forty-eight

(Jacob)

Most days, Jacob thinks that his great-grandfather made a grave error by signing the treaty and allowing the Cullens to live. That Ephraim gave the bloodsuckers too much land, too much say in dictating the agreement that still stood seventy years later; that he should have chased them out of Washington, and then killed them, and then burned them to ensure they did not return.

But he didn't. Because he was outnumbered or a coward, Jacob will never know — just as Ephraim didn't know the Cullens would return three short generations later with two extra members in their midst, forcing a chain reaction that would see the creation of the largest pack in history.

Jacob hates that he is beholden to Ephraim's word. Hates that he hasn't known a moment of peace since the day Bella turned up with those goddamn bikes on the back of her truck, all because of those bloodsuckers.

They have caused so much damage.

And now they're about to ruin another life.

Jacob's hands shake uncontrollably as they ghost over Leah's burning forehead, along her flushed neck, trailing down to her sweaty collarbone. And, for the first time in the months since he found his imprint, his head turns quiet.

"Jake, man." Someone pushes him, batting his trembling hands away. "If you can't deal, then—"

The growl that is unleashed upon the room sounds far away, even to his ears.

Screw the treaty. He is going to kill the newborns. Then he is going to kill the Cullens. Every. Single. One.

"Leave him alone," another says. Leah. She reaches out, shuddering fiercely when the blankets fall to her waist. "Jake, c'mere."

"Sweetheart—"

"Go away, Embry," she chatters through clacking teeth. "Jacob, come here."

The command clangs through him, and his limbs move as though of their own accord until he's settling behind her, until he can't tell where he ends and she begins — save for the temperature of her skin. She's just not warm; she's burning. Hotter than he has become used to, hotter than the imprint has ever made her feel before.

What if—

Jacob imagines a wolf with Seth's colouring; a wolf with Leah's eyes, and fresh fear washes over him, ice-cold and suffocating, and he's drowning, he can't breathe—

"S'just a fever," Leah mumbles. She rolls over, nestling into his elbow and pressing herself close. She sighs, relaxing against his bare skin, and her seemingly endless undulating shivers cease almost immediately.

Just a fever.

"Jake?"

He looks at Embry, noting all the worry lines on his brother's face, how Embry's eyes flicker towards his imprint and—

"Get a grip, Jacob," comes Leah's muffled voice.

He realises that another snarl has bubbled in his throat, his fingers digging just that little bit too tightly into any bare patch of skin he can find.

He breathes. Once. Twice.

Embry rolls his eyes. "Yeah, Jake, get a grip, jeez," he mutters, but at least he has the sense to be walking out of the door by the time the words land on their mark — words that would have landed him with a broken jaw on any other day.

"Get Sue," Jacob growls.

"Already on her way," his brother calls down the hallway.

It takes Sue all of ten minutes to arrive armed with her well-worn supply bag that is crammed with enough medical supplies to keep the pack afloat for months. Embry, having assumed the role of butler, wordlessly leads her into Jacob's bedroom, standing vigil from the doorway as she bends over her daughter's curled up body.

Jacob can do nothing but watch as Sue slips the thermometer from its case — it's mercury, for Christ's sake, as if he needs anything else to worry about — and slips it under Leah's tongue, monitoring the seconds on her silver wristwatch.

After what feels like a lifetime, Sue draws the instrument out, peering at the tiny black numbers inked on the glass. She shakes the thermometer as if she might be able to change the reading, squinting a little harder at the tube

Leah's protest is hoarse. "Mom, I'm fine. I feel better already. M'not so cold, now."

"Suppose you went out without your jacket last night, hm?" her mom asks, and Jacob pretends not to hear the shake in her voice. "Just because you're warmer than average now, Lee—"

"I was wearing my jacket—"

"One-oh-two last time she checked," Jacob cuts in. He wants to rip the thermometer from Sue's hands, but his own are stuck in place. He wouldn't, couldn't move even if he wanted to; his imprint is sick and she is vulnerable and — and this — this is why he was made. "What does that say?"

