[thoughts on Charlie's life. canon-compliant. heartfail/angst. language.]

Notes:
The Twilight Illustrated Guide comes out today (coinciding with the sinking of the Titanic!), which means this canon-compliant set of drabbles is about to be non-canon-compliant. Since my heart will die the moment that happens, I'm just going to post them now, even though the history is not finished and there's obviously huge gaps. I've been working on this on and off for six months and I just... need it to be out there before it can't be true anymore. *cries*

October 1973

You get suspended in second grade.

Derek Jones is a fifth grader and a bully. You lost your front teeth over three months ago and it is taking forever for the new ones to grow in, and Derek says something about it every single day. He makes fun of the girls with freckles and the boys with glasses. You hate him.

But one sunny recess, Derek finally bites off more than he can chew. He's just finished breaking all the chalk for the blacktop when he yells, "Hey, redskins!" at two of the Quileutes boys, then does a dance, punctuated by fake war whoops. Some of the kids laugh.

The two boys come running, but you're closer. You get to throw the first punch. Then all three of you are on top of Derek, and there's fists flying and legs kicking. In the struggle Derek loses one of his front teeth. And it was a grown-up one.

Derek has to go into the principal's office first, and you and the two Indian boys are sitting quietly on plastic chairs in the hallway, waiting for your turn. You've got Kleenex stuffed up your nose and you're going to be grounded for the rest of your life.

One of the boys, the taller one with a cut on his cheek, glances over at you. "You're in my class."

You nod. You're surprised he remembers you. You don't talk that much.

"I'm Billy," the tall boy says. He jerks a thumb at the stockier boy with the black eye. "That's Harry."

"I'm Charlie," you say, trying not to sneeze out the bloody tissue.

"Do you like fishing?" Harry asks.

You love fishing.

When your mother finds out why you've been suspended, you only get grounded for a week instead of for the rest of your life. (She's the one who looked you in the eye on the very first day of kindergarten and warned you that there would be kids there who looked different, or sounded different, or acted different, and if she ever heard a single thing about you being rude she would kick your butt into next month.) She even agrees to let you go play with Billy and Harry on Saturday, which is technically before your grounding is over. Your father gives you a long lecture about violence and appropriate behavior when he gets home, but you think your mother might be a little proud of you.

You never tell anyone that really, you got in the fight because you'd finally seen your chance to hit Derek Jones.

April 1982

The three of you are at the diner, bored and trying to stack a plate of french fries into a Jenga tower, when Sue Marten walks in. As she walks up to the register, Harry calls (loud enough to be heard by surrounding tables), "Hey, beautiful."

Sue turns slowly, her braided black hair shining under the unflattering overhead lights, and her glare is so vicious you're surprised Harry doesn't disintigrate into a pile of ashes. She approaches the table, and you exchange a glance with Billy. Billy looks like he's thinking of breaking open the window and making a run for it.

Harry just keeps smiling.

Sue leans over and places the flats of her palms on the table. "You," she hisses, her face an inch from Harry's. Their noses are almost brushing. "I hate you. You have got to fucking shut up. I can't get a fucking date because everyone thinks I'm your girlfriend!"

"Well," Harry says, still completely calm, "why don't you just be my girlfriend?"

Billy flinches. You take a look at the stack of napkins on the table. You're pretty sure there will be enough to mop up the blood from Harry's inevitable broken nose, but it'll be close.

Several emotions seem to flit across Sue's face as she pulls back and stands up straight. Finally, after a long moment, she narrows her eyes and says, "Fine. Pick me up at nine on Friday." Then she turns on her heel and stalks right out of the diner without ever ordering anything.

The two of you gape at Harry, stunned beyond all words. He just shrugs and sips his Coke. "Told you."

November 1987

You knew you'd need to be prepared for sleepless nights and endless crying.

You just didn't expect it to come from your wife.

Bella is, near as you can tell from your limited experience, a very easy baby. By six weeks old she's sleeping for seven hours a night. She hardly ever spits up, and her wails are somehow... polite. Most of the time she just sits quietly in a lap or lies on a playmat, examining her own toes and figuring out how her fingers twist together. She's very straightforward and simple. (You find her far more fascinating than she finds you.)

