Leah Clearwater & Paul Lahote
A/N: You may recognise this from my one-shot collection - doing a bit of rearranging to find some fics their new home.
To hate someone so much, you had to first love them with reserves just as deep.
Leah had a million and one weaknesses, and her bottomless heart was flaw number one. She could spew profanities until the cows came home, and could curse her brothers to hell and back, but what ran beneath was a consistent undercurrent of love. As reticent as she was to admit it, her unfailing ability to care was an ever-present feature of her mind and spirit. Even in her worst days - the months in which Sam abandoned her for her best friend, the ones in which she killed her father and became the beast that already existed in her mind - she still loved fiercely and fully, even if said love was buried beneath a hearty dose of hate.
Hate was new to her. Hate came fast and came strong, rolling over her in crashing waves that warmed her blood and set fire to her belly. It sent cataclysmic ripples of tension through her body, taking her apart and putting her back together with reckless abandon. Some days she felt like a mismatched jigsaw puzzle, one where some careless kid had forced curved pieces against straight edges, bending until they broke. None of the pieces that had made up Lee-Lee made sense anymore, not when the bounds of the puzzle had changed. She was Leah now; she was Leah, and her edges were sharper. Since joining the pack, everything had become sharper: her claws, her teeth, her temper. Being around him, and being in the pack mind, made it easy to let the beast loose, and the beast hated. It was simple to loathe Sam, to rag on Emily, and she mentally tore the two to shreds every chance she got. How could she resist denigrating the two people who had ardently destroyed her plans with seemingly zero consideration of her feelings? She hated the two of them with every fibre of her being, and on some days, the fury took everything from her. She'd later look back and realise how the bitterness had sapped the life from her bones, but that realisation would take time and growth and maturity, all things she lacked at nineteen.
The first time she'd really thought about the person she was becoming was after a particularly heated scrap with Paul, one that had started over nothing, or everything - she couldn't remember, and it didn't really matter anyway. One moment they'd been patrolling, and the next, they'd been scrambling for purchase in the brambles lining the clearing, snapping and lunging at each other as if their lives depended on it. She can almost recall the fight in perfect clarity - Lord knows that Paul has every scrap committed to memory - remembering every awful swipe that she'd copped. It may have lasted for seconds, or for minutes, but she'd ended up pinned in the dirt with gleaming teeth pressed to her throat and her pulse thrumming at the surface of her skin. Their chests heaved together, exhausted from the sudden exertion, but none of the physical pain mattered when it came to the mental war unfolding.
I won. Get over it.
Get off me, asshole, she'd snarled, thrashing uselessly beneath him.
He'd only curled his lip back further, revealing impossibly sharp canines that hovered above her pulse point. Admit you still love him. Admit it. You're just jealous he's giving Emily what he never gave you.
Leah had roared in outrage, snapping her head from side to side. Love him? You really think I still love him, after what he did to me? I hate him. I hate him, and I hate her for letting it happen.
Paul stilled, drawing back for just a moment, but that was all she needed. Leah had darted out from underneath him, dashing to freedom before he could regain control. He didn't move towards her, though, choosing instead to watch her from a distance. You really don't know?
She'd raised her head slowly, narrowing her eyes at his curious gaze. Know what?
Paul cocked his head to the side, levelling her with an even stare. You only hate him so much because you still love him. If you were really over it, you wouldn't care.
If I was over him, I wouldn't care, Leah repeats, mulling the words over in her brain. But I do care.
Yes, Paul offers simply, watching her from across the clearing.
I care because I still love him, she thinks slowly, frowning down at the dirt.
He tips his head in assent, considering her with careful eyes. Yeah. You do. You hate him so much, because you love him so much.
Leah sinks low onto the ground, resting her snout against the scrub. Well, fuck.
Paul crouches low beside her, thinking for a moment. You can hate me. I know you don't love me.
Paul, I don't care about you enough to hate you, Leah scoffs, but there's levity in her derision.
Ouch, he retorts, holding back a grin.
Leah stops calling Emily "that bitch-stealing boyfriend", and Paul quits labelling Leah as a bitter harpy. It's an unlikely truce, but it keeps the peace, and so they co-exist, operating in a space of mutual weariness. He doesn't ask about her feelings, and she doesn't tell. It works for them.