Are we Better?

"What are you doing?"

Leah twitched in surprise. It was difficult for anyone or anything to sneak up on her, yet somehow, he had managed. Ever so slowly she peered over her shoulder at Paul. He was standing in her kitchen doorway, lips quirked into a cocky smirk. His eyes sparkled with something she couldn't decipher, and she found that that startled her more.

Paul rarely - if ever - showed emotion. Seeing him look almost...entertained, amused, playful...it stopped Leah from getting angry that he had snuck in.

If she were to be honest, she'd know it was her fault for letting him sneak up on her. It was fairly unacceptable.

My nose must be going...and my ears. She thought to herself, not particularly worried.

Oh. Paul was still staring, and she realized he had asked a question. Her eyes flickered forwards again, and she quirked her own lips into a lopsided scowl.

"Trying to bake a pie."

"Trying?" The floor board creaked as his bare feet began to stalk across the it. He was stepping lightly, still trying to be quiet, but now that she was aware it would be impossible for him to catch her off guard again.

His chest brushed her back and she shifted forwards, away from him. There was something strange about having Paul so close. Her hand curled lightly on the rolling pin, and she shrugged. "Yeah, trying. It's not working out so well."

"Did you use cold water?"

"...no? Was I supposed to?" She turned, shoulder glancing his chest. Her hips settled comfortably against the counter, and she looked up - not something she did often, looking up - at him, eyebrow cocked.

"Mm. S'how my gramma used to make it." His hand found her hip, curled over the bone. Squeezed. She shifted in his grasp, wondering just when Paul became so damn touchy.

Deciding that perhaps her packmate needed help, Leah threw her useless pie crust mixture into the garbage, dragging out the flour once more. "Maybe you can show me then, mister I know how to bake pies just like granny?" Her voice was teasing, but cautious. An angry Paul was a dangerous Paul, even for one as fast as her. His anger was quick, but his jaws were like lightening, and his teeh struck without mercy or forgiveness.

"Measure out three cups. Might not use it all, but..." He already had the butter in hand, the sink flowing. Leah ran her hand under it and wrinkled her nose. Yeah, it was cold.

She watched him cut the shortening into the dough, stirring it gently. He had a blank look on his face, and Leah wondered what he was thinking about.

As if reading her mind, Paul heaved a great sigh and closed his eyes. "I had to run patrol up around the Cullen's."

She snorted. "Sounds like fun." Lightly, she bumped her hip against his. "And?"

His hand ceased their motions and he stepped away from the counter, turning to her instead. "They don't just smell like bleach, they smell like death. They smell like...like they shouldn't be moving."

"You've always known that, Paul. We've all always known that."

"I just have to wonder if we're any better." Before she could interupt, he slipped a hand over her mouth. "Just hear me out. We're...we turn into giant furballs. We find our soulmates based on sight and nothing else. We kill Leah. How are we any better? We can live as long as them, we're as fast as them, as strong as them. Leah, how are we any better?" The distress was rising in his voice, and that scared her because a happy Paul was weird enough but shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

She grasped his wrist, moved it away from her mouth. Met his eyes despite her own panic, slid his hand down her body. It settled between her breasts, over her heart, and if it were anywhere else, any other time, she would have ripped that hand off. "Do you feel that?"

Paul took a shuddering breath, let his eyes close again. "Yes."

"That's how we're better Paul. Because we're still going to be human, first and foremost, and we exist to help. Not to kill. We have a purpose Paul." She was whispering, watching his eyes dart around beneath his eyelids.

His forehead settled against hers, and he whined. Deep in the back of his throat, a weak, keening noise. She stroked the back of his neck and took a deep breath. Quietly, in the deepest part of her mind, she wondered which of them was more broken.

No one answered, and she didn't ask him. Instead, she brushed her lips against his. "You can't kill something that's already dead Paul."

Her body was pressed against the counter once more, and he enveloped her in everything. With everything. "No but you can love something that's just surviving Leah." Was his murmured response.

At the next pack meeting, inbetween glances they snuck, smirks they shared, Leah had to think that Paul was very, very right.