eight.
(Leah)
"You look stupid," Leah tells Seth plainly, running her fingers through the too-short strands of his thick, midnight hair. "You look like one of those troll dolls with the sticky up hair. You might as well have dyed it green."
Seth smiles sleepily into his pillow, his eyes closed. "I like it," he says quietly, entirely content. (He always turns into a sack of shit when someone touches his hair — that's why she's doing it, if only to prove to herself that she's not completely lost him.) "Jake cut it for me."
Leah purses her lips together and keeps her hand steady as it brushes along his forehead. Since Seth walked in half an hour ago it has been Jake this and Jake that, and she doesn't like it. It's almost hard to believe that there was once a time it used to be Leah this and Leah that.
When did it change? Before, or after?
She knows she should be grateful; twice now Jacob has brought her brother home, and he seems to have become her unlikely ally in keeping Seth emotionally stable enough that he can bear to be on two legs, if her little brother's ramblings about his night are to be believed — because after Jacob had told her about their tempers and instability, she expected endless tears and heated arguments and possibly another explosion of fur. But Seth is . . . not quite at peace, no, but something which seems quite close to it.
And, yeah — she's just a little envious that all of this means that Seth now more or less worships the ground Jacob Black walks upon.
Seth nestles further down into the comfort of the bed he's now too big for, the echo of a smile still on his face.
And damn if it doesn't tug at something deep inside of her as she watches him. She loves this kid. More than her own life. More than anything. "Sleep, Seth."
"Mm-hm," he hums.
His breath evens out almost instantly, his mouth falling a little slack, but Leah doesn't stop coursing her hand through his hair for the longest time, not until the morning's light finally dips behind the greying clouds and she's reminded of the shadows she'd seen in Jacob's eyes.
Damn Jacob Black. He's going to be the end of her.
Leah sighs and lets her hand fall. She takes one last, long look at her brother — at his stupid hair, the way he is frowning even in his sleep — and quietly eases herself up from the edge of his bed and out of his room.
Leah Clearwater has absolutely no limits when it comes to her little brother. And if by some mysterious reason the world doesn't know this already, then it is damn well going to learn: Seth will not be involved in this bullshit. He's out all night, sleeping all day, leaving him barely a second to spare to grieve for Harry — he couldn't even attend the funeral, for God's sake. And he's going to be missing school.
Leah might have very well thrown her own plans for college out of the window because of Sam Uley, but Seth is going to graduate high school and he is going to go to college — somewhere far, far away if she can manage it.
Sam and his pack can go to hell.
And that's that.
Despite her lethal air of calm, Leah is composed as she pulls on her shoes and her jacket — the perfect picture of calm before a storm. And when she steps outside, the surprised jump of her heart is the only thing which slips through her otherwise cool facade.
Quil Jr. is just as surprised, betrayed by his nervous smile which looks wrong on his face. Wrong, because everything about him is harder, more angular and defined than she's ever seen, and that is when she realises: of course Quil is one of them. He's an Ateara. And save for the ponytail tied at the nape of his neck, he's a spitting image of them all.
"Hey, Leah." He lifts up a wrapped dish in some sort of explanation, a thousand apologies ready to fall from his lips. He's always been a bit shy, she remembers. "My mom wanted to . . . Oh, uh, is it a bad time?"
"If you're here for Seth," Leah begins icily, "you can shove that up your ass and go right back the way you came. Tell Sam — no, actually, why don't you tell Sam to come here himself?"
That will save her storming over. But, then . . . she doesn't really want Sam anywhere near her brother. That's the whole reason she's headed out. Knowing that he's on the same reservation is just about enough, although with a bit of luck Emily will hopefully have him move back to Neah Bay with her soon enough. And when they're gone, Leah won't have to think about this 'imprint' shit Jacob told her about ever again.
Quil just blinks, his bewilderment at her unfriendliness clearing as it's replaced by shock. "Seth? They got Seth?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Quil Ateara. I know everything." She crosses her arms and hopes she looks like her mother. Stern and reproachful. "Why don't you go and let Sam know I'm coming? I'll even be nice and give you a head-start. Not that you'll need it."
Quil's bushy eyebrows pull together tightly. "Why would I do that?"
