It might have been minutes or hours or days that Quil and I lay asleep together, but eventually I felt hands gently pull me away from him and carry me out of the room and put me down onto another bed. The sheets were cold and my arms missed Quil, but I fell into a deep sleep almost instantly.

The clock beside the bed read 10am when I woke up. The lovely sunlight was gone, and its place was the rainy grey that no one could escape for long. I yawned, stretching out in the bed, and as the room came into focus around me, I realized I had no clue where I was. This was not my own bedroom of course, but it wasn't the room I had claimed in Aunt Emily's house either. Then the memories came back to me.

Quil.

I was out of the room in seconds, not caring what my hair looked like or that I hadn't brushed my teeth or washed my face yet. The door to Quil's room was closed, so I pushed it open, careful to be quiet.

I stood there for a few long seconds, taking it all in. The t-shirt he'd been wearing the day before was gone and so were the heavy quilts. He was lying on his stomach on the too small bed; the only remaining sheet covering him had slipped down until it rested in the little hollow of his lower back, exposing the long line of bare muscled skin. I wanted to touch him—just to see if he was any warmer than he'd been the night before—but I didn't want to wake him, so I stayed in the doorway and let my eyes do what my hands could not. He didn't look quite as pale and deathly as he had the night before, and I took comfort in that. Seeing Quil so lifeless had scared me more than I could admit even to myself. For so long I'd known him as unbreakable, able to come through anything without so much as a scratch, seeing him otherwise was terrifying.

When I had assured myself that he looked no worse than the day before…and maybe even a tiny bit better, I tore my eyes off him and left. Emily and Sam were in the kitchen, talking quietly together. Their heads shot up when I entered and I ducked my head, feeling embarrassed. After all, they were probably the ones who had carried me out of Quil's arms the night before. But they didn't mention it and neither did I. After a quick bowl of cereal, Emily and I went back to their house so I could take a shower and change clothes, but I hurried back as soon as I could to the little grey house. I didn't want to miss anything.

Carlisle came towards mid-morning to check on Quil, and Emily arrived soon after with lunch for everyone. Almost the whole pack had congregated in the small living room. I felt shy and out of place, sitting with these people who were as close as a family, closer even. It was surreal being back with this group. I never thought I would be with them like this again when Quil left, never thought that I would be part of this world again.

I realized, as I sat there, listening to them talk freely with Sam about the patrols, how special it was that I knew their secret. I'd never wondered, when I was thirteen and Quil took me to that bonfire, why I got to know and my sister didn't, why he trusted me so implicitly with that secret. It was even more disconcerting now, when I could see so clearly how the rest of the pack had accepted my place in the close circle as well. Not just anyone got to know their secrets—many of the Quileute's had no idea what Sam and his group really were. What was so special about me?

Just when I was thinking that I would have to ask Emily about it, Carlisle stepped into the room, and those thoughts were instantly driven out of my head.

It struck me again, his beauty. I realized that I hadn't been awake or aware enough the day before to fully appreciate how he truly striking he was—like a movie star or a model—and yet there was no warmth in him. I shivered and couldn't help but compare him to Quil and his heat and his lovely dark copper skin.

I marveled at how at ease this vampire seemed to be in a room full of werewolves and how at ease they all seemed to be with him. Only a slight wrinkle of everyone's nose against some imperceptible smell gave it away. Carlisle smiled at everyone's expectant faces.

"Quil is doing better. Some of the internal damage seems to be slowly healing itself." Everyone let out a long indrawn breath and smiled. "I am not going to make any promises, but… if things continue like this, he has a chance."

"A chance?" Sam pushed.

"A good chance," Carlisle amended, his grin broadening.

As the room erupted around us, Sam turned to Emily and said quietly, "you were right." Emily only smiled and shot a smug look in my direction, but I wasn't paying enough attention to wonder about it.

I slipped quietly out of the room full of celebrating werewolves and down the hall towards Quil's open door, where I hid behind the frame so he wouldn't see me. He was on his back now, his muscled chest completely uncovered by the sheet. Where the bandages had been just a day before, there were now only long, vivid half-healed scars. His eyes were closed, but I knew he wasn't sleeping.

