A/N: First of all: This story is canon compliant post-Breaking Dawn. If Breaking Dawn made you want to throw things, this will probably not be the fic for you. Also: Spoilers. For everything in the series, pretty much.

This fic is rated M for language and general debaunchary. I'm not saying that anybody's going to take their clothes off (though they might), but there will be strong language, some violence, and - well - teenagers so expect the law to mean very little to some of them.

Please, please keep in mind that I'm British and have only ever been to the US twice and never to the place where the story is set. I just stole the name and geographic location, I have no idea what the town is actually like (apart from what I've discovered via google!). Drop me a review if you don't completely hate it - I've never written in first person or for Twilight before so I kind of need the encouragement!

This first chapter acts as a prologue to the story proper, hence why it's a little shorter than most other chapters are likely to be.

Disclaimer: All Twilight saga characters and mythologies belong to Stephenie Meyer for her to use as she will, I make absolutely nothing from this and if you sue me all you will get is a slightly brain-damaged cat and three libraries worth of books on the First World War. Sorry.


Human Nature

Prologue: Threads

What's past is prologue
-William Skakespeare The Tempest Act 2 Scene 1


She runs.

She's free so rarely - always coddled, smothered, adored – she hides herself amongst the oldest, tallest trees and wishes for no-one to find her. Maybe he hears her because nobody comes.

She climbs into the canopy, too-long legs and too-small hands, and she knows she isn't graceful yet. She will be.

She shuffles along a branch and breathes deeply, willing the tears back in, suffocating misery as much as she can with the lullaby she hums in her head.

Most days she stays at home, either curled up in the comfort of her own room in the cottage, or over at the big house, day-dreaming out of the rain-splattered windows whilst her Uncle Jasper tries desperately to foster an interest in bio-chemistry.

Other times, when she does go out, she goes to La Push and dances around bonfires, concentrating only on Jacob's beaming smile and not the shrewd eyes of the elders. When they take her to town, visiting Grandpa or entertaining Aunt Alice, other children stare and whisper, but they never say hello, and nobody comes to play.

There's no chance of school when you're eighteen months old but look like you're five. No explanation. No hope of friends.

It doesn't improve with time.

She fishes with her Grandpa and tries not to feel guilty as she answers his every question with a lie. She knows he's trying not to look relieved; she's no idea who's failing harder.

Every night she hears her parents' moans as they save each other in the only way they can, and if she dreams of tears and frustration and agony inside she hums Disney tunes over breakfast, and smiles like the child she appears.

Her life is a beautiful lie that she perpetuates, until the day she's caught out.

They'll try to save her by tearing her apart.


"Don't go."

The rain was coming down in sheets, the little grey cottage almost obscured from view, but that suited me perfectly. I'd spent the whole morning trying to avoid my family's eyes as they went about packing their lives up into cardboard boxes, the rain, at least gave me a little bit of privacy; wet, miserable privacy that suited my mood.

"Don't go."

"I've got to," he groaned, clinging to my hands as though the rain would drown him, "you know that. We've had the conversation dozens of times Nessie…"

I shook my head violently, my sodden curls swinging round to stick to my face, and tried to wrench one of my hands free to lift it to his face. If he wouldn't listen then I'd just have to show him, show him exactly what he was doing to me and make him stay, but he only held my hands tighter, keeping them between us.

"You're making this harder than it needs to be, you know."

I couldn't see his face clearly, the tears in my eyes and the pouring rain saw to that, but I could imagine his expression from the tone of his voice. He was putting it on for me - a light, playful tone – which I recognised from my earliest days. Jacob, laughing at the world, telling me stories that Mom and Dad would disapprove of, reassuring me with a roll of his eyes that the only monster under my bed would be him.

And Daddy's in the closet, he would add with a wink, though I'd never quite understood his point.

He sighed again and shook our combined hands up and down in a mockery of a business deal.

"Anyway, Ness, play fair. You're the one leaving me after all."

"I don't want to," I hissed, "I don't want to go to some stupid school with some stupid humans and play stupid pretend for the next god knows how long."

"I know," said Jacob, in a voice so understanding it made me grit my teeth with frustration, "but you have to. You need to go to school, Nessie."

"Don't see why. Uncle Jasper's taught me alright so far, why can't we just carry on like that? Why can't we just stay here…?"

My voice cracked on the last word, and Jacob pulled me forward into a warm, soggy embrace.

"You need to see the world…" he started soothingly.

"Michigan," I spat.

