AUTHOR'S NOTE: Guys. GUYS. I'm so super sorry. I don't know if it helps to know or not, but I have been writing future scenes for this fic. (I also have a brief Twilight wolfpack oneshot up as well as a Mortal Instruments multi-chap if you're interested in other things I've written.) I just didn't know how I wanted to get to those scenes from the next couple of chapters. I hope this update is a pleasant surprise for those of you who had written it off as abandoned. (It's never going to be abandoned, fyi, but I understand the fear). I'm also about 75% done with the next chapter, so expect it within the month. Thank you all again!
Ten
Bella dropped him off a quarter mile from her house, and Paul hiked through the back woods until he could see the siding along the back of it. The knowledge that she was a target, in danger off the reservation, pounded in the back of his head, as it had ever since finding out that she was being hunted.
Tonight was something beyond what he'd been hoping for. His heart hadn't stopped pounding from what she'd said, from what she'd agreed to do. For the first time he would be able to protect her the way he'd been wanting to since he'd imprinted. Until his fucking patrol at midnight, at least.
As he skirted the edge of the house, carefully sliding through the shadows, he could hear her dad speaking to her in their living room. His voice was muffled but still audible to Paul's ears.
"—like you're feeling better, Bells," he was saying.
"I had a good time, Dad," she responded.
There was a pause, and then he asked, "Are you still just seeing Jacob?" There was an intent note in her father's voice now.
"No," she said after a moment. "I've actually started hanging out with Emily Young. I'm supposed to go see her again tomorrow night. We're going to have a girl's night."
"Oh," her dad said, sounding surprised. "Well, that's good. I've met her a few times. She's a sweet girl."
"She is," Bella agreed. "Um, I'm going to head up to bed now. Okay?"
Charlie must have nodded, because Paul heard her climbing the creaky stairs right afterward.
He waited until he heard her shut and lock her bedroom door behind her before darting through the shadows and climbing the tree outside her window. She was facing the window, sitting on the edge of her bed. When he stepped into her room, she held a finger to her lips and pressed the button on her bedside CD player.
Paul raised an eyebrow as heavy bass filled the room. He hadn't taken her for an alt rock kind of girl.
"It's just until my dad leaves," she whispered. "He's working the night shift again."
"How many hours does he put in?" Paul asked.
She grimaced. "Too many." She rose awkwardly, half gesturing for him to take her place on the bed. "I'm going to take a shower, okay?"
"And leave me listening to this shit?" Paul asked her, only half joking.
"It's either this or... actually, it's only this," she replied, a brief flicker of amusement erased with one of pain.
Paul mentally cursed himself for treading on territory the leech had apparently destroyed. "Don't worry about it. I fucking love whiny guitar riffs," he avowed.
She gave him an unimpressed look and then stepped out of the room with a pair of pajamas in her hand.
Paul heard her dad leave not long after, turning off the downstairs television and stopping at the front door to put what sounded like his boots and gun belt, before he stepped out the front door and locked it behind him. He leaned against the wall next to her window, unsure how much of a breach of propriety she would consider it if he sat on her bed. He was just enjoying actually being able to appreciate his imprint's scent, instead of running into the room to try to wake her from a nightmare.
She came back not long after, her hair curling slightly past her shoulder from being wet, wearing a blue t-shirt and loose gray pajama pants. She looked beautiful like that, unpretentious in the simple clothes.
Paul pushed off the wall as she tossed her dirty clothes in her closet and turned to face him. Her expression tightened, and she glanced from him to the far corner of the room. "Please don't sit in the rocking chair," she said urgently.
Paul glanced over at the thin, rickety wooden rocker, bemused. "I think it's safe from me, unless you want to watch me sit on it and break it."
She gave a strange, half-pained giggle and fingered the ends of her damp her hair nervously. "Um, actually, if I told you I wanted it to disappear forever, would it?"
He could never say his imprint was predictable. "You want me to kill it and bury it in the woods?"
"I want to pretend it was never there," she said simply.
He decided not to ask any further questions. "Done." Before she could say anything else, he was jogging downstairs with the chair held awkwardly in his arms.
He stepped into the tree line past her backyard far enough that she wouldn't be able to see him if she stood at the back door and then began methodically tearing the chair apart, cracking the longer pieces in two until he was left with a pile of short wooden poles.
