A/N: Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays! It's currently 12.35 a.m. on Boxing Day and I am sleepily uploading this because What Is A Bedtime. Anyway, big big appreciative thank you to ReluctantWriter12 (a consistent QUEEN) & guest for your reviews. Thank you to Riveriver for eternally kicking my ass into gear. I love you. Anyway, here's a little splash of Seth POV.

Seth

One week earlier

Brady drags me into Emily and Sam's place at what he deems to be an appropriate hour - gauged by the soft sounds of movement and off-tune humming drifting through the open windows - for a combined intervention slash breakfast. Emily is still in her pyjamas when we traipse into her kitchen in differing states of inebriation and distress (as well as actual dress, given our long night). She takes one look at Brady, her honey-coloured eyes rapidly flicking up and down, before gesturing towards the couch, silently ordering him to sit.

He obeys, lapsing into sleep in seconds.

Emily nods towards an empty stool, bending to rifle through one of her overflowing cabinets, a focused expression settling on her scarred face. She sets aside pots and pans, a crockpot, stacks of mismatched tupperware, before a satisfied smile crosses her lips. Carefully, as not to disturb her leaning tower of kitchenware, she pulls free two obscenely oversized coffee mugs, emblazoned with an old picture of her and Sam.

"Embry's wedding gift," she supplies, rinsing them in the sink. "I save them for emergencies."

Emily fills them to the brim, sliding one across to my waiting hand. I down half of the scalding liquid before she even asks.

"Is this an emergency?"

I close my eyes for a long moment, trying to get my thoughts in order - an impossible feat, given Brady's chainsaw-style snoring.

"The worst," I groan, flexing my fingers repetitively until the tremors subside.

Emily waits patiently, accustomed to all shades of shapeshifter weirdness in her tenure as pack mother. She listens closely as I recount the events of last night in uncomfortable detail, grimacing as pieces of the aftermath slot into place.

Brady is waiting by his truck by the time I emerge from the rink, shaking so rapidly that the edges of my vision blur. He tries to talk to me, to pull me back from the ledge, but I can hardly follow the visual of his mouth moving, let alone focus on the words he speaks. It's like I'm wading through thick, grey fog that seems to solidify the further I am from Jess, compressing my chest until my breath comes in quick, sharp pants.

"Seth," Brady barks, hauling me towards the treeline with an inhuman display of force. "Move, now!'

My body obeys before my mind can properly process his words, edging into the forest only moments before my skin splits, the wolf clamouring to escape. My hockey gear explodes in ribbons of unfurling fabric, covering the forest floor with unnatural splashes of colour, and it's just what I need to feel like a total failure.

Brady rips off his sweats, bursting into fur beside me. Dude, what the fuck? Did you guys get into a fight?

Involuntarily, flashes of Jess slip through my mental filter in technicolour glory; her, sighing my name, her legs coiled around my waist as she writhes -

Old Quil in a swimsuit Obama's inauguration Quadratic formula Transmission repair The cooking channel.

Then, silence.

Shit, Brady thinks, his shock rippling through the mental link like a gunshot. I didn't have that on my bingo card.

Neither, pipes up Collin, gleefully abandoning his patrol route. How the hell did you manage that?

His thoughts are loud, too loud, and it's impossible to ignore him replaying the memories frame-by-frame, lingering on her perfect, parted lips like a repulsive voyeur.

Col, don't start -

All I can feel is red, bubbling rage; a vicious need to my teeth clamping onto his stupid, skinny neck, to make sure that he never thinks of my imprint ever again. He's somewhere over by the river banks, I can see that much, and the trails are so deeply ingrained in my psyche that my wolf leaps into action, driving me deeper into the forest.

Brady sinks his teeth into my hind leg, yanking me down to the forest floor. I kick frantically, clawing at his exposed stomach, but he's quicker, stronger, snapping at my jugular until I fall still, petrified.

I'm not letting you kill him, even if he is a complete dumbass.

He deserves it -

Piss off Clearwater, you brought it up -

Brady growls, cutting us both off. Enough. Phase back, get dressed. We'll talk about this in the car.

He stalks towards the lot, melting into his human form without waiting for a reply.

He's right, though.

You know I wouldn't actually hurt you, right? I think, trying my best to sound apologetic - and I am, mostly.

Yeah, yeah, Collin grumbles, trotting back to the trail. Imprint shit, yada yada yada.

It's as close to a resolution as we'll get, I realise, focusing to pull myself back into my skin. Collin's not a bad guy - just a bad friend, sometimes. No freakin' boundaries.

By the time I'm calm enough to dress, squeezing into the emergency pair of shorts Brady stashed a couple of seasons back, the shame is settling in, colouring my thoughts of Jess, of Collin.

What a mess.

Emily refills my coffee twice, three times as I talk, telling her about my impulsive decisions, my cowardly retreat. She winces when I recall my run-in with Collin, when I mention my total failure to use contraception, dipping out on Jess like some deadbeat. By the time I have her all caught up, the sun is inching its way above the horizon, dawn bathing the kitchen in a golden haze. Brady's snores continue, filling the room with a consistent wash of white noise that almost succeeds in distracting me from the reason why my cheeks are wet, the trigger for Emily's deep frown. I sit quietly at the bench, watching as she moves around the kitchen, preparing for the day. She purses her lips while she works, mulling over my pathetic tale.

Finally, she walks around the counter, wrapping me in a tight hug. Even sitting on the stool, I tower over her, dwarfing my older cousin like it is she who is the child, though actions alone confirm that I am the younger of the pair. She rubs circles on my back as I cry into her shoulder, somehow still with tears despite my sleepless night of moping.

"Okay, Seth, we're going to fix this. I need you to listen carefully because you need to get this right," Emily says gently, stepping back to lean against the counter.

I scrub my eyes dry, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees, immediately focused.

Emily always knows the answers. We can fix this.

I have to fix this.

Step one of the master plan involves bringing Jess to a bonfire, preferably willingly - how I can actually achieve that, I am not sure. Nevertheless, after cold showers and a heaping round of pancakes, Emily sends Brady and me off to help out at the diner, ostensibly so she can take a nap.

I think she's earned it.

To my total surprise, Collin hasn't divulged last night's antics to the rest of the pack - not yet, anyway - judging by Leah's tepid greeting. Sure, she does ask what crawled up my ass and died, but I consider that par for the course. She's never been a morning person, after all, and expecting her to be chipper at eight in the morning is only asking for trouble.

It's easy enough to lose myself in the chaos of breakfast service, tuning out everything but the receipt printer and the smoke alarm - two things that command my attention far more regularly than I'd like - and it feels like seconds before Brady shakes me back to reality, gesturing towards the dining room.

"Jess came looking for you," he explains, giving my shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "Got her waiting outside, go and take a walk, get it sorted out. I'll hang around 'til you get back."

He must sense my hesitation, because he yanks on my apron, pulling at the fabric until I reluctantly acquiesce, letting him take over the line.

"Don't start any fires," I say, pointing at the overfilled flat top.

Brady laughs, stuffing tickets haphazardly onto the order rail. "Never have, never will," he proclaims, shooing me towards the exit. "Get going before she does."

It's good advice - God knows what it took for her to come here, and I can't bank on lightning striking twice - and I hurry through the diner, dodging hyperactive kids and slow-moving patrons and double-wide strollers until fresh air and warm sunlight envelope my weary frame. I scan the lot, promising Taha Aki and whoever else may be listening my firstborn child and my freaking soul if I can have just a smidgen of luck -

And then I see her, a vision in a comfy pullover way too big to be hers, basking peacefully in the morning glow. Her dark hair gleams in the sunlight, some sort of brown that I'm pretty sure just became my favourite colour, maybe second-best when I think about her bright eyes. I almost feel bad for interrupting her, but it's impossible to escape her gravitational pull, a tug in my chest guiding me to exactly where I need to be.

"Jess?" I say, and, somehow, things shift back into place.

Imprint magic.

One week later

Leaping headfirst into Emily's fix-it plan seemed a sure bet to winning Jess over, especially when it came to the bonfire.

Meet the pack? Check.

Hear the legends? Check.

Find out your sort-of boyfriend - who is also your soulmate - can turn into a horse-sized wolf? Check.

In hindsight, it was a little short-sighted to not stop and think about what meeting the pack would actually entail. They're family, sure, and I know they'd have my back anytime, anywhere, but they're hardly without their…peculiarities. Between Jared and Kim being permanently conjoined at the mouth, the foul things that transpire whenever Paul is present, and the neverending drama between Leah and Jake, I don't really know what to expect - and that's without factoring in the rest of the pack.