I stared at him, taking it all in. The way his beautiful russet skin stood out against the whiteness of the sheets, his black hair, disheveled and all over the place across his forehead, dipping down over his eyes. And then, because I couldn't help myself, my gaze went lower, to the muscles across his broad chest and abdomen. Unconsciously my fingers twitched with the need to be near him and my body moved forward with that need, but I caught myself. I leaned against the doorframe, resting my head against the cool wood.

"Get a grip," I muttered furiously.

I turned to go, but Quil's voice called me back.

"Claire?" I turned and saw him watching me; he'd pulled the sheet up to underneath his arms.

I walked over and sat on the little chair beside the bed, and for a long moment, neither of us said a word, only looked at each other. It felt like he was re-memorizing my face, just like I was with his. Then, he ducked his head and stared at his hands, which were wound tightly in the sheet. He looked almost angry.

"I'm sorry." His normally smooth voice was rough. "I didn't mean for you to see that—when I phased, it shouldn't have happened in front of you. I never wanted you to see me that way…." He trailed, and I understood that he was not angry with me, but with himself.

I bit back a laugh. He was actually nervous that I was afraid of him now! As if seeing him as a wolf could change the way I felt about him! "I meant what I said Quil—you didn't scare me. Don't you remember? "

He smiled a slow sad smile. "I remember. I still wish you hadn't seen me. Not like that."

"I'm glad I saw you!" I declared. "I always wanted to see you like that; remember how I used to whine about it?" I smiled to myself. It was the first time in so long, that I could remember without feeling pain. "I think part of me was afraid that you were just making it up to tease me. It's nice to know for sure. And you kept your promise—to show me one day."

"You know I can't lie to you Claire." He winced, closing his eyes tightly, as shifted in the bed.

"I should let you get some rest—" I jumped up and put a hand on his shoulder to say goodbye, but his skin made me forget everything else. "You're warmer!" I cried, and laid my palm flat on his skin so I could feel the heat. "Last night you were so cold…." Unconsciously I ran my fingers across the smooth length of his shoulder, reveling in the heat emanating from it.

I smiled down at him, and it was the first time since the whole trip began that I felt like it—like really smiling so it reached my eyes, not just moving my lips in the motions. Our gaze locked and my fingers stilled.

"I—I should go…let you get some sleep..."

"Please don't," he whispered. My feet moved automatically, backing towards the chair, where I sat with a heavy thump.

We stared at each other for the longest time. It wasn't awkward though. Even after all this time, it was never awkward. But I could see the internal struggle within Quil, like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure how. And I knew exactly what it was.

"There's so much I want to say to you—so many things I need to apologize for—" he began, but I pressed my fingers to his lips before he could continue.

"Later, we have all the time in the world for that Quil," I whispered. "Just focus on getting better now, the rest can wait a while." I was being a coward, I knew, but I wanted to keep this day untouched by pain and apologies and explanations, and just be happy that Quil was here and alive. No doubt we'd have that conversation soon; it was something we both needed. But not yet.

So, for the rest of the afternoon I sat beside Quil's bed talked to him. I told him about everything that had happened to me in the last year: the new friends I'd made, the homework and the teachers. I filled him in on Katie and Colleen, and all the little things and big things that Quil would have heard about if he'd been with me. He didn't say much, only closed his eyes and listened, sometimes asking questions or nodding. Once, when I thought he had fallen asleep, I began to leave, but Quil's eyes popped open and he asked me why I'd stopped talking. Afterwards, even when his breathing deepened and he was silent for long periods, I didn't stop.

He got better rapidly after that. Color returned to his skin, the gashes on his shoulder disappeared, leaving only thin white scars where they had been. Every day I laid my hand to his cheek, feeling the warmth return; that was how I gauged his progress.

Neither of us mentioned the night when I'd begged him to stay alive for me. I wondered if he remembered it, or if he thought it was just a fever produced dream. Some parts seemed dream-like even to me. Did Quil really trace my lips with his fingers? Did he really tell me that he loved me? Had he really held me while I fell asleep?

Carlisle told Quil to take it easy for a few days and let the healing do its thing, but I could tell that Quil was itching to get out of the little room. Every time Carlisle came in to check on him, he practically growled in frustration. I was only one who's head he didn't bite off, and so I spent hours in his room every day, trying to distract him.