Slow realisation sets in and, suddenly, the casserole he's holding drops to the floor, glass smashing noisily and food quickly puddling around his feet, but Quil doesn't so much as look down at it.
"Wait," he says. "You think I'm one of them, don't you?"
"I know you are," she replies, resolute, but he's not really listening as he furiously shouts over her, "Why does everyone think that?!"
"Uh — because you are?" Leah gestures at him, undaunted by the fact he looks closer to seven feet than six and is struggling to rein in his temper as he tarnishes her doorstep. He's just like the rest of them: angry and all hard lines.
And imposing. Quil seems to think nothing of it as he braces a hand against the door frame and leans in closer, his face set with a bitterness she's seen before.
"I don't have anything to do with them," he huffs hotly, "why can't you see that?"
"I can see just fine."
"Obviously not. You don't know a thing."
"I do," she tells him, feeling no particular pride about it. "Seth's my brother and—"
"So ask him!" he yells, his hot breath blowing over her.
"—and I don't care what Sam orders you to do or what game he's got you playing, because I swear on my life, if you don't get out of my face then it'll be Charlie Swan who drags you away," she threatens, if only because he's the first person she can think of. "Mom said he's already gunning for you. He'll be here in seconds."
(Okay, maybe that's a stretch, and they all know Forks cops have no jurisdiction here — not even their Chief of Police — but that won't stop Charlie coming if she asks. She is absolutely certain of that. Charlie is good people. And he is most definitely on the warpath when it comes to Sam Uley and his gang, if her mother is to be believed.)
"Sam doesn't order me to do anything," Quil says, his face turning as murderous as hers. It would almost be convincing if she didn't know better. "None of them do."
Leah scoffs derisively, half expecting him to stamp his feet and throw a tantrum — though one of his tantrums probably looks a whole lot different than she's prepared for. "Yeah. Okay, Quil."
"Why do you — how can you . . ." He snaps his head to the side, breath shaky as he closes his eyes for a brief second. "You know what? Fine. I don't care. You're just like everyone else," he spits, finally pushing himself away. The casserole from his feet flies everywhere as he all but leaps off her porch. "They all think the same thing, and you . . ." He looks entirely hopeless as he turns back towards her. "You do too, don't you?"
Refusing to break his stare, Leah blindly reaches for the door. "Bye, Quil. Tell Sam what I said, won't you?"
"Wait—"
Quil lurches forward, impossibly fast. Glass shatters loudly underneath his shoes as his palm slaps against the door to force it open. And, damn it, he looks so hurt by those few words, so pained, so like the boy he should be, that she hesitates.
Maybe . . .
She sighs, raking her long hair away from her face. "What, Quil?"
"They got Seth?" he asks again. "Are you sure?"
"What do you mean, am I sure?"
"If they got him . . ." Quil's hand drops listlessly to his side, and in that moment he's just the kid who tags along with Jacob and Embry everywhere, the three of them thick as thieves as they tear across the reservation. "Everyone keeps . . . looking at me. Even my grandpa acts like —" He swallows thickly. "Like I'm one of them. Or like I will be and he's just waiting for it."
"Quil—"
"If Seth's with them now . . ." He shakes his head in disbelief. "If he's . . . I'm next, aren't I?" he whispers, horror-struck. "What do I do?"
Oh, hell.
She doesn't have an answer for him. If Quil isn't part of Sam's little cadre, then it sure looks like he's going to be — and soon. He is huge, and she's pretty certain that if she puts her hand on his head he'll feel as hot as Seth felt when she'd brushed his spiky hair back upstairs.
It's the memory of her little brother arguing with Harry like this, of him exploding in the living room and disappearing for days and days that has her taking a step back, and it is with sudden clarity that she realises perhaps the scars on her cousin's face were not actually caused by a bear. It's only taken her four days to twig.
. . . Did Sam do that?
Quil, mercifully, snaps her out of that thought.
"Please," he begs, yet more glass shattering as he steps with her, his face twisting at the wariness he can see in her eyes. "I'm not one of them, Leah. I'm not going to hurt you, please, please, please believe me. I hate them. I hate him, I do, I swear—"
"Okay, okay, I believe you! Jeez!" She wants to look like she means it, she does, but still she can't stop herself pulling further away from him. "Just . . . have another deep breath, or something. Calm down."