He carried them over to a fallen log covered with moss and leaves and shoved the pieces inside it, covering the opening with decaying fallen leaves until the pieces were completely hidden.
When he stepped back inside her room, Bella was sitting straight-backed on her bed, her eyes immediately lighting on his. She'd turned off the overhead light so that only her dim bedside lamp lit the room, and she'd brushed her wet hair so it lay long and straight past her shoulders. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears as she met his.
She opened her mouth, but Paul shook his head, something in the bond driving him. It wasn't time yet. "You don't have to explain," he told her. "I'll bring matches with me next time and burn what's left."
She shut her mouth again. "Thank you."
Paul glanced from her bed to the room's single window and her door, trying to decide where to best position himself. The fucking redhead wasn't exactly going to let herself in through the front door, so he sat down on the floor between his imprint's bed and the window, just a few feet from her.
Bella had pulled out an extra blanket out while he was gone, and she handed him one of the pillows off her bed. It smelled like her. He tried not to inhale it too creepily in front of her.
"Is your dad going to be mad that you're gone?" she asked him. She looked calmer now, and the tension in her voice had been replaced with simple curiosity. She drew her knees up, her back braced against the wall behind her bed.
"If he notices, I'll be shocked," Paul replied honestly.
She chewed on her lip, clearly deciding what to say in response. "I'm sorry," she said after a moment.
Paul let his head drop back against the wall. "I should be glad, I guess," he said. "I don't have to explain where I go to anyone."
His imprint watched him for a moment. "You're allowed to be mad, you know," she said unexpectedly. "Maybe sometimes you get mad about things you shouldn't, but you deserve your dad's attention."
Paul stared at her in surprise. He'd never heard her say anything like that before. "It's not that he's a bad person," he said, not sure how much he should share with her, how much she would care. But now that he'd started, he couldn't stop. He'd never talked about this with anyone.
"We always had food on the table and he never hit me or anything. When he's sober, he's even pretty good company." Paul ran a hand through his short hair in frustration. "When I was a kid, I couldn't help him. And he obviously can't help himself. I've thought about trying to take him into rehab when I turn eighteen."
"That might be a good idea," Bella said softly. Her eyes were focused on him. "He's your dad. You'd know better than anyone else would."
Paul pressed his lips together, struggling to articulate thoughts he'd never allowed himself to fully consider before. "I resent him," he said after a minute. "I know alcoholism is a disease, but I can't help but feel that if he'd wanted it bad enough he'd have been able to overcome it. Or at least keep it more in check. But–" He shrugged uncomfortably. "After my mom…he just couldn't."
"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it, but you've never mentioned her…"
"She's gone," Paul said quickly. "Walked out when I was eight. I've never seen her since. I wasn't born on the rez; I lived in Tacoma with my parents before that. My dad hadn't been back to La Push in twenty years. I think that's why no one there really cares about helping him. I get the impression that he made it pretty clear that he was better than this, better than them, and when he came back broken, they thought it served him right."
"That's horrible," she said, an expression of genuine pain crossing her face. "About both your mom and your dad."
"Yeah," he said, shrugging. "Shit happens, I guess."
She hesitated. "Paul… you know that's not normal, right?"
"Of course I know that. People shouldn't make a commitment and then split up without even trying–"
"No," she interrupted. "I mean, that's awful, but people get divorced all the time. My parents are divorced. What's not normal is abandoning your child. My parents live a thousand miles apart and I still saw my dad every summer."
"She couldn't take me with her, she didn't have any money," he argued weakly.
Why was he trying to protect his mom? She had certainly never tried to protect him.
But she was still his mother.
Bella shook her head again, emphatically. She was getting more argumentative the more time she spent around him. He loved that.
"Leaving you with your dad because it was the better place for you is one thing. But she didn't do that, Paul. She abandoned your dad and you. She walked out on her child. And that's not normal. It's her that's the problem, not you."
He couldn't say anything for a long moment. He didn't know the last time he'd cried, but there was a tightness in his throat he hadn't felt for a long time.
Bella watched him, not saying anything. Then she rose on her knees to turn off the lamp, leaving the room in almost complete darkness.
"Good night, Paul," she said softly.
Paul let himself slide onto his back, pulling the blanket under him to make the floor a little more comfortable.