Of course, that time gave Quil unlimited opportunity to study me, something I wasn't quite so comfortable with.

"You've changed," he said suddenly one afternoon. I was sprawled sideways on the bed by his feet, flipping through a magazine, while Quil stared out the window longingly—at least, that's what I thought he'd been doing. I frowned up at him, was I really acting so differently?

"I mean you look different. Older I guess."

"I'm fifteen now."

"I know." Our eyes locked. His voice was barely a whisper. "I'm sorry I missed your birthday. Both of them."

I smiled and put down the book to reach across the bed for his hand. It was warmer, but still cool in mine, reminding me of how it had felt to look at him and think he was going to die. "It doesn't matter," I said quickly. This was the closest we'd gotten to the subject of why he'd left since the first night. Part of me wanted to drop it, to pretend that the whole year and half had been a nightmare, but the other part of me desperately wanted to know why and how he could leave.

It was finally time.

"It does matter," he argued. "I was an idiot Claire—I thought that- I thought I was making better for you." He refused to meet my gaze.

I bit my lip nervously. "Emily told me a little bit about it. She said Kim was hurt…." Quil nodded tightly. "But that's not your fault! And she's fine now…. I don't understand."

Quil pulled his hand from mine to run his fingers through his hair. "It was our fault Claire," he said, and his voice was very low. "It was all our fault. Kim was alone, out walking on Second Beach when a bloodsucker caught her scent. He wasn't even thirsty, but he followed her anyway. He was curious about her, trying to figure out what she smelled like, because of course, our scent was all over her…

He took in a shaky breath. "Thank God, Embry and I were on patrol, so we caught his

trail before he killed her—" his voice became a growl— "but not before the bloodsucker shattered Kim's leg when she wouldn't tell him about the pack."

"Oh my God," I breathed

His eyes met mine pleadingly, seeking forgiveness or at least understanding. "That's why I left, because all I could see after that was you in Kim's place, only not as lucky, and Claire that would kill me… Losing you like that, it would hurt a thousand times more than just leaving you."

And I understood. Hadn't I felt exactly the same when Quil came so close to dying? Just knowing he was alive somewhere—even if he wasn't with me—was better than him having no life at all.

I threw myself across the bed, and into his arms. As it always did, a rush of well-being and safety washed through me when he wrapped his big arms around me.

"You're an idiot," I mumbled into his shoulder. "I understand, but you're an idiot. Instead of leaving, you just shouldn't have let me out of your sight."

He pulled away slightly and grinned down at me. "So you won't mind if I'm a little overprotective of you from now on then?" he asked.

"I won't mind," I answered quietly. "Now that I know what's out there..." I shivered, imagining myself in Kim's place. "I never thought it was so dangerous here, or that vampires came so often… but now after what's happened to you…."

"It's not normal," he reassured me. "That was the biggest group of vampires I've seen in a long, long time."

"Why do you think they were here?"

He shrugged. "Hopefully they were just passing through. There's no reason for them to come here—the Cullen's have been gone a long time and not that many others know about the pack here at La Push. Those who do know, know we don't tolerate visitors."

"How many have come before?"

"Not a lot. Maybe four or so in the last thirteen years, not counting the group we got last week," he rubbed his shoulder thoughtfully. "It seems like most bloodsuckers keep to themselves, and no one notices or cares when a few go missing, which is good for us. We keep small patrols on the lookout though, and keep our eyes peeled, just in case."

I was confused. "Small patrols? But I thought the pack was huge?"

"It is. But it's hardly worth it to keep everyone patrolling when there's so few bloodsuckers, and besides, some of us have retired."

"Retired? You mean, stopped becoming werewolves? Can you even do that?"

"Well, we can't ever change what we are, but we can stop phasing, let ourselves age."

I stared at him blankly.

He laughed. "I guess I didn't do a very good job explaining everything that first time." He took a deep breath. "After we first change, our regular bodies change too. I had a normally developing sixteen-year-old body, and all of the sudden, very quickly, I was fully matured; I got taller, bigger, and stronger. After that we don't age—something about phasing into a wolf so often, it keeps us from getting older."

"Will you ever?"

He nodded. "Once I stop phasing for a solid period of time I'll begin to age again, but physically I'll always be younger than I am technically."