Amazingly, he listens. Quil eyes shut as his chest heaves — once, twice, and thankfully something seems to have evened out when he looks at her again. He takes another step, hands outstretched, but the broken glass on the concrete porch finally grabs his attention.
"Oh, man," he moans. "Mom's gonna go nuts."
Leah bites her lip, suppressing the delirious urge to laugh at him and his suddenly normal problems.
"Give me your shoes," she says, sticking her hand out before she can think about what she's doing.
"What?"
She rolls her eyes and snaps her fingers. "Just give me your shoes. Make sure you step over the glass and stuff when you come in, okay? I don't want to be picking bits out from your feet, too."
She's at the sink with Quil's spoiled sneakers when he pads into the kitchen. There's casserole all down his shirt and dirt on his knees, and his ponytail is coming loose.
Who will be the one to cut his hair? She curses herself for thinking it, for not realising it sooner.
"Where should I put this?" he asks.
"Did you get it all?" He nods, looking a little nervous again, and she jerks her head towards the bin before turning back to the sink. "Trash. Do you know what the dish looked like?"
"Uh . . ."
Boys. She tries not to sigh. "Have a look in the fridge," she tells him a little distractedly, trying to concentrate as she eases out a shard embedded into the sole of his left shoe with her fingernail. She's got casserole all over her now, too. "I don't know what belongs to who, so if you think you'll get away with it then you can take whatever you think is best. I'm sure Joy won't notice."
"Uh," he blurts stupidly again, "I don't think she expects me to come back with it."
"So tell her you stayed. I invited you in and we had it for — ow!" Leah hisses as her finger starts bleeding. "You mother . . . fudger."
Quil snickers. "You can swear, you know."
"Can't," she argues back half-heartedly, peering at her finger with narrowed eyes. "Joy would kick my ass. You're like, what, twelve? Yeah, good example."
"I'm nearly seventeen."
"Sure you are," she says all too agreeably, gingerly sucking at her injury around her smirk. It stings like a bitch. "Pass me a knife, would you? Second draw."
Quil looks somewhat amused as he hands it over. "I can do that you know. I mean, I broke it."
"Children shouldn't play with knives," she replies gravely.
"I told you, I'm nearly seventeen!"
"Mm-hm, okay, kiddo. Why don't you start looking for that dish while I do this?"
Leah bites back a smile as Quil grumbles a bit about children and seventeen and opens the fridge. It's always been so easy to rib the younger boys — her mom used to reprimand her something rotten for it — but . . . maybe it's not really such a wise idea to poke fun at him, given the circumstances.
Having to be so careful with what she says is going to start getting old real quick, she thinks as Quil whistles lowly.
"Shit," he remarks. "I forgot what this looked like. We lived off this crap for ages after my dad died; I told my mom you'd have enough, but she wouldn't listen . . ." he muses almost absently as he ducks down to get a better view of all the shelves which are still packed to the rafters. "You won't have to go to the store for weeks."
Leah swallows a little uncomfortably. They'd buried Quil Sr. exactly a year after they'd buried Sarah Black. To this day that storm is the worst they've ever had.
It doesn't seem fair, really. Any of it.
"I hate casserole," she admits, because she knows Quil will understand she's not trying to be ungrateful — she just wants normality and her dad back, like he did. Like he still does.
"Tell me about it," he sighs woefully. "I still can't eat it without feeling like I want to cry."
Quil freezes, realising what he's just said. He flicks her a quick look over his reddening cheeks. "Uh — don't tell anyone I said that. The guys would . . . well, maybe not them, but y'know, still. Don't tell anyone."
Leah rolls her eyes and resists the urge to throw his shoe at him, handing it over instead. "One shoe for my secrecy."
He grins, turning a little daring as he braves asking, "What do I get for the other one?"
"You'll be lucky if I don't hit you with it," she retorts easily, though she's unable to hold in her astounded, choking laugh.
Quil simply stretches his grin and turns back to the fridge.
"Do you miss him?" She's aware she's treading in risky territory as she idly picks at his shoe, but can't stop herself from asking. "Your dad."
"Every day. You?"
"Every hour," she says, keeping her eyes trained on what she's doing. She's not sure if they're suddenly watering from the strain, or . . .