"Thank you," he whispered into the dark several minutes later.
Bella made a murmured sound, and then he was following her into sleep.
He woke up to the heart-wrenching sound of his imprint sobbing and was wide awake instantly, kneeling down in front of her bed.
He was oddly relieved when he realized that it was another nightmare, that she wasn't crying about something while she was awake. Tears were sliding down her cheeks as she whimpered, still asleep.
Before he know what he was doing, he reached down to brush a long strand of hair out of her face, carefully setting it where the rest of her hair was fanned out on the pillow.
She woke up almost immediately under his touch, staring up at him with red, unfocused eyes, tears still wet on her face.
"Don't cry," Paul told her awkwardly. "Please."
To his surprise, she leaned into his arm, braced on the bed where he was leaning over her. "Cold," she murmured, pressing her forehead to his skin. Her skin really was cooler than it should have been. "Always so cold."
His skin broke out in goosebumps, and it wasn't from the cold. This felt right. This was where he needed to be. With her, touching her, warming her—
He glanced at her alarm clock and swore. It was already five past midnight. Sam would be coming to haul his ass down if he didn't leave now.
"I can't stay," he said, hating himself for having to leave her when she needed him. "I have to patrol." He grabbed the blanket he had been using on the floor and tucked it in over her as well, so that she was under three layers of blankets. He hoped it would be enough.
"You'll come back?" she asked, still sounding half-asleep. "For breakfast?"
His heart warmed. "Yeah," he said. "I'll be back in the morning."
"'Kay," she mumbled. She wrapped the blanket he had placed on her around herself more tightly, and then her breathing evened out in sleep again.
As silently as he could, Paul climbed out of her bedroom window, looking around to make sure no one was watching before jumping to the ground. He phased and felt Sam's presence in the pack mind.
Everything okay? Sam asked as Paul began his long path along the patrol route they had designed.
Paul sent the equivalent of a shrug. Didn't want to leave her.
It was the sort of thing he wouldn't have admitted to anyone else even a few days ago.
Sam shared a brief flash of his own reluctance in leaving Emily lying in their bed that night, her smiling up at him sleepily as he kissed her goodbye.
Normally Paul would have bristled at the implication that Sam pitied him, but he was exhausted enough just to take it for what it was. Empathy. Understanding.
Paul had the sudden, introspective realization that his worst fights might be against himself.
He felt Sam's irrepressible amusement when he heard that thought. He growled, knowing Sam would sense him doing it through the pack mind.
You're a fighter, Paul, Sam said. You always have been. It'll keep us alive. But you've got to learn to pick your battles.
I don't know how to do that, Sam, he admitted honestly.
Figure out what you need to fight for, Sam said simply. And let the rest go.
Paul couldn't even imagine what it would feel like to just accept all the shitty things in his life. He couldn't even if he'd wanted to. Resentment and hatred were too deeply embedded in him to ever be at peace with himself and his life.
You can. Sam's mental voice was gentle. You have the pack, and you have Bella. You're part of this, part of us. He sent along a sense of wry amusement. One day I'll even make you believe that.
His imprint literally had breakfast waiting on the table for him when he let himself in the back door after making sure her dad was gone. Paul felt that odd tightening in his chest again that came from knowing she had done this for him.
Bella looked up from the kitchen where she was pouring two glasses of orange juice. "Perfect timing," she said with a small smile.
Paul couldn't suppress a grin. Her smile would get him through the day happily, as pathetic as that was to admit.
"You're cheerful," he said.
"I slept better," she admitted, dropping her eyes as she set down a glass in front of each of the plates of turkey bacon and fried eggs.
He waited until she sat down and took a tiny bit of her single fried egg before started on his own plate. "You cried," Paul remembered, frowning.
She shrugged. "Yeah, but that was nothing compared to how it usually is. I think, um…" She bit her lip. "Don't laugh, but I think it's because I knew you had been there with me, even though you had to leave.
He raised his eyebrows. "Why would I laugh? Anything that helps you sleep I want to do."
"Can you come back tonight?" She said the words all in a rush, and it took him a second to parse them.
He examined her from across the table. She was already dressed for the day, in a long-sleeved t-shirt and casual jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail. She looked… better. Healthier.
He had a warm rush of pride that he might have contributed to that.
"You know I'll do whatever you want," he said simply, wondering why she was even asking.