Jacob sighed and pulled me closer, "Alright then, Michigan. But really Nessie, it's not so bad. I'll come and visit every weekend, and when the baby's born Sam will be back in action and I can come and join you. It's only eight months Ness. We've got a long time after to catch up."

I pulled away from his arms just far enough to squint up at his face, blinking rapidly to keep the rain out of my eyes, "So that's it then?" I asked, trying to keep the irritation in my tone and exclude the miserable sobs threatening to break through, "See you at the weekends Nessie! No big deal!" I felt the growl rising from my chest, "Won't you even miss me at all?"

He pushed me away roughly, and I felt the bile rise up in my throat at the same moment that my stomach dropped into my feet. He was rubbing his arms as if to stop them shaking.

Oh. Shaking.

Crap.

I took one small step backward and tried to swallow enough of my tears to make my voice sound soothing.

"Jake? Jake, calm down. I'm sorry – that was – that was uncalled for."

"Yeah," he hissed, "just a bit."

I tried not to cringe. No matter how many times I'd run off when I'd promised to stay put, regardless of my snippy comments and scowling looks, and despite having put up with me throughout the 'terrible threes' of being a snotty little pre-teen and a precocious toddler in one angst-ridden package, he would only ever smile, and make a swift exit when Mom began yelling. Jacob was never angry with me.

He took a deep breath and unclenched his fists, and I stretched one cautious hand out towards him.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, "I don't want to leave like this."

"I don't want you to leave at all," sighed Jacob, pulling me to him in a crushing hug, "I'll definitely miss hugging you. You know I'm your favourite hugging partner."

"Gonna have to get used to chilly ones I guess," I sighed, "and there'll be no respite from Aunt Rose you know. She's going to crow and crow and…"

I trailed off, but didn't try to wriggle free from Jacob's arms. There was a slight shuffling sound from the other side of the clearing, and I tried to bury my head deeper in his chest, squeezing my eyes shut against the inevitable.

"Renesmee, sweetheart, it's time to go." My grandmother was probably the only member of my family that I wouldn't tell to go to hell, which was probably why Dad had sent her. Having a telepathic father had its irritations.

Jacob swallowed hard, and I found myself clutching his shirt tightly in my fists.

"… Jacob?"

Grandmother sounded tense and miserable, and I tried to force myself to remember that I wasn't the only one leaving things behind here. The whole family had been happy in Forks, despite the low profile they'd had to keep since my birth, and I'd seen the pain in my mother's golden eyes when we'd said our goodbyes to Grandpa Swan the night before. Jacob was right. The longer I stood here in the rain clinging to him, the harder the parting was going to be for everybody. Willing myself not to cry I released his shirt, and with both palms flat against his chest took a step backwards.

"You have to go," he said, but it wasn't a question.

I nodded once, hoping against hope that he'd think it was just rain dripping down my face – this was hard enough already.

"Right." Jacob shifted awkwardly, glancing quickly over my shoulder, "Right. I'll see you soon. Behave at school."

"Behave?" I asked, attempting a smile that looked more like a grimace.

Jacob laughed shortly and grinned, a massive beaming grin that seemed to light up the clearing and dispel all the rain and heartache in its path. He winked once, and was gone.

Something deep in my chest seemed to break off and follow him; I barely noticed Esme's cold hand pulling me away from the clearing; away from the cottage, away from home.

I shuddered once, and tried to pull myself together enough to meet my grandmother's worried gaze.

"Renesmee…" Esme began pulling me closer, but I snuggled in to her side of my own accord.

"I'm fine, Gran," I put on my best sunny smile and wiped my wet hair out of my eyes, "I'll see him soon. It's only temporary, right?"

"Of course," she said, squeezing my hand reassuringly, but the smile on her lips didn't quite reach her eyes. "You shouldn't give up so quickly though sweetheart. You might like Michigan."

Still, I nodded - a fairly pathetic attempt at reassurance I was sure - and trudged grimly towards the main house and my waiting family.

We both knew that the forced relocation of the family had nothing to do with a sudden craving for the Great Lakes on any of our parts. Instead, it had been inspired by a stupid momentary lapse of concentration on my part. A lapse I was already regretting when I saw the pain and concern in my grandmother's eyes. It was the reason nobody smiled properly at me any more, why my mother seemed constantly distraught and why my dad spent his days looking like something was eating his insides. It was ridiculous and pathetic and it was taking me away from Jacob, all because I'd not been able to keep my thoughts to myself.

I really hoped this school had a good drama teacher, because I was proving to be a dreadful actress.