Jess seems to sense my apprehension the moment I pick her up, if her bouncing knee and tight smile are anything to go by. Still, she asks all of the right questions, nodding while she listens to my rambling explanation of the tangled web of relationships she's about to be ensnared in and, by the time we arrive at the beach, I'm almost convinced that tonight won't be a total disaster.

As soon as I slide out of Brady's truck, jogging around the hood to open Jess' door, we're greeted with an obnoxious chorus of wolf-whistles - pun definitely intended - that echo across the sparsely populated beach. This is the part where Jess is meant to run screaming for the hills - or, at least, Forks - citing unbelievable cringiness and intolerable friends as reasons to lose my number. I'm half-steeling myself for the awkward conversation that my tragic packmates necessitate, but instead, she hops out of the cab, twisting her fingers through mine.

"Relax, Clearwater," she chides, her blue eyes glinting in the moonlight. "This ain't my first rodeo."

With that, she tugs me forward towards the bonfire, setting an impressive pace for a woman whose legs are half the length of mine. Her touch soothes me like nothing else; the wolf in me hums contentedly with the proximity, and the better side of me is entirely transfixed by the uninterrupted skin-to-skin contact. When I first saw imprinting through Sam's eyes, then Jared's, it looked like exploding fireworks and excitement and heart-stopping passion to rival Lifetime movies. And maybe I never noticed, or I never looked deeply enough, to really understand the ever-present connection the imprint brings, the bliss that comes with simply being near the other fragment of your soul.

Imprinting, it turns out, is actually a Pretty Big Deal.

Jess swings our linked hands as we walk down the trail, assuredly steering us towards the cooler as if she does this every weekend. Miraculously, it's still bearing drinks, and she tips her head towards it, beckoning me to choose. I know I should be thinking about beer or the bonfire or literally anything else, but I can't stop looking at the smooth curve of her neck, bone-white in the moonlight -

She leans down, smoothly plucking two bottles from the ice, gripping the necks between her tiny fingers.

"C'mon, spacey. You gonna do the introductions, or is that my job?" she teases, her eyes skimming over the dark figures ahead.

I'm mentally tossing up between Sam and Jake, two relatively safe bets, when the sound of bare feet slapping on concrete startles me into motion. Without thinking, I curl my arm protectively around Jess, moving her behind me as I turn.

Brady throws his hands up, taking a step back. "Easy, easy. Just coming to say hey," he says slowly, eyeing me warily.

Jess' nails dig into my arm, just enough to jolt me back to reality.

It's Brady.

Pack.

I force my mouth into a broad smile, wrapping my arm around Jess' waist until she relaxes slightly. "Man, what did I say about creeping around? You gotta start wearing a bell."

Jess snorts. "How about one of those balloons they put on house turtles, just in case we lose him in a crowd."

Collin bounds over, launching himself onto Brady's back. "Yeah, let's get him a microchip, too," he sniggers, laughing at his own joke.

"You guys suck," Brady groans, unceremoniously dumping Collin into the sand. "Hey, I'm glad you made it, Jess. Also, as your first La Push friend, I'd just like to announce that I reserve the right to be your favourite."

"Give me five minutes," Collin says with a wink, brushing sand from his shorts, "and she'll love me more."

"I'll put ten on that," Jared calls from across the fire, diligently pretending not to see Kim's disapproving eye roll.

"Boys, enough," Emily scolds, standing up from her picnic blanket. "You're going to scare her off."

Jess, to her credit, only smiles, leaning easily into Emily's welcoming embrace. While she's momentarily distracted, I do my best attempt at a threatening gesture at Brady and Collin, trying to convey the total and utter seriousness of this night.

Jared, the asshole, simply laughs, muttering something inaudible to Paul, who has, so far, been incredibly been well-behaved - a spectacular rarity for the man.

After what feels like a lifetime, Emily pulls away, not before whispering something I can't quite catch in Jess' ear. It has to be something encouraging, given the way Jess' lips quirk into a tiny smile, her eyes softening.

I adore Emily.

Jess curls her hand around my bicep, craning her neck to look up at me. She has to repeat herself twice before I hear her properly - those big blue eyes are a one-way ticket to losing my marbles - much to the amusement of my brothers.

"I said, are you going to show me 'round?" she asks, biting back a laugh.

Impulsively, I lean down, pressing a soft kiss to her mouth. It lasts for only a second, if that, but it still electrifies me to my core. "Of course. Let's do some introductions."

