fourteen.

(Leah)

Leah doesn't see Jacob the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that.

It's not that she expected . . . Well, okay, perhaps that was a stretch. She did expect. Perhaps not immediately, but, even if he only ended up making a flying visit to reclaim his beloved car, Leah had honestly thought she'd see him soon.

But he hadn't visited. And the Rabbit was still there, four days later.

She tried not to look at it too much. Its polished, red gleam in the sunlight of Washington's early spring had her feeling like it was taunting her whenever she looked out of the window and saw it in the same place she'd parked it, tucked neatly at the bottom of her driveway. And as the days passed, it only served as a constant reminder that maybe, just maybe she had not been right in wanting to tell Quil the truth. Not when he'd only split his skin so soon afterwards anyway.

But she had been right about one thing, at least. Quil was never going to forgive her. What he had said . . .

She'd sat in the car for a long time afterwards, outside of Quil's house, her head against the steering wheel and tears falling from her face. Only the sudden panic that his mother, Joy — or worse, his grandfather — would soon arrive and find her there in such a state had forced her to find the courage and the strength to gather her wits and make the drive home.

An hour later, her face dry and her shoulders straight, Leah had let herself in, tired and defeated. Drained. Worried, even, because she had convinced herself that she was going to be met by Seth's accusing gaze (she'd already played out the conversation in her head) . . . but he was nowhere to be found, and, when she looked in on her mom, Sue was still in her bedroom and bundled in that dressing gown, staring up at the ceiling with no indication that she was really taking in the world around her. Who knew if she'd even absorbed a thing Billy had had to say to her.

After a while of sitting on the edge of her mom's bed, Leah had then spent some time fumbling around looking for the charger to her cell. She'd waited for the screen to brighten with a feeling of dread, but the only messages which appeared a few minutes later were the ones left from Sam — and one from Jacob. Voice messages left when Quil had disconnected the phone line.

She didn't listen to them. She hadn't wanted to hear either of their voices, fearing one particularly more than the other. Instead, she'd absently flicked through her texts, hovering back and forth over two most recent names in particular and wondering which of them it would be to answer first.

Rachel or Rebecca?

The two of them were so busy now, but they had always known what to say, how to deal with their friend's unforgiving temper. They would have known what to do about Sam, how to rid him from her life once and for all.

Rachel would have snorted. She would have told Leah to go and hit something but then distract her so effortlessly that she would forget what it was or who it was she wanted to hit in the first place. And Rebecca would offer sage advice and calm her down by trying to talk it through with her. Because Rebecca was the ice to Rachel's flame, and Rachel the hurricane to Rebecca's calm waters. They were two sides of the same coin, Leah's beloved twins.

No. Not anymore. Not hers.

Leah had snapped her cell shut and tossed it to the side then, suddenly angry.

There was no-one. She had no-one.

And she had nobody but herself to blame.

On Saturday, Leah finally decides that she can no longer stomach looking at the red car. It's now been five days since she's seen or spoken to anyone except her mom and Seth, and Seth is out of the house more than he's in it. Leah is sick of being alone, of having nobody to talk to.

Or, at least, having nobody talk back to her. One sided conversations can only go on for so long, even with her mother. And talking to herself has gotten Leah nowhere yet.

It's not that Sue isn't trying — because she is. The woman gets dressed in the morning; she eats whatever Leah puts in front of her, she drinks; she breathes, blinks; she moves about the house with slow but renewed purpose, and yesterday she was even brave enough to wander into the yard and look at the array of flowers Harry planted two summers ago.

She hasn't cried yet — at least, not that she has allowed anyone to see — and Leah isn't sure whether her mom coming back to her senses is down to Billy or the woman's own determination, or maybe even both, but it's something. It's going in the right direction. And Leah feels hopeful enough about this progress that, even though Seth isn't home to keep an eye on things, she has enough confidence to pluck Jacob's keys off the hook and escape for a while.

