The Man With Few Words

"Women have a wonderful instinct about things. They can discover everything but the obvious." –Oscar Wilde

Chapter 10

January Jansen is sort of being a jerk-face.

Jacob Black woke up in the familiar racecar bed, in the familiar canary-yellow walled of January Jansen's Alice in Wonderland house. He has been spending the last four nights here. And he loved it. He loves waking up to Janie occupying the big armchair on the opposite side of the room, all curled up with a book with her messy hair and sloppy grin. He loves how that hole in his chest doesn't hurt anymore. He's sure it's still there; a scar, a void, a remainder of what once was but could never be. But it doesn't bother him anymore.

He loves the feeling Janie gives him. Making him feel all tingly and light-headed. He loves it. All of it.

"You snore," Is the first thing that greets Jacob's ears when he awakens in the morning.

His face feels hot. His head is turned to the side, and he realizes that he's got his mouth wide-open, nearly swallowing the pillow. He closes it and tries not to feel embarrassed when his jaw cracked. He blinks away the last traces of sleep from his dark eyes and frowns sourly.

"That's a lie." He declares ceremoniously, "That's a—" He yawns enormously, "damn lie."

Jerk-face. She's sitting cross-legged in her usual spot, her lips cattishly quirked into a grin and her jet-black hair deliciously tousled. She's leafing through a Cosmopolitan magazine with great interest although her stormy eyes would shift up to him every few seconds. Jacob didn't want to break the peace between them so he stretches carefully, pushing his legs out and arching his spine so that it cracked audibly.

"You do." She insists lazily, waving a dismissive hand. "Not constantly. But you make up for the lulls by sounding like a damn tractor every hour or so. I kept dreaming I was back in Carolina." She pauses, then adds in an afterthought, "On a hay farm."

"You're making that up." Comes Jacob's simple response.

Janie laughs. She presses on, "How can somebody live as long as you and not know they snore? You must not have had many bedmates. Guess that Sex and Your Sanity article you read is one hell of a convincing read."

Jacob Black scowled. All right, yes. He admits it. He had once picked up that copy of Cosmopolitan and very, very casually skimmed across a few pages. That's it. And the article just happened to be titled 'Sex and Your Sanity' and suggested that those who have sex often are more likely to develop a mental illness.

It was all Janie's fault. Because if she hadn't went into the bathroom to brush her teeth, then he wouldn't have became bored and started reading the goddamn thing. Then he wouldn't got sucked into its surprisingly persuasive argument and get completely absorbed so that January finds him, moments later, sitting up in bed and intently mulling over the topic.

"Would you shut up about that magazine?" There's no real fire in that rejoinder. But the lingering haze of sleep won't allow humiliation. In fact, this is probably the most comfortable argument he's ever taken part in. "Anyway, I've probably had more than you."

That was a lie. Janie's probably gotten way more action than he has. She was a cheerleader, after all.

January chirps, beaming, "I find that doubtful." She retorts and quirks a boyish brow.

The comment made his eyes widen marginally. He hadn't really expected her to respond and he doesn't quite know why but the fact that she did made him nervous. He scrunches his nose, trying to fight that off that wave of emotion that makes him feel small and foolish. Suddenly self-conscious, he demands, "Why? How many have you had?"

"Some."

He blanches, "Some?" Then upon realizing how big of a prude he sounded, he tries on the passive, brooding look he loves to sport and prompts, "Don't be coy, Jan-U-airy. Scandalize me."

She seems uncomfortable now, both with the question and the memories. January didn't like talking about her past much. Her childhood, yes, that was fine. But when it broaches during the New York years, she becomes withdrawn. She always answers his inquiries, but as simple as she can. Jacob knew that her broken leg bothered her more than she let on.

"How many have you had?" She interrogates back, silvery eyes flickering.

He draws in a long inhalation, then releases it in a pensive whoosh. "All right, so I snore." He allows reluctantly. "Any more complaints? And might I remind you that I am a guest here?"

"Guest...really?" She repeats, noting his brush-off but not commenting. "I suppose that's Jacob-speak for moocher. And yes, actually, I do have one more." She's raising that infuriating brow and wearing a smug look that made her look so sexy that it was making Jacob uncomfortable. Because Janie was an elf, and he felt awkward thinking an elf was sexy.

He clears his throat, "Namely?" He prompts.

"Next time you wake up needing to pee," She rolls her silvery irises melodramatically. "Could you find a better way to get out of bed than just rolling over me like I'm made of feathers and fluff? I thought I was being mauled by a bear for a second. A huge, Carolina Mountain bear—"

"I forgot you were there!" He protests loudly, tossing his arms up into the air. "It was as disturbing as it was for me as it was for you—"

But Janie continued on as if she didn't hear him, "I kept on dreaming that I was back in Carolina, on that hay farm, and this bear was like...attacking me." He snorts and makes indignant grunts. "And I felt like I was being flippin' roasted." He shifts uncomfortably at that remark. "I feel like I'm sleeping next to a radiator sometimes, or those car seats that heat up..."