If Quil has noticed the sudden onslaught of tears, she's grateful he doesn't mention it. "Sucks, huh?"
"Yep." Another bit of glass drops into the sink as she clears her throat, quickly wiping her face in the crook of her shoulder. "You found anything yet?"
"All looks the same to me, if I'm honest," Quil huffs.
"So just pick the casserole that looks most disgusting."
"It all looks—" he starts to retort, but he's cut off by the phone ringing at the wall. "You want me to get that?" he asks, nodding to her busy hands
Everyone she loves is upstairs and there can't possibly be any real emergency; the worst she could have imagined has happened, after all, so she shrugs. "Sure."
Quil answers the phone so brightly that it makes Leah wondering whether he might be able to get away with staying just Quil and not becoming something else at all. She's surprised to find that she's actually starting to kind of like him. Troubles aside, he seems like a surprisingly uncomplicated kid, if a little goofy. He's funny.
That is, until, his face darkens and his mouth presses into one long, thin line. He covers the receiver tightly with his hand.
"Sam," he mouths. And when she pulls a face, God love him, he seems to straighten his back a little and says quietly, "I'll get rid of him."
But she shakes her head and holds a wet hand out for the phone. "It's fine," she mutters as he warily passes it over. She's not forgotten that she's supposed to have given Sam what for by now. And if she has to do it over the phone in front of Quil, then, well. So be it. The kid will probably appreciate it, if anything.
"What do you want?"
"Leah? Who was that?"
"None of your business," she replies, the words dripping with every bit of venom she can muster. No. She's not forgotten. But she thinks that, if she listens closely, she can almost hear his teeth grinding at her tone. Good.
"Is Seth there?"
"No."
Quil looks questioningly at her as she drops his shoe in the sink and stretches the phone cord. He looks a little mad, too, and she has the vague sense to know that if this carries on much longer that she's going to have a wolf in her kitchen before long. Most likely.
"Jacob says he sent him home." A beat. "Before the next shift turned up," Sam adds disapprovingly, and she can picture the frown on his face, the hard press of his full lips.
It seems she has something else to thank Jacob for. He hadn't just sent Seth home, he'd sent him home before he was supposed to.
Damn Jacob Black, she thinks again.
"Not my problem."
"Leah—"
"Bye."
Quil flinches when she slams the phone back in its cradle. "What did he want?"
"Seth," she says simply, just as the phone starts ringing again. She snatches it back viciously. "What, Sam?"
Sam sighs like her father used to when she was being purposefully difficult. It's maddening. "Where is Seth?"
"Not here," she snaps, and slams the phone down again. If she had the strength, she'd laugh at Quil looking mildly in awe of her, impressed and perhaps a little pleased that someone else seems to hate Sam as much as he does.
"Well — that told him."
"He's such an ass."
"Hey, you don't have to tell me. How long has Seth been running with him anyway?"
"If I have anything to do with," Leah mutters darkly, all but stabbing at the second shoe now, "he won't be. Just wait 'til my mom gets back on her feet."
"I hope so, because my grandpa thinks he shits sunshine." Quil scoffs, but it's not as unkind as it probably should be. It just sounds like he can't believe that Old Quil has taken Sam's side and not his. "Nobody believes me when I say otherwise," he carries on. "Embry and Jake used to, but . . . I haven't spoken to them in so long . . . Weeks, actually."
He sounds so sad, but somehow she doesn't think it'll do any good to tell him that his friend was standing in the same spot only yesterday. Before she'd had something close to a nervous breakdown and he'd—
Well.
It's probably best to try and put a lid on the whole thing and forget about it, but for some reason Jacob's warmth and the way he'd carried her to her bed as if he cared, murmuring to her with so much . . . kindness in his voice — that's something she's sure she is going to remember for a long time. She keeps being reminded, keeps thinking about it. She can't forget.
She tries to push it away all the same.
(Damn Jacob Black.)
"I shouldn't have lied to him," Leah finds herself admitting. "Sam's been coming over a lot lately. He might come and check."
Quil grunts, entirely nonplussed as he leans against the counter. "Let him."
"What about you?"
"What about me?" he asks, and Leah thinks she'd probably be flattered by his sudden show of chivalry if she wasn't imagining Sam storming into her house. Everything she'd been trying to avoid by going to him. And if he comes here, then . . . it feels like a bad idea to let Quil stay, considering how mad he had been before.