"One-oh-nine point four." Sue's hum is disapproving. "She should be—"

Dead. She should be dead. But Sue is unable to say the word any more than he can; it catches in her throat, and she has to look away from Leah's flushed cheeks, a colour that is deep and striking against her normal skin tone.

"S'just a fever," his girl mumbles again, voice cracking. "Flu."

"Yeah, honey." Jacob wishes he could sound convincing; Sue is about a minute away from a breakdown, and he's running a close second behind her. If anything, Leah is the only one between them who is calm. "Flu."

Sue rubs her chest as if to ease some pain there. "I don't want you going out that late again." She swallows harshly, almost gasping. "You haven't become invincible, sweetie."

"They are," Leah sighs. "Jake never gets sick anymore, do you, Jake?"

Not since he had a fever and felt like his body was giving up on him, no. Not since his body burned, reforging itself.

Before he can come up with an answer that is less horrific than how he'd thought he was dying during his first phase, Sue interrupts, her sole focus on her only daughter.

"That doesn't mean to say you can't," she says. "Look at you. Your only saving grace is that you might be able to sweat it out a little quicker — that's all. I can give you some cold and flu medicine, but I have a feeling you'll just burn it straight off."

"How long?" Jacob demands.

He receives a glance of thorough exasperation. "I don't know, Jake. This wasn't exactly covered in my nursing degree," Sue admonishes reprovingly. "Keep her warm. I'm — I need to make some calls."

He nods at the woman's retreating form, though not before he sees the twist of pain she's been trying to hide.

"Jake," Leah whispers.

"Yeah, honey. I'm here." So much for the power of a wolf — he's helpless. He brushes her hair away from her clammy forehead. "Try and sleep, okay?"

"Mm. When are you leaving?"

"I'm not."

"But tonight — the training—"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"No." She shoves weakly at his chest. "You have to go. They need you. You're the strongest—"

"I'll have Quil or Em catch me up, okay? They can go with Sam or Jared instead — someone else who can keep them in check around the leeches. I'll learn anything they do; the plan can wait." His arm tightens around her shoulder a little, trapping her, and the fight leaves her almost immediately.

Of course, she still has enough energy to hum her discontent against his chest.

"Try and sleep." He manages to control his voice, but he is not above begging if he has to. "Please, honey. For me. You'll feel better."

"You're all worrying over nothing. S'not the worst I've ever felt," she mumbles petulantly, but even as she speaks she seems to melt into him, their shapes moulding together perfectly, and she sighs deeply.

She's out within the minute, but Jacob doesn't loosen a single breath until her eyes open again.

(Leah)

She wakes sweaty and uncomfortable, hot and stuffy, her tongue drier than sandpaper and her throat clogged up.

Everything aches — it is painful to stretch within the confines of Jacob's arms, and her bladder is pressing down something fierce upon who-knows-what.

She tilts her head back against the arm which has held her for as long as she's been unconscious, meeting Jacob's concerned gaze. His presence was the first thing she registered through the haze; he is somehow always the first thing that her brain searches for, regardless if she is emerging from sleep or wide awake.

Her smile feels a little funny on her face when she asks, "How long have I been out?"

"Too long," Jacob says gravely, clarifying nothing except the fact that his histrionic side remains unharmed.

He would undoubtedly protest at a thirty-minute nap, having to entertain himself for a rare stretch of time; the dimness of his bedroom, illuminated only by the blue light of his boxy television, does little to orient her in time.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, combing her sweaty hair from her forehead.

Leah pouts, contemplating her state of being as she flops onto her back. Jacob shuffles to rearrange his hold on her, his free arm coming to rest over her head, the other still hooked around her waist. "I need to pee." She scrunches her nose, rolling her shoulders somewhat experimentally. "And have a shower, I think."

There is nothing more right than being here like this, together, but still she feels gross. She has her dignity to claw back after her poor show last night — proof of her weakness, her human vulnerability. She knows that she had him worried sick.

His pain, her pain.

Something eases in Jacob's expression as his eyes rake up and down her body, scanning for any visible signs of further illness or injury.

