Fire and Ice
Disclaimer: Not owning and, honestly, not really wanting to. Sparkly vampires… really.
Chapter Two: Pluto
There comes a time in your life when you realise that death will always be a constant companion. No matter how much you run from it, or no matter how much you prepare for it, death will creep up, surprise you, and take someone you love. One day, you'll be that loved one, snatched away by the icy hands of humanity's only determined fate.
Her grandmother died when she was ten. It was too soon for her to truly grasp the meaning, because all she could understand was that her gran wouldn't be around anymore. She'd been sad then, because she'd miss her gran's cooking and stories and the songs she would sing. Even now, she misses Marie Swan's brownies, her smile. She misses her drawing lessons, giving Bella trade secrets that she herself had been taught. She misses her grandmother and, simply, that is life.
One would think that, spending as long as she had with the undead, she would be prepared for the shocking news that Harry Clearwater has passed away. The truth is, though, that life in death is a completely different ball game. It doesn't fit into the realm of humanity where death happens every day and, simply, it's something that you can never prepare for. Not emotionally, at least.
She knew Harry Clearwater. Of course she did. The man had been one of her father's best friends, so he'd starred in her memories as long as Billy or her father himself. She doesn't know how to feel. Her father needs her. She has to be strong for him when he can't be strong for himself. She wants to cry though, because Harry, more than being her father's friend, had been a friend of hers, as well.
They're at the Clearwater's house. Charlie and Sue are sitting at the kitchen counter, watching Bella prepare a meal without really seeing her. She needs to stay busy, keep her mind off the pain written across her father and his friend's expressions. They tell the whole sorry tale and she doesn't want – doesn't need - to be reminded. She can't forget because her mind won't let her.
She stores the cooled casserole dish, covered in cling wrap, in the fridge and begins on her grandmother's lasagne. The woman left her recipes for Bella and Bella's coveted them ever since. It seems fitting in a way, to be making her grandmother's dishes today. She doesn't know how, but it simply does.
After storing the lasagne in the fridge with the casserole, she brings out cleaning supplies and sets to work. Sue and her kids have just lost a loved one: they do not need to be worrying about things like vacuuming and dirty laundry.
She's by Sue when the dam finally bursts. Charlie's sitting in front of a television, staring at a game he's not really watching, his gaze absent. He's remembering. She thinks it's infinitely worse than the heart wrenching sobs escaping Sue as Bella wraps her arms around the plump woman's shoulders, holding Sue to her and rocking them both side to side.
Sue's like a small child in this instant. She cries and cries and cries and all Bella can do is hold her. She says no words, because there are no words to be said. Instead, when Sue has herself under a relative amount of control once more, Bella hands her a box of tissues she'd purchased for that very purpose, leaves her at the kitchen counter and sets to work cleaning again.
There are dishes being brought in by the bucket load and, soon, their fridge is overrun with food that will last the three remaining Clearwaters ages. People give their condolences and Sue takes them like a trooper, holding strong until the guests leave and it's only Bella, Charlie and herself. Bella doesn't know how she does it, but she's amazed by Sue's strength.
Billy is brought over by Rachael, whom upon hearing about Harry, has driven over from Seattle to be there with and for her family. He wheels himself into the living room, where Sue and Charlie have sequestered themselves, and Rachael joins Bella in the kitchen, quietly informing Bella that Billy's already begun making funeral arrangements for Harry.
It's almost too much to handle and Bella, inhaling deeply, takes a moment to regain her composure. When she has, she returns to kneading the cookie dough she's making, splitting half of the large batch for Rachael to help out. Rachael doesn't say anything about Bella's slip and, instead, they work in silence. It's introspective, both of them rapt up in their respective memories of the dearly departed.
The silence remains until the front door is thrown open, entering the remainder of the Tribal Council, Sam, Jared, Paul, Embry, Jacob, Quil and, lastly, Seth and Leah Clearwater. When Leah catches sight of Rachael, her best friend, the girl bursts into tears and is in Rachael's arms in another second. Rachael goes with her upstairs, the council steps into the living room and everyone else, the boy-men, squeeze around the wooden dining table. They all watch Bella as she clears up her mess in silence, still lost in her own thoughts and hardly paying the eight shirtless boys any notice.
"Bella," Jacob whispers. It's one word, but it breaks her completely. Her shoulders hunch forward and she throws her palm over her mouth, a vain attempt to quiet the sob threatening to escape her. They can all hear it when it comes, loud and clear. It's not Jake who comforts her, but Charlie, who holds her like he'll never let her go. She clings to him, taking in great, gasping breaths to try and gain control of herself once more. It doesn't work, because this emotional tidal wave is too strong to contain. She's known and loved Harry her whole life and now he's gone, never to be seen again.
Her breakdown sets off Seth. She doesn't know it, but he's trembling violently. The other boys in the room are trying to calm him without success. It gains her attention and her and Charlie watch with morbid fascination as Seth – little Seth Clearwater – explodes into a snarling, growling ball of fur the size of a small horse.
Charlie staggers back into the fridge and Bella, whose more or less good with weird, doesn't know what to think. Today's been one rollercoaster after another that she's feeling like it's an up hill battle, only to stay upright.