She shrugs. "It wouldn't be fair, would it?"
"Too bad. We gotta stick together now, you and me. And Seth," he says, nodding to himself as if he will help protect her brother. "We can't let them win, can we?"
If only he knew.
"I guess not," she replies, wishing that she didn't have to keep things from this kid. Quil is nice. His easy offer of friendship has these half-truths sitting so uncomfortably in her heart. She doesn't have that many friends anymore. "I was actually getting ready to go kick his ass when you showed."
"Really?" Quil brightens a little. "That's awesome. I'm almost sorry I got in the way of that."
"Sorry I accused you of — uh, you know."
"Hey, don't worry about it." Quil leans across and bumps his fist lightly against her shoulder. "We're friends now, right?"
"Right," she agrees. But it makes her feel awful, and it doesn't help any when Quil grins at her so triumphantly. "Friends."
Quil spends most of the afternoon chattering on and on (and on) whilst she picks every wayward piece of glass out of his shoe. He is so pleased to have someone to talk to that he can hardly stand still, and he doesn't even seem to mind that he's more or less carrying the conversation by himself. He babbles at a million words a minute, talking about everything and nothing, almost as if she's been away for a month and he's taken it upon himself to bring her up to speed with everything she's missed.
(Not what she's missed, Leah soon realises — what Jacob and Embry have missed.)
She's going to have to bite the bullet and shove him out of the door at this rate, and she's not looking forward to it.
How upset will he be? Though with the way he keeps looking at her, with that smile which stretches from ear to ear and makes her kind of hate herself . . . Leah has this sinking feeling that the kid might just about forgive her for anything, so long as she just promises to be his friend and have his back.
And she does want to be his friend, because he's so obviously in need of one and because she'd want somebody to do the same thing for her if she needed it. Quil has clearly been too lonely for a long while now and, of all people, Leah knows what that feels like. With no Rachel and no Rebecca, with no Sam and no Emily, it had started to feel like there wasn't anybody left who she could rely on.
So she lets Quil stay, just a little longer, because she understands what it is to be alone, to want company; she understands how it feels to try and fill the silences by yourself; and she knows what it's like having nobody to lean on when it hurts.
It's not that she resents looking after her mom or her little brother — she'll do that to her dying breath — but sometimes . . . sometimes she thinks it would be nice if somebody could just maybe look after her for a little bit. Even if that somebody has to be Jacob, who will be there to carry her upstairs when her knees give out, or Quil, who could quite possibly explode into a wolf at any given moment.
It had been a close call on her front doorstep. She knows that. And the thought of Quil's reaction should Sam turn up and start demanding to know where Seth is makes her feel sick, if only because she knows that Quil's smile is going to dip into something which resembles betrayal when he realises she's been playing him for a fool.
The phone rings and rings and rings as he talks. They both ignore it; she stares at the shoes in the sink whilst Quil raises his voice over the shrill sound until he's almost shouting, continuing to tell her about pointless things — things like what happened gym class when Natalie Locklear said something to Ruth what's-her-face that nearly caused a cat-fight the likes of which Tribal School has never seen — which quite frankly Leah doesn't really care about, but it really is nice to listen to somebody else's voice for a change . . .
. . . until the phone starts ringing for what might be the seventeenth time, or maybe the thirtieth, and Quil emits this sort of growl from behind his teeth that makes the hairs on her arms stand up on end, and he unceremoniously yanks out the landline with such force that the receiver rattles.
Leah tries not to look too surprised at Quil's sudden boldness, but then she's never really gotten to know him all that well before. Maybe he's like this all the time. Or maybe it's something new, something to do with the thing which is slumbering inside of him, waiting for the perfect moment to let itself loose — she can't tell. But what she does know is that she doesn't want to be around when it happens, because if this goes on for much longer then Quil is only going to hate her more.
And still . . . she can't send him away.
She sighs, more at herself than anything, and says, "Quil, really, anyone would think you want Sam to come."
"Why not?" His grin is slightly feral. "I'll hold him, you punch."
"Quil."
"What?" he asks innocently, eyes bright. "It's a solid plan. And if he turns up with the others, then I figure you can take him and I'll take the rest. If one of them is around then the others usually aren't far behind, right?"