She has to do something. Needs to see the sun peeking out from behind the clouds, to feel the rain, to make herself move. Anything except any more crying of her own, else she'll go mad. Not one person has come to visit or has even called the phone since Billy's shameless intervention. Not even Charlie. The Clearwater house has never been so quiet.

Leah sits on the edge of the Rabbit's front seat and stretches her legs to the pedals. It's an uncomfortable drive with the modifications Jacob has made to it in order to accommodate his hulking frame, but she'll never admit it to him; she knows he'll never hand over the keys so easily again if she complains or insults the damn thing.

He's weird like that.

But who has managed to seem even weirder (if she can believe it, because Jacob has been super weird as of late) is Charlie. He was Harry's best friend as much as Billy.

As she drives, Leah reasons why. It's not as if Bella is dead, is it? Everyone would have heard by now, one way or another. Right? News like that spreads like wildfire, especially across a small reservation. Either the selfish bitch is still missing (because that's what she is, for what she has done, and Leah has no problem with calling her such. It takes one to know one, after all), or she's brought a shit heap of trouble back with her which has kept everyone away.

Or maybe, Leah thinks, she's just over analyzing everything. Death makes everyone uncomfortable. Maybe the tribe (and Charlie) just want to give her family space and get their own heads around what has happened. Who they have lost. They've paid their respects, left their casseroles and their lasagnes, their stews and their condolences, and that's that.

Except — no. That's not who the Quileutes are. It's not who Charlie is. Leah has known them all her whole life. She knows Jacob, his father. Quil. She knows Sam. Sam, who had barely left her alone in those first few days. And Jacob, who she'd seen every day after that.

Fucking Jacob Black.

Leah yanks on the handbrake with a little more force than necessary and jumps out of the driver's seat. She's parked a little haphazardly, but he deserves it. It's just unfortunate that he's not the one who sees it first.

"I wondered where that blasted car was," Billy calls out by way of a greeting as he rolls out onto the ramp which stretches up to his front door. Then he shakes his head, smiling to himself. For a moment, he looks more like the man Leah knew as a child. "I should have known, really."

She holds up the keys for show as if to say, Guilty. They dangle precariously from her middle finger by the leather cord Jacob keeps them bound to. She presumes one of them will open the garage, but she's too much of a coward to ask if she should open it up and park there instead. The outbuilding is Jacob's sanctuary. His church. It would probably go up in flames if she walked inside.

Realisation sinks in, then. Her hand closes around the keys in a kind of strange, protective way, and they dig into her palm just as sharply as Billy's admission hits. She frowns belatedly. "You didn't know?"

Billy shrugs. "Don't know much of anything these days, kiddo," he says, and he seems resigned about it. "How's your mom doing? I would have come over, but it's getting harder to push myself up that hill without help."

Could have called, Leah thinks, but instead she says, "She's fine. I thought we would have seen Charlie by now, though," because she has never been one to beat around the bush.

Neither is Billy. His worn face creases a fraction further, no traces left of his youthful smile. "That would be because of Bella, I would think. She turned up not too long ago."

It is an effort for Leah to not twist her lips with annoyance. Jacob's explanation of disappearing on her now that Bella is back shouldn't have really come as a surprise. "When?"

"Day after Quil phased. Charlie let me know that she was back, but I haven't heard from him since. I'd imagine he's been wanting to keep a close eye on her," Billy replies. He does not hide his own disapproval, and it secretly pleases Leah that there is another person in the world who objects to Bella's hold over Jacob as strongly as she does — perhaps even more so. "Not that it's stopped her calling here. Twice a day, sometimes. She's quite insistent."

Leah scoffs nastily.

Billy's thick brows shoot to the heavens. "You know, huh? How much did Jake tell you?"

"Enough," she says. She'd already seen with her own eyes during Christmas dinner to figure out the basics. "Italy, right?"

