And we're back!

I hope you enjoy this chapter. I certainly enjoyed it. Things are looking up for our favourite couple!

Surrender
Twilight

Sam Uley / OC

I have found the paradox that if I love until it hurts, there is no more hurt, only more love.

- Mother Theresa

He barely made it inside the door before he dropped to his knees. The look of broken horror on his face turned my stomach.

I shifted to sit up more comfortably. "You're here." My whisper was drowned out by the little-bit-too-loud bang of the door slamming shut behind Sam. He was here, finally. After all these weeks of trying to bend Jared's arm to get Sam here, he had finally gotten here.

Now... what did I say?

I had a whole monologue planned. I'd practised it in the shitty mirror bolted to the wall above the sink by the door since I'd been well enough to get out of bed and stand in front of it. And now, looking down at his horrified eyes holding me, every single syllable flew out the window. Every single one.

"Look at you," he croaked.

I felt a pang in my chest. I knew that look, that croak, that horror.

"Don't you do it, Sam." I scooted to the edge of the bed, swinging my legs over the side. I pushed myself up with my right arm, being extra careful not to move my arm too much. The stitches had been removed, but the wounds were still raised and angry, and from what the doctor said, still susceptible to reopening if I was too rough on them, so I needed to be careful. The last thing I wanted was to get more stitches. "Don't blame yourself for this."

"How?" Oh God, his voice cracked.

I reached out for him with my right hand when I was close enough and he flinched back, skittering back until his back hit the door with a bang that had the door rattling in its frame. "Look at you. Look at what I- What I-" He broke down, tears spilling over his cheeks.

With his back pressed against the door, he didn't have anywhere to go. I dropped to my knees in front of him, wincing when the wounds on my thigh stretched with the movement. His claws had raked down my arm and caught a small part of my hip and thigh. They'd gotten the tail end of the swing and were the lightest, already mostly healed compared to the wounds on my face and shoulder, but stretching them would hurt for a good long while, was my bet.

Something shifted in my peripheral and my head shot up, waving off the nurse that was hovering curiously at the doorway.

She sent me a disapproving look at tittered before she disappeared down the hallway.

Damn nurses.

I shook away my annoyance and turned back at the problem. Now was not the time to get distracted by trivialities, as much as I wanted to be distracted from what I was certain was going to be a clusterfuck of a situation.

"Sam." I laid my injured hand carefully on his shoulder and raised my right hand to carefully wipe some of the tears off his face. He was sobbing so freely. I think if I cried like that around someone - no, I know; I had enough experience with Esme and Chrissy - that I'd at least cover my face, try to save some of my dignity. He hadn't even done that, just sobbed so openly in front of me.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, even as I felt hot tears prick at my own eyes, I shifted, until my back was pressed half into the doorframe and half into the wall, shoulder pressed into Sam's arm.

We sat like that together in relative silence; I didn't utter a word, and Sam just sobbed until he had exhausted himself enough to fall quiet enough that his crying was just the occasional hiccuping breath.

"Why?" His voice was so much rougher than usual that at first I wasn't even sure I had heard the word correctly. He sounded more like a broken croak than a word.

"Why, what, honey?"

"Why am I still here? Why haven't you-?" He cleared his throat and heaved a wet sigh. I had a moment of worrying whether he would start crying again. "If I were you, I'd have told me to leave. To never come back. To go to Hell, kill myself. Anything but let me within a hundred miles of you."

I swallowed thickly. "Good thing you're not me. You'd never suit the hair."

We lapsed into silence. My weak attempt at humour wasn't appreciated.

My gaze fixated on the bright yellow balloon tied to my bed. It was bobbing weakly in the breeze from the open window, on its last legs. My class had come over to visit me in the second week being here, after I'd recovered a little bit. They'd bought more handmade cards and little gifts than I could handle. I'd kept the biggest card and the balloon, and had Chrissy take the rest of the stuff back to my place. The box that it had all been put in was probably sitting on the coffee table gathering dust right now.

I don't know how long we sat there in the quiet.

"The shifting. You told me it was emotional, that you don't have much control over it." I tried to remember the hazy conversation we had just before Christmas, when the two of us had sat in the woods and he had explained being a Werewolf to me. Most of my attention had been captured by him actually phasing in front of me, and telling me about the imprint, about why he loved me, but I could recall some other things he said.

And since that night, since we'd started dating, I'd seen him shift, seen him almost shift. Things got him angry, and he couldn't control it. I knew that.

"If anything this-" I raised my bandaged arm then dropped it back into my lap. "-is my fault. I knew my story would make you emotional. You'd have to be a fucking monster to not react to it. I know that emotion sets it off, and I knew that you'd get angry, upset. But I told you anyway." I let out a deep sigh and shook my head. "My fault."

