twenty-seven.
(Jacob)
The newest member of the pack always has the honour of lighting the bonfire — a tradition which dates back all of three months — meaning that of course it is Quil who almost completely burns off his eyebrows, no thanks to the obscene amount of fluid Paul dumped on the firewood.
What's probably even funnier, though, is the litany of black obscenities that escape his mouth, all said in front of his grandfather whose swift hand has Quil running faster than he jumped back from the flames.
They're mostly all in attendance, the pack and the Elders together as they are every time their numbers increase. Only the Clearwaters and Embry are missing, otherwise it likely would have been Seth who nearly went up in flames. Sue had insisted yesterday that she would be arriving with her family, and the Clearwaters are never early (Harry was notorious for it), while Embry's mom has probably buried his body in the woods somewhere like she has been threatening to for weeks now.
They've all tried to convince Sam to let Tiffany Call in on the secret at one point or another, but their Alpha flat-out refuses. And, surprisingly, Embry agrees with him, insisting that the secret is too important. His mom would only freak out and ship him off to a military camp. What's a little shouting, after all, when he gets to be a part of something so amazing?
That's what he says, anyway.
Personally Jacob thinks his best friend is saving face, but he knows better than to call him out on it.
His foot twitches anxiously as he waits for Embry to make an appearance. And waits. He waits for Sam to approach him (because it's bound to happen); he waits for the guys to start throwing a variety of Looks in his direction (which Paul has started doing already, all as dirty and violent as Quil's mouth — but Jake is used to that). He waits for Leah to arrive safe and sound and whole.
It's maddening.
Since their excursion to Pillar Point three days ago, Leah has been giving him free passes to be a tetchy son of a bitch (honestly, he will never deserve her), but still he has been struggling to get himself in order. The wolf is dying to see her; it practically howls like a puppy with separation anxiety if more than a few hours pass without having her within its senses.
Maddening. Pathetic.
He only saw her this morning. He left her at lunch. Six hours, forty-four minutes and — no, forty-five minutes ago—
Fuck, he needs professional help. He's going insane.
This afternoon has been a test, of sorts, to keep their distance from one another. He's hated every second of it.
He knows it's the imprint that is exacerbating every feeling usually considered unhealthy in a relationship because it has been accepted, but it's also smothering every feeling that should be normal. And he's not one of those guys, he's not, but — shit. How the hell is he supposed to function like this?
He's glad that Leah never asked him what he really thought the reason for imprinting was. She hadn't seemed to notice that he'd not answered her question properly. If she had pressed him, he would have said that he thinks — thought — it made the wolves better. That it's not about pedigree or reproducing the next generation of protectors, but about what they need to be the best protectors they could be.
How is this better?
He would have argued that when the pack had taken down that bloodsucker in the meadow, Sam and Jared had fought the best. Five against one hadn't been much of a challenge, anyway, but the rest of them hadn't had a look-in compared to those two. They were the most focused, the most determined. The whole thing had been over barely a minute after they'd caught up to it.
Jacob almost laughs at himself, scornful. If he came across the redheaded bitch now, he's not sure he'd live to tell the tale. He's too out of sorts.
It doesn't help that he's not phased since what Billy now jokingly refers to as Motorbikegate. Charlie hasn't called the house since, or come to visit, though Billy doesn't seem too bothered by that; they always patch things up in the end. Besides, Charlie has probably been too busy guarding the door with his gun to spare a hand and pick up the phone anyway.
Really, it's a crying shame bullets bounce right off the leeches. Jacob thinks he would have quite enjoyed that image, otherwise.
He hasn't yet spoken to Sam about confronting Cullen. Jared and Quil had been on duty when he'd phased afterwards, and they would have undoubtedly spilled the beans straight away — but given the way Sam is now staring at him over the roaring flames, Jacob has a suspicion that something is going to be said about it sooner or later. The conversation (or rather, the reprimand) will probably start with something like, "Jacob, what right do you think you have . . ."
If Embry were here, Jake would suggest putting a bet on it.
He pointedly ignores the Alpha's sharp gaze and looks for the next best thing.
When he whistles sharply, all eyes immediately turn on him — likely surprised that he's cut his brooding short and is interacting with them again; they've all been talking in low whispers around him, throwing furtive glances — but it's Quil's attention he is asking for.
