A/N: Beta'd by the lovely sweeneyanne and pre-read by aerobee82 & AlexisDanaan.

Don't own le Twilight.

Chapter 11 - Firecrackers

Late nights had always been common in the time I'd been living with Peter. I still had trouble sleeping, and Peter made for surprisingly good company in more situations than I'd expected. He was, however, best when quiet. There was never any need to fill silences with empty conversation, and while he more often than not set me on edge, he was capable of reining it in. Night after night he was just there, doing his own thing, and in that quiet presence of his, there was something comforting.

I never gave it much thought. The balance we'd found was simply a by-product of adjusting to each other. We'd found a middle ground; a delicate foundation to build what could actually turn out to be a friendship on. Still, while considering this curled up on the couch, there was another aspect I should have given more thought to.

I'd taken it as fact that falling asleep next to Peter should have been uncomfortable to the point of being impossible. As it turned out, it was quite easy.

A steady weight stroked my head, pulling me through the surface of a black I'd been blissfully unaware of.

It took a full minute of laying still with my eyes still closed before I could wrap my mind around it. I was… I was on the couch. A slight shift in under my face alerted me as to what—who—I was laying on. This could not be happening.

He must have known I was awake, but he didn't say anything. The weight left my hair and I opened my eyes and rolled onto my back to see him above me, leaning against the back of the couch, one arm resting along the top of the cushions. It was the middle of the night, the only light coming from a lamp next to his desk and his laptop balanced on the arm of the couch. He stared at the wall across the room.

I sat up and kept quiet, inching further from him while I struggled to figure out what happened and how I could get out of it.

The moment I opened my mouth, he interrupted me. "You're about to make this really awkward, aren't you?"

The truth was that yes, I probably was. I was embarrassed and confused, and there was a force inside me that demanded I react. The problem was that I had no idea how to. I was caught teetering between two extremes, ready to topple with the slightest provocation.

For once, Peter seemed reluctant to give me that push. "It's not a big deal."

Except that he was a giant liar and it was a huge deal. Faced with a choice between embarrassment and anger, I decided to go with anger. "I don't want your sympathy, and I don't want this," I insisted, gesturing at the space between us. "I don't want to need you like I need him."

"It's not like that." There was something in his tone that clearly said there was more to it than what he was letting on; some reason he didn't want to share as to why he let me curl up next to him on the couch and fall asleep when he'd been so insistent I stand on my own.

Peter avoided looking at me, and it made me sad and angry, but mostly it made me feel defeated. Even Peter felt so bad for me that he'd given up. Now I was hopeless in his eyes, too. A thousand insecurities and prickling thoughts that had been festering ever since leaving Forks all came bubbling up at once, and I managed to both cough and burst into tears. This was mortifying.

Peter turned his head toward mine, and something softened in his eyes, but it was gone in a flash. He let me cry for a few minutes, then looped his fingers around my forearm and gave a short tug, but I held firm. He didn't let go, but didn't press it.

I could feel it, the precise moment I snapped.

"I can't need you like this," I whispered, wiping the tears from under my eyes as I struggled to get myself under control. There were dozens of things I depended on Peter for, but I couldn't let this be one of them. I couldn't let him replace Edward in any way; otherwise this whole exercise was a failure. I knew all of this, and yet my protest was weak because I already knew it was one I didn't have the strength to stand behind. "I just can't."

"You can trust me, you know," Peter said. "I won't be your crutch and you know it. It doesn't have to all be on you."

Again I remembered that fleeting sense of understanding that had come when I'd realized what Peter meant when he said there was a difference between asking for help and begging for rescue. What I hadn't considered then was that maybe the difference wasn't in the actions or circumstance; maybe I was what made those two things opposites.

"I depend on you too much already," I admitted. "It's upsetting because I have this illusion that I'm in control and I know I'm not. You follow me, you protect me. You keep me from wallowing too much and I shouldn't need you for that—and when I don't get that from you I can't do it for myself."

"You think I follow you?" Peter asked. He chuckled and shook his head. I didn't understand what was so funny. I didn't understand much of anything today, actually.

"You don't?"

"Of course not. What? You think I have nothing better to do than trail you around town all day?"

"I thought you were keeping an eye on me?" I already knew this was going to end with me feeling like an idiot.

"Yeah, but I don't have to follow you to do that. Your phone has GPS. Every few hours I check to see where you are. I only go after you when you get too far away." Peter gave me a look I wasn't sure what to make of. His fingers wrapped around my wrist tightened. "I assumed you were intelligent enough that if you ran into trouble, you'd call me."

"Well, what if I didn't have time to call you? What if someone like James or Victoria happened to be passing through?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "There are no other vampires in the area. Do you honestly think I don't check?"

"You really haven't been following me?" This actually bothered me for a whole slew of reasons. Every time Peter said something like this, little thoughts in the back of my head started itching for attention, and they were the kinds of things I didn't want to think about—the whys.

"No, but I might have to start."

I frowned. "Now you're concerned?"

"About things like vampires coming to snack on you? No." He narrowed his eyes. "What has me concerned is this: exactly what sort of crazy shit have you been up to, since you apparently thought that no matter what happened I'd be there to bail you out?"

His worry was baseless. I hadn't done anything even remotely reckless in all the time I'd been staying with him, but still, the thought was unsettling. I'd been alone out in the world this whole time. Alone, and lately, somewhat happy. I wondered if that meant something.

I refused to let my mind linger on the thought that it felt weird to be trusted.

"I guess I just assumed…"

"Not surprising," Peter said with an indulgent smile. "You're so narcissistic; I can't believe Carlisle didn't want to study you."

I did my best to make him spontaneously combust through sheer willpower.

"Don't give me that look. I've gotten used to your crazy, self-centered behavior by now."

"Liar," I accused before realizing that I'd just agreed with his assessment. I hurried to cover my tracks, even though it wouldn't do any good. "You're just so arrogant that you've convinced yourself you're above caring."

Peter looked taken aback for a moment, and then began laughing. "You may be right about that."

"We need to have boundaries, Peter," I said, determined to change the subject. "I don't need your help with this."

"Well," Peter said. "Who said it was all about you?"

I froze, and Peter took the opportunity to tug on my arm again; this time I didn't resist. I let my cheek settle on his shoulder and closed my eyes despite my mind racing with all the reasons this was a horrible idea.

"You remind me of someone I thought I knew," Peter said. My eyes snapped open, but I kept my mouth shut. His shoulder rose as he took a deep breath, but he said nothing else.

I could have asked who, but I had a good hypothesis and pushing him never worked out well. Instead of asking questions I said, "You don't remind me of anyone." It wasn't true in the strictest sense. I'd thought many times that Peter and Jasper were so alike it was uncanny—but while their temperaments and mannerisms where similar, there was a distinct difference between the two men. It was hard to put into words, but that difference was unmistakable.

"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?" Peter wondered.

"You first." Everything about this—the proximity, the conversation, the implications—made me extremely nervous.

"Quid pro quo, huh?" He was silent for a couple minutes. I didn't dare ask again. "A good thing, I think."

"Agreed," I whispered.

"I think that if I could sleep, I wouldn't. Not if I could help it. And let's face it, I'm a stubborn son of a bitch—I'd go days. Like you used to. This isn't pity; it isn't me feeling sorry for you. I'm not trying to rescue you from whatever demons are circling. It's…"

I craned my neck to watch him as he tried to come up with the right words. In some ways I appreciated that he struggled sometimes. It made me feel like we were on the same plane.

"It just is what it is." The set of his jaw was hard, and he didn't look happy with what he'd come up with.

I didn't know what else to say to that but, "Thanks."

I didn't want to give up this new way we'd found to talk to each other, so next I asked him something small, inconsequential, really. I wanted to know something meaningless about him. "What's your favorite thing that you have now, that you didn't have then?"

"When I was human?" Peter asked, and I nodded. "That's easy. T-shirts."

I was torn between laughter and befuddlement. "Really?"

"Yes. The dress code these days, it is so relaxed. That you can plaster whatever you would like to tell the world across your chest, I think that is brilliant."

"I have never seen you in a t-shirt," I pointed out. Peter dressed casually, but, like Jasper, he seemed to prefer long sleeves and button downs.

"I tend to tell the world what I think of it on my own just fine."

I couldn't help but laugh. "That's an understatement."

"You though," he said, a mischievous smile creeping over his face. "You could benefit from a couple dozen t-shirts."

"I don't want to know what sort of suggestions you have."

"Are you sure? I bet I could come up with some good ones." Peter tapped his fingers on the arm of the couch as he thought; the drumming lulled me to relax. "Just be quiet and go back to sleep. I was kind of enjoying myself before; you know, when you weren't talking."

"Funny."

I didn't fall back asleep, but I did sit for a couple hours with Peter, desperately trying not to think of how nice it felt to share some closeness.

Over the next week my nightmares all had one thing in common—Peter.

I never remembered much of them when I woke up, only that he was there, in the shadows. Watching. Waiting. Something indecipherable pierced the set of his eyes, and in many ways I was afraid. Mostly, though, there was a heavy sense of foreboding as I waited, too, for whatever was coming.

I didn't ask Peter any more questions, and I didn't allow myself any more late nights curled up on the couch. In my moments of clarity it was obvious that I was trying to pull back, to keep from getting to know him any better and to prevent him from seeing any more of me than he already had. It was something involuntary, at first. Some instinct raging inside me, and one I wasn't sure I wanted to control. I felt helpless every time that overwhelming sense of tension settled when Peter was around.

If I let myself, now I didn't just have reasons not to go home, but reasons to stay—and that had never been part of the deal.

The pretend sense of familiarity where Peter and I teased and mocked each other was gone, replaced with something meaningful. I couldn't deny that Peter wasn't only doing a job, and like with almost everything else, I wasn't ready for this. I was so tired of making excuses, and I didn't know how to make myself stop.

I avoided him the best I could—not an easy feat considering we'd gotten used to spending almost all of our free time together—and I threw myself into any activity I could find.

I sorted the stacks of photos I'd taken since my birthday into storage boxes, which Peter immediately stole and created portfolios out of. He said it was because it was stupid to take all these pictures if I was just going to keep them hidden away. I thought he was probably talking about something else.

I allowed myself to be conned into helping Sheila with a bake sale for her son's football team. Peter took it upon himself to memorize the recipe for my contribution and buy the ingredients. He hovered in the kitchen with a disgusted look on his face and running commentary about whether or not various human deserts could be converted into vampire treats.

He invaded each and every distraction I came up with.

Ever since that night on the couch I wasn't sure how to act around him. I was a live-wire. I crackled with uncertainty laced with reluctant gratitude and irritation for all the things Peter did to help me with no regard for whether or not I wanted him to. I was starting to believe that he actually cared about me in a more substantial way than a guardian cares for his charge. I didn't know what that meant, and I didn't want to. The only thing I'd expected from him was a calm indifference, and I hadn't planned to deal with anything else.

Peter made me feel like an awkward, bumbling little girl who didn't know how to run free, and never mind that it was perhaps the most accurate assessment of myself I'd ever found, I didn't like that it had to come from him so forcefully. I didn't like the way he made me feel exposed.

Peter would smile, or make a joke, and those were the days I had the most trouble with. Peter's needling was something I'd gotten used to and had learned to expect. This other side of him, the part that I thought might actually see me as a person instead of a job to do, that was what set my teeth on edge. A couple of times I could have sworn he was trying to dissect me from across the room.

And somewhere in the mess of trying to distance myself while analyzing Peter, something changed. Amidst the smiles, jokes, and snarky comments, Peter created a little distance of his own. He locked away his stack of folders and deleted all the video surveillance from his computer. He didn't find people any more.

The first time it snowed, I had a panic attack.

It was nothing, the flakes melted away the moment they touched the ground, but I looked out the window and all I could see was red, red, red. Little phantom drops went curling down my fingertips; ashes and smoke forced their way into my lungs.

Peter obviously had no idea how to deal with a hyperventilating human. In the end he stepped in front of me, blocking my view out the window, and said, "You going to tell me what this is all about?"

"I'd almost forgotten it—the blood in the snow." My voice sounded dead. "The smoke and ashes…"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Of course. I should have known that in the midst of a battle between covens, you'd manage to be bleeding. Christ, you're almost as bad as Jasper."

"I cut myself with a rock," I said, completely detached from the explanation, "to distract her."

Peter gaped at me. "I honestly can't decide if that was incredibly brave of you, or the stupidest thing I've ever heard of."

"It was stupid," I supplied, feeling a little calmer. I took a few steps back, and after assessing me for a moment, Peter returned to his seat across the room. "So little of what I do is actually brave."

