A/N: When I tell you that writing and posting takes every scrap of my being...believe it. Chapter 24 has finally arrived! Also, this chapter requires a content warning - thank you to one of my lovely reviewers for alerting me of the issue. This chapter contains explicit scenes of Leah and Quil being happy together. Reader discretion is advised.
In each and every day that follows, Lex feels the string between her and Embry pulling taut. Her days are punctuated by intermittent pangs of stinging pain, momentarily clouding her vision and electrifying her senses. It hits her as she fumbles for her change at the supermarket, when she files her forms at the DMV, and even while she delivers her final presentation at college. Breathing through the flashes becomes a part of her daily routine, as commonplace as texting Kim and hassling Quil.
Quil, who forbids her from calling Jacob in a panic every time the bond tugs and strains.
The first time she'd realised what the pain was, when she'd realised that Embry was in immense discomfort – if not on his literal deathbed – Quil had been stoic in acknowledging her revelation. She'd expected tears and protests and calls for sudden action, but he'd simply nodded and patted her on the arm, the kind of soothing touch he often gave Claire when she was acting up.
"Why are you being so calm?" she'd hissed, studying his face for any clues.
His typical smirk was nowhere to be found; his expression was smooth and expressionless, as if it were any other day, and any other situation.
"Because it was always going to happen, Lexi. Fucking with fate has consequences."
"I can't let him die! Come on, I know you care more than this. Where's your phone – we can call Jake –" she started, scrambling to dress, intending to go somewhere, to do something.
He wrapped an arm around her bicep, hauling her back into bed as if she were as light as a doll.
"Things are already in motion, L. Embry can handle it from here."
"And if he dies?" she cried, her voice rising to a shriek. "He's hurting, Quil, I can feel every fucking thing! He needs us –"
Quil studied her with an inscrutable expression, seemingly nonplussed by her increasing volume. "He needed you. You've made your choice. Let him make his."
She'd fallen asleep with wet cheeks and a terrible awareness of what the future was set to bring, a purpose that was made even more dreadful by the persistent ache in her chest.
Lex had made her choice, and the nature of that decision was becoming abundantly clear.
Her choice was murder.
Despite the chilling realisation, time continues to march onward, and she never hears from Jacob (as if he'd voluntarily speak with her, anyway). The pain remains as raw and real as it was when Embry had first driven away from La Push, and it's a kind of comfort – a guarantee that, somewhere, he lives. He lives and he breathes and he burns as she does, regardless of the time and space stretching between them.
Then, on a day when she finally starts to believe that she's getting her life under control, it happens.
The pain stops.
Christmas becomes synonymous with The Day I Killed My Sort-Of Boyfriend to Lex, who steadfastly refuses to leave her bedroom for the following three days. Logically, she knows the Earth continues to turn, and the sun rises and falls like clockwork, but the very fabric of her life has been irrevocably changed. Outside, the world continues on, oblivious of the immeasurable loss that Embry's demise represents.
When she finally surfaces, looking as worn and bedraggled as a figure from beyond the grave, Quil makes a sacrilegious comparison to Jesus' resurrection, coaxing her mouth into a smile for the first time since it happened.
Quil has to strain his ears to hear her muttered reply - "I died, but look–I am alive forever and ever!" - and he starts to wonder whether she needs a therapist, an exorcist, or both.
Death is easy, and living is hard, but watching your best friend's girl collapse under the weight of his untimely death is far harder than anything he's ever experienced, and probably anything else he ever will. He can only imagine what she's thinking about - likely something morbid about following in Embry's wake - but as he watches her pad her way into the kitchenette, frowning to herself, he can't bring himself to feel anything but resignation.
If the fates were written, Embry's would be inked in blood.
Whether he's paid penance for the sins of his father, or laid down his life to ensure Lex's freedom, the consequence is the same: an eternal quietening of the voice that had so often filled his head, and a permanent space in his heart that he'd held for his spirit brother.