Jacob beckons him on over. Quil is still seemingly avoiding his grandfather at all costs, going as far to sit with a loved-up Jared and Kim, and he looks grateful for a reason to excuse himself — even if he does approach with a kind of hesitancy that makes Jacob's insides curl with guilt when he remembers that he hasn't seen Quil since the day his friend joined the pack. Since they all found out that he imprinted on Leah.
"Hey, man," his friend says a little nervously when he finally gets close enough. "What's up?"
Jake forces a smile. "Still got your eyebrows?"
Quil theatrically pats his hand over his face. "Last I checked. How do I look?"
"As ugly as ever," he replies, jesting, and his friend returns his smile. "You seen Embry around lately?"
"Yeah. Last night, on patrol."
Quil drops down to sit beside him on the ground. He leans against the back of the log seat, relaxing and stretching his legs out. It has never been hard to fall back into an easy rhythm with Quil, no matter what might have happened between them. He's too easy-going, too carefree, forever living for the moment. The grudge he'd had against them for leaving him behind was probably the first he'd ever held in his life.
"You think he got caught again?"
Jacob smirks. "Oh, no doubt about it."
"You wanna go get him? Gramps isn't going to start for a while yet."
"And miss your first official bonfire? Nah. Em will turn up sooner or later. He's probably just waiting until his mom's looking in the other direction."
"I guess," Quil says, shrugging. He turns hesitant again. "What about you? How are you doing?"
It is Jacob's turn to shrug. "Aside from everyone talking about me like I can't hear them? While that one—" he nods in Paul's direction "—looks like he wants to kill me? I'm great. Couldn't be having a better time," he prattles on over Quil's sniggering. "It's not a good day if Paul doesn't threaten me at least twice."
Paul's head jerks up at the sound of his name, pulling him out of conversation with Sam. His eyes narrow as his gaze fixes itself dangerously upon them, and he flicks his fingers up in a vulgar gesture.
As if for good measure, to prove his point, he drags them slowly across his throat.
Jacob disregards him with a simple look back to Quil. Nothing annoys Paul more than being dismissed.
"See? Everything's normal."
Quil covers his smile with a hand, pretending that he's got an itch at the corner of his lips.
It isn't until he's sure that Paul has turned back to his conversation with Sam that he says, sarcastic, "I'm not sure if you're aware, but he kind of hates you, you know."
"No, really?"
"Don't tell him I told you so, but he's waiting for you to come back so he can kick your sorry ass." Quil allows a beat of silence. "And I've kind of already put ten bucks down. So you've gotta win or else we'll never hear the end of it."
That perks Jacob's interest. "Awesome. Who's bet against me?"
"Just Paul," Quil says, and they both laugh as loud as they dare. "He's betting that you'll be back on patrol by the end of the week — so, tomorrow — and that he'll have taken a chunk out of you an hour later. Nobody else fights with him like you do, apparently."
"You think he'd have learned by now," Jacob muses idly. He has won every single fight he's ever had with Paul. It's almost like child's play; Paul's unchecked temper gets in the way every single time, always making him lose focus.
"You think," Quil scoffs. "So . . . does that mean you're coming back then? For real? I mean, Sam seems to think it's pretty permanent, you leaving, but he's still not replaced you as Second. Not officially, anyway. Jared's only acting up until he's told otherwise."
"What's he waiting for?"
"Dunno. Suppose he wants to know that you're sure before he changes things up, I guess."
Jacob hums noncommittally. "I told him I'd be out as soon as I can manage it. When that will be . . ." He shrugs. "I'm only managing a week at most. I suppose until the Cullens break the treaty I won't be able to—"
A loud whoop fills the evening air, cutting him off, and Jacob's head snaps round at the same time as Quil's to see Embry finally entering the fray, all smiles as he announces himself and begins making the rounds to say hello to everyone. He bumps fists with Sam, Paul and Jared in turn, shakes the hands of Old Quil and Billy, and throws disarming smiles to Emily (who rolls her eyes, an image of the long-suffering) and Kim (who blushes fiercely and shrinks into Jared, the shyest person Jacob has met in his whole life to date). But they all smile back at him, every single one of them here present; Embry is a real people-person — more so than he ever was before phasing, entirely confident in his new body and status within the pack.
"What's up, losers?" he greets Jacob and Quil, grinning down at them once he lopes over to where they are sitting a ways from the rest of the group. "Jeez, you look freakin' miserable, dude."
"We were actually just enjoying the peace and quiet," Jacob drawls sardonically. "Who invited you?"