She's content to be towed around from person to person, my anxiety ebbing with every conversation she breezes through. Kim excitedly introduces herself, her hand cupped to her rounded belly, while Jared watches her with rapt attention. I don't need a direct line to his thoughts to be able to pinpoint the adoration, still as strong as the day he imprinted on her. It dawns on me that one day, if all goes to plan, this will be us, a permanent fixture in the fabric of the pack. One day, if I am lucky, it will be Jess whose belly swells, and it will be me that watches her with total affection.

I'm getting some good practice in on that last part.

Next, Jess meets Quil, who is largely distracted by Claire's attempts to beat Embry at arm wrestling, and I don't miss the way her eyes linger on Quil for a beat too long, obviously vexed by his intense focus on Claire. I know she has questions, but the answers are even more complicated, and I can only deal with so many complexities in one day - namely surviving introducing her to my mother, who is practically vibrating with barely contained mirth.

Jess bumps her hip into mine, grinning when I throw my arm around her shoulder. "Is it time for the Big Kahuna?"

"You know, I don't think anyone's ever called her that," I muse, leading her over to where Mom's holed up with Billy and Old Quil. "It's kinda fitting."

Mom stands as soon as we are in arm's reach, pulling me into a tight hug. She's on the verge of crying, I can tell, and it's making things a little fuzzy for me, too.

She throws herself at Jess next, who takes the sudden overflow of affection in her stride, squeezing Mom with all her might.

"I can see where Seth gets his love of hugs from," she laughs when Mom releases her, and my heart skips a beat when she takes my hand again.

"He's a good boy," Mom starts, her eyes watery, and I can sense where this is going -

Billy pats her on the hand, distracting her before she can continue, and I vow to buy him the best Christmas present of all time. "We're about to start, Sue. How about you let these kids find a spot?"

His eyes twinkle as he waves us off, content to meddle in whatever he can.

I respect it.

I lead Jess to the other side of the fire, motioning for her to squeeze in beside Kim. When I take my seat, tucking Jess under my arm, Billy clears his throat, the chatter quickly dwindling to an expectant hush. He begins telling the legends of the tribe just as expertly as he has done a million times over, for new pack members and imprints and special occasions alike. His words still hold the same gravity they did when I turned fourteen and sprouted fur, when I first began to understand how irrevocably intertwined my future is with the events of the past. Even now, as he speaks of Cold Ones and the Third Wife, of battle and sacrifice, I still tense along with my brothers, feeling the same terrible purpose weigh on my shoulders.

Jess stares into the fire as Billy's voice rises and falls, her eyes wide and unblinking. Her heart thuds like a metronome, quickening as the tale intensifies, and I squeeze her hand, anchoring her to the present. She leans into my side, listening with such rapt attention that my heart swells with relief. I won't tell her tonight - it's too soon, I know that - but when I do, at least I can be sure that she remembers the truth.

I need her to remember.

The legends are over too quickly, the sombre mood lightening as people move and stretch and chat, but Jess stays close to my side, still staring into the fire.

"What did you think?" I murmur, gazing into the flames, too. Perhaps if I look for long enough, I'll be able to see what she sees.

She blinks, shaking her head slightly. "I'm not sure what I think. It's…a lot to process," she says carefully, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I know I'll have questions later, though."

"Good answer," I tease, pressing a kiss to her hair.

Sam whistles shrilly, bringing the din to a pause. "Food's up - ladies first!"

Paul and Jared let out theatrical groans, as if it isn't the exact same system we've used for years, and Jess laughs, clambering to her feet.

"Leave some for me," I joke, easily dodging her playful slap.

"In your dreams," she scoffs, hurrying to join the growing line beside the trestle tables.

Sitting there, watching her animatedly chat with Kim, helping Claire to load her plate a little bit of everything, I can feel my heart swelling ten sizes with pride.

Jared leans across the log, punching me in the shoulder. "Looks like you've got yourself a good one."

"Tell me about it."

A/N: Hold onto your hats, folks, because the next chapter is a doozy. By which I mean it is time to put your Horndog Hats on. In other news, here are some definitely correct quotes from Slap Shot to tide you over.

Seth: Name a more iconic duo than my crippling fear of abandonment and my anxiety. I'll wait.

Brady: You and me!

Seth, tearing up: Okay.

Seth: This is a mistake

Brady, enthusiastically: A mistake we're going to laugh about one day!

Seth: But not today

Brady, still enthusiastic: Oh, no. Today's going to be a mess.