Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyers owns everything Twilight. John Mayer and Colombia Records own the lyrics.
A/n - Probably a three-shot. Maybe. Let's see.
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where the light is
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Gravity is working against me / And gravity wants to bring me down / Oh, I'll never know what makes this man / With all the love that his heart can stand / Dream of ways to throw it all away
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Leah Clearwater
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Anthony Hawk is shy, sweet and reserved.
Exactly the opposite of what she is attracted to.
But she still gives him a chance.
It's refreshing at first, not having to explain anything from her past; explain why the people in LaPush cross the street when they see her walking their way. Not having to explain why she has been seen multiple times in Olympic National Park completely nude and dirty, or why she is constantly surrounded by unnaturally large men who grunt like animals.
But - she lets him hold her hand, take her out and even kiss her on her mother's porch.
Except - good things never last.
She really should have told Anthony that.
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"You ever wonder what our lives would have looked like, had the Cullen's never come to Forks?"
It's a simple question she supposes, especially coming from the likes of Brady Fuller.
"Not really," she lies, blowing out a thin line of smoke.
Truth is, she's spent years going over the what-ifs and what could-have-beens. But what good was thinking about things that would never come to fruition?
"You look nice in that dress, Leah" Brady replies, clearing his throat while his eyes run the length of her. "Real nice."
She snorts, dropping the cigarette and stamping it into the grass beneath her sneakers.
The swing of the back screen alerts her to company.
Her brother in fact.
"Jake's about to cut the cake, Lee. He's asking for you."
Leah smirks, giving Brady a sweeping side glance before spinning on her heel.
"Later, pup."
Brady blushes red, murmuring an embarrassed response under his breath.
She doesn't catch the response but she couldn't care less.
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Leah remembers the day Sarah Black died.
Her mother had forced her into the car and strapped Seth into his seat, her eyes puffy and red from crying. Her father was unusually quiet and forlorn as he drove them to the red house on the edge of the Reservation.
He stares straight ahead, nothing like his bubbly, humorous self when they went on road trips; the self that always made her smile and prefer her father's gentle ways, as oppose to her mother's straight edged discipline.
She can count on her hand that amount of times her mother had cried in front of them.
When her grandmother died, and when her mother had been told about Sarah.
When they arrive, Sue immediately ushers both siblings into the twin's bedroom, telling them both to behave and look after Rachel, Rebecca and Jacob.
Seth is still a toddler, who doesn't understand, but seeing Rebecca with tears running down her cheeks, his face instantly drops and he toddles over, reaching to pat her head in comfort.
"Thanks, Sethy," this girl whispers, her tiny voice cracking before her twin hugs her, allowing their combined tears to fall on their matching pink shirts.
Leah can hear the raised voices coming from outside of the bedroom, the adults taking so fast she can barely understand.
But she does recognise Mr Black's strained voice.
She knows it's his and it almost makes her breathless.
He sounds so terrible, between the tears and shouts, she forces herself to swallow the lump building in her throat.
Jacob is sitting in the corner, his legs folded up to his chest, his head down, arms holding his calves.
He's shaking, crying into his knees, his black mop of hair shaggy enough to cover his face.
Instead of saying anything, Leah moves to sit beside him, her back against the edge of the wooden bed. She grabs his forearm and rests her head on his shoulder silently telling him she is here for him.
That is was okay to cry because his mother was never coming home.
That it was okay because if you loved someone, you cried for them when they were gone.
She didn't understand how it felt to lose a mother then, but years later, she would feel the same pain when her daddy died and then when Billy Black died too.
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Leah finds him alone in the kitchen, staring at the mountains of unwashed dishes, a small frown on his mouth.
"Nice party," she quips, resting her shoulder against the jam of the door frame.
He glances up, his dark eyes assessing her.
She feels warmth emanating from him, even with the distance between them.
The years have been good to him, allowed him to grow into the body and mind-set of the man he was always meant to be.
He's the quintessential image of a leader; strong and sure.
"Everyone gone?"
