell back. She's driving him to the edge of insanity. Instead, he pleads and she snorts. He's been so easy to bend around her wishes since she could remember. When she walks past his house he kills the engine and trots after her, but she never slows her pace. He twirls her around to make sure she sees his face when he tells her she can't go. She challenges him but he doesn't let go of her arm. She starts the shouting.

She tells him to follow her example and get a goddamn life. She's going to Europe, there's no way she's staying in La Push for the rest of her days. She's going to Paris to eat nothing but bread and cheese and make love to a French young man. She's going to Florence to learn how to make wine, make it and drink it until she drops. She's not stopping there. She wants the whole world. She's going to South Africa to play with baby lions; she's going to Fernando de Noronha in Brazil to snorkel with sea turtles. Her life is going to be amazing and she's going to be happy and she hates Quil for not seeing and wanting that for her.

Quil falters at the word 'hate' yelled to his face with fire burning in her eyes. She wiggles away from him and stomps ahead. He shouts she can't leave him and she laughs; her hair whirling around in the wind as she throws her head back. Of course she can, why couldn't she? He's staring at her with his chest heaving up and down as he tries to control himself. She knows that look – she's seen it before a few times, but she's always looked away. It's as if he's trying to pull her to him with just his gaze. She feels a stronger thump against her ribcage every time she sees him like that. It's stronger than her and it pushes her toward him. She takes one step to him and winces, shutting her eyes.

"I hate you", she repeats, whispering to herself, but she knows he can hear it.

When she opens her eyes again he's right in front of her. His constantly hot breath blows on her forehead and down her face. The large hand on her waist makes her jump. He's never touched her this freely. He asks her not to go. Swallowing the lump on her throat, she stares up at him with the bit of petulance she still has it in her.

"What's keeping me here?"

She counts four beats of her heart that is pounding against her ribs before he surprises her by doing something she's been wondering if he'd ever do it outside her dreams. He crashes his mouth to hers and joins their bodies by every part they can touch. Her temperature increases immediately by the kiss and by his freakishly constant warmth. She's gasping for air before he's done thrusting his tongue on her open mouth. He moves his lips to her neck and she pants and moans and pulls at his hair not knowing what she wants, for the first time in her life. She's not completelytotally sure she hates him anymore. She's very secure that if he stops now she'll punch him in the face.

There's a ripping sound and she sees the new fend on her dress. His hand moves down from her hips to her knees and she gasps.

"Quil! This dress isn't mine, it's borrowed and if Olivia sees this rip she just might as well –"

"Claire", he cuts her off with a groan, "For once in your life would you, please, shut up?"

He fishes her knee up and wraps her leg around his waist. There's another rip and she wraps the other leg. Locked together, Quil takes them back to his house and they stumble their way to his bedroom.

When Claire's flat on her back on the mattress, he pulls up and yanks his shirt off. She loosens her legs around him and he twists back to flick the switch for the ceiling vent. He doesn't want her to have a heatstroke. Soon as he's back to her they become frantic together; ripping each other's clothes until they're naked over the sheets and tangled around on one another. She throws her head back on the pillow when he catches one of her breasts with his mouth and they both moan at the same time. She arches her back and he slips his hand around her, flipping them on the bed so she could be on top. She leaves a trail of kisses from his neck to his chest, his stomach, around his naval and one just below. He takes her by the shoulders and brings her back to his lips. They never speak, they just act and moan and pant and whisper incoherent words together.

Quil waits as long as he can until she's pinned under him again and he feels her shiver. He's sure she's not cold. He pulls away to look at her and her bottom lip quivers.

"This is too much", he closes his eyes and shakes his head.

She knows he's slipping. She catches his face with one palm and shakes her own head, "No. Just… slow down a little."

He waits for her to shiver again, to indicate she's just trying to act tough. But she doesn't. They slow down, but never stop. They stay on his bed the whole night long. When he thrusts into her the first time she whimpers his name and he kisses her eyelids murmuring 'I love you' and she doesn't question him until morning.

The next day, he brings her breakfast in bed and they talk again. This time it's just the two of them. He tells her about imprinting and waiting and loving her. It explains, finally, so much she's been questioning over the years. It complicates, so much, everything inside her head.

Claire looks up to Quil and, for the first time, she sees it: the boy who never left the reservation his entire life because of his love for her. She feels a tug at her heart. He's trapped. He can't leave, even if he wants to, because she keeps pulling him back. It's hardly fair that she takes his free will like this when she's not entirely sure of what she even feels about him. She can't help the tears that start to spill from her eyes. She doesn't want to be that person; she doesn't want to hold him back. Instead, he holds her; close and pressed against his broad chest. She curls up closer to him and cries. He strokes her hair and whispers silly words in her ear, trying to soothe her.

She doesn't leave his bedroom for exactly three days. The first day Quil's so happy that she's still there with him that he doesn't notice; but on the second afternoon he catches her wiping stranded tears from her eyes. His heart sinks deep down inside his chest because he doesn't know what's happening and she won't tell him anything. All he can do is hold her and wait for her to let him in.

She's a mess, she's confused and she doesn't know what to think anymore. Her dreams are still the same; she doesn't want to be there, that hasn't changed. But she can't ignore his feelings any longer. She loves Quil, how could she not? But she's sure he loved her differently. She loves him like a piece of her self, of her life, her existence. He's always been with her. It's Quil and Claire for as long as she can remember. At the beach, building sandcastles by the water; at the ferry wheel, holding her cotton candy; on the passenger's seat when he's teaching her how to drive; taking and picking her from school; movie nights; teaching her how to throw a punch; laughing at the stupidest random stuff until their soda came out of their noses; rooting for her when she got her high school diploma; begging for her to say; desperately claiming his love for her on a mumble of words by her ear as they made love for the first time. It's pieces of her that belong to him. But she isn't ready to give him any more than that while he's already handed her him wholly.

On the third day she's done crying. He looks up at her but she doesn't have to say it, he knows what she's thinking – he always does.

His fist clutches the handbag on his left hand while he wraps his right arm securely around her waist, keeping her as close to his body as he can without crushing her. They haven't said anything to each other yet and he's beginning to see it's better this way. There's nothing any of them could say that it would make any of this easier or better. They silently walk down the long hall and he can't stop kissing her hair. She snuggles closer to his side and inhales his scent when they stop and he drops the handbag on the cold hard floor. When she looks at him, her heart jolts a bit. There's just too much she doesn't want to see.

"I'll be here. I always am."

Claire closes her eyes and shakes her head, "I wish you weren't", she opens her eyes to see the hurt on his face, "I mean… I wish you lived."

His chest heaves up and down, taking her face along with it. She can count his heartbeats as it thuds against her cheek, "Not without you."

She hugs him so tightly she's sure they're about to fuse as one. At the tip of her toes she reaches up and places a soft kiss on his lips. His response is more fervently and for a moment she thinks he won't ever let her go again.

"I love you, Claire."

The lump on her throat doesn't allow her to answer right away, "I love you, Quil. I want you to know that."

A glimpse of a smile flashes across his face, "I know."

They kiss again. There's an announcement on the speakers and he gives her the handbag. She can't look at him anymore so she turns around and walks away. Quil stands there, watching her go and he waits for her plane to take off. He waits for it to arrive to her destiny and land, safely. He waits for her to be ready for him. He waits for the day he'll be her destiny.

I'm working on a multi-chapter sequel to this. If you're interested at all, check back my profile in a while or add me to your author's alert!