1 hour before
It's pitch black when she wakes, sweltering and suffocating under the weight of Embry's sleeping form. He's curled around her, arm flung over her side, protective even in his sleep.
It makes her question whether she's really making the right choice.
The plan was hatched well before Embry wandered into her life: finish her degree, cut her father off, start over anew. She'd squared the first two away, achieving them with far less effort than she'd originally expected - because who could ever predict the existence, let alone involvement, of shapeshifters in her grand reinvention scheme. Falling in love and settling down in some tiny town was never an option; she'd watched her mother fall victim to the machinations of her father, and she'd be damned if she went the same way, her suffering forgotten in a sea of troubles.
Embry was different; she knew that with every ounce of her soul, and still, it would never be enough to tether her to Forks. She's already caused him enough heartbreak, driving an insurmountable wedge between him and his pack, and the idea of asking him to leave - hell, for him to run away with her - was inconceivable.
He needed his family.
She'd need to learn to live without him.
Lex slithers out of his grasp, dressing silently in the darkness. If he wakes, she decides, eyeing his slumbering frame, I'll stay. It'll be a sign.
He snores the whole time she pens her goodbye note, snoozing soundly through her scratching and scribbling.
The sky is pink when she leaves, bathing his home in a warm glow, and she presses her mind to commit the moment to memory. Even now, she knows this will be a place she'll miss, the sort she'll visit again and again in dreams and wishes and fantasies.
Embry will always be her hardest goodbye.
2 hours after
He's read and re-read her letter more times than he can count, but the words are yet to sink in. They'd worked it all out – she'd declared her love for him, for Christ's sake, and then fucked the absolute daylights out of him – and now she was gone, leaving behind only a crushing sense of despair and a crumpled, handwritten note. Embry unfolds the paper, smoothing out the creases to pore over the loopy words again, when a warm hand presses over his.
"Em. You need to stop. For now, at least," Quil says, gently prying the note from his grasp. "I promise I'll give it back later."
His body ripples with the tell-tale tremors of an impending shift, but it won't happen.
He won't let it happen.
"What am I supposed to do now?" he bites out through measured breaths. Slowly, surely, the violent vibrations subside.
Quil sinks down beside him, pressing a hot hand to his shoulder blade. "You scream and you cry and you throw her loafers off the cliffs and pay Old Quil five bucks to put a blood curse on her. You drink to lose yourself, sober up to find your dignity, throw up on Sam's doorstep for the sake of it. You struggle. You hurt. And, eventually, you'll get better. You're in the business of living, Em, and sometimes it's fucking rough."
Embry lets out a low whistle, finally raising his head to look at his friend. "That was pretty damn profound, Q. When'd you get so wise?"
He grins, cocking his head towards the couch. There's an unidentifiable lump under the blankets, but Embry doesn't need to be a genius to infer who's under the covers.
"Learned a lot from that one," Quil says, chortling as Leah pokes her hand out to give a thumbs down. "Knocked a bit of sense into me."
"Surprised you've still got brain cells," she comments, yawning. "For real though, dick move from Lex. That's rough. I get it, though – I barely knew who I was with Sam, and it took a long freaking time to figure it out. It'll work out. You've still got us."
Embry smiles, feeling a little flicker of hope bloom in his chest. "I'd hate to make assumptions, Lee, but I'm pretty sure this conversation makes us friends."
Leah rolls off the couch, trudging towards the kitchen with the duvet tucked around her shoulders. "As if. I barely tolerate Quil as it is."
Quil leans towards Embry, speaking in a stage whisper specifically intended for Leah's ears. "She loves me, man. I'm her bitch."
Not even a wooden spoon to the back of his head can diminish Quil's broad, goofy grin, nor Embry's momentary lightness.
3 months after
There's a woman waiting for her, cross-legged on a desk, as she unlocks the classroom door, precariously balancing a stack of books and her backpack and a half-spilled coffee.
"Hi!" she chirps, waving so enthusiastically that her thick braids ripple. "Are you Alex?'
The decision is instantaneous, recasting herself in a flash. "Yeah. I am."
The stranger beams, clapping her hands together. "Oh, I'm so happy you're here! I'm Angela - I have the class next door. I hear you're from Washington, too?"
Lex nods, attempting to summon a friendly expression. "Yeah, around Clallum. Thought it was time for a fresh start, and this seemed like a good place to go."