Billy nods, and Leah thinks she can see something close to suspicion rising in his eyes as they consider one another. She doesn't say anything to defend herself, lest the man thinks she's jealous or something equally as crazy. Because she's not. Jacob is her friend; he has proven himself as much and he has earned her loyalty — so she is not about to stand by and watch him be treated like a complete fool. Least of all by Bella fucking Swan, who has so clearly toyed with his feelings for months and months.

"And she's back with the —" ('vampire' hangs on Leah's lips, but the word still seems too outlandish to say. She's only just about gotten used to swallowing around the sound of 'werewolf') "—that Cullen kid."

"So Charlie said."

"Good for her," Leah says without any kindness. Although if compared to what she really wants to say ("Her funeral, I guess"), her words are actually kind.

Billy makes no effort to conceal his smirk. "Always liked you, kiddo. You want to come in?"

"Liar," she snorts, thinking of all the times she's gotten Rach and Beck into trouble, but she follows his chair inside anyway.

She's not been inside the Black's one-storey home since Christmas. She spent so many years here as a kid, Sarah watching over all of them whilst the other parents were at work (or in Billy and Harry's case, fishing), and she finds comfort in that it never changes. It's almost like she's stepped back into her childhood.

That's probably why the twins hate it so much.

"Jacob home?"

"No. He's been, uh—" Billy reaches over for the television remote, resuming what Leah suspects he had been doing when he'd heard the car pull up "—busy, y'know, what with Quil's boy finally joining them all. Out all day, out all night. You know the score."

Unfortunately, she does. Seth has been around far less than she would like. Far less than she swore to herself she was ever going to allow. But Billy doesn't sound too concerned about it, and Leah once again reasons to herself that surely she would have been told by now if something was really wrong.

Perhaps she has been over analyzing the whole thing after all.

Perhaps.

Leah looks around for a brief moment, and her eyes catch the open pizza box on the kitchen table not too far away. Grease still clings to the inside of the cardboard. Honestly.

"You should have called," she says in the best imitation of her mother's admonishing tone — and not just because her own house has been quiet and she feels like her family has been forgotten, but because the whole Rez knows that Billy relies on Jacob for a lot more than just the extra money he earns from fixing cars up in his spare time. "We have better leftovers."

"If I hadn't thrown it all away, I would still have leftovers from seven years ago," Billy mutters, angling his chair towards the old sofa with the remote upon his lap. Leah is aware that this is a conversation her mother has had with him — and had, with her father — too many times. Harry had a congenital heart disease; Billy has diabetes. One had a wife to lecture him, the other doesn't.

For that reason, she asks, "What else have you eaten?"

Billy doesn't look away from the screen, not even as he braces his arms against the couch and hoists himself onto it with impressive strength, but Leah has a feeling he's rolling his eyes at her. "Now you really sound like your mother."

"Good," Leah says. "Someone needs to."

A huff is all she gets as a reply, so she sticks her tongue out at the back of Billy's head and continues her survey of the house.

Well. It's not as if she has never needed an invitation to do exactly as she likes before, so Leah rolls up the sleeves of her sweater, and she gets to work.

It's no real hardship to spend the rest of the morning picking up laundry, and, unbelievably, candy wrappers from around the house. She avoids the bedrooms with determination, but she dutifully straightens out the bathroom and the living room; she wipes down the kitchen; she washes the only two dirty plates in the sink, shoves all the disgusting takeout boxes in the trash, and she offers to drown Billy in a few gallons of water (for hydration, of course), ignoring his grumbling all the while.

It makes her feel useful, even if she did only start to work out her frustrations. Besides, it's not anything she hasn't been doing at home — shit, all she's done for the past week is clean and tidy and clean some more. But for all her own grumblings and her fraying nerves, she has been raised better than to leave the Chief rolling about in his own filth.

Leah even chances her luck at asking if he wants something to eat. He refuses, if only because he quite rightly knows that she will put something green and leafy on his plate. It's not as if there is anything green and leafy in the house (she's checked), but all the same: he doesn't trust her sudden generosity or the interest in his appetite. And the Littlesea's store is only just down the road.