Embry's grin stretches impossibly wider. "I see you're still a total asshole. Imprint rubbing you up the wrong way, man?"
The hiss that comes from Quil beside him is low and full of warning as Jacob goes rigid. "Embry."
"What? I'm just saying. Maybe Leah could rub me—"
That does it.
Jacob jumps to his feet, fist flying — but Embry dodges it with preternatural speed, laughing all the while.
Quil hauls himself up, lunging to hold one friend back while he glares at the other. "What the fuck are you playing at, Embry?"
"Come on, Jake," Embry taunts, ignoring Quil as he dances on his feet, positioning his hands, "you can do better than that! Give it all you got. No phasing, though," he adds quickly, "'cos we can't be having you all worked up and naked when your girlfriend gets here, or else you might start humping her leg—"
Jacob's fist finally hits its mark, his movements too wild and unpredictable to be restrained, and he and Embry go down in a tangle of muscled arms and legs.
He doesn't know who realises it first — him, or Quil, or the rest of the pack, who are all on their feet and now watching carefully, or even the Elders who sigh in complete exasperation — but as Embry laughs again and spits blood, Jacob understands exactly what he's been goaded into.
He's never been more grateful for being so stupid. Because Embry recognised the strain he was carrying from not phasing for so long, recognised the disquiet on his face, the agitation that he was about to be introducing his imprint into the pack for the first time, and decided to be the one to help take the edge off that coiled-up energy when nobody else would.
Jake sees Quil walk away in his peripheral, shaking his head, wholly resigned to the fact his best friends are total idiots and that the easiest thing to do is to leave them to it. And he thinks there is a reason that, if he ever took Alpha, Embry would be his Second and Quil his third: the two of them balance each other out perfectly.
But then his head knocks to the side, missing the log he'd been leaning back on by an inch, and Embry just keeps — on — fucking — laughing at him.
Jacob snarls, releasing all that he can, and he leaps.
(Leah)
The awful and crippling anxiety she's felt all day at the thought of having to come to this complete shit-show of a powwow distorts into undiluted horror when Quil reveals where Jacob is and what exactly it is he's doing.
She gasps. "Fighting?"
"They've been at it for, like, half an hour," Quil tells her, but he doesn't look all that concerned. He shrugs, waving cheerfully at Seth who is seamlessly integrating himself into the group.
Her baby brother has been welcomed like a hero — like he truly belongs. Sue, on the other hand, looks exactly how Leah feels. Uncomfortable, out of place, lost without Harry, wondering why in the name of all that's holy she has agreed to come. She is so obviously re-evaluating her decision to take his place on the Council that Old Quil literally has to usher her into the chair they've reserved for her at the head of the makeshift circle.
Quil turns away from the scene, the smile he'd thrown Seth still on his face, oblivious to how Leah has been gaping at him in her disbelief.
"You wanna get a hotdog?" he asks.
"Why?"
"They're really good. I've had four already," he says. And at her incensed groan that follows, he blinks. Sighs. "Oh. You mean Jake. Don't ask me — I'm not getting involved. I'm not putting any bets down, either; I'm already out ten bucks until Jake fights Paul next."
Leah gapes at Quil, her anxiety now at its peak. "What do you mean, until he fights with Paul next?! What the hell have they got to fight over?"
Quil shrugs again. "Don't need a reason, those two. S'just what they do. So I'm told, anyway." He glances at the fire and back, at the occupants surrounding it. "You wanna sit with me? There's a couple of spaces by your mom, away from . . . Oh, come on Leah. Look, Jake's fine. I'm pretty sure you'd know if something major happened — you imprint people are weird like that. Just come sit down, will ya'?"
"I think I'll wait here, thanks," she tells him stubbornly, crossing her arms. She stares across the field, towards the trees as if she might be able to see two wolves, bloodied and bruised and spitting fur. She can't believe they're fighting — of all people, Jacob and Embry!
Or . . . maybe she can. Hadn't Embry told her how mad everyone apparently is with Jake? She just never thought that he would be the one to actually do something about it. He and Jake have been best friends for as long as they've been able to walk.
"Fine," Quil says, ever-insolent. "Then I'll wait with you."
She tucks her arms in tighter, and nods once. "Fine."
"Oh, jeez. Yeah, you're Jacob's imprint alright," he snickers, poking her shoulder playfully. "You're just like him — annoying as hell."