He interrupts warily, "All right. I get the idea. It's duly noted."

"Excellent."

There's a moment of silence inserted here. Mornings are always sort of strange and disorientated for Jacob. He feels as if he's not fully awake in this world of soft beds and clean sheets and magical Janie. He's always certain that he's going to actually wake up to his couch and mangy Snuggie and an empty house. The perfection of things makes him uneasy.

So he asks, "What are you reading?"

"It's a list of questions I should ask my boyfriend." January replies without as much as a second of hesitation. She's sitting sideways on her armchair so that her legs are dangling off the sides and her hair's spilling over everywhere.

Jacob's irritated that she doesn't go on. "Well, what does it say?"

Janie gives him a weird, puzzled expression. "I'm not going to ask you. You're not my boyfriend." She declares childishly.

Obviously, January hadn't meant for it to sound so harsh. And obviously, Jacob shouldn't have taken offense in it, because after all, she was right and he wasn't her boyfriend. But it still left a sharp sting in his chest and makes him flush in embarrassment.

"I just want to know what it says." He mumbles angrily.

Janie examines him with stormy eyes. He feels small and foolish for feeling that way and the fact that she sensed it made the entire ordeal exponentially more awkward. "All right then," She chirps after a beat, swinging her legs over then tucking them neatly under her. "First question: What's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to you?"

Jacob bristled and he immediately wished that he hadn't Janie about her stupid survey. Cosmopolitan does nothing for him. He should've known.

He doesn't want to answer, much rather just stay silent but January is staring at him with expectant, charcoal irises that make his skin burn and his face hot. So he scowls, scrunching his great face into an angry pucker, then proceeds to pick through his mind. For a minute, he lets himself think to being 16 year-old Jacob. When things were complicated and magical and so, so very painful. For him and for her both, he supposes.

He can remember saying lots of romantic crap to her. Crap about being the shining sun and being the air she breathes and being her marijuana or LSD or whatever the fuck she needed him to be. He was always there. Every time. But dear God, in this instance, he could not—not for the life of him—think of one thing she said that really yanked on his heartstrings or put him on a high. He just remembers the brooding and the frowning.

And a hell load of rejection.

He sighs warily, squinting his dark eyes to try to file through the foggy thoughts. Perhaps he was overlooking something. Oh, he's got one. "Once. She told me that I was kind of beautiful." Yeah. That's pretty romantic, right?

January blinks her owl-eyes. She asks, "What do you think is the most romantic thing I ever said to you?"

"Gee, I don't know." He snorts, "I thought 'you snore' was pretty ground-breaking." She laughs her little bell-chime chuckle. "Well, what's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to you?" He's willingly to bet that freakin' Peter's got some pretty good lines. It must've been something devastatingly poetic.

Her head's tilted, making all of her long, silly hair spill over her shoulders. Her pretty, pretty face is soft and wonderfully elfin. Her lips curved into a boyish grin, "Hmm..." She hums thoughtfully, smiling down at the magazine, "When I broke my leg," Her long, slender fingers dance over the ugly wound automatically, as if protecting it. "Peter came to see me before my surgery. I guess it was just the—the fear of knowing I'll never dance again, and the shock that my leg was actually crushed. I don't know, whatever it was, I just couldn't stop crying. And I remember Peter. I remember him promising that he'll make everything okay." She focuses those silvery eyes on him. "That was the important thing, you know. That...he'll do whatever it takes." She stares dreamily up at the ceiling, "I think I felt a great satisfaction knowing that his heart was breaking for me."

There's a moment of tense silence.

Jacob feels obligated to break it. He begins reluctantly, "So...I take it this..." He gestured to the air between the two of them. Janie stared at him cluelessly. He clears his throat, "I take that this is permanent, then?" He feels obligated to clarify, "Us?" Once again, his cheeks flushed. He felt young and naive and so very unfit to ask Janie this question. But he wants her to stay. He wants to be there for her.

If she'll let him.

"Permanent is a strong word."

"Semi-permanent?" Jacob Black suddenly realizes that perhaps this isn't a good idea and that he's brought it up too soon. Not that it mattered, because Jacob was never good at this whole 'timing' thing and he figures, let's get things straightened out and he doesn't care if he seems forward. He knows what he wants.

She shrugs from her position at the armchair and raises a cautious brow. She cocks her head and flashes a coy, crooked smile. "Why does it matter?" She uncurls her long legs. She's wearing a long, silky stocking on her injured leg. It bothers him.