(Billy might not be her father's favourite best friend, but the stubborn old goat has always been the smartest of the two.)

"I've been doing fine, thank you very much," he says tartly.

"Tell that to your feet," she mutters, quiet enough that he won't hear. Billy might indeed be a stubborn ass, but he's still the Chief. So Leah holds her tongue from saying anything further.

When she calls home, but she doesn't expect anyone to answer. They don't. She's just about to walk away from the phone to load up a second pile of laundry when it rings.

She picks up without thinking. "Black residence."

The line is quiet for a moment, and then a soft, almost simpering voice (which, honestly, Leah has always found rather irritating whenever she's heard it before) says, "Oh. Hello. Is Jacob there, please?"

Leah looks at Billy staring back at her over his shoulder, and somehow she manages not to roll her eyes. "Hi, Bella. No, he's not here at the moment."

Another pause. "Sorry," Selfish Bitch says, caught off guard by the familiarity she's been addressed with. Leah smirks wickedly. "Who am I speaking to?"

"Leah Clearwater."

"Leah," the other girl says, and Leah can hear the dip of sympathy at the end of her name. A breath of sadness, a little uncomfortable, awkward.

Here, she thinks, is the part where she is about to be offered some words which are meant to be comforting. As if Bella knows what kind of man Harry Clearwater was after having lived in Washington for all of five minutes.

The thought enrages Leah until she's blind. She does not need Bella Swan's condolences. "He's not here at the moment," she says again before the girl can offer anything of the sort. And then, with as much ice as she can muster, Leah adds, "I'd suggest that you wait for him to call you."

Bella's gulp is audible even over the phone. "Oh. Okay. I, uh . . . Will you . . . Would it be okay if you'd let him know, please?" she asks, her silly voice wavering.

"Let him know what?"

"That — that I called."

"Why? So you can torture him some more?" The vicious words are out of her before Leah can stop herself. "No, I don't think so. Leave him alone, Bella."

It is only out of respect for Billy that Leah does not slam the phone back into its cradle.

"That's one way to do it," the man chortles from his spot, already turning back to watching his reruns of the same highlights over and over on SportsCentre. The noise of the programme fills the small space as it has all morning, familiar and comforting; it's exactly what her dad used to watch on weekends when he hadn't been out on the boat.

"You can speak to her again this evening, if you want," Billy adds, still humoured.

Not if she can help it. Leah has no intention of speaking to Bella Swan again in this lifetime. "Maybe Jacob should just speak to her himself."

Billy's responding hum is extremely noncommittal. And that she is so annoyed by it only aggravates the hell out of Leah even more. So much so that she can't help demand, "What? You don't think he will?"

"Why should he? I mean, it's not like . . . I don't think he really cares what that girl does anymore."

Leah is only slightly heartened. "What does he care about?"

Billy leans forward, solely focused on the screen again. Over his shoulder, Leah spares it a glance and recognises a familiar logo. "They've announced the Draft for next month — look!" he says. "I've been waiting for this all day."

Overcome with a horrible urge to ball up the freshly laundered shirt in her hands and throw it at her Chief's head, Leah has to count to fourteen and a half before it passes.

He watched that announcement an hour ago. Anyone would think that Billy just doesn't want to answer her questions.

Stubborn old goat.

After that, Leah only manages to stick it out for another hour. Eventually she looks at the clock and concedes defeat; it is well past mid-afternoon and there has still been no sign of Jacob — or anyone else, for that matter; do people honestly not care? — so she finally calls it a day and heads home. The NFL Draft is all Billy suddenly wants to talk about, anyway.

(That is, until he himself has his own realisation that she is about to leave and probably starts planning to order his next pizza.)

"I'll come back tomorrow," she says, and hopes it sounds more like a threat than anything else. "With all the casseroles I can carry."

Without warning, Billy snatches the keys off the coffee table and throws them at her. Leah only just manages to snap her hand out in time to catch the familiar leather cord she'd handed over earlier. "Take that wretched car," he says.