"You can let me go, Jake," she says gently. He doesn't look convinced, but at least he isn't near meltdown anymore. "I feel . . . okay. Better."

He exhales, long and deep as if he has been holding his breath since the moment he felt her burning. Shivering. She'd been so cold.

She wiggles against the arm imprisoning her still. "Jake, let go," she coaxes again.

He lets her go with a sharp breath, eyes a little wide but reluctant nonetheless, and she hurries to the bathroom he shares with Billy. Thankfully, the old man is out of the house, a small miracle when she remembers just a little too late that she has been stripped down to nothing but her underwear and is more or less streaking along the hallway.

If Embry is still hanging around like a lost puppy, he at least has the good graces not to comment.

According to the clock affixed crookedly to the hallway plasterboard, it is eleven-thirty — she has slept all day, all evening, but thankfully there is still plenty of time to freshen up for tonight's capers . . . provided that Jacob does not have kittens at the mere thought of her leaving the house.

(Unlikely, she thinks, but recent experience has taught her that she can, in fact, pull it off.)

The warm shower spray is a god-send; she's surely lost a good few pounds of water weight, if her sticky skin is indicative of anything, although the sole bottle of five-in-one body wash does little to cleanse her tired form. She stands under the stream for a long while, relishing an opportunity to simply not think, to let the steaming heat work out the knots in her aching muscles.

It is surprisingly liberating.

Eventually, the bathroom door cracks open a sliver. Jacob blindly tosses a towel and some mismatched clothes in the general vicinity of the vanity, flushing scarlet despite his hand dutifully clamped over his eyes. Leah can't even find it in herself to giggle at his bashfulness; he's undoubtedly had an awful afternoon, probably working himself into knots thinking she was exhaling her final breaths, something that approximates to a free pass on general weirdness.

When she returns to his bedroom, clad in an oversized t-shirt and rolled-up sweatpants, Jacob is almost back to his usual self.

Embry, too, if the way they're roughhousing is any indication.

Jacob has him in a headlock, but Embry is laughing in his face, taunting him the same way he always does when Jacob's wound a little too tightly. Because only he can get away with it; only Embry knows how to dull the edge of Jacob's temper in a way that leaves them both with a few bruises instead of something more sinister.

"She lives!" Embry crows when he notices her, seemingly impervious to his brother's dark scowl as Jacob pushes him away and begins to idly flip through the cable channels. "I almost thought you'd drowned in there."

"Charming," she comments wryly. "I feel so much better."

It takes Jacob less than a second to effectively read her mind.

"You're not going," he says firmly, leaning back against the headboard as she flops onto the bed and cocoons herself between him and Embry. "We can't risk it."

"I caught a chill," she says defensively. She doesn't buy his show of composure for a minute, not even as she nestles down into the pillows and presses herself a little closer to his side. "It's not like I got typhus. I'll be fine."

"I think he was worried you were gonna phase," Embry interjects unhelpfully, raising his hands in surrender at her ensuing harsh glare.

"Not helping," she hisses, knowing full well that Jacob can hear every word. "If I was going to phase, my fever wouldn't have broken. Feel my forehead if you don't believe me."

The expression on his face clearly says he doesn't, but still Embry presses the back of his palm to her skin, apparently also unable to resist the urge to coddle her.

"See? Totally recovered," she declares. It's not quite the truth — she still feels a little unsteady, a little achy — but she knows the worst has passed, far more quickly than it would have if the imprint hadn't bestowed her its gifts. "I'm coming."

Jacob sighs, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "Just ask me to stay. Say the word and I'll call Sam."

"I would never take your choice away," Leah mutters. "Not when it's the complete opposite to what you want."

"I don't care," he says irritably. "Order me to stay. That might work."

Her answering snort is as mocking as she intends. "I'd sooner order you to take me with you. Which I am. If you're going to do this, then I'm coming too."

"That's kind of unethical," Embry pipes up, withering under the tired stares of both Leah and Jacob. "Sorry. I thought the voice of reason would be welcomed."