At the cutting glare she shoots him, Quil quickly raises his hands, palms splayed, and ever so subtly leans backwards. Out of her way.
Leah harrumphs in satisfaction at the sight of his surrender, and resumes her lookout.
"Meaner, though," he mutters after she looks away, and she almost laughs.
Almost. She'd forgotten how ballsy the guy is.
They wait in silence, Quil entirely at ease whilst her heart pounds a frightful rhythm . . . until finally, finally she finally sees the boys emerging some very long and painful minutes later.
She watches as they shove each other, smiling. As if their faces are not littered with cuts and scrapes and already-blooming dark bruises. As if there is not blood scattered all over Jacob's jaw, his lips, all the way down his neck, caking his clothes . . .
Her head goes quiet.
Jacob. Jacob is hurt.
She blindly starts towards him, towards Embry who she is going to murder, she is going to kill him with her bare fucking hands, but Quil puts a hand on her shoulder to hold her back.
He ignores her outrage. "Wait," he murmurs, eyes assessing.
Embry reaches them first, his smile threatening to cleave through his already split lips. And without so much as a hello, he holds out his bloodied hand. Waiting, expectant.
She bats Embry's hand away. It's only the heavy weight of Quil's hand still on her shoulder that keeps her from clawing at his face, more than ready and willing to bestow him some new gauges along his cheeks. How dare he—
"Aw, don't be like that," he whines. "I know how it looks, but we weren't really fighting, and he hurt me far more than I hurt him. Really. It looks worse than it is; he's already stopped bleeding, and the swelling will be gone in an hour." He wiggles his fingers in her face as she shoots Jacob another glance as it confirm all of this, blocking her view. "Come on."
She snaps at his hand. With her teeth. "Go to hell, Embry."
"Come on," he says again, pleading now. "Do the thing with me. I just want to test something, then you can shout at me, I swear. Or are you too much of a chickenshit?"
"I'm not doing the thing with you—"
Embry, the bastard, starts clucking. He tucks his hands into his armpits, raising his elbows . . .
She has never been one to flake out on a challenge — she is no coward — and Jacob looks like he's steady on his feet . . . He's not in danger of bleeding out, anyway . . . "Fine! Fine! If it will shut you up! I'll do the fucking thing with you! And then I'm going to kill you, you bastard. Call me chickenshit then."
Embry is beaming when she viciously launches into making a series of elaborate movements with her hands, almost perfectly in sync with his despite her bubbling rage. He keeps up with her easily, practically overjoyed that he's won.
It goes on for an age, longer than she remembers practicing on Second Beach for; it involves fingers twisting, fists bumping, hands slapping, elbows knocking — and then, for their final flourish, she jumps to meet her right hip with Embry's, who oh-so generously bends his knees to compensate for the height difference between them.
Asshole.
He punches the air in celebration, offering her a high-five with the same hand in his pure glee that they have managed the whole sequence without faltering once (which she pointedly punches, smack into the middle of his palm, though he doesn't seem to realise the difference). "That was awesome! Best we've ever done it!"
"Since when have you two had a secret handshake?" Quil demands, indignant.
"I'll teach you," Embry promises him. "You're in the club."
Quil stands taller, slightly mollified. "I am?"
"Yep — but we're not telling you what it's about in front of any Muggles, 'cos he's not invited," Embry says, turning to Jake — whose eyebrows are drawn together, eyes narrowed, but otherwise doesn't say anything about what he's just witnessed.
After a moment of consideration, Embry seems to be satisfied with what he finds in Jacob's features — with whatever it is that he was looking for — and slaps his shoulder.
Leah flinches in spite of her anger, expecting to feel pain from the sheer force he puts behind the action.
"Alright," he declares. "You're good."
He grins at Jacob, and winks at her, the both of them shooting him daggers despite him not giving them any indication that he notices. And then to Quil, he says, "Come on — I'm hungry. Leave them alone."
Quil looks slightly affronted, the words as readable on his face as if he said them: he hadn't been the one who was doing anything or bothering anyone. If Jacob had not been standing in front of her, battered to a pulp, Leah might have very well smiled at him for it.
As it is, she and Jake end up staring at each other. Gazes roving, taking stock, checking that the other is alive and breathing.
Jacob stands easier now that Embry and Quil are out of sight, and he doesn't look ashamed, or guilty, but he does offer an apologetic half-smile as if he's been caught doing something that he shouldn't have been. The expression takes her back ten years.