"Your fault? You've got the be crazy if you think this is your fault."

I snorted, and immediately regretting it when it shifted the muscles in my face. Ouch. "Of course it's not my fucking fault, Sam. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not self-depreciative like that. But that feeling, that frustration? Thinking I'm crazy, stupid, for thinking it's my fault? That's exactly how I feel knowing that you think it's your fault."

He turned sharply to me, but I stared ahead, reading and rereading the silverly 'GET WELL SOON' on the deflating balloon, distracting myself enough to keep my face straight. I wasn't going to crack.

"Of course it's my fault! How could it not be?" He was shaking.

"It was a freak accident, Sam." My voice was steady. Ten points to Griffyndor. Steeling myself, I turned my gaze up to his. His expression was twisted in a mix of agony and fury. "We could play the blame game until we were both blue in the face. Is it my fault for telling you the story? Is it your fault for reacting to it? Is it Cane's fault for doing this to me? Is it the spirit warriors fault for passing their genes down to you?"

Sam was smart for not answering my rhetorics, staying quiet.

The fury was leaving his whiskey-eyes too.

Good.

"The answer is yes. We're all at fault in some cosmic everyone-in-the-world-fucks-up bullshit way. So we're not doing it. We're not playing the game and ripping our own hearts out over it. We're going to be adults; ask the questions that need to be asked, and answer them. No games, no beating about the bush because I've done fucking around with the elephant in the room with my boyfriend before, Sam, and that didn't end so hot."

Sam slumped back against the door again, head cracking against the wood. "What questions are there to ask? Exactly how far you want me away from you at all times?"

"How about: do you think it's possible for us to move on from this?"

"What?"

It was me that turned to him this time, sitting with my legs crossed and my hands resting gently in my lap. "Look into the future. Can you still imagine us together, after this has happened? Can you still picture us walking hand-in-hand? Can you still picture the two of us kissing? Can you see yourself waking up in the morning to my face and still being happy?"

He opened his mouth to answer but I raised my hand. He fell quiet, pain shooting across his expression. It was then I realised that I had raised my injured arm and the sight of the stark white bandages hurt him.

"Don't answer now. In-the-moment passion isn't what I want. I need you to think deeply on it and tell me truthfully what you want, what the answer to that question, and all the little unasked questions are. Is it possible?"

I unfolded myself and made a move to stand, reaching out to my bed to help myself up. Sam was already helping me up before I even touched the bed.

I smiled up at him when I was standing. "I'm getting out of here the day after tomorrow. The day after that I'm going to spend the evening on First Beach. You can tell me the answer then, okay?"

He was hesitant. I could see all the questions he had himself in his eyes, but he didn't speak, just nodded curtly and gently squeezed my uninjured shoulder.

I pushed up onto tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'll see you there, Sam."

He was barely out of the room when the nurse that had been peering through the large window in the door earlier swept in. "How are you feeling, honey?"

The bed bounced slightly under my weight when I sat back down on it.

That had to have been one of the shortest conversations I'd had with Sam, but it had to have been the most important. And, while some of the unease I'd felt broiling in me had settled after it, a new pit was forming in my stomach.

How was I feeling?

Nervous, scared even, but honestly? "Good. I feel pretty good."

I took a deep breath and settled my hands on my hips. "God, I really need to fucking dust in here."

Chrissy huffed behind me, setting my hospital bag down on the floor. "What you need is to relax, yeah? You got attacked by an angry mamma bear. I think you can justify having some time off cleaning your apartment. I mean, you keep it pretty damned spotless. Who cares if you don't dust for a while? You literally just got home from the hospital. I just set your bags down. Chill, will you?"

"I care." I relaxed my akimbo stance and made my way towards the kitchen area, where I kept all my cleaning supplies. "My body's gone to shit, Chris. My house sure as fuck isn't going to."

She heaved a sigh behind me and followed behind me. "Drop the duster, lady, and go sit on the couch. Put on one of your shitty Irish-y films and relax. I'll dust, then I'll cook you up something nice with whatever hasn't gone bad in your fridge. Then we're gonna watch our favourite." She waggled her brows at me as she took the duster and can of polish from my hands.

A little smile curled my lips. "You're the best, Chris."

"I know." She gave me an overly bright smile and shooed me off to the couch.

I ended up flicking through the box of handmade cards from the kids had given to me while Chrissy bustled around. It was actually almost scary to see how many pictures of bears the kids had drawn on or in their cards. I had to laugh at some of the drawings and messages. Only kids could say some of the blunt things that were scribbled into the cards with barely legible writing.