And rather bizarrely, she doesn't protest. Not even though it means another uncomfortable drive or that she will have to stare at it for yet another day.

Huh.

"Drink some water," she calls on her way out.

She has a funny feeling that this time it is Billy who sticks his tongue out at her back.

Stubborn old goat.

Sue is in the yard, staring at the flowers again when Leah finds her.

She sits cross-legged next to her mom on the grass and rambles about her morning, as she always does to fill this dreaded silence. It's usually done in the quiet of her parents' bedroom, perching awkwardly on the end of their bed while Sue stares up at the cracks in the ceiling, but Leah reminds herself: progress. Hell, her mom's even put on clothes which match today.

She talks about Seth, mainly, and a little bit about Billy. How she's going to feed him up with all the food they have in their fridge, that maybe she'll throw him some fruit and vegetables before getting him into a hospital for a check-up even if he yells at her. And when she finally has nothing more to say, she pushes herself to her feet.

Except Sue grabs her hand and looks up at her with shining eyes, and Leah's heart skips two beats.

"He —" Sue swallows thickly, her voice hoarse from lack of use. A lone tear escapes her left eye. "He likes your dad's fish fry. I could . . . I know the recipe."

Leah feels herself blink stupidly at her mother. Once. Twice.

She wants to protest that the whole point of offloading the casseroles and lasagnes is so that Billy doesn't end up the same way as her father, but the shock that her mom has finally spoken in nine days has Leah saying something else. "We don't have any fish in the freezer."

Disappointment visibly crushes her mother. It's like nothing else, and Leah scrambles to stop it in its wake.

"Charlie," she blurts. "Charlie will have some. I know it. Wait. I'll call him. Wait."

Sue's smile is shaky. The hope within it has Leah begging to herself, Please, please, as she all but dives through the back door and into the kitchen, please, let Charlie answer the goddamn phone.

He does, thank God.

"I'm sorry I haven't been over to see you all, kiddo," he starts quickly, immediately launching into apologies Leah does not care for. "Things have been — well, there's no excuse."

"It's okay, really."

"No, it's not. How is your mom holding up?"

"Uhm. Better. I think. Actually, the reason I called is because she's talking about fish fry. And we don't — there's none in the freezer," Leah warbles, almost manically. She doesn't care if she sounds desperate or rude or both. "I was wondering if you did. I know it only lasts a couple months, but Dad taught me to fish a bit — he needed a fishing buddy when you started going to California for those two weeks every summer, see, so I can replace it. It's just — this seems really important to Mom—"

"Woah, sweetheart, slow down." And damn if Leah doesn't want to cry at the gentleness in his voice, because he sounds exactly like Harry when— "Of course you can, whatever you want. It's yours."

Her eyes burn as she clutches the phone to her ear with both hands. "Really?"

"Yes," Charlie insists. "You'll have to come and get it, though." He sounds apologetic about that, but Leah does not give a shit. She will run miles if she has to. "Is that okay?"

"I'll be right over. If now's a good time, I mean."

"Then I'll see you in a bit, kiddo," Charlie says, and Leah can hear the smile in his voice.

Later, she thinks she probably should have told him that he's always been her favourite — but he would only have snitched on her to Billy anyway.

A/N: I hate breaking things up with notes, but I need to say:

This fic was started as a fan service to myself to work on during downtime (and maybe with a few of you in mind who I've gotten to know over these years — blame Sentinel for collarbones, if that ever finds its way in to any of my fics, and blame me for every other shameless cliche you might read), so thank you thank you thank you three thousand for every single review and all of your encouraging messages. They keep me going. Massive, massive love.

Next . . . Chapter Sixteen! After so much upset and heartbreak I'm really looking forward to a tad more light-hearted writing: Leah getting to know the pack (sans traitors), being welcomed with open arms, being totally out of her depth, finding a family, and wonderful, wonderful cliches. And, of course, Jacob.

Maybe.

Kidding!