"No, only if you want to, Paul," she said. Her warm brown eyes were questioning on him.
"Of course I want to," he said. He didn't care how uncomfortable sleeping on the hard floor was. He'd do it for the rest of their lives if that was what she wanted.
The slightest blush rose in her face. "It's nice not to be so exhausted," she said, picking at her food. She'd eaten some, but still way too little to be healthy.
Paul gestured to her plate. "You can finish that bacon."
She frowned, but she picked it up and took a bite, staring at him pointedly as she chewed. He grinned.
"You look better than I've ever ever seen you," he told her honestly.
She blushed and stared down at her plate. "It's weird," she said finally. "Jacob, then you...it makes me… wake up. I can't really explain it. It's been like walking in the fog, but it's my mind that's foggy." She trailed off, and Paul let her think, finishing his plate in silence.
There was a clang as she abruptly pushed her plate away, a horrified expression wiping away her contentment.
"Paul, I can't even remember Christmas. I don't know who I talked to, or what I did, or even whether we had a tree."
"You went to the Blacks' house with your dad that afternoon," he told her, keeping his voice calm. If she was afraid, he needed to be confident. He thought he was learning. He needed to be her balance. "I've seen it in Jacob's memories. He helped you make dinner. Turkey and stuffing and pumpkin pie. I don't know what you did at your house that morning, obviously."
She shook her head frantically. "I don't remember cooking. I don't remember opening presents. I don't even remember going to the rez. What the hell was wrong with me?"
He stared at her, surprised she didn't know. "You were depressed."
"No, I wasn't sad. I didn't feel anything at all."
"You were depressed," he repeated. "That's what my dad was like after my mom left." Paul remembered him lying on the couch, intermittently sleeping, for days at a time, only getting up to go to the bathroom. He'd done it for months, until he'd run out of money in his retirement account and debt collectors started calling. "He wasn't sad; he just wasn't…anything."
She shivered, rubbing her arms. "I was so… empty. I'd planned everything around… h-him, because he said we were forever. And I believed him."
A note of bitterness had crept into her voice at the end, and Paul glanced at her in surprise. This was the first time he'd heard her speak of the leeches with anything but sadness and despair. From the memories he'd seen in Jacob's mind, she'd never spoken like that in front of him, either.
"And he lied," Paul said, trying to sound gentle.
She flinched, but her voice was steady. "Yeah. He lied."
"You're not ever going to be alone like that again," Paul told her. "You know that, right? You've got me, and you've got the pack."
He remembered what Sam had said last night, the unbreakable connection that all the wolves and their imprints shared. He still struggled with his tie to the pack, but he thought Bella might find strength from it.
He knew he was right when she lifted her eyes to his, and he felt a rush of warmth when he saw the slightest hint of hope shining in them. "Promise?" she asked.
"Promise." He rose and gestured her over to him, that odd certainty in him again of what he needed to do. "Come here." She gave him a perplexed expression but stood, watching him uncertainly as he approached her.
Without giving her a chance to protest, he pulled her into his chest. Even as he was doing it he almost couldn't believe it was happening. He didn't think he had hugged anyone since his mom had left them.
He prepared for his imprint to push him away, but she melted. He didn't know another word for it. One second they were two different people, and the next they were one entity, standing in her dining room with her cheek pressed against his bare chest. He closed his eyes, trying to memorize the feeling.
"'M always so cold," she mumbled. "And I feel bad, you know, hugging Jake too much." He knew what she meant. She felt bad for leading Jacob on. She shouldn't. Jacob had known perfectly well what he was getting into with her. She had told him he was her friend often enough.
"I got you," he whispered. He waited for her to say something else, or to try to pull away, but for a long moment they just stood there. She really was cold. "All you had to do was tell me."
She snorted. "You don't look like a hugger, Paul."
He squeezed her a little tighter, just for a second. "Yeah, well, I bet I don't look like I can turn into a giant wolf, either."
She slowly pulled away from him, much to his disappointment. He already missed the feel of her slight, soft body in his arms. "I think the wolf thing is more believable," she said with a half-smirk.
He rolled his eyes but was secretly thrilled to see her joking. "Come on. You're going to be late for school."
"Yes, Mother."