(Funny — people used to say exactly the same about her and the twins. But she hasn't spoken to Rachel or Rebecca in weeks, and she hasn't remembered to charge her cell since the night before the world went to shit.)
He sounds like he's joking, but Leah knows better. He's probably been begging for this argument to happen for ages, and now he thinks he's got a little back-up there's nothing really stopping him from giving his best friends a piece of his mind after they've treated him like shit. And they have — if it was her, she wouldn't have stood for it either.
"Quil," she says again, desperately trying to swallow her anguish, "I understand, I really do. I mean, there's nothing I want more than to rip Sam into pieces — but not . . . not when Seth's only upstairs, okay? If they storm over here and things get too out of hand then it might make him worse, y'know?"
Quil blinks, and his recklessness descends into something apologetic as his eyes flick to the ceiling and back. "I didn't — you didn't say that."
"I thought you realised," she tells him, suddenly feeling like she's the one who needs to apologise to calm whatever's brewing underneath his skin. "He's sleeping. He was out all night."
"With them?"
"I think so. Yes. I don't know," Leah says quickly, because offering anything more than that means that she'll have to tell more lies and half-truths, and she hates the sudden look of loathing which has crossed Quil's face. "I don't know where he was, but if they come—"
"They won't get him," he promises, and he says it with such conviction, such determination to keep Seth safe that she knows this kid would honestly do it if she asks — that he'd protect Seth, because he's just that loyal to this friends with no questions asked. "Honest, Leah, between the two of us, we won't let them, okay? It'll be fine. Don't worry."
"Look, I appreciate it, you've no idea, but my mom's up there too, and she's still not great and — and I think it'd be best if you just . . . go, you know, just in case."
Quil struggles with it for a moment, looking as if he's trying to search for an argument which might allow him to stay and fight this battle with her. But then he sighs, slightly deflated, defeated, and Leah knows she's won.
"Okay. Yeah — yeah, you're right."
He turns back to the phone and plugs the cord back in, though the damage has probably already been done. It wouldn't surprise her if Sam turns up in the next ten minutes or so, and then they'll really be in trouble. Because two days ago Sam followed her into her bedroom to make sure that she would keep their secret, and when he sees her with Quil he will know that she's recognised the kid for what he is — what he's going to be.
(Emily's face springs to mind, and no — that definitely wasn't a bear attack.)
It's such a mess.
Leah wishes that she could tell Quil. In all honesty, she feels no better than she did when she thought Sam and Emily were carrying on behind her back. She hates secrets, and always has, if not more so since she realised that Sam was keeping them from her. They wreck everything. And she's frightened that this secret is going to wreck Quil, as surely as it has almost wrecked her brother.
Leah passes Quil his right shoe, now free of glass and casserole but looking slightly stained still, and knows her face is a mirror image of his. "I'm really sorry."
"Yeah. Me too," he says glumly, reluctantly slipping on his shoes. "You'll be okay?"
Leah can only nod, but Quil doesn't seem all that sure. "I don't have to go, you know. If you're worried—"
"I'm not. I'll be fine."
He still doesn't believe her. "I promise to be on my best behaviour if they come knocking," he says earnestly. "I won't even talk, if that's what you want. Just . . . let me stay in case they come here."
But Leah just wipes her hands on her jeans and shakes her head. She's being selfish; he needs to go, for his own good.
She opens the fridge and reaches for the first casserole she sees, quickly dumping its contents in the trash before washing out the dish as Quil watches in uneasy silence. He's not happy, but she has nothing left to offer him.
"It'll be okay," she tells him. She hopes she sounds convincing enough. "I'll call, yeah?"
"If you're sure," he replies, sounding anything less than — but he seems to have gotten the hint all the same. Thank God.
So why does she feel so bad?
Leah sighs over the sound of the sound of running water and the phone which has begun ringing again. "I'm sure."
A familiar, little red car is driving down the street when they step outside, and Leah feels Quil tense beside her as he recognises it at the same time she does.
"On second thought," he says, his mouth tight as the car seems to speed up, "I think I might stay."
"What happened to your best behaviour?" she teases, but the words don't feel quite right on her lips.
The car comes to a ground-breaking halt before them, its door swinging open before momentum is completely lost, and when Jacob leaps out Leah knows she's in trouble.
She straightens, almost defensively, rallying what feels like forgotten strength as Jacob's blazing, possessive gaze roves over her. He's looking for something, searching as he takes in every inch of her, and it's the strangest thing but it's almost like she can feel his disapproval, his radiating fury . . . and a little bit of something else.
Leah lifts her chin, and refuses to baulk underneath his stare.
"Do you want me to stay?" she hears Quil ask, but he sounds a bit far away even though she knows he's right beside her still. "I can stay. I don't mind."
Jacob's eyes lock on Quil, and possession morphs seamlessly into malice. And it's frightening.
Quil growls.
Their only saving grace from this — she hopes — is Billy is in the passenger seat, who mercifully demands Jacob's attention at the same time Quil puts his hand on her elbow with surprising gentleness. "Leah?"
"Huh?"
"You want me to stick around?"
"It's fine. It's just Billy, right?" she says, suddenly a little bit too weak for her own liking.
Quil scowls. "And Jacob."
"And Jacob," she agrees, turning her attention back on him. He talks quietly, furiously with his father as he lifts him out of the car, arguing about something or the other — though she thinks she can take a pretty wild guess as to what they're so heatedly discussing.
"I'm gonna stay," Quil says firmly.
"No!" Leah whirls on him. "No."
"What?" Quil looks both outraged and offended. "Leah, he was . . . looking at you. Like you're something to eat. That's not okay."
"He's probably just mad because he had to drive his dad or something, and—" (fuck, she is such an awful person) "—and, well, if he's running with Sam now then he's not going to like me, is he?"
"I'm not so sure," Quil says lowly, eyes narrowing as he looks back at Jacob.
Jacob glares right back and lurches a step forward, halted only by Billy who shakes his head and holds up a hand, as if to say, Wait. And Jacob — he balls his fists as his sides and shifts his hot gaze back onto Leah. He looks utterly livid — but at her or because of his father, or maybe both, she can't work out.
Leah tries to remember herself and pushes the empty, clean dish into Quil's chest. "It'll be fine, I promise. I bet Billy just wants to see how my mom's doing, and then they'll go. Any funny business and I'll kick his ass, okay?"
Quil manages a snort. "Right."
"Your confidence is flattering."
"I didn't—"
"I know, I was kidding," she says with false amusement, all but shoving the dish at him now. "Go on."
Quil's fingers curl around the dish and he looks down at it, at Jacob, and then back to her — and then, God damn it, he shakes his head and pushes it back into her hands. "I'll come back for it. Later."
Leah knows better than to fight, to do anything which will keep Quil on her drive for a second longer, so she just nods and says, "Alright."
"You'll be okay? You'll call?"
"Sure I will. Yeah."
Quil chews his lip, and for a second she really thinks that he's not going to leave, but then without warning he wraps up in his arms and almost lifts her off her feet. She has to put the dish flat against her stomach, and it digs in.
"Quil—"
"Thank you," he whispers quietly.
Leah can't help but huff a laugh into his shirt, thrown off by his sudden surge of affection. "What for?"
"Believing me." He gives her a funny little squeeze. "Be careful," he mutters then, and just as quickly he's gone, all but tearing across the driveway and down the street. He very purposefully shoves past a stone-faced Jacob before he breaks into a run and disappears completely out of sight.
Leah stares after him, her skin burning in his wake, and feels like she might cry.
But then Billy clears his throat, breaking her miserable train of thought as he pushes himself steadily up the path towards her. He doesn't need to admonish her — it's written all over his face; she knows that look, she's grown up with it, and it's almost as bad as one of her mother's reprimands.
Almost.
"You're going to have to help me inside, kiddo," he grunts out.
Leah looks up for Jacob, but he's nowhere to be seen.
Covid-19 Sanity Update: I realise now that I underestimated how difficult it would be try and keep this girl in-character without all the wolf shit going on around her. I am forever re-writing HUGE portions of this fic because a) she's stubborn and b) she's stubborn but c) doesn't have unlimited access to the pack's mind and has to figure all this shit out for herself and d) because she hasn't completely figured it out/comprehended it, she's not so bitter and angry (yet?!)! Say it with me: aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!