Had whoever was covering for me just not checked through them all?

"I love kids, Chris."

"Mmm, me too," she agreed, running the duster over my TV. "Don't think I could eat a whole one, though."

I snorted. Trust Chris.

It was so good to be home.

The drive down to La Push was nice and quiet.

The walk across First Beach was decidedly less so.

People whispered. It wasn't like I hadn't expected it. I knew the area, I knew the people.

The first time I'd gotten out of hospital, almost a year and a half ago now, I had moved back to Forks right away. Every single person I passed had heard about what had happened and had something to whisper about what had happened.

From what Jared had told me, I'd actually been carried from Third Beach into La Push in the desperate rush to get me medical help. Like Forks, it didn't take long for news to spread, clearly, if the whispering and staring was anything to go by. Though, they could just be staring at my face. The bandages on the lighter wounds were gone. My face had been worked on so extensively that it was pretty well healed, more so, at least, than my arm, that had been deemed a little less important. The wounds were closed much neater on my face, but the scarring was pretty horrific. There was plenty to whisper about.

But, this wasn't my first rodeo, and I kept my head held high as I walked past a plethora of whispering teens, who had clearly decided that First Beach was the perfect place to be after school had let out on a Friday afternoon.

Oh my God, have you seen her face?
Isn't she the woman that got mauled by the bear by Third Beach?
If I ever looked like that, I'd have the doctors put me down. God!
Poor dear.
She lives in Forks, right? What's her name again.
Oh yeah, I think I recognise her! Uh... Peggy, right? She was all cut up after that thing with her boyfriend, remember? Tried to kill herself.
Shit, you're right!
How fucked up can her life get?

That last one was a good question. One I still wasn't sure I wanted the answer to.

It wasn't long before I found a nice sturdy driftwood log to perch on, with the woods at my back and the encroaching sea right in front of me.

Watching the waves splash along the rocky beach, and the dogs race by chasing each other, was so relaxing, I once again found myself lazily berating myself for not coming here often enough.

Dating Sam, I had every opportunity to spend as much time as I could around the beautiful La Push, but we hardly ever came here. We spent most of our time together in Forks.

If things went the way I hoped they would, I'd have to make a point of suggesting we spend more time on his home turf. It was too damned gorgeous to stay away from. As much as I loved my time trecking through the woods around this area (something I was likely going to have to give up again for a little while) sitting on the beach and just watching the world go by was just as peaceful.

Jesus, was I twenty-five or ninety-five?

I said hello to three curious dogs that came up to me before someone sat down beside me. I knew who it was even before I felt the heat of his arm seep through the layers of my clothing. He was, naturally, wearing just a sleeveless hoodie. The day that man dressed for the season was the day I ate my fucking guitar and flossed with the strings.

"Did you think on it?"

My eyes turned up to peek at him through the curtain of my wild curls. He was staring right ahead, just like I had been a few minutes ago, hands resting on his knees in that same tense pose he always used when he was trying to think things through and ground himself. "You know, I did," he rumbled in return, the muscles in his shoulders bunching tighter.

Yeah, that was kind of a stupid question, admittedly. But, still. "Well?"

"I talk, you listen, okay? You had your turn at the hospital."

My mouth immediately opened to retaliate, but my lips just quivered soundlessly and I nodded.

Yeah, that was- That was fair. I nodded.

He nodded back, though he was still looking ahead. Keeping his distance, processing.

My stomach rolled and anxiety pulsed through me. Some silly school girl part of me had hoped that it would be easy. That he'd sweep me up off my feet and declare that nothing was more important than me. I thought that silly schoolgirl part of me had died that first time Cane had hit me. I was sure it had, but it was slowly resurfacing with Sam, and I didn't know whether I wanted to try and nurture it, or mercy kill it.

"I don't think I can move past this. I-" His hands clenched up into fists. "You don't want to play the blame game, but I can't just ignore it, Peggy. I feel- I feel like a fucking hypocrite."

I chewed on the inside of my lip. I'd never heard Sam wear before. That was... that was kind of weird actually. I didn't know many people that didn't swear. I swore like it was going out of fashion. It held a lot more weight when Sam did it, though. It drew me up short, made me stop and take real note.

"I got so angry at Cane for causing those marks. How could he do that to you? You're so perfect and he just-" He growled, a dark noise that rumbled in his chest. His hands were clenched tightly on his knees, but he wasn't shaking. "Then I go and leave scars - worse scars. You can't hide those away under long sleeves."