She nods.
"I'm just about to head off too" She glances around the kitchen. "Unless... you want a hand with this?"
"I'm good, Leah. It's fine."
She slowly pushes off the frame. "So... how does twenty-five feel, Almighty Alpha?"
He chuckles lightly with a shake of his head at her continued choice of addressing him. "Feels the same as it did yesterday."
"Jake... you should know ...I ..."
"...happy birthday."
Before she can grab at her jacket to leave, he speaks, albeit quietly. Her ears strain to hear each syllable.
"You should stay."
Her hackles rise.
"I've got an early morning, Jake. Drinking away our sorrows isn't really my idea of a good time. Not tonight."
Her words fall short when she feels his fingers gently ease around her waist.
The heat he eludes is now at her back, so close she can almost taste him.
"Please, stay, Leah. I don't want to be alone."
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She expects soft and slow.
But what she gets is anything but.
She hisses when she feels his teeth drag against her skin, his hands supporting her back, pulling her further into his angular lines and hard body.
With her hands gripping his hair she wants to tell him to slow down, wants to tell him maybe this was a mistake, maybe they should stop.
With his palm pushing open her thighs and his hips nestling in between her legs, she forgets exactly why she is fighting this.
He's warm, and hard and - fuck - those little puffs of frustrated breath urge her closer to wanting him more than anything she's ever wanted before.
She arches up, pressing her chest against his.
Her hands hold firmly against his neck while he holds her hips lowly, his blunt fingernails biting into her ass.
She's not close enough, not nearly close enough.
Her skin warms, her voice loosening against its tight hold to the vow of silence she promised herself to take.
She wants to cry, plead, but all she can do is moan his name.
Over and over again -
Until they both fall off the edge of the world.
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"Fucking idiot. Stupid, stupid, stupid," Leah scolds herself as she leans her palms against the porcelain of the dirty sink, head hung low.
Why did she always do this to herself, put herself in these situations?
Jacob Black mattered.
He wasn't just some quick fuck she could pick up in a bar a few towns over and never see again. He was delicately weaved and ingrained into the life she had here. The life she was bound to. He was off-limits, always had been as a matter of principle. There was a reason she didn't allow the affections of the wolf boys to grow on her.
Staring in the mirror, she can't help but notice the sparkle in her eye.
"You really fucked up this time, Clearwater."
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A shiver runs down her spine as she tries to ignore those dark eyes.
She shifts in her seat, crossing her legs, trying to use Rachel Black as a buffer, but the heat from his gaze is warming every inch of her.
He looks pissed, which probably has something to do with her sudden cell change and her refusal at giving anyone the new digits.
Oh, and the fact she's made sure where ever he is, she isn't.
Rachel is blissfully unaware, cooing at the small version of Paul that is wiggling across the carpet, while telling them both about the upcoming celebrations.
'It'll be baby boy's first Christmas. We have to do something big. As a family, the whole pack. OH, I know. We could-'
Honestly, Leah doesn't really give a flying fuck about the incessant droning coming from the woman.
Not when Jacob was looking at her as if he wanted to tear her head clean off her shoulders.
Or her clothes.
When Rachel takes a breath between festivities and recipes, Leah excuses herself and bolts toward the back door.
As the screen door bounces against the house, he's already on her heels, throwing it open again before it can slam shut.
"Leah."
He barely gives her time to think as he grasps her wrists, and swings them both around, pinning her to the house.
Her breath comes out in short quick pants, her eyes unable to focus anywhere but his.
The growl he emits has her lower belly curling and licking with fire, her wolf preening with glee.
He's watching her, his nostrils flaring, chest heaving against hers.
She tugs at the hold he has on her, allowing only one of her wrists free; freedom enough to hike up her denim skirt and push her underwear down her thighs.
He's already following her lead, searing the inside of her thigh as she hoists her leg around him as he hurriedly pulls himself free.
When he slides home, right to the hilt, they both let out a stuttered breath of desperate satisfaction.