"Oh." I digested that.

Quil was thoughtful. "In the beginning it's impossible to keep from phasing; every strong feeling, any slight wish for it and I would phase. It took a very long time to get complete control over that side of myself; it took us all a long time.

"But once we did, and after the Cullen's left and things quieted down, Sam gave us each the choice. Stay part of the pack, patrol, and continue to not age, or we could walk away and let nature do its thing."

"Why would anyone want to stop though?"

I thought of Quil and of the overwhelmingly powerful creature that he had become that night. If I had that kind of power, would I ever be able to give it up?

"Jared did, after what happened to Kim. Some of them tried for awhile, just to see if they could. But eventually I guess we all will." At the perplexed expression on my face, he leaned forward.

"Take Sam and Emily for instance. Because he had fully matured after he first phased, he was physically a few years older than her when they got together. Now it's the other way around—not that he cares about that part—but few years after the Cullen's left and things quieted down—after he got complete control, he stopped phasing. He wants to age for Emily you see. He doesn't want to have to live long without her. He can't imagine a world that's she doesn't exist in, or bear the thought of living without her. I think it'll be like that for all of us someday."

"But I thought Sam was with you, the night you..." I trailed.

"He was. He's never completely given it up, just during quiet periods, but when there's danger, he doesn't really trust anyone else. He loses time that way, but he feels better about us."

"Why didn't you give it up too?" I asked.

"Give it up?" A huge grin spread across his face, and he shook his head. "I couldn't—the freedom, the family—knowing I can keep people safe…. I never saw this as a burden the way some of us did." He paused, looking distant, before turning back to me. "Besides, I don't want to age right now." He smiled.

"Will you ever want to?"

His gaze met mine. "Someday." An emotion flickered in his eyes. Then he laughed. "Someday I'll have to; it's not like I can stay in my twenties for the rest of my life."

I paused, thoughtful. "So, does that mean that someday, if I keep aging and you don't, that we'll be the same age?" I asked without thinking, then blushed, hoping he wouldn't realize why I was so curious about catching up to him.

Quil didn't say anything for a few seconds, but finally, he nodded. Then his thoughtful face cleared, and huge grin spread across his face. "You may be getting older, but you're still not getting any taller." His eyes sparked teasingly, making my heart beat unevenly.

"I'm not that short. I've grown two inches!" I protested, but Quil only shook his head. He held my hand gently in his, turning it so that our palms pressed together, matching my hand against his own. And it was true, my hand looked tiny, like a child's beside his.

Still silent, he slid his hand down, looping his thumb and index finger around my wrist, making a too- large bracelet, showing me how small I was in comparison to him. His eyes were fixed intensely on my wrist. It seemed to me that Quil's hand wasn't really a bracelet at all, but a shackle —one I put willingly on myself, binding him and me together despite everything. I wore it gladly.

He slid his hand higher up my forearm, and the light brush of skin against skin gave me goose bumps. It wasn't until he reached above my elbow that his fingers met with any resistance. Quil lifted his eyes to mine, and I could see a struggle in them, like he wanted to do or say something, but was afraid to. I tried to encourage him with my eyes, but he pulled away sharply, breathing in deeply.

I wanted to say something too—anything—to make Quil look at me again. I leaned towards him. "I'm all grown up now. You can't treat me like I'm a little kid anymore."

Why did he look so nervous? "Are you ok? Do you want me to leave?" I shifted uncertainly. It was the last thing I wanted, but if he was tired, or if I was getting in the way of his recovery…

"No! No, please stay." He reached for my hand again.

I took a deep breath when our fingers met, feeling the steady shiver of electricity between our bare skin.

All I could think, as my heart started thumping erratically and a mixture of old and new feelings stirred in my chest, was, here we go again….

After all this time, I was still in love with Quil Ateara. What an idiot.

A/N: Yay! Quil's alive... you didn't really think I would kill him did you?

So, I'm really looking forward to the next part of the story, which should be much more lighthearted and less angsty than the last few chapters, and of course, I get to write more about Quil and Claire's changing relationship, which should be fun.

As always, if you liked it, leave a review. If you have any questions, I'll be happy to answer them for you, as long as it doesn't give away future plot.

Rosybud ;-)