Jacob pinches the bridge of his nose, looking far too similar to Billy for comfort. "Fine. You can come. Don't mistake my agreement for approval. And Embry—" he starts, waiting for his friend to meet his eye. "This conversation isn't over."

"Let the record state that I support both Leah's rights and Leah's wrongs," Embry says, struggling to keep a straight face.

"That's it," Jacob declares, shooing him off the bed. "You've lost your inside dog privileges. Scram."

On a macabre note, she has always pictured Jacob's demise to be of his own doing. What his death certificate will state as the cause of his mortality, however, is still up for debate — though it's looking increasingly likely that it will be from her hand, something that will make his heart explode from stress, rather than a product of his hero complex and inability to delegate.

(Whether she would trust Paul, or Embry, or even Quil, to manage the increasingly complicated affairs of pack politics is up in the air; at the very least, she would have little reservations about delegating rostering duty to Kim, who could surely have the schedule carefully inked in glittery gel pen within the day.)

He can't even bring himself to delegate early morning piggy-back duty; he insists on carrying Leah up the same trail they'd forged the previous night, stalwartly ignoring the steady stream of playfully snide comments made by Embry, Seth and Quil, who have chosen to join them. The rest of the pack have remained on the Rez, a ploy that is apparently part of the plan that Jacob had presented to Sam last night — he thinks the bloodsuckers will be more amenable with fewer wolves staring them down.

In a different life, she could easily imagine herself as one of them, sharing the same fierce determination and limited brain cells that she has come to associate with the boys, with her brother. And, while the rational part of her brain could see her temporary sickness for what it was — a fleeting infection that posed no real risk — a tiny part of her mind did linger on the improbable, turning over the alternate reality where her freaky werewolf genes did end up expressed. Where she could spend a lifetime on four legs, not two.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" Jacob queries, tightening his hold on her cramping legs.

"Where do you think Jasper gets all his battle knowledge from?" Leah asks, and while her curiosity is genuine, the words still burn like a lie.

Jacob tenses. "Did you notice how he doesn't exactly look like the others?"

"Understatement," Quil mutters, and she swears that the same shiver of unease — or revulsion, maybe — rolls through his packmates.

"We think he's some kind of . . . fighter. That he's done this before," Jacob says carefully, as if there is more to the story. More she is not seeing with her poor eyesight, her lesser senses.

(There will be. There always is.)

This time, she finds that she doesn't want to know. "Do you know what you're practising tonight?" she asks instead, lowering her chin to rest on Jacob's shoulder.

They've ended up at the back of the group, somehow; with Quil and Embry phasing as they draw nearer, it is up to Seth to linger a few steps behind them, tossing glances their way every couple of hundred feet. It's impossible to imagine the sorts of thoughts that are running through his head, nor the weight of the immense burden that rests upon his fourteen-year-old shoulders.

Their unspoken don't ask, don't tell policy has worked wonders.

"Edward probably wants to hammer in the details," Jacob says vaguely, staring ahead into the inky forest depths. "I'm sure Jasper has a plan. If all else fails, we'll go back to what we do best."

Seth lowers his sandy head in agreement, the motion rippling slowly through Embry and Quil.

As expected, the Cullens (and Bella) are waiting for them in the clearing, eerily still in their semi-circular formation. It is only when she sees Bella among them that she realises how markedly human she is, that, even at Edward's side, she sticks out like a sore thumb, simply by virtue of having a pulse. Her flushed cheeks and nervous fidgeting may as well be a neon sign that screams I do not belong here; this is not my world.

It makes it hard for Leah to wonder if she, too, looks as out of place amongst the pack. If the Cullens think the same as she does; if her standing in as Jacob's right hand instead of Sam signifies weakness, mortal fallibility that they cannot afford at this point in time.

Edward inclines his head slightly as they approach; his eyes linger on Leah's for a moment, curious, though he affords her a small slice of dignity by allowing the silent thoughts to remain between them. When his gaze finally meets Jacob's, he jerks his head again in an imperceptible nod. Whether it is a simple acknowledgement of their arrival or a response to an otherwise unstated thought, however, is not entirely clear.