It's Renee who's falling apart. She cries all the time, from when she wakes up in the morning until she goes to sleep at night. Sometimes it's loud, gasping sobs, but mostly it's just a constant stream of tears running down her cheeks and dripping onto Bella's forehead. At night she curls into a fetal position and hides her face under the covers; you try to stroke her arms or kiss her hair, but she only pulls farther away.

On a fishing trip one morning you finally ask for advice.

Harry assures you that it's all perfectly normal - Sue starts weeping whenever a sappy commercial for a long-distance plan comes on television.

Billy scowls and admits he hasn't had sex in a year; Sarah is still so exhausted by the twins that she won't even let him touch her. (Harry admits that that sounds weird, but Sue has his pants off at least four times a week, so he may not be the best judge. You can tell by the look on Billy's face that Harry will wind up with a black eye if he doesn't shut the hell up.)

Both of them, however, swear up and down that women just lose their minds a little right after a baby is born. All you have to do, they say, is keep your head down, say "Yes dear" a lot, and wait it out.

You feel a lot better after this, and you come home with a bouquet of roses. It just makes Renee cry harder.

December 1988

The ringing phone wakes you with a start; you grab the reciever off your nightstand, expecting the station. "Charlie Swan."

"Charlie?"

It takes you a moment to recognize the sick, slurred voice. "Billy? Is that you?"

"Charlie, man, can you come get me? I can't drive." Billy's words are running together. A quick glance at the clock tells you it's just after three in the morning.

"Uh, sure." You're already getting out of bed, blinking the sleep out of your eyes. Billy doesn't pull shit like this; something has to be seriously wrong. "Where are you?" He gives you directions for some bar a ways to the north, near the Makah reservation, and you're out the door in ten minutes.

Billy's sitting on the bumper of his car in the restaurant parking lot when you arrive, his forearms resting on his knees and his head hanging. When he sees you drive up in the cruiser, he stands and staggers - staggers- towards the passenger's side door. He gets in and the smell of cigarette smoke and whiskey rolls over you, stinging your nostrils.

You've seen Billy have a beer once in awhile. You have never seen him drunk. Not ever.

He buckles his seatbelt as you pull back onto the road. "Why this place?" is the only thing you can think of to ask.

Billy rubs his hand across his face. "I was at a tribal thing," he says. "Can I crash on your couch tonight?"

"Sure." You smile. "Don't want to get in trouble with Sarah?" You'd just meant to make a joke, but to your extreme alarm, Billy lets out a sob. An actual sob, like a kid. You almost drive off the road. "Jesus, Billy, what's wrong?"

"I fucked up, man," Billy says. He leans forward. His hair curtains his face. "I fucked up so bad, you have no idea." And he won't say another word.

The next morning you take Billy back north to get his car. He says that if Sarah asks, tell her that you and he spent the night watching the game and he fell asleep. He nearly begs. You say sure.

Part of you really wants to know what happened, but the rest of you is glad you don't.

May 2000, Part 1

You are the one who gets the call. There's been a car accident, all units report. (All units being you and Frank.) It's just after six in the evening, but the sky is prematurely dark from a storm that will be rolling in shortly. The roads are slick.

Later, you thank God that you weren't the first one on the scene, that you weren't the one who had to pull Sarah Black from behind the wheel of the mangled station wagon. It is bad enough seeing the stretcher being loaded into the ambulance, tiny spots of brown blood soaking through the white sheet covering her broken body.

The report is brief. She skidded on the wet pavement and slammed into a tree. Probably it was over quick. At least no one else was in the car. At least there's that.

Ted offers to be the one to break the news, but you refuse, of course.

The drive to the reservation is the longest of your life.

When Billy opens the front door, he looks frazzled; the sound of his screaming kids echoes from inside, and the crashing noise of something breakable being knocked to the ground. "If you're looking for dinner, I've got nothin'. Sarah's still at the store and the kids got into the Hershey bars. I'm getting too old for this."

Billy says that a lot. Billy is thirty-four.

"I'm not here for dinner," you say. "Come out onto the porch for a sec, will ya?" (You don't want the kids to overhear or see what's about to happen. It was a wise decision, you realize a few minutes later; no child should ever see their father on his knees.)

