Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.
Sam used to braid Leah's hair.
On nights when she didn't feel the urge to jump off a cliff or tear blindly down a dark highway or pound her paws against the raw earth again and again until she falls off the edge of the world, Leah sits and allows herself to remember these tiny quiet moments.
She closes her eyes and evokes the feel of his fingers nestling inside her dark locks, slowly massaging her scalp and gently smoothing out the tangles that accumulated during the day. She recalls his warm breath on her neck, and the way his words always come out in mumbled jargon as he clasps the comb between his lips, constantly telling her to sit still. He would gently tease the whorls of baby hair near her neck, slowly work through each knot, and then tenderly plait the strands together, creating a smooth tangle that was only her and him, him and her.
On these nights, she always jerks from her reverie to find herself running her hands through her hair, trying to masquerade them as his. The very next day, Leah would snip through her ponytail with Sue's sewing scissors, and revert back to jumping off cliffs, or driving blindingly down a dark road, or running until the world starts to blur away, seeping into the black angry pit that consumes her.
No one dares to say a thing as Leah's hair gets shorter and shorter.
No one asks why Sam refuses to braid his daughter's hair, or why for days after each of Leah's haircuts, his fingers would tremble slightly whenever Emily's soft tresses brush against him.
It 's just another pack thing.
Just braids (and pain).