Angela nods sympathetically. "I get you. Small towns can be kinda draining." She pauses for a moment, biting her lip, before continuing. "Anyway - welcome to Springville Elementary! We'll have you singing Oregon's praises by January."
"Any tips for a newbie?" she asks, flashing back to her first day at Forks Peninsula, sat beside Kim in some mildewed portable building.
"Never trust a Meatball Monday, avoid Dave from fifth grade, and save your breakdowns for the art supply room in the south wing," Angela lists, counting the tips on her fingers. "Oh, and come see me anytime. I'm here for you, girl."
Angela bids goodbye shortly after, and Lex waits a grand total of three minutes before breaking one of the cardinal rules, crying quietly in her storage cupboard, fingers itching to dial one of the only cell numbers she'd ever committed to memory.
The cell remains in her coat pocket.
Her tears dry before the first bell.
Life goes on.
4 months after
Billy relinquishes the keys to the warehouse on an otherwise forgettable Tuesday, muttering something unintelligible about community spirit and tribal service. It takes Jacob a long moment to understand, and even longer for him to lumber out of his chair, throwing his bulky arms around his father in a dangerously tight squeeze. He's waved away with the shake of a head and a stream of blase comments, but there's no mistaking the gleam in Billy's eye.
Dad's proud of him, and for something that's not tied to his unceasing fulfilment of his birthright.
Privately, Jacob sheds a few tears on his slow walk over to his packmates' house - Embry and Quil will always be his pack brothers, regardless of how much time passes - marvelling at how much has changed in the months since the schism.
Quil had refused to phase after Embry's return, and Jacob could hardly blame him - who wanted to be involved in all that bullshit?
(Jacob was still of two minds, but time would always be on his side. There was no reason for immortality after Ness had waved him away, citing a need for eternal space after a well-timed trip south of the border to see Nahuel, but Jacob wasn't quite ready to say goodbye to his other self.)
Jared whoops with unbridled delight when he opens the door, instantly spotting the giant keyring in Jacob's hand, and Quil damn near phases in his excitement.
Embry smiles, his mouth upturned slightly at the corners, and for a brief moment, the twinkle returns to his eye.
It's all the celebration he could ever have dreamed of.
(He recalls this moment frequently in times of peril, like when they'd unanimously vetoed his suggestion to name their garage Black Automotives; anyone would agree that it was far superior to the agreed-upon Kadidu Car Care, irony be damned.)
6 months after
Her loud laugh cuts through the din of the bar, jolting Lex back to the present. "C'mon, don't tell me you're wimping out."
Lex shrugs, stirring her martini. "I don't do home visits. Oregon's my home now, anyway."
Angela rolls her eyes, taking a long sip of her fruity concoction. "See, I used to say that, and then I dealt with the actual issue."
"Which was?"
"Coming out," she says, shrugging. "I always thought the pastor's daughter had to be on the straight and narrow. I came out, life went on, I visited for Christmas and somehow, didn't get burned at the stake. You should try it."
"I'm not gay," she insists, holding her friend's piercing gaze. "Just dealing with a complicated relationship. A straight one."
"Thanks for the clarification," Angela snorts, finishing her cocktail. "Well, you're always welcome to ride with me. Maybe spring break?"
"I'll think about it," Lex mutters, spearing an olive with a toothpick.
She won't.
9 months after
"Call! How long on the Mallory's SUV?" Quil bellows.
Embry fumbles the spanner, dropping the tiny bolt onto the greasy workshop floor. "Fuck," he hisses, scrambling to find the cursed thing.
"Embry!" Quil calls, closer this time. "What's the hold-up?"
Embry shuffles out from underneath the car, resolving to forget about the bolt. There'll be a spare somewhere, surely.
"Just finishing up the transmission. Thirty, tops," he grunts, stretching out the kinks in his neck. "Why?"
"Jared just called. Apparently, he's rustled up some business with the P.D., but we're going to need the floor space. I've already got the pups churning out the little jobs."
"For the record, I resent that title," Collin objects, looking up from the engine bay of the Yorkie's van. "I'm eighteen next week."
Embry snorts. "Once a pup, always a pup. Finish that job before I knock out mine and I'll consider a different title."