May 2000, Part 2

As the sun sets on the day of the funeral, after the last guests have gotten into their cars and pulled away, you realize you haven't seen Jacob in several hours. You check in Billy's room, where he is lying on his bed, still in his suit, Harry next to him holding his hand. Is Jake in here? you mouth, and Harry shakes his head silently in response. In the hallway you can hear the noisy sobbing of the twins through their thin door.

It's a testiment to how long the day has been that it takes you a full three minutes to think to check the garage.

You knock hesitently on the open door, not wanting to spook the kid. He's sitting cross-legged on the concrete floor with what looks like every tool in the garage spread out neatly in front of him. You watch as he picks up one of the smaller socket wrenches and cleans it carefully with an oily rag.

"Hey, Jacob," you say. "You wanna come inside?"

He shakes his head silently.

You don't have much experience with this fathering thing, so you'll have to wing it. You come in and crouch in front of the boy. He doesn't look up. "C'mon, Jake, it's really cold out here. Mrs. Clearwater left some soup on the stove, do you want some soup?"

"No. I have to finish this."

You glance down at the wrenches. They're gleaming under the bare bulb that lights the garage. "They look pretty good to me." When Jacob shakes his head again you wonder if maybe you should just pick him up and take him inside, but he's too old for that. Instead you ask, "Why are you doing this right now?"

The kid's little fingers move against the grooves of the metal, obsessively rubbing his cloth against the same spot over and over. "I didn't fix the car right."

"What?"

"I didn't fix the car right," he says again. "Dad let me help. I didn't do it right. Mom's dead."

"Oh," you say, because that's all that you can say, just oh.

He rubs the wrench harder as he mutters, "I'll fix it right this time."

"Jake, the station wagon's gone." (It had to be loaded onto the flatbed in pieces after being cut away from the tree.) "I'm sorry, son, but it can't be fixed."

"Yes it can. Just get them to tow it here. I can fix it. I won't mess up again."

You want to cry, but you're sure as hell not going to it lose it in front of a ten year old who's just buried his mother. "Jake, you didn't mess up. There wasn't anything wrong with the car, it was just a wet road, it's not anyone's fault-"

"I can fix it!" Jacob's shriek comes out of nowhere and echoes off the tin walls. "I can fix it! I can!"

In that moment you decide that ten isn't too old to be picked up after all, and you lift the kid into your arms and carry him back to the house, away from his tools. He fights you every step of the way.

That night you try to call Renee and Bella, but no one picks up.

June 2000

Billy doesn't do what you did; he doesn't just... stop. But his bravado and his temper are gone now. He doesn't know how to use them without Sarah there as balance. So even though he keeps going he seems less alive somehow.

You don't like it. "Should we be doing something?" you ask Harry after an afternoon of watching the game. Once again, Billy didn't yell at the television even once. It's damn eerie.

"He'll be okay. He'll come back from this."

"You think?"

"Yeah." Then Harry looks across the yard and the look on his face is solemn. You turn and see Jacob playing alone by the garage. "It's the kids I'm not so sure about," Harry says quietly.

July 2000

It's July and seventy degrees. Bella still looks like she's going to shiver to death. She's twelve now, and she begged you to let her just stay at home while you went fishing, but this time you didn't give in. You don't ask much of her - you don't even know how to ask much of her - but you're asking this.

You pull the cruiser into the parking lot at First Beach. Billy's van is already there.

"Look," you start. (Bella turns her face to the window and keeps her arms crossed.) "I want you to play nice."

"I'm not a baby, Cha- Dad."

You ignore that she nearly called you by your first name. You're used to ignoring that. "You remember that Sarah Black died, right?" A pain needles at you - pretty, sweet Sarah Early, gone forever.

"Yeah."

"Well, Rachel and Rebecca and Jacob are here today. They're... they're having a really rough time, Bells." You don't see the twins. You know Billy wouldn't have left them at home so they must be around somewhere, wandering off together and staying hidden like they do most of the time now. They have each other but forget about everyone else. They always leave the kid behind. "So I'd really appreciate it if you would be friendly, especially to Jake."

"He's a boy," Bella insists, but her expression is softer as she looks out at the figure sitting alone on one of the bigger driftwood trees.

"Yeah, but he's a boy who doesn't have a mom now."

This clearly sinks in.