Phasing had only confirmed the loss, hammering in the reality that Embry was gone - from the pack, from Quil's life, from life itself. Quil had only managed a small sliver of his allotted patrol shift before he'd shrank into his skin, melting from the group consciousness before his grief could fully imbue the collective brain. Embry had been there when he'd taken his first shaky steps as a newly-phased wolf, but he'd never see the final paw prints he left in the mud behind Lex's house.
Pack life had destroyed more than it could ever give.
He was done.
Functioning in a world without him takes all of her focus, and then some.
Left foot.
Right.
Grab coffee pot.
Pour.
It should have been me, she thinks, desperately trying to recall the amber glint of his eyes in sunlight, of saltwater on bronzed skin and soft lips pressed against her cheek. It's starting to sink in, the realisation that she'll never have a chance to fall for him the way he fell for her, and it's far too late. Memories are the only things of his that she can lay claim to, and it's not enough.
It will never be enough.
A warm hand presses against the small of her back. "You can stop pouring, Lex."
She blinks, finally looking down at her mug. It's completely filled, and then some, the coffee trickling over the surrounding surfaces like slow-moving magma.
"Oh."
Leah sops up the liquid with a dishrag, squeegeeing the counter again and again until the familiar tawny formica emerges. She tosses the rag in the sink with a wet splat, spattering the dish drainer with soggy grinds.
She leans in, wrinkling her nose as she sniffs Lex's neck. "Go take a shower. Hell, take your coffee with you. I'll look for something edible."
Lex stares, waiting for the punchline. Leah returns the look blankly. "What?"
"Why are you being nice to me?"
"Quil told me what you did. I don't blame you. I'd have done the same to Sam, if I'd thought of it. He'd be better off dead, anyway."
"Leah!" Quil scolds, poking his head through the doorway. "No wishing death on people, even if they're exes. Actually, especially if they're exes. That's just poor form."
She shrugs. "It's warranted."
"I guess," he says, his frown wavering. "I suppose if I had to pick someone…"
"Anyway, go de-stink yourself. We'll be here," Leah says, firmly pushing her towards the bathroom. "I'll try not to take Quil out in the meantime."
Lex isn't sure whether that's a threat or a promise, but she obeys nonetheless, carrying her precariously full mug to the shower. She has to put the cup down to weep as she takes in her changed surroundings; a super-fluffy towel, a small mountain of various fruity soaps, and a folded pair of cartoon pyjamas are neatly stacked on the laundry hamper.
Quil?
Leah?
Both of them? And since when had that happened, anyway?
Lex mulls it over as she bathes, trying to recall all of the times she's seen them in the same room (not that she has many memories of the pack to pull from). She's witnessed Leah verbally castigating him more times than she can count, and he's definitely been smacked upside the head more than once.
Still…
Leah had put him in a headlock a few weeks back, and he'd curled an arm around her waist to keep his footing. She didn't try to shake him loose, and he hadn't struggled to escape her iron-clad grip.
By the time Lex has finished rinsing off, she's become absolutely certain of a few things.
First, that Quil and Leah are banging on the reg.
Second, that she's beyond unobservant.
And finally, the most important revelation: not only has she been a menace to Embry, but she's been a terrible friend to everyone else that she cares about.
Explaining these realisations to the pair in her kitchen (who she's pretty sure she interrupted making out, judging by the red flush of Leah's cheeks) is a harder task than previously anticipated.
Quil simply grins, wrapping her in a tight embrace. "Welcome back."
Leah scowls. "This," she says, gesturing wildly between herself and Quil, "is not a thing. Not in the slightest."
"Yeah, I wouldn't call us a thing. That's no way to describe true love," he says solemnly, ducking before she can clip him in the ear.
"Ateara, I am going to commit capital murder, and I will enjoy it," she bellows, scrambling to grab a hold of him. "Oh, McKinley, there's eggs on the counter. We'll be back."