Collin beams, immediately ducking his head to resume his clumsy ministrations.
(He's got no chance - the leads are reversed, and the hoses are a mess, but fuck telling Collin that.)
Quil punches him on the shoulder, offering him a mischievous smile. "I'll order Chinese. Don't take too long."
He won't.
He's got this mechanic thing down to a science.
1 year after
For once, the wait to see Principal Needham is brief - five minutes, if that. She spends her time surveying the stark surroundings of his waiting room, contemplating the array of framed certificates in extensive detail.
The wooden door swings open.
"Alexandria?"
She stands, striding quickly to enter his office, perching on a rock-hard chair opposite his immaculate desk. It's four-thirty on the final day of school, and her mind's already elsewhere, thinking about the margaritas she and Angela will be stuck into the moment this meeting has finished. The kids have left, her classroom's already packed up, and there's nothing she craves more than five minutes of blessed peace and quiet. Even so, she smiles sweetly at Principal Needham, wishing that it was socially acceptable to ask someone whether a meeting could have been an email.
"Thanks for coming in. I understand that you teachers are all eager to head home and get some rest. I'll make it quick."
Lex nods, already imagining his next words. Probably something like you're teaching first grade next year (a nightmare) or maybe even we need you to chair homework club.
"It's been wonderful having you here, Alexandria. For a new teacher, you've really done well. The parent feedback has been wonderful."
She allows herself to smile in spite of her apprehension, grateful for his acknowledgement.
"However, our numbers are down for next year. We won't have a place for you."
Her heart drops to her stomach. "I- I don't understand."
"You'll need to find a new job," he says curtly, already clacking away on his keyboard. "I do have some suggestions, if you'd like them."
"Please," she squeezes out, willing herself not to cry.
Save it for the bar, she mentally chants, surreptitiously taking tiny breaths. Angela will know what to do. She'll have to.
"There's nothing in the district. You could try Clackamas, see if there are any postings out there. I do know of a position interstate that I could put you forward for, but that will require you to relocate-"
"I'll do it," she breathes, already envisaging pink slips and endless job searching and a tarnished reputation if she stays. "Where?"
"Washington State," he says distractedly, copying details onto a notecard. "Give Bob Banner a call. He's a good friend of mine - I'll let him know you'll be asking around. Good luck."
Principal Needham doesn't bother to raise his eyes from his monitor, and she doesn't bother with a goodbye; the acrid tang in her mouth doesn't bode well for sweet words.
Lex waits until she's in the parking lot, unlocking her battered Toyota Tacoma, to keel over and retch up her lunch - four-day-old pasta salad, heavily discounted in the cafeteria - all over her second-hand boots.
Fantastic.
1 year, 1 month after
She's awoken by the familiar melody of honking horns and indistinguishable chatter that have become a permanent fixture in her daily soundscape, rousing her from fragmented dreams that ebb and flow with the stresses of everyday life. Her therapist assures her that it's entirely normal, that her brain is processing an assortment of memories, sorting through childhood trauma and recent conflicts with her students' parents and flashes of Embry that filter through to her waking mind. The time, the distance, the lack of contact; it's helped a little, and the ache did fade with time, as both Kim and her therapist had affirmed, but it doesn't make her miss him any less.
Lex rolls over in her twin size bed, gazing at the world through her fourth-storey window. It's as dreary as ever, grey clouds rolling in thick over the horizon, warning of impending storms. Oregon's different enough to Washington - a little less rain, a little more sunshine - but it's distinct enough for her to miss the latter. She misses sleepy mornings tucked under blankets, late nights around bonfires, the comfort he brought.
She'd tried calling, once, dialling his number before she could stop herself. It rang, again and again, before finally being answered.
"Hello?" she'd breathed, anxiously anticipating his deep baritone.
"Is that Lex?" a voice had questioned - a female voice - and Lex had hit the end key instantly, dropping her phone into her bedside drawer.
Everything had changed, and yet some things were still her own:
Her longing.
Her regret.
Her knowledge that it was far too late.
Moving had helped her heal, that much was clear; it had come at the cost of her hard-won friendships, of Kim's enduring care, Quil's lighthearted teasing, all evaporating overnight. It had been foolish to expect them to take her side, prioritising her company over their lifelong best friend, but she'd been naive enough to hope.
Hope was foolish.
When she packs up her apartment, boxing up her meagre collection of possessions with Angela's help, she doesn't bother texting her old circle.
Too long has passed, and the scars run far too deep.
When she returns to Forks, toughened and wiser, she'll be just another pale face.
Part of her likes it that way.
1 year, 2 months after
"Alex, I can't thank you enough for making the trip - I thought I'd have to jump back into the classroom!" Principal Banner - just call me Bob - jokes, clapping his hands together. "We'll have a fair few kids bussing in this semester, so it'll be a big learning curve."
She hums in acknowledgement, continuing to pin the letters onto her bulletin board. Lex leans back to take a peek, heart sinking as she notices the thing she'd dreaded most: crooked lettering.
Damn it.
"As I'm sure you've heard, the Reservation elementary school was damaged by flooding last month - plumbing these days just isn't what it used to be, I tell you that," he continues, hands planted on hips. "Anyway, we'll be hosting their students while repairs are completed. You'll just need to keep the kindergarteners from climbing the walls. Can't be too bad."
"Bob, just to let you know, I've only ever taught third-"
"You'll be fine," he says, giving her a thumbs up. "I'll give you some time to prep."
Bob bustles out of her class without a second glance, letting the door slam behind him. It's all so different to Springville - peeling beige walls, chipped linoleum, and a peculiar scent that's a unique medley of mildew and cat urine. This time, there's no Angela to greet her (Angela, who'd been blessed with a third contract renewal), no bright, airy windows, and barely any furniture for her to stake a claim on.
Still, it's hers, and Bob's already floated the idea of renewing her for the next school year.
It can't be too bad, she resolves, dispensing three-quarters of a can of Febreze into the stagnant summer air.
As Kim had once liked to say: famous last words.
1 year, 3 months after
Jacob signs off on an early garage closure, allowing the guys to sneak away to the cliffs to prepare for the bonfire. Embry had never really been too fond of them in the past, blowing them off as unnecessary socialising - after all, how many first weeks of school had he had? - but it's a little different as an adult. Embry finally has the (seemingly) bottomless pocketbook of his childhood fantasies, enabling him to splurge on a decent slab of steak for the cook-out and a modest six-pack of beer.
Screw the muscles - having a normal metabolism that facilitated being as tipsy as God intended was a clear perk of abandoning his pack duties.
Even with his supermarket pit-stop, he's still the first one at the circle, dumping his belongings in the sand. Within minutes, the fire pit is cleared, the kindling is lit, and the fire is ablaze, churning out blistering warmth to the surrounding logs. He lowers himself into the sand, twisting the cap off his long neck and taking a lengthy swig.
It tastes like freedom; freedom from pack life and real-life responsibilities, from enduring a life he hated based on the flimsy excuse that it was tradition.
Bullshit.
As Quil had quipped in a rare moment of wisdom, tradition is just peer pressure from dead people, and Lord knows they've given enough to atone for the failings of their predecessors.
"Em! You're here early!" Collin calls, bounding along the trail with his little cousin in tow.
Collin, much to everyone's surprise, had recently come into guardianship of the miniature terror, becoming a father figure mere weeks after his eighteenth birthday. They'd all pitched in to lend a hand, particularly Emily and Sam who volunteered to watch the demon more often than not, in an attempt to alleviate Collin's deep purple undereye circles. Embry tried, he really did, but that thing screamed bloody murder on a near-constant basis, on top of having a real penchant for kicking unsuspecting victims in the shins.
The fading bruises adorning his calves were a true testament to his humanity.
"Hey, Col," he greets, stretching out a hand to the little one. "Hi, Nick."
Nicholas levels him with a near-feral snarl, face crumpled into an expression that screamed I will bite you, and I will enjoy it.
Embry retracts his hand.
"You're so good with him, Em. Best uncle ever," Collin praises, ruffling Nicholas' tangled hair.
They both pretend to ignore the threatening growl coming from the little monster.
"Uh, sure, I try," he says, folding his legs into an uncomfortable crisscrossed position, already counting down the moments until his next injury.
Nicholas watches his movements with a keen eye.
"Say, you think you could do pick-ups every now and then? The school keeps getting on me for being late, and that's with me trying my best-"
Embry holds up his palms, willing Collin to slow down. "Chill. I'll do it. We'll have fun, right Nick?"
Nicholas crosses his arms, looking menacing beyond his four years. "I don't like you."
Embry blinks, attempting to hold in a laugh (because that really wouldn't appease the dictator). "Okay, bud. I hear ya. Who do you like?"
"I like Miss Taylor," he huffs, lip quivering slightly.
He crouches down, getting closer to the boy - marginally so, at the risk of life and limb - in an attempt to comfort him. "Can you introduce me to Miss Taylor when I pick you up?"
Nicholas nods, and for a moment, there is peace.
Nicholas promptly boots Embry in his kneecap, hurtling away from the logs with a wicked shriek.
"Nicholas Littlesea! You come back here, right now!" Collin bellows, taking off after the tyke.
Embry drops back onto the log, furiously rubbing his throbbing knee.
Little shit.
1 year, 5 months after
It would be a lie if she denied watching the clock, willing it to creep towards three o'clock dismissal just that tiniest bit quicker.
It wasn't that she disliked her job - not in the slightest. In fact, it was quite the opposite: heading up the reformed Kindergarten was quite enjoyable, and it was definitely a challenge (one that kept her awake into the early hours of the morning on many occasions, but who was she to complain?).
Even so, days that began with a skin-piercing bite to the calf and progressed with a record number of tantrums and gentle redirections - seriously, how many times can she say we keep our hands to ourselves before she loses her mind? - were prime for a countdown. As the minute hand creeps towards pack and stack time, she can almost sense her energy ratcheting up a couple of notches, her mind already full of visions of a quiet weekend with a good book and minimal planning work (as if ).
And sure, she rushes the kids through the closing circle, but they're too young to notice the difference, and she's too frazzled to complete the routine properly. They're all loaded up, giant backpacks strapped to tiny bodies, filing out to the yard the moment the afternoon bell rings. She's blessed to have (mostly) prompt parents, eager to take their little ones home for some good old family time (or whatever people do with kids, because domesticity is well beyond her).
The pick-up circle operates like a well-oiled machine, and within her allotted ten minutes, almost all of her students have been collected.
All but one.
Nicholas Littlesea grasps her hand with his sticky one, somehow dirty despite countless reminders to wash with soap, to scrub scrub scrub until clean. Regardless, he huddles by her side, commenting on their surroundings with all the enthusiasm that a moody little thing can muster.
"Truck!" he calls, pointing a grubby finger towards a passing car.
"Yeah!" she encourages, squinting at the road for any signs of a familiar vehicle. "What colour is that one?"
He scrunches up his face in thought, pondering his answer. "Green," he finally decides, quiet as ever. "Col has a green car."
"Is Col picking you up today?" she asks, curious as ever.
She'd gotten the short version of the story from Bob - some kind of parental dilemma, with the childcare onus falling on a teenage cousin - but it was far more interesting to hear it from the kids. Plus, Nicholas was a riot - the bizarre things that came out of his mouth made for excellent staff room conversations, if not guidance counsellor referrals.
"Uncle," he says, tugging on her hand. "Red truck!"
She turns to look at the passing truck, following Nicholas' lead with muted interest, thankful that she can take off soon for a well-deserved espresso.
The truck peels into the lot, taking the corner way too fast - thank goodness the kids have already left, she thinks - as it skids into an empty bay. The engine's barely switched off before the driver clambers out of the vehicle, jogging over to the yard. He's tall and bronzed and muscled in all the right places, clad in a form-fitting fireproof jumpsuit, and when he raises his head, lifting an arm to wave to the pair, it's like the world drops out from beneath her.
His face is greasy, cheekbones streaked with dirt and grime, and his hair is longer and messier than before, but the face is unmistakable.
Embry stops mid-step, frozen in place. He's looking at her, expression somewhere between seeing a ghost and seeing the bail bondsman, and Lex is all too aware that she's staring at him with an equally stunned look.
"Uncle Emmy," Nicholas says as if explaining the secrets of the universe.
Embry gapes at her, completely oblivious to the child he's apparently responsible for.
"Uncle Emmy," Nicholas repeats, impatiently stamping his foot. "I like Miss Taylor more."
It's like that flicks a switch in his head, and he smiles a little. "Miss Taylor? Well, I'm glad you introduced me."