"You're turning into such a little smartass," he said, laughing. He grabbed her backpack and followed her out the front door and to her truck. He climbed into the passenger side without asking for permission this time, and she didn't even blink.
"I think I always was one," she said. A note of melancholy entered her voice, but she shook her head, as if she was trying to shake off the feeling. "It's just now coming out again."
They drove in silence for a couple of minutes, then she darted a glance at him. "Are we still going to Port Angeles tomorrow?"
That day on the cliff felt like another lifetime ago. Had it really only been two days?
Paul frowned, conflicted. On the one hand, he wanted to spend as much time with his imprint as she'd let him, and he knew that time spent away from this town where all her memories were drowning her would do her good.
On the other hand, Victoria remained an ever-present threat. Would the leech risk trying anything if they stayed in the center of the city? Paul could probably talk Sam into getting one or two of the wolves to trail them on the drive to Port Angeles and back. It was a risk, but so was letting her stay in Forks instead of the reservation.
Bella kept glancing over at him every few seconds, chewing on her lip as she waited for him to answer. She wanted to go, he realized. Whether it was because it was with him or just because she needed a change of scenery, he didn't know, but it really didn't matter. He wanted what she wanted.
Her shoulders slumped when he didn't respond immediately.
"Yes," Paul said quickly before she could speak. "I'll have to make sure Sam won't try to stop me. But yes. I wouldn't miss it for anything. I mean, as long as you bake those brownies you promised me."
The quick flash of a relieved smile she gave him made the pang of worry about her being outside the pack's normal patrol area all worth it. "Deal," she said.
As she pulled into the high school parking lot, Paul remembered their conversation from yesterday. "Did you talk to your friends?"
She nodded, turning into an empty parking space. "Yeah, I told them I was sorry. They're fine with it." She rolled her eyes. "All they really wanted to talk about was you, anyway."
Paul felt a streak of playfulness he'd rarely felt over the past few years come out, and it had him smirking. "Well, I am pretty memorable. And good-looking. And -"
"I am not discussing your appearance with you," Bella huffed. "Your head's already big enough."
He stepped out of her truck, grabbing her backpack and holding it out for her to slip her arms through. She squinted up at him in the uncharacteristic sunlight, her dark eyes thoughtful. "See you this afternoon?" she asked. "My dad left for Seattle before you got here this morning."
Paul raised his eyebrows in surprise, and she shrugged. "There's been more murders than usual lately, apparently. He's friends with one of the policemen up there and said he'd come up for the weekend to help him out."
"Doesn't that mean it's time to throw a stereotypical high school party, then? Kegs and beer pong?"
"No, but it does mean you can stay with me without having to sneak in," she said. She blushed, like she'd just realized she'd implied something scandalous. "You know what I mean."
The warning bell rang, and the few remaining students loitering in the parking lot turned to go inside. Before Paul could stop to think better of it, he pulled her into him to wrap his arms around her briefly, and the warmth, the sense of rightness, flowed over him again.
She froze but didn't push him away, and after a second she relaxed into him. Her hands wrapped around his waist for the briefest moment before she stepped back. He wondered if she ever felt anything close to what he did when he touched her.
She fiddled with the strap of her backpack. "After school?"
"I'll be there," Paul promised. He watched her walk away until she was safely inside the building. One of her friends, the curly-haired girl, had been waiting near the entrance, and joined Bella, smiling and saying something Paul couldn't quite make out. He saw the briefest flash of Bella's returning smile.
He closed his eyes. He could almost feel the warmth of his imprint's skin again. Surely this meant he could hug her now regularly, right? That seemed logical.
Now that he'd had a little of her, he wasn't about to give it up.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I continue to be awed by how many people have read and seemed to be enjoying this fic. Without your reviews and PMs I probably would have put off finishing this until I finished my Mortal Instruments story, so thank you all for the frequent reminders that you wanted to read more of this! I've struggled a little with updating this because I started it over three years ago, and it's not the story I would write now, if that makes sense. But since I've got this many people following/favoriting/PM-ing me, I'm going to assume at least some people like it how it is, haha.
So in the spirit of the "done is better than perfect" mantra, this will get finished. I've been reading and writing fanfiction for (*does the math*) holy fuck, sixteen years now. Older than a lot of my readers, I'm sure. I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not ever going to stop loving Bella/Paul. Anyway, love you guys, thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought.