A.N.: Just a quick note. Sorry to all of you who were waiting for the third chapter. I've been working on my novel, and I sort of dropped FF for a while, but I'm back. Thank you to all of the reviews I got. By Christ, I got one just after four minutes of posting the third chapter. I hope to keep up the response level. Thank you.

River Nile

Four

I woke with a start in sheer darkness, cracking my skull against something solid as I shot up. There was a muted, whump! and the tinkling of something small and fragile shattering. I rubbed my sore head, attempting to adjust my eyes to the darkness through all the stars in my vision. After a moment, there was no need. The hall light upstairs flicked on and a tall shadow descended. In the minimal light I recognized that I was on the floor next to what appeared to be a day couch and what I was pretty confident was a living table. The light above me warmed to life from a faint glow to a warm luminescence. Leah stood by the light control panel, her arms crossed over her chest. She was glaring at me, but it didn't look like her heart was in it, and I think that's what unsettled me more. I got up gingerly, avoiding the table that I'd struck before.

"You broke my Guardian Angel." Leah mumbled with disinterest. I looked up and saw the small glass angel figurine on the table had fallen forward, and the top half had shattered.

It was just a small Renaissance style angel with glass curls and crystal feathered wings. I recognized it because of it's twin which belonged to me. Seth had bought every member of the pack a 'Guardian Angel' for Christmas the year before to show that the angels were on our side. I think it just came from Sue's attempt at raising her kids Catholic. Most people on the Reservation were Catholic now, turn of the Century converts, but the pack wasn't so sure to follow.

"Sorry. I'll give you mine." I grumbled, getting to my feet. A large blue, black, and white afghan fell from around me as I did so. Leah's choppy hair was disheveled and pieces stuck around her face and neck. She had on army green pajama pants and a white tank, and her feet were bare on the cream colored rug.

"Are you okay?" I asked, noticing that she looked exhausted, but clearly not like she'd been awoken from sleep. She tousled her black hair nervously and let her arm fall with a sigh.

"I've been better. And your head?" She responded, throwing the subject.

"Fine. You look tired. You sure you're alright?"

"Fine. Drop it!" She walked through the living room to the kitchen and I followed.

"Lee, I know you. I know something's up." I said, trying to understand. Really, I just wanted to figure out what had happened the night before. I knew that we'd ended up arguing again, just like any time Seth tried to put the two of us in a room together. It was over something I couldn't even recall now, and somehow I had gone from that, to cracking my skull on Leah's Living table at some ungodly hour of the morn.

Leah made a glass of water, rolling her eyes and laughing humorlessly. She took a few gulps, then smiled ruefully at the half empty glass. Half empty... My life sure did like to throw deep metaphors at me.

"What does it matter to you, Jacob?" she asked in a low voice.

"I'm alpha, and you're Beta. Therefore, I need to know what's troubling you." She chuckled again.

"Don't you ever get tired of using that excuse? At least Sam knew how to stay out of our lives when we didn't want him there." She scoffed.

"Did you ever consider that I might actually care?" As the last word formed a question on my lips, there was a shatter two inches from my right ear, and water went everywhere.

"Don't make me laugh. You haven't cared about anyone in this pack for years now. You haven't cared about this aspect of your life in years. You don't even know what's going on now a days. You're so lost in yourself or your precious Imprint," she spat the word like acid on her tongue, "that you've forgotten what you are!" My blood was boiling now.

"I know exactly who I am. I am Jacob Black, Alpha, descendant of Ephriam Black, and Leader of our pack!" I snapped back. She threw another glass so fast, I almost didn't see it, and it glanced off my fingers, shattering just over my shoulder.

"I didn't say who, Jackass, I said what. Above all the names and titles, you don't know what you are, Jacob! we know what we are, the rest of your pack. We are, above names and formalities, Quileute. We are a pack, and equal to one another. We do what we must to go on without your constant leadership, and our lives go on without you. You know, Sam and I have been leading the pack for a while now. I can tell from your face that you didn't know," and I truly didn't, "I bet you didn't even know that Em has a son, let alone what his name is."

"So I'm being told by the woman with the bastard son, that I'm not living my life the right way, and I don't know who I am?!" She laughed again, a hint of hysteria in her voice now.

"Please! The bastard son ship sailed a long time ago Jake. Cut it out. I can show you what's wrong with you, but you... You can't even acknowledge what could possibly be wrong with me. Move on, or move out! The Rez, no, the pack doesn't need you anymore. You're a lia-fucking-bility to us now. Come back, or stay gone, for good." She moved to walk passed me into the living room again when I remembered.

"Brandon." I whispered. She stopped, her back to me, and looked over her shoulder so slightly.

"What?" she asked, the light from upstairs casting a mournful shadow on her face.

"Em and Sam's son's name is Brandon. And you're having nightmares, aren't you?" I said, my voice so low, I barely heard myself. She heard me. Somehow, she always heard me, good or bad. I saw her face fall a little in the minimal light.

"I am. Constantly." She replied, and I could finally hear a hint of the misery she fought so hard to hide.

"Why am I here now?" I asked. She turned to face me, her hands gripping her bare arms as though she were cold, though I knew she never would be.

"You fell asleep on the couch. Before he left, Seth said that as frustrated as he was with you, he saw how exhausted you've been and thought it might be better not to disturb you. So, I left you there."

"And the afghan?" the corner of her mouth quirked up a little.

"Billy had Seth bring it by. He said he thought you could use a little piece of your mother right now." I pulled the afghan up quickly and looked at it thoroughly. It was truly Native American in it's style with the diamond patterns and the tied yarn tassels that hung at each end. The blanket was old and worn, but I remembered the way it smelled all my life. Since the day she died. It was my mother's afghan, all blue and light. I felt my fists clench around it, feeling that all to familiar ache for her presence that had lain dormant for so long. Funny how long it took for people to love again after so long without, but how easy it was to recall the searing pain of neglect.

It was without my notice that Leah was in front of me, her hands on the blanket, my mother's blanket. I growled before I knew why.

"Jacob, stop. You're going to tear it. Let go!" She tried to pull it away, and for an instant, I forgot about the blanket. Something about kissing her was easing that lapse of pain I'd felt, so sharp as to cleave me in two. And she shoved me away, throwing my shoulders back with all her might. Might that I'd forgotten she'd had so much of. I stumbled and caught my balance again. She looked at me, shock, anger, and some distraught emotions played in her face, and that stung just as bad.

She folded the afghan swiftly in silence, and then looked up at me again from a few feet away. Her face looked empty, and I wondered if it stung as much for her as well. She placed the folded rectangle in my arms and looked me dead in the face.

"Go home, Jacob. Wherever 'home' is now." She dimmed the main lights to nothing but darkness again as she moved to take the stairs again. After watching her ascend in silence, and flick off the hall light, I slipped out of the house. As soon as the door was closed, I was running. My bare human feet pounding the pavement and coming open was a relief, a distraction.

I sat on the cliff, my mother's afghan and lingering scent drawn around me as the sun rose behind me. The early heat felt good, and I knew that it would vanish into the clouds all to soon. The water was calm that morning, and I envied it's simple rhythm. Heave and pull, rise and fall. It was a lie, but a glamorously simple one at that. Just keep breathing, Jacob. As long as you live, all is well in the end. Violent turmoil would always settle in the end. I got to my feet eventually and glared at the water.

"Fucking Hate the ocean." I grumbled, beginning my descent home.

A.N. If you don't know, the blanket's called an Afghan, pronounced, afgan. The H is silent. enjoy!