She hurries to speak, to explain her sudden reappearance, but judging by the growing warmth in his countenance, he's in no rush. "I lost my job in Oregon, and they offered me this. Thought I'd come by, start over. Ditched my dad's name."
He nods slowly, taking her in. It's been a long time - well over a year - but it feels like a blip on the radar, like slipping back into comfy clothes after a long day. The crinkles at his eyes when he smiles might be new, but the warmth that spreads through her belly like wildfire certainly isn't.
"You hanging around, Miss Taylor?" he asks, his voice as deliciously deep as she remembered.
She doesn't need to think about her answer.
"Yeah. I am."
"It's pizza night," Nicholas urges, tugging on her hand.
She drops her eyes to him, feeling a little embarrassed at her blatant display of unrestrained infatuation in front of a child. Sure, he's none the wiser, but it's not a good look.
"Are you coming for pizza?" Embry asks, translating Nicholas' statement into a question, and she knows better - she should say no, if not for him, but for her job.
"Same place?"
"As always."
Lex hands Nicholas over with promises of seeing him again soon, and even though she's promised Embry the same, he can barely take his eyes off of her. Their hands brush ever so slightly as she peels Nicholas' hand from hers, and it's like something long-dormant is jerked back to life, buzzing like static. She stands there in the yard, watching his truck pull away, and she knows she should be contemplating her decisions, texting through a cancellation, changing her course, and still she continues on.
The realisation strikes her as she twists her key in the ignition, pulling out onto the main street.
Resisting Embry was never an exercise in what she wanted, driving towards the attainment of her most heartfelt desires. Breaking the imprint, leaving, going silent was not a course of self-actualisation, and reinventing herself as Alex was hardly a cause for celebration. As she turns onto the highway, shifting up a gear, the truth becomes inarguably clear:
It was fear.
She's lived her life in anticipation of the next hit, the next wound for far too long, shying away from risk as thoroughly as she was able. She planned to keep herself safe, to keep herself closed off to the world, and to that end, the plan was an overwhelming success.
She flicks on her blinker, turning into his street, and as the headlights light up his home in the descending gloom, her new course is set.
Fuck hiding.
Fuck angst.
She wants Embry - she has since the moment she met him, and she'd be lying to say otherwise - and she's dabbled in self-denial for far too long. What they have is messy and unconventional and painful, but it's real, regardless of how their connection originated. They have something different, something that blooms with the late nights and early mornings, whispered arguments and careful kisses, miscommunications and surprises, taking his best and his worst. Their love is falling asleep beside your best friend, having the freedom to fall with the surety of being caught, of taking chances and making memories. It's everything she'd dreamed of, and more than she'd ever bargained for, wrapped up in a complex little bow. What they have is a journey, a lifetime's worth of working on herself, on their relationship, and slowing to appreciate everything in between.
It's defining normal; an exercise in learning to accept whatever form love ends up taking for them.
She kills the engine, jerking the parking brake up, and when she climbs out of her car, jumping into the mud with both feet, he's there to steady her.
"I'm sorry," she breathes, craning her neck to get a proper look at him.
He circles his arms around her waist, his grin so wide it looks to take up his entire face. "I forgive you."
Whether he leans down, or she stretches upwards first, will be hotly debated, but the outcome is the same: her chilly hands, cupping his cheeks; his mouth, pressed firmly against hers.
There's a hoot from the porch, but she doesn't care to check.
After all, she finally has what she's been looking for.
The world melts away.
A/N: WE MADE IT TO THE END! From the bottom of my heart, thank you. This fic has seen me through a wide array of life events, including (but not limited to!) severe mental health challenges & recovery, moving house, changing jobs twice, completing my master's degree, AND becoming a total dropkick on twitter - truly couldn't have asked for a better character arc. Time for some shoutouts to a wide array of amazing people who I've had the pleasure to befriend through this wild fandom (Riveriver & Writhing, ily) as well as the fantastic reviewers who have persisted in cheerleading despite long delays: IpswichMyrtle, .2021, CrackHeadBlonde, babylue44, beyondbored321, Mayale, Rachel, WriteAndDream23, and all of the lovely guests who have dropped in (if I have forgotten you, please forgive me - I have appreciated each and every review). Thanks for sticking with me, guys, and please drop me a line if you have any pressing ideas for new fics. And who knows - perhaps a scandalous epilogue may eventuate. Who knows.