The weight of that day constricted my heart, and where before it had felt like some terrible nightmare I couldn't escape; now it was real. I'd been sleepwalking ever since that girl looked at me, and I didn't know how to wake up. I only knew that I wanted to.

"There's no rule that says you can't be both."

"It didn't even help. I thought Seth was hurt and I reacted without thinking. The only thing I accomplished was to make everything harder on the people who were trying to protect me." My mind wandered back to that day. "It's always like that, though. I'm never able to help in any real way."

"Have you ever considered that maybe it's worse being the one to have to act?" Peter asked. "Having someone else's life hanging on the decisions you make isn't any easier than being useless. This event you keep coming back to is over. It's done. You can't turn back the clock by sheer force of will and erase what happened."

I didn't have it in me to deal with Peter's goading. "Is it so much to ask that if you can't be a little nice, you just leave me alone?"

"I am not a comforting person." Peter said seriously. "That's not how I'm built."

I didn't know what else to do, so I nodded. I was less bothered by it than I would have thought, and there was something in his honesty, in the way he was so confident and sure of what made him that made me feel better nonetheless.

"If we're going to be friends, then maybe you should at least try." It was a cheap shot and I knew it. Peter and I—we had a connection. It was something strange and mystifying, built into the things we didn't know about each other but still understood. We weren't friends, though. I couldn't imagine we ever would be.

He watched me from across the room; I could feel the weight of his stare as it settled over me, becoming heavier second by second. I had to force myself to blink. He stood, and something in his expression shifted. "What is it, exactly, that you want from me?"

I let out a breath, and told him the one truth I was sure of. "I don't know. I just want you to try."

Peter looked be giving great consideration to this, and I caught a flash of something unsure when he came to a decision. He said nothing when he crossed the room, or when he lifted his hand to my cheek. His touch was rougher than Edward's had been; Peter wasn't as concerned with whether or not he would hurt me. He knew himself, and he knew his boundaries better than Edward ever had.

I found my voice when his thumb swept under the apple of my cheek. "What are you doing?"

He leaned closer, his nose a hair's breadth away from mine; his eyes hooded, but still so intensely red. He was biding his time. Peter excelled at waiting for just the right moment. I faltered, glanced down at his lips, and that was when he struck. He was hard, fast, out of control passion slamming me back while keeping me steady with a hand tangled through my hair. My back hit the wall with a controlled force; just hard enough to jostle, but not enough to cause pain.

I barely noticed his grip on my thigh, or his leg wedged between mine. I pulled at the collar of his shirt so hard I felt the fabric give, and it made me feel strong. Apparently vampires weren't the only ones who could destroy something with their bare hands. The completely inappropriate thought flew through my head that I was so very thankful for his short hair, because that meant there was absolutely nothing in this moment that held any similarity to kissing Edward. His lips were fierce against mine, and there were no little pecks or chaste warm-ups. The rush that jolted through me was incredible.

I didn't know kisses could be like this.

Our pace slowed from desperate to something slightly more leisurely, and at long last my brain caught up with my body. I didn't know what had prompted this. I didn't know why or when, and I was shocked to find that I didn't care.

Peter tugged on my hair twisted through his fingers and kissed my jaw before lowering his mouth to my neck. For a moment I was afraid, but then his lips pressed against my skin and he didn't feel cold. I let out a breath.

His grip on my thigh lessened, and I felt more of my weight settle on my feet―I hadn't even noticed he was holding me up. His palm dragged up and over my hip, slid up my side under my shirt, and I was sure I might catch fire any second. Everything felt a thousand times more potent; the friction between us, the too small gusts of air drawn into my lungs. I could feel him pressed against my hip, and I was suddenly so, so aware of his leg wedged between mine.

"Oh my God." They were less words than a moan tearing its way out of my throat.

"Feel better?"

I could only nod, mouth agape. What had just happened?

"Good." Peter released his hold on me and stepped back, a curious look on his face. His lips were caught halfway between a smirk and a smile, but his brows were furrowed when he walked away.

My back slid down the wall; my legs could do nothing to support me. I found myself whispering, "Wow."

There wasn't anything else I could think. Just… wow.

And in that moment I wanted nothing more than to call Rosalie, to tell her all about the time I kissed a man for no good reason, and how amazing it felt.

A/N: I'm just going to be hiding under that rock over there. *dustcloud*