They were all waiting for me, as I knew they would be, still as statues on the porch of the now empty house. I wasn't feeling generous enough to try and shield them from the way I was feeling; a momentary sense of twisted pleasure when I saw the discomfort on Jasper and Dad's faces, followed by crushing guilt.

They're doing it for me,I thought, and Dad stepped forward to take my hand, I wish you wouldn't.

His jaw clenched, but when he spoke his voice was calm and even.

"Come on, sweetheart. It's a long drive."

He wasn't wrong.

The town we were heading too was Houghton, a small, inconsequential old mining town on Michigan's Upper Peninsula, whose claims to fame were as the home of Michigan Tech and an unusual bridge. Esme had chosen it with her head rather than her heart: though it wasn't as overcast as Forks it was winter there for enough of the year that we'd – that I'd – be able to attend school almost as causally as my family had done here. It was still beautiful, though, from what she'd told and shown us, and she'd been nigh on hysterical with delight at the house she'd found for us all; a sprawling nineteenth century mansion with a serious case of dry rot that she'd spent much of the last six months travelling to and from, the renovation work giving her a spring in her step that the rest of us seemed to be missing lately.

Circuitous thoughts which brought me back to the reason we were doing this.

Dad knew the turmoil my head was in of course, I'd learnt very long ago that my own abilities had no bearing on what my dad did, and pulled me from Esme's side for a tight hug.

"It will be for the best, love," he murmured, kissing the top of my head, "you'll regret it if you don't try."

I tried not to sniff pathetically as he passed me off to my mother.

She tucked my wet hair behind my ears, and stretched slightly to kiss my forehead. I was as tall as her now, or very nearly, my accelerated growth meaning that I looked much like her slightly younger sister, and nothing at all like her very nearly five-year-old daughter, but her golden eyes still burnt with the fierceness of her love for me. I couldn't help but hate myself, just a little, for letting her worry about me. I should have tried harder.

Jasper shifted uncomfortably, and then everybody was moving, heading to the cars, chattering quickly amongst themselves about the best route to take and the necessity of 'Nessie breaks' so that I could fulfil the irritating human needs that they didn't need to worry about. Emmett was grumbling about the added weight of having Jasper's motorbike in the back of his Jeep, but Jasper was too thrilled to be trusted with Dad's beloved Aston Martin to pay much attention to Emmett's dirty looks. Rosalie and Alice were already behind the wheels of their cars, engines revving and smirks on both their faces. My grandparents slipped away to the Mercedes, Carlisle hitting the gas and streaking away from the house before even Alice could realise. With a string of oaths, and an impressive wheel-spin from Emmett, Porsche, Aston, Jeep and BMW pealed down the driveway after them.

Dad looked after them longingly and let out an unnecessarily large sigh. Mom rolled her eyes and pulled me closer to her side.

"Are you sure you want to go with your father?" her voice was teasing, but I could hear the undercurrent of warning, "I think he might be planning on taking that Volvo up to warp speed."

Dad beamed at her, and bounced a little impatiently on the balls of his feet, "And you're not?"

"No," said Mom, "laws are laws, Edward. I'm still a Police Chief's daughter."

Dad grunted, and looked longingly towards his car. It was a constant annoyance to him that my mom's distaste for speeding hadn't changed when she had, the stunning Ferrari he'd brought her wasted on ambling along at sixty. I, on the other hand, shared his need for speed and excitement, even if I was a little more breakable.

So it was for the thrill of the drive that I threw myself into the Volvo's passenger seat after kissing my mother good-bye until such a time as her geriatric driving eventually caught up with us, trying not to look as she and Dad kissed a little too enthusiastically for my comfort, and then we were off, Dad turning up the stereo and practically vibrating with glee as he tried to make up the lost ground on the others.

I watched the trees blur past the window and the rain stream over the glass, and then he was there, running alongside the car, tongue lolling from his mouth in that goofy dog-like grin I loved so much, keeping up easily. I had a funny feeling Dad might be letting him. I laughed freely, but then he came to a jarring halt, and my heart seemed to stutter. I craned round, desperate for a last look, knowing that it wouldn't help but wanting it anyway, and watched him grow smaller and smaller through the rear window. He never moved, and I hid the image away in the back of my mind for later study. Jacob was waiting for me. I would come back. I turned back to face the road just in time to see a road sign fly past us:

You are now leaving Forks.

I felt the thread that connected my heart to Jacob's stretching out behind me like gum. It wasn't going to snap. I wouldn't let it.

"It won't," said Dad, and I nodded – an agreement and a promise.

So I settled in for the long haul.