She darts out of the back door, hot on Quil's heels before Lex can even formulate a reply.
Her first realisation was totally correct: they're most definitely a thing, the sort that cooks together. She's positive that it still counts as cooking, even if the product - rubbery scrambled eggs that more closely resemble a melted frisbee - isn't necessarily edible.
Embry would've loved to see it.
By the time Lex musters the willpower to dial Kim's number, she's already heard the news from Jared, who inevitably heard it through the mental grapevine.
"Lex, baby, I'm so sorry," Kim murmurs, humming sympathetically as she weeps. "I'll come and get you. Just stay put."
The trip onto the Reservation is silent, aside from the slightly smoother clunking of Kim's engine. The afternoon is welcomed in with thick, rolling clouds that birth fat teardrops, exploding into tiny beads of moisture that dot the dented hood. Kim's ruined beater is home to a myriad of memories of her life in Forks, of the family she's crafted out of the kindness of strangers and the hospitality of shapeshifters.
She'll miss Kim, once everything is over.
Lex stares blankly out the window, watching as the firs blend together into one giant streak of green. They say nothing out loud; their shared understanding of the gigantic mess that has unfolded speaks volumes in itself. What else is there that could possibly be said, when a man is dead, and a family divided?
She closes her eyes, pressing her forehead against the cool window glass. Relief should come easily, now that her ties have been severed, but the only thing left to feel is a sick sense of guilt. She can't pass a single spot in La Push that doesn't evoke ghostly whispers of a better time; she can't escape the lingering jolts of his spirit that are woven into the very fabric of the land. Even with her eyes squeezed tight, she feels him with her, tethering her to the earth like a counterweight.
Even in death, Embry puts her comfort above his own.
Her eyelids flutter open as the car shudders to a stop, their arrival announced with the crunching of the gearbox and the squealing of her tires.
"Sorry," she mutters, twisting her keys free of the ignition. "Power steering is jacked."
That's not what Lex takes issue with, though.
It's more of the fact that they're parked askew Emily's withering vegetable garden; a home that she'd vowed to never return.
Kim raises her palms in surrender. "Sam ordered Jared to bring you here. I figured it would be less traumatic if I came and got you."
"You...you're on their side," she exhales, piecing it all together: Kim's growing standoffishness, her infrequent visits to Forks, her hesitance around Leah. The clues, scrutinised from an alternate angle, suddenly point to an entirely different conclusion.
"Lex, listen," Kim urges, grabbing her hand.
She pulls away.
"How could you? You knew where we were going, and you said nothing. I thought you were my friend."
Her voice is thin and reedy, pathetically small, and it takes all of her effort to restrain the tears that are threatening to overflow.
"I'll get you out of here, I promise. Come inside, we'll get it over with, and I'll take you back to Forks. Please, understand - if it wasn't Jared," Kim mutters, her voice trailing off. "You don't know what they'd do to him."
Before she can utter a reply, the wooden door swings open, revealing a shirtless and disgruntled Sam. He says nothing, watching them both with a hard stare, and, somehow, that's worse.
"I'll look after you," Kim vows, as if she could somehow hold a candle to the strength of the wolves, clambering out of the car without a backward glance.
Lex has no choice but to follow, feeling as if she's walking towards her execution.
Breathe.
Left foot.
Right.
Breathe again.
Survive - because, if anything, that's what he would have wanted.
"Again," Sam demands, leaning back in the dining chair.
The wooden slats strain beneath the weight of his bulky frame, and Lex would pay any price to see him crashing through the structure, sprawling painfully on the linoleum.
Lex shakes her head stiffly. "I've already told you twice. I don't know where he is. I don't see why it matters."
"Why it matters?" Sam jeers, echoing her words in a voice far harsher than her own. "You're his imprint! Your obligations to the pack cannot be ignored - and that applies to him, too. He must be here."
Jared leans forward from his position at Sam's side, cautiously eyeing his alpha. "Sam's worried about Embry. We all are. I know you can feel him, even if you're trying to ignore it. Just tell us where he is, Lex, and we can handle it from here."
She stares into her lap, trying to summon an ounce of courage. What would Embry want her to do?
She can't even turn to Kim for help - Emily had bustled her away into the depths of the house with an icy stare, leaving Lex alone with Sam and his men. She doesn't quite fear Jared, not really, but this version of him is more than unnerving. There are two clear sides to him, the real one and the pack bravado, and it's an unsettling display of machismo that unsettles every cell of her body.
"I've already told you," she repeats, avoiding Sam's glare. "I can't feel him. If I could, maybe I'd know where he is, but there's nothing there. Em's gone."
Her lips stumble over forming his name, as if it were an infrequently uttered curse. There will come a day when she says his name for the last time, unaware of the finality of it all, and the uncertainty tortures her. How long until she forgets him - forgets his sacrifice?
Sam grits his teeth. "You've given me no choice. You're staying here until we find him. Paul can take the first watch."
Paul, who'd previously been staring resignedly into space, scowls. "Bullshit. You know I'm a kick-ass tracker. Let me at him."
Sam shakes his head. "You stay with Alexandra. She can't be trusted around Jared or Quil. Alert me immediately if she tries anything."
He signals to Jared, leading him out the back door like a well-trained pet. They shift in pure synchronicity, casting their well-worn jorts aside, leaving behind a ghost of a conversation and the long-forgotten promise of family.
Paul studies her, though his gaze holds no real malice. "You really don't know, do you?"
She shakes her head, feeling tears bubbling up to the surface. "I felt the pull when he left, and I knew that things were getting bad. I didn't think it would get to this."
"What d'you reckon? Think they'll find a body?"
"Jesus, Paul, would it kill you to be a decent person for more than five minutes?" Kim scolds, squeezing around Emily to slip into the room, flopping down beside Lex.
He shrugs. "It was just a question."
"Time and a place, asshole," she says, scowling. "Anyway, Lex, I just texted my mom, and she's on her way over."
"Uh, okay?"
"Kimberly, this isn't your home. You need to tell her to turn that car around -"
"Emily, I'm done taking orders from you. Be a sweetheart and set the kettle to boil," Kim says, dismissively waving her hand as she pulls out her phone.
"Suit yourself. I suppose Sam can take the issue up with Jared."
Kim's fingers still as she raises her glare. "Actually, no. You can speak to me if you have a problem. So, tell me. Do we have a problem?"
Emily pauses for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, before silently retreating to the kitchen. Kim says nothing, but the tiny smirk adorning her lips is enough to set the tone.
"Ree-ow!" Paul crows, miming a cat's paw. "Front row tickets to the brawl. Can't wait to see your mom throw down, Kimmy."
"I'd just like to say that today sucks," Lex groans, propping her head up with a palm.
Maybe if she makes a break for the back door.
Or perhaps if a well-timed bathroom break ends with a Quil-inspired shimmy through the window.
Even a desperate plea directed at the next person to cross the threshold could work.
"Paul, come and grab a tray!" Emily calls, repeating the summons when he fails to move. "Hurry it up!"
He rolls his eyes as he stands. "Are you stuck in here with me, or are we all stuck with her?"
The moment he leaves the room, Kim grips Lex's arm so firmly that it leaves tiny red crescent moons in her flesh.
"Leah and Quil are coming. Put your shoes on," Kim hisses, thrusting Lex's battered moccasins into her hands.
"Your mom?" she whispers, hurriedly readying herself for action.
"My God, L, I don't even talk to that bitch. She's a good cover."
"We are so talking about that later," Lex says, pressing a hand to her heart. "That's a promise."
Their conversation abruptly ceases as Paul reenters the room, arms laden with tea and stale scones and battered crockery.
"Please, keep going. I'd love to hear the gossip," he simpers, smiling mirthlessly at the pair. "Writing a eulogy? Don't let me stop you."
"The only thing stopping us, hon, is how we introduce you. Remind me, what's your middle name?"
The taunting smirk drops from his face. "If you weren't Jared's-"
"Fuck off. I don't belong to him. If anything, he belongs to me," she spits, sporting a scowl that could curdle milk.
"That's the spirit," Leah calls, flinging the porch screen open with a colossal bang. "Ladies, your chauffeur awaits."
Quil nods at them from the driver's seat of Kim's car, jangling the keys with a flourish.
Paul reaches to grab Lex, but Leah's already tugged her out of her chair.
"Go. Now," she growls, pushing her onto the porch.
When Kim reaches for her hand, she takes it, and they throw themselves into the backseat before Paul can draw near. By the sounds of the feral snapping and snarling within the bungalow, overlaid with Emily's high-pitched shrieks, Leah's temporary foray into diplomacy has ended as quickly as it started.
Quil drops the clutch and sends them squealing out of the gravel driveway, cutting tight turns through the deserted suburban streets. The view out the windows is all but a blur, a disorientation that is only exacerbated by the slipping and sliding of their bodies over the lumpy vinyl backseat.
"Seatbelts, please!" he sings, grinning as he meets Lex's eyes in the mirror. "A man only gets to drive like Vin Diesel once."
"Is this necessary?" Lex grunts, trying to dispel the bile tickling at her throat.
"Probably not. Still, way more fun this way," he says, taking a corner at a sickeningly high speed. "Don't worry. Werewolves are excellent drivers."
Kim's ashen skin is clear confirmation of the fact.
"Where're we going?" Lex asks, white-knuckling the grab handle for comfort. The fact that it detaches cleanly from the roof lining as he speeds through the next turn is more than a touch unsettling.
"Forks. Just a little ways further. Don't worry, we've got a plan."
"If we survive this plan, we'll need a new driver for the next one," Kim mutters, looking a hair's breadth away from losing her lunch in the footwell.
"So ungrateful," Quil tsks, manoeuvring with surprising skill around a road closure barricade. "Next time, we'll leave you behind."
He presses the gas just a little more, pushing the car to its absolute limit as they power up the winding road. It's a cacophony of noise - Kim, gagging in her ear; Quil, cursing as he manhandles the gears; and even her own voice, muttering long-disused prayers. Finally, they crest the hill, coasting to a bumpy stop in front of an unfamiliar house. Lex scrambles to open the passenger door, pushing Kim's head over the dirt as she releases a stream of foul-smelling sick.
"Eight minutes, four seconds. Not too shabby."
There's no way.
Quil wrapped them around a tree on the final bend, and her heart gave out with the impact, and this is her euphoric, DMT-fuelled final hurrah.
That explanation makes so much more sense than the alternative: that, somehow, this is reality, bright and shiny and full of promise.
She stares blankly as he approaches, lifting her gently from the dampened earth on which she's come to rest beside Kim.
She stares as he presses his hot palms to her cheeks, fingers brushing over the wetness that has collected there.
"Lex, I did it. We did it. It's over," he murmurs, offering her a look so tender that her stomach lurches.
Her body responds the only way it knows how, doubling her over with the force of her heaving.
"Good thing you wore shoes," Quil jests, cackling as Embry sweeps her hair back.
"Maybe next time you could tell her I'm not dead," Embry grumbles, trying to shake off some of the chunks. "That would be a start."
"Sure, sure," he says agreeably, hoisting Kim into a standing position. "Next time."
A/N: We are almost there! I'm going to try and use my last week of leave to slog through the final two chapters and get them posted before I start my new job. Decision time (for anyone who reads these notes): if there were to be a spicy scene, would y'all prefer it included in the body of a chapter (with a warning at the top) or posted as an outtake? I am totally on the fence with this one - lemme know your thoughts and you'll (most likely) see them reflected in the next update! Thanks again to the lovely people who leave me comments and encouragement - I keep all the email notifs.