A quiet grunt left my mouth, and my hands reflexively moved to tug at the ends of my sleeves. I'd spent so much damned energy in the past year trying to keep my scars hidden away, like some dirty secret that everyone already knew. The scars made me feel sick. Even now, knowing they were there, that Sam was talking about them, I could almost physically feel them itch. I wanted to scratch at them, gouge them from my skin.

But these new scars? I hadn't felt the same about them. I wasn't going out of my way to try and cover the scars on my neck and face. It'd be easy enough to upgrade from long sleeves to turtlenecks, and though I hoped I was long-through with my I-hate-the-world goth phase, I could probably rock the side-bangs cover-half-my-face thing again in a I'm-in-my-twenties-but-not-quite-ready-to-let-go-of-teenage-rebellion way. It wouldn't be cool by any stretch, but it could possibly work. But my shirt was a low boat neck today with bandages peeking out my arm, and my hair was down and wild, but not covering much of my face; neither were covering as many of the scars as they could be.

I didn't stare at them in the mirror. I couldn't feel the black mood settle into my very bones.

Honestly, these scars felt like any other scrape or bruise I'd gotten. I felt about as strong about it as I did the little scar on my palm from impaling my hand with a metal tent peg when I was fourteen, or the bite mark on my ankle from a bastard of a nippy dog when I was twenty. The scars were big and there but they were just scars, just another page in the story of my life. Cane's scars were different. I looked at them and I saw my weakness, every one of my flaws working to paint the horrors of my weak-willed personality for everyone to see.

"I just don't think I can get over that."

I slumped, eyes fixing hard on a dog trying to stalk a bird. The tears stung worse than the salt air stung at the wounds on my face.

His answer was no.

It was sheer force of will that saved me the embarrassment of actually sobbing.

"But you said something at the hospital that I can't get out of my head. You asked me if I could see myself waking up in the future and being happy, seeing your face." He turned to me, reaching out and grasping my unbandaged hand. "I can't forgive myself, but that? I can't see my future without it, Peg."

The sob came harsh and loud and my hand flew up to cover my mouth.

Holy fuck.

He cupped my cheek, the rough pad of his thumb wiping tears from my cheeks. He looked pained, withdrawn and hurt, but he leaned forwards, forehead pressing firmly against mine. The heat of his skin burned my own wind-chilled forehead.

"One day at a time," I hiccuped, grasping blindly at the shoulders of his hoodie. "We'll take one day at a time until you forgive yourself. Okay?"

"Okay."

I sniffled and smiled. It stretched the scars around my mouth, and that hurt.

I couldn't give a single flying fuck.

"I love you."

"I love you, too, Peggy. I love you so much."

I kinda felt like I was hitting a brick wall at the end of the chapter. I think its been entirely too long since I've read books. I'm forgetting what the characters are like. In response to this, I'm going to take a little break from writing this, to reread the last three books, and get myself back into the Twilight space, back into knowing Sam and the pack. Hopefully, the break won't be too long, and I'll be back to writing lickety-split! I know I'll find some spark and inspiration to write again rereading New Moon at least, so you definitely won't be waiting too long.

Hanna - The majority of the Elders aren't impressed, Harry Clearwater least of all, for obvious reasons. That'll be broached within the next few chapters, hopefully.

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Andrea - I can't either! I have so many scene ideas planned for when the two move in together and the pack gets a little bigger. I'm very excited for it.

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Karen - My characters aren't always the most likeable, I agree, and no one likes everyone, but Chrissy isn't going anywhere any time soon. She's an important part of Peggy's life.

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Francesca - Peggy isn't the sort of person to back down when she's being wronged. Cane was a special case in that situation, but he won't let other people push her around because shes not what they want her to be. That's not who my Peggy Lee is.

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Quinn - Of course you're all allowed your own opinions. I encourage it! It actually warms my heart that people are already making these opinion and headcanons around my story. And, honestly, if I hadn't started this fic because of scenes I'd had that centred around Chaske Spencer specifically, I'd be more than happy to imagine Eddie Spears in his place for sure. Spears trumps Spencer in the looks department any day of the week

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Opal - I'm glad you're liking it, and I totally agree. We need way more Sam fics!

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AllyCatt12 - I hope you enjoyed this one!

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When I Make It Shine - I love Jared as it is. He's sweet. Sweeter still when he's toting cornbread and muffins!

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Ana Kookie - Haha, I'm not sorry. I hope this chapter made up for the way I left things this chapter, at least. I hope this chapter came soon enough. It's not always easy to find the time to write nowadays, but I'm trying hard to keep this fic updated as soon as I can. I think we all need a good dose of Peggy in our lives. I'm glad you like her and Sam together so much. It means Im doing something right!