"I think you'll find it's more complicated than that," he says evenly, his golden eyes focusing squarely on Jacob.

Leah scowls. She detests the disjointed conversations Edward insists on having — personally, she can think of nothing worse than having to tolerate that for eternity.

Not that anyone cares to ask her.

"Okay, bloodsucker," Jacob says acridly, his irritation as plain as day. Even with his brothers settled behind him, battle-ready in their practised formation, he is ill at ease, his posture rigid as he sizes up the opposition. "What's so complicated about it?"

"I have to consider every possibility," Edward says, unruffled. "What if someone gets by you?"

Jacob snorts derisively, his casually slung arm tightening around Leah's shoulders in a vice grip. "Leave her on the reservation. We're making Collin and Brady stay behind with the imprints anyway. She'll be safe there."

"Are you talking about me?" Bella interjects, clinging to Edward's marble arm with a desperation so strong that Leah can almost taste it.

If Edward hears her mental jibe, he doesn't react, clearly more concerned with perusing Jacob's thoughts.

"Staying in Forks is out of the question, Bella." Edward says, placating. "They know where to look for you. What if someone slipped by us?"

"Charlie?" she gasps, her face blanching into a sickly shade of grey.

(Interesting, Leah notes, that Bella does have some modicum of concern for her father after all. At what point will her concern ease — when Edward slips a ring on her finger, or the moment one of the bloodsuckers' fangs pierces her jugular?)

"We are all concerned for Charlie," Edward says evenly, though the words aren't directed towards Bella. "I presume Jacob already has intentions to house him on the Reservation."

"He'll be with Billy," Jacob says immediately. "If my dad has to commit murder to get him there, he'll do it. Probably it won't take that much. It's this Saturday, right? There's a game." He looks at Bella. "I'm sure he wouldn't object to you driving him there."

"That won't be possible. She's been back and forth too much," Edward says, a furrow forming over his brow. "She's left trails all over the place. Alice only sees very young vampires coming on the hunt, but obviously someone created them. If this really is all Victoria's doing, then she assuredly has someone more experienced behind this. Whoever he or she is, this could all be a distraction. Alice will see if a decision is made to search for Bella, but we could be very busy at the time that decision is made. Maybe someone is counting on that. I can't leave Bella somewhere she's been frequently. She has to be hard to find, just in case. It's a very long shot, but I'm not taking chances."

"So we hide her downwind," Jacob says impatiently. "There's a million possibilities — places that any of us can be in just a few minutes if there's a need."

"Her scent is too strong and, combined with mine, especially distinct. Our trace is all over the range, but in conjunction with Bella's scent, it would catch their attention. We're not sure exactly which path they'll take, because they don't know yet. If they crossed her scent before they found us . . ."

"There has to be a way to make it work," Jacob mutters, his gaze flicking restlessly towards the waiting pack. "Our scent disgusts you, right?"

Edward hums noncommittally. "Hmm. It's possible. Jasper?" he calls, beckoning him forwards.

In a flash, Jasper materialises at Edward's side, evidently eager for action.

"When you're ready, Jacob." Edward says with a brisk nod.

Jacob ducks his head to murmur into Leah's ear — words that all in attendance will undoubtedly hear, though a feigned attempt at privacy is surely better than none at all.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, breathing the words into her hair.

"Do you need to ask?" she replies, her dark eyes boring into his. He asked the same of Sam last night, his plans already slotting into motion before receiving the approval he didn't need.

Approval that he does not need from her, either.

"Get it over with," she says, resigned. And then, because she cannot resist: "I'm not missing my bedtime to listen to two-thirds of a conversation."

Jacob turns to face his brothers, a strange expression settling on his face. "We're going to see if I can confuse her scent enough to hide Bella's trail."

The three wolves grumble low enough that Leah doesn't need to be linked into their collective consciousness to parse their level of approval — she's hardly fond of the concept herself, and she doesn't even know the finer details.