She doesn't realise she's swaying until warm arms pick her up and set her down in a chair. Her world is spinning and, wearily, she rests her head on the wooden tabletop, closing her eyes as she does so. She's physically and emotionally exhausted after today. She needs to sleep, but she doesn't think she'll be able to manage it – not right now.
The tribal council have entered the kitchen by now. They're trying to explain it to her and Charlie. Bella doesn't know about her father, but their words go in one ear and out the other. She can't learn about the La Push werewolf/shape-shifter/protectors right now. Not today. Not when Harry's just died. Not when Sue still needs her and Charlie, too. They need her right now.
When they've finished explaining, they return to the living room, leaving Charlie, herself and the pack in the dining room/kitchen. The pack sits in silence, fidgeting awkwardly, while Charlie sits and stares at the wall. She knows how he feels; learning that everything you've ever known about fantasy is, well, wrong. Because werewolves and vampires aren't supposed to exist; love at first sight and mating bonds as well.
While he does that, she gets up to bake a cake. She needs to keep her hands and mind busy and, apparently, wolf boys can eat a house and still have room for dessert. Eventually though, she runs out of supplies and so she sits, staring at the wall, not thinking; not doing anything.
"Your father is spending the night here," says a voice she doesn't recognise. She looks up, blinking dumbly, at Paul, who's expression is hard and dark eyes a whirlwind of emotions. He grits out his next words. "I hate to be the messenger, but Sue says that you are welcome to stay here as well. If not, I am supposed to ensure you get home safely."
Bella gets to her feet and begins gathering her things. "I'll return home. You don't have to babysit me."
"Yes, I do. Alpha order." He walks out and she makes her goodbyes. When she exits the house, she's sort of surprised to find Paul leaning against the driver side of her truck. She throws her things into the truck bed and gives over her keys willingly when he asks for them. She's exhausted and in no shape to drive anywhere right now.
When they reach her house, she hops out and grabs her backpack from the bed of her truck. She's halfway up her porch steps when Paul stops her. He's trembling and it makes her nervous. She doesn't show it though. After her breakdown earlier, she's made sure to keep a tight lid on her emotions. "Paul?"
"There's a fresh leech trail around your house; let me go in ahead of you, yeah?"
She shrugs, too tired to argue. He unlocks the door and enters the house. She follows him upstairs and into her room. She scans it, stopping on her pile of art journals. She scans them: they're out of order.
"Someone's gone through my stuff," she says decisively, setting her bag down on her bed. She starts flipping through her sketches. She finds what she's looking for in her most recent one. The one of the baseball game, with James, Victoria and Laurent, the Cullens and herself, titled 'Lost' is gone.
"You might want to check your clothes, too. It's in your laundrey hamper and wardrobe as well."
She startles, having had forgotten about Paul's presence. She sets the journal down on top of the pile of them and does as he suggests. She finds the scarf she'd warn the day before is gone, as are her pyjamas. Other than that, everything is where it should be, the exception being her journals. She tells him as much and he nods his acknowledgement. "Get to bed. I'll keep you safe."
"What?"
He rolls his eyes impatiently. "In case you've forgotten, Swan; I turn into a huge motherfucking wolf."
"Cool it, Lahote. Do what you want." She nods to her school bag, bulging with textbooks. "I have homework to do; nothing interesting here."
He burrows down in her bed after making a phone call to Sam. She tries to focus on her studies, but the expression on her father's face, somehow absent and mournful at the same time, keeps coming to the fore. Finally, frustrated and edgy enough, she brings out her journal, flips to the first blank page she finds and sets to work. When she's done, she calls it 'Remembrance' and returns to her homework. It keeps her busy, from thinking and feeling; from remembering. But eventually though, her homework is done and there is only so much cleaning one could do.
So she showers. She shaves her legs and armpits and trims her pubes. She washes her hair: lather, rinse and repeat. She exfoliates and moisturises, plucks her eyebrows and waxes her upper lip. She brushes her teeth, making sure to floss and gargle and repeat. She cleans her ears and brushes her hair: one hundred strokes, according to Grandma Marie, would get the ultimate shine. Then she braids it as tightly as possible and braids it again when she finds she's missed a few loose strands.
Finally though, she could put sleep off no more. She would think and dream and remember and she would let herself, because she would only ever fall apart by herself. Most of the time, anyway. She doesn't like to show weakness and emotion was weakness so showing emotion was a no go.
Bella dresses in her pyjamas, hangs up her towel and crosses the hallway to enter her bedroom. Paul is still stretched out across her bed, playing a game on his cellphone, wearing no shirt and looking entirely too comfortable in a practical stranger's room. Then again, if his reputation precedes him, than he's probably accustomed to being in the bedroom of strange women.
She crawls into her bed and curls up on her side, facing away from him. Though not by her own will, she finally lets herself go.
-!-
Author's Note: I might have lied about the angst thing. Apparently, I can't help myself. I'll try to keep it minimal. Thank you all – so much – for reading, reviewing, favouriting and alerting. Until next time
– T