By the time you've got your line out in the water Bella is settled in next to Jacob, talking about something or other, and the kid is hanging on her every word like it's gospel. You're proud of her... and a little bit proud of yourself.

(If you'd known then what would happen - that Jacob would ask you every summer when Bella was coming for a visit and that she wouldn't return to Forks for five years - you would have left her at home that day like she'd wanted.)

April 2003

His name is Phil.

What a stupid name.

Renee is over the moon. She chatters happily on the phone to you for over an hour, gushing about how Phil is a baseball player, how Phil loves to dance, how Phil gets along great with Bella. (Why shouldn't he? He's closer to her age than Renee's.) They're getting married in a month, on the beach in San Diego, since that's where Phil grew up and he just loves the ocean.

As she describes Bella's bridesmaid dress, you finally understand that she is never coming back. It only took you fifteen years to get it.

She invites you to the wedding. You politely decline.

That night you go on the worst bender of your entire life. You drink beer until the diner closes, then you stumble to the bar and drink whiskey until theyclose. The bartender is kind enough to steal your keys and make a few calls, and at three AM, it's Harry who drives into the parking lot and finds you puking in the bushes. You haven't thrown up from drinking since college.

Harry puts you in his car and doesn't say a word about the tears running down your face.

June 2004

"You might not want to go in there," Jacob warns when you get out of the cruiser. The boy is fourteen now (how did that happen?); his voice has dropped but he's still short. At the moment - sitting on the front steps of his porch, sharp elbows resting on knees, round chin resting on palm - he looks younger than he is. "Dad's not in a good mood."

You hear a crash from inside the house. Billy's throwing stuff. "What happened?" you ask, appalled.

"Becca," is all Jacob says.

A surge of horror runs through you as you jog across the yard. For years the twins had talked about how they would take a trip to Hawaii right after graduating high school. Two months ago they'd shocked everyone by actually purchasing plane tickets; apparently they'd been saving every dime from every babysitting job, every dollar from every table waited at the diner, all to fulfill their dream of lying on white sand and soaking up the sun. Billy had grumbled about how they could've put all that money to better use than a ten day vacation, but you could tell he was kind of proud.

Had Rebecca been injured surfing? Drank too much and been hospitalized? You flash to the station wagon wrapped around the tree and your heart speeds up.

A vase barely misses your head when you open the door. "Billy! What the hell, man?"

"That stupid little girl!" Billy's face is flushed, his temper having gotten the better of him for the first time in God-knows-how-long. He's looking around for more things to throw but nothing's within arm's reach of his chair. "I raised her better than this! Sarah raised her better than this! Throwing away a free ride to college! Her whole goddamn future!"

Rachel's standing in the kitchen. She's looking at her shoes. "Where's Rebecca?" you ask.

"Still in Hawaii."

You can only think of one thing that would both stop the girl from leaving the state andmake Reed pull her scholarship. "She got arrested."

"No." Rachel's voice is toneless, like something's been ripped out of her. "She got married."

May 2005

There is one decision that defines the rest of your life.

She went on one date with Cullen and wound up in a hospital in Phoenix with a smashed leg and a cracked skull. When he shows up to take her to prom as though nothing had happened you know you should put your foot down and tell the ghostly little bastard to get the hell off your property. Bella is still seventeen, a minor, and completely within your care; with her broken leg she isn't even capable of sneaking out and disobeying you. Edward Cullen might be her boyfriend, but you are still her father, and she lives under your roof. You have every justification to demand an end to the relationship.

But Bella would never have forgiven you. She glows with happiness whenever the boy enters the room, and even though you have a sinking feeling about the whole thing, you can't bring yourself to take that light away from her. So you open the front door and let him step inside.

It is the biggest mistake you will ever make.

March 2006

Jacob Black is different the next time you see him.

It's not just that he's been through the biggest growth spurt you've ever seen. (Your cop senses are tingling - if it wasn't for the fact that this was Billy's kid you'd wonder if it was a steroid thing.) It's not just the cropped hair or the muscles. Jacob is hard now. When he lifts his chin he radiates authority and not a little bit of arrogance. The features might still be there, but the feel of pretty, sweet Sarah Early is gone.

You wonder if it was your daughter that did this.

You hope not.