She swallows her anger, if only so she can ask: "Are you okay?"
And when he nods, something eases inside of her just enough to be able to jerk a nod in return. She's still a heartbeat away from freaking out at the bloody sight of him; it goes against the grain to know that he is injured and that she can do nothing about it. It makes her want to scream, to hit something.
"Okay," she says, too shakily for her own liking. "Are you going to tell me what that was all about?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Are you going to tell me why you and my best friend have a secret handshake?" he counters.
She blinks. "It wasn't my idea."
"Well neither was this," he says, gesturing at himself.
"Embry," they say together — she as if the name is an expletive, and Jacob as if it's an explanation.
He smiles, tentatively stepping closer towards her. "Are you okay?"
"I—"
Leah stops, pressing her lips together. No. No, she's not okay. Jacob looks like he's gone nine rounds, and even though he's healing right before her eyes, his bruises changing colour in the firelight so bright behind them that it stretches to all corners of the recreation grounds, she is . . . unbalanced at the sight of him. It doesn't help that she's felt his absence all afternoon like she might a missing limb because they've spent so much time together since Wednesday that it's been near enough a damn culture shock to be without him.
Never mind that she's hardly been sleeping, either, unable to shut her eyes until she's near-dead and flat on her face from exhaustion. Even then, it's uneasy rest; she keeps waking with the sheets tangled in her legs and sweat coating every inch of her body.
She shakes her head. She will not cry. She will not cry.
"Oh, honey." Jacob crosses the distance between them in half a second and gathers her up in his arms, almost lifting her from her feet. "I'm fine, really. Embry was just . . . helping, believe it or not. I missed you. I'm fine."
Leah squeezes her eyes shut and buries her face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. It's almost embarrassing how quickly her breathing evens out, how much better she feels already. She's not used to being so . . . so reliant on someone, to needing someone so badly that she can hardly get through a single fucking afternoon without them.
"I'm fine," Jacob continues saying into her hair, soft and low and sweet, his woodsy scent calming. She breathes him in. "It's just the imprint. I feel it, too. That's why he had to beat some sense into me — had to take the edge off before I killed someone. I was being an asshole."
They stand like that for several minutes, until eventually she is able to release his dirty shirt from her tight fists and doesn't feel like she's in danger of crying like a little bitch anymore.
Jacob lifts his head and rests his chin on top of hers, a pleasant and reassuring weight. He sighs. "We're being summoned."
She feels herself go tense again. "Are they all looking?" she mumbles against him.
"Yep." His lips pop. "Well, most of them. They're all doing a pretty bad job pretending that they're not, but they are. It was the same before you got here."
"Great."
Leah takes a deep breath before pulling away, and though Jacob keeps his hands linked at her lower back he relaxes enough so she can move freely. She doesn't dare look over her shoulder.
His own gaze is searching. "Ready?"
She rubs her face, steeling herself, because she has been dreading this — sitting with them, talking with them, knowing that Sam and Emily are going to be there and that her mom is going to be sitting where her dad is supposed to be sitting. Knowing that they are all going to be looking at her and—
Jacob softens. "We don't have to do this."
Leah knows with complete certainty that he would leave with her if she asked. He would do it without question, but she shakes her head and straightens her spine.
She tells herself once more that she is no coward, and she plasters on her best look of determination. "Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?"
Jacob's grin is blinding. He squeezes her middle and drops a kiss to her head.
"That's my girl."
Disclaimer: I've been on a massive ACOTAR bend lately with the new release and was inspired by the fight scene in ACOMAF. If you know, you know, but if you don't, and you're into YA high fantasy, I recommend putting it on your to-read lists.
A/N: So the current feeling is to continue this until we reach the end of Eclipse, where hopefully things will be wrapped up (and set up) enough that we can go into Breaking Dawn as a sequel/new story posted. It's a long way off though, so we'll worry about it when we get there. Thank you for all of your notes left on the last chapter — I see your requests (yes, you, CatTheWall), and I hear you: Leah will not phase in this story. Be assured that it was never the plan and only the wishes of some readers. It would defeat the purpose of exploring what she is like without having that added pressure in her life.
(I am open to the idea that she could be one of the seventeen wolves to make the stand against the Volturi in BD, though, but I'm not promising that it will happen because that means I'd have to start thinking about the demon baby and I'm currently enjoying life without her.)
Massive love. You guys rock.