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The bonfire crackles as Leah stares into its abyss, a beer bottle dangling from her fingertips.
Her eyes close of their own accord, listening to the baritone and clarity of the Chief.
'The Quileute's have been a small people from the beginning. And we are a small people still. But we have never disappeared.'
The way his voice moves through her bones causes flashes of their torrid affair to simmer just under the surface.
She should feel guilty.
She should feel horrible.
But she doesn't.
She doesn't because he doesn't belong to anyone - should never have belonged to anyone - especially not to the half-breed spawn of Isabella Cullen.
'This is because there has always been magic in our blood.'
With no outsiders, he speaks in the old language, rolling it off his tongue as if it were his second skin, just like his old man taught him.
She fights the urge, but she knows it's impossible.
'It wasn't always the magic of shape-shifting - that came later.'
There, above the dancing flames, see looks straight into Jacob's eyes and feels what little resolve she has, slip away as he speaks.
'First - we were spirit warriors.'
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His hands are everywhere - on her breasts, her ribs, her shoulders, her hips, wrapping around her throat - everywhere.
His heat, the fire he causes along the backs of her thighs, her spine, it's too much.
Too consuming.
There's nothing but the sound of their skin, the sound of something deeper than primordial need ringing in her ears.
It's frenzied, desperate - her fingernails are breaking the skin on his forearms, his teeth leaving marks on her shoulder, her neck, her - oh.
Oh.
Conscious thought escapes her as her body melts into bliss.
He follows her down soon after, whispering her name over and over again.
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It's just after sunrise when Leah stumbles out of Jacob's window.
Thanks to the rain and a lack of sleep, her sneakers catch on the sill, causing her to tumble from the open ledge. It's not a great fall, barely a few feet, but the cold wet mud sticks to her jeans shorts like a mark of shame.
The clearing of a throat has her gritting her teeth and closing her eyes.
"Late night?"
Leah can hear the smirk in Rachel Black's voice.
"When daddy left the house to Jacob, I don't think he ever imaged that Harry Clearwater's daughter would be sneaking out of windows instead of using the front door."
Standing on two feet, she does her best to rid herself of the mud, then moves to tug down the window until its shut.
"What are you doing here this early?" Leah asks, finally facing her former childhood friend, ignoring her boastful declaration.
She's got that stance, arms crossed, brow raised, sparkly eyes full of mischief.
Rachel tsks. "Oh - no you don't. What exactly are you doing sneaking out of my baby brother's window this early."
"First of all - I wasn't sneaking. Second - we were discussing patrols."
"At 6am?" Rachel asks, checking an invisible watch on her wrist.
Leah lets out a huff. "Sure."
Before the taller girl can escape into the forest and drown herself in a stream of shame, Rachel squeaks.
"You should stay for breakfast. It'll make him... happy."
Leah freezes, turning her face so Rachel can't see her rubbing her bottom lip through her teeth in contemplation.
Happy?
God knows he deserved a little bit of happiness.
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She stares at him from across the yard as her fingernail picks at the peeling label of her beer.
He's smiling and laughing and - fuck - if her stupid would heart stop fluttering like it was, that would be great.
The thing about Jacob Black was that he was irresistible. And tenacious. And a fucking brat when it came to his inept ability and refusal to give up on people.
She's proof.
His - everything - was infectious.
Not even she was immune.
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"You should stay for breakfast," he whispers, making the simple act of eating sound so... illicit.
His breath is heavy on her shoulder and she fights a smile when she feels a sleepy kiss being pressed to her ear.
"I think your sister might start planning a wedding if I stay again," she replies jokingly, feeling his warm forearm tighten across her belly, pulling her deeper into him.
"Let her," he replies quietly, before his breathing evens out and his forehead drops against her crown.
Instead of fighting the building panic in her limbs, she brushes off his words and snuggles a little deeper into the pillow.
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It's easy with him.
Almost as easy as breathing.
As if the tragedy of the last decade, never happened.
As if the world was somehow good, and just, and right.
But good things never last.
She really should have remembered that.
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