"It doesn't." He answers back blankly. He's lying.

She grins, sinking back, "Permanent or not, it'll end when it wants to." January didn't like the idea of commitment. It isn't that she was afraid of it and it isn't that she doesn't like him. To Janie, it was just something pointless. Relationships will fall rather or not you promised forever. If you fall in love with someone else, then that's that. No matter how hard you try to salvage things; patch things up, you can't stop the inevitable. There are no happily-ever-afters. There are no plans. No lovers' oaths.

January Jansen would say, 'Just let it run its course, Jay-cub. Just let it run.'

They're together now and they're in a good place. What else more is there?

They slip into a comfortable groove over the course of the next few weeks. They go out for ice cream and dinner; sometimes, they have curry at that nice Indian place down the street. Or if Janie's anxious to get out more, they'll walk the trail. If her leg's bothering her and she's too proud to admit it, he takes her to the cinema.

He takes her over to Port Angeles and they watch that nice, handsome fellow she likes with the elf ears and the bowl-shaped haircut—(Spork? Spank?). Whatever. He pretends to be entertained by phaser guns and steals Janie's popcorn.

They stroll in the park afterwards. And he shows her where he used to go to school before he cracked up (Janie-speak for saying that he brooded). Some days, they just hang out in her house. She jibes him about his plaid shirts and his sex-book, and he makes a cheerleader joke or two.

He would swear they're having fun, but he never asks: Do you like it here? It was an ominous question, treading onto some uncertain, dangerous ground. If he takes another step forward, he might fall into a sinkhole. And Jacob wasn't sure if he was ready to fall for her.

At night, they share a bed. He becomes accustomed to her presence there, and she to his, so typically it comes off without a hitch.

Typically.

One early morning, he jolts awake to find her head laying near by his knee and her feet tucked under his chin. It was quite an uncomfortable position and if it were anyone else, Jacob would've thrown a fit. But January smells like the ocean and flowers, and she's so incredibly warm. It burns his throat.

Carefully, he grabs a hold of her ankle and moves it onto his shoulder just so that he can breath again because she's digging her heel into his larynx and he had nearly suffocated. He didn't mean for his hand to spider up her calf and splay across her knee like a tender caress. Oops.

But then he catches sight of that angry, smirking scar and he flinches back, quickly averting his eyes. He feels like he's seeing something he's not supposed to. Janie is always so careful to keep it out of his watchful gaze. He gets the odd sense that he's violating her privacy and if she were awake, she would've been angry at him.

So he carefully tucks the injured leg under the covers and presses a lingering kiss onto the good leg.

"Mmm..." January makes a little humming noise in her throat.

He freezes as she shifts closer to him, in fact, basically throwing herself over his knee. She mumbles something in her sleep. It's unintelligible, but one syllable sounds just a little too similar to Pete...

As Jacob draws away and flips onto his other side, he jars the mattress with as much space as possible in order to end whatever disgusting dream she'd begun courtesy of his touch. This was supposed to be his moment, damn it. When she follows him, running her toes briefly along his ribcage, his shudder is accompanied by a pronounced scowl of discontent.

There was a line; a gap; a hole between the two of them. One that however hard they try, they just can't seem to fill. They are strangers as much as they are friends. He hasn't told her about Sam. Or Emily. Or the exploding-out-of-his-skin-and-becoming-a-werewolf thing.

And January is hiding something from him. He knows that. He isn't stupid.

So he never asks: Do you like it here?

She's here. What more does he require?

End Note:

I'm so devastatingly sorry that this chapter is coming to you about...2 months later than I intended for it to. It's just that school's been particularly crazy and I've been struck with a massive writer's block but I thank you all for sticking it out with me and I KNOW this chapter is a little shorter than my standard ones but I promise I'll make it up to you with a LONG chapter 11. Sound good?

The reason why this chapter was so hard to progress with was because it's a bit of a filler and I do quite awful with those. I did plan for some advancement at first but it just didn't seem right and I just KNOW that I would be rushing it if I just hurried and forgotten to give things a little time to...rest, I suppose.

This chapter is written mostly in a more retrospective view and mostly on the development between Jacob and Janie, which I think is very important, because it can't all be rainbows and hot sex, right? Anyways, drop me a line about how you think this is going and what you think because it's just wonderful knowing what you guys like and dislike about this story.

Question of the day: A lot of you have made me a suggestion about how this story is mostly written in Jacob's POV. It is actually 3rd person, but of course limited. So my question is, if you could sneak a peek into someone else's head, who's would it be? January? Sam? PETER?! And of course, what were your favorite moments and lines? The serious ones or the funny ones?

Thank you so much for all your support.

--Lovessss, Kitty.