"You're going to have to let him carry you, Bella." Despite his measured tone, Edward's distaste is clear. "Bella's scent is so much more potent to me — I thought it would be a fairer test if someone else tried," he explains to Jasper, apparently unwilling to watch as Jacob closes the distance in a couple of lumbering steps and hoists Bella up into his arms.

Leah, however, cannot look away.

Jacob waits until she gives a stiff nod before turning and striding towards the woods, melting from view within seconds. They hardly travel far; within a minute or so he is re-entering the clearing from a different angle, making a beeline towards a waiting Edward and Jasper before lowering Bella to her feet.

"Well?" he demands.

"As long as you don't touch anything, Bella, I can't imagine someone sticking their nose close enough to that trail to catch your scent," Jasper says with a grimace, wrinkling his nose. "It also gave me an idea."

"Which will work," Alice adds confidently.

"Clever," Edward agrees, beckoning Bella back to his side.

"Are you going to share the wisdom with us lesser beings?" Jacob asks with a scowl.

Edward ignores Jacob, speaking directly to Bella as he explains. "We're going to leave a false trail to the clearing. The newborns are hunting, your scent will excite them, and they'll come exactly the way we want them to without being careful about it. Alice can already see that this will work. When they catch our scent, they'll split up and try to come at us from two sides. Half will go through the forest, where her vision suddenly disappears . . ."

"Yes!" Jacob hisses.

"Don't bother," Edward says suddenly, shooting Jasper an icy glare. "You're not making the plan."

"I know, I know," Jasper says wistfully. "I wasn't really considering it. But if Bella was there in the clearing . . . it would drive them insane. They wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything but her. It would make picking them off truly easy . . ."

Edward's glare has Jasper backtracking, though the gleam in his yellow eyes and the sidelong glance at Bella could be mistaken for nothing but pure yearning.

"No," Edward says, his voice stern.

Jasper nods. "You're right." He takes Alice's hand, leading her back to the rest of the Cullens who have begun practising their newly learned tactics amongst themselves, and he doesn't look back.

Wise of him.

Leah ducks her head, hiding her smile as he retreats. If it didn't go against her nature, and his existence wasn't part of the reason the lives of her family had been upended, she thinks that she would probably quite like Jasper.

Edward looks at her with no small amount of displeasure. "He thinks the same about you."

"Not about your girlfriend, though, clearly," she says, imagining Bella in the middle of the battlefield, cowering for her life as the newborns rush at her.

It's quite a vivid picture. An enjoyable one, too.

Edward scowls at her. "Jasper looks at things from a military perspective. He considers all the options," he says defensively, eyes hardening. "It's thoroughness, not callousness. He would never risk Bella's life."

"Didn't sound that way to me," Leah remarks. Beside her, Jacob snorts, not even trying to cover the sudden noise with a cough.

"I'll bring Bella here Wednesday afternoon to lay the false trail. You can meet us afterwards and carry her to a place I know. Completely out of the way, easily defensible — not that it will come to that. I'll take another route there."

"And then what? Leave her with a cell phone?" Jacob asks critically.

"You have a better idea?"

"Actually, I do."

"Oh . . . Again, dog, not bad at all."

Jacob turns to face Leah, his expression already set into one that she knows to associate with trouble. "We tried to talk Seth into staying behind with Brady and Collin, but he's stubborn and he's resisting. I've thought of a new assignment for him — cell phone."

Bella looks helplessly between them, clearly out of the loop for the millionth time that evening.

"As long as Seth is in his wolf form, he'll be connected to the pack," Edward tells her. Then, to Jacob, he adds, "Distance isn't a problem?"

"Nope."

"It's a good idea," Edward says reluctantly. "I'll feel better with Seth there, even without the instantaneous communication. I don't know if I'd be able to leave Bella there alone. To think it's come to this, though! Trusting werewolves!"

"Fighting with vampires instead of against them!" Jacob mirrors Edward's tone of disgust.

"Well, you still get to fight against some of them."

Jacob smiles mirthlessly. "That's the reason we're here."

A/N: A new one-shot featuring Embry, Quil, Jacob and Leah can be found at archiveofourown dot org (/) works (/) 38578416