North Star

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Chapter Twelve:

Bella

I wake, after a night of restless sleep and restless dreams, to the shrill screech of my alarm clock, to the grey light of dawn, and to an unshakeable, unquestionable sense of dread. I don't remember what I'd dreamt - just the sensation of running, being hunted - and it's carried over to my waking world. My heart is racing, my hands are trembling, and I feel like a child again, afraid of the monsters underneath my bed.

It's inexplicable, really, but no one ever said fear was always logical. Nevertheless, I chalk it up to the product of a particularly vivid dream, comb my hair out of my face, and try hard to get a grip.

I'm only moderately successful.

"Are you all right there, Bells?" Charlie asks me, perceptive as he always is.

"Bad dreams," I shrug, cast a glance towards the forest beyond the kitchen windows, and shutter. It's odd - I've always felt safe, welcome - wandering the forests surrounding Forks and La Push - but suddenly, they seem dangerous, menacing, threatening in a way I can't place for the life of me.

I tell myself it's just the remnants of my dreams playing tricks on my mind, and then, as I let my chai tea steep, I rationalise that it can't be anything else, really. The Olympic Rainforest is as it has always been, as it always will be, and this thought comforts me.

"Are you still feeling up to fishing?" Charlie asks.

I roll my eyes. "Bad dreams are hardly debilitating, Dad. I'm fine."

He studies me, I let him, and he eventually concedes with a nod. "If you say so, Bells."

"I do say so, Chief," I answer, and help myself to the pot of oatmeal on the stove. I add brown sugar and cinnamon, and slices of banana as well, and join him at the kitchen table to eat my breakfast. As I do so, he quizzes me about the day before, I return the favour, and before long, my bowl is empty, his is too, and we have few reasons to linger. I pack away the leftover oatmeal - it'll keep in the freezer for a while - gather up everything I'll need for the morning - including the muffins I'd baked the night before - and follow my father out to his (personal) car. It's a truck, one of those ones with a back seat, and enough room in the tray for his fishing, or hunting, or whatever equipment, and he's already stored all our gear in the tray in question. There's a cooler, too - full of soft drinks, water, and beer, no doubt - and I idly wonder about what time he'd gotten up that morning.

"Can I drive?" I ask. As I do, I look towards the tree line, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling.

"Not a chance in hell, Bells."

I roll my eyes. With how attached to his car he is, I'd not expected any other answer, but it's still a little exasperating to have my expectations confirmed. It's not the hill I want to die on, though, so I clamber into the passenger seat with my basket of muffins, glance once more towards the tree line, and then look away with a shake of my head and a self-deprecating little laugh. There's nothing there.

And yet, even as I tell myself this, the hairs on the back of my neck still stand on end, and I wonder if I'm kidding myself.

I pray that I'm not.

-!- -#-

Jacob

Dad has a pill container that's split into seven cartridges - one for each day - and it makes keeping track of his meds just a little bit easier. He sorts and refills them each Sunday, I double check them when he's preoccupied, and every morning, when Dad's in the bathroom, I check the container to make sure he's actually taken his medication.

Things are made complicated by the fact that dad has no interest in sharing what his blood pressure or blood sugar levels are, but in that regard, I've learned where the old man hides his medical journal. It's where he keeps a record of his blood pressure and blood sugar levels on a day by day basis, his cholesterol levels per quarterly blood test, and everything else, too. I also make an effort to keep track of his food intake and stress levels, try to keep the junk food in the house to a minimum, ensure he's drinking a lot of water between his obligatory cans of beer.

As for the rest of it? I do what I can, and I take it all one step at a time. I don't think about the future, I don't think about the past. I try hard just to focus on the here and now, on each issue as they arise, and mostly, I manage. Some days are better than others, some days are worse, but in general, that's life, and I get by. I guess it's all I can ask for.

"Did you get home okay?" I ask Bella. She's seated beside me on the jetty, absently making her way through one of her breakfast muffins. They're delicious, as always - I've already eaten two - and I'm halfway tempted to go for another. I don't even have to feel bad about it, because as she always does, Bella's prepared a special batch of diabetic-friendly muffins just for dad, and after mowing his way through the first, he's hoarding the rest of them like a dragon.

"Yeah," she confirms. She casts her gaze towards our fathers and Harry, situated further down the jetty, and then looks back at me with a shrug, "It was uneventful. Did you?"

I nod. "We got home and crashed. It was a long day."

"Good, though," Seth opines, "Except Leah was being such a bitch. Again. She acts like her break up is the end of the freaking world or something."

"Maybe it was, to her," Bella muses, "She was pretty rapt up in him, wasn't she? I mean, thinking about it now…"

I shrug, clueless. I'd never paid too much attention to Leah, or to her relationship with Sam. She'd always tailed after Rachel and Rebecca as a kid, and by the time she'd grown out of that, I'd had no time for girls, bar one. Namely, Bella, who'd had as much fun building mud pies as she had playing with her dolls. "I guess so."

Seth shrugs. He couldn't care less about the circumstances surrounding Leah's and Sam's relationship. "I wish she'd get over it. It's been ages."

"She will in her own time," Bella advises him, and stares mindlessly over the water, "You just need to be patient."

Seth pulls a face. He doesn't like that advice, though I don't blame him. Leah's been rather nasty, of late, to anyone and everyone. Seth, as her younger brother, has probably copped it the worst.

Nevertheless, he doesn't argue with Bella. He eats another muffin instead, drains the last of the bottled iced coffee he'd bought from the gas station on the way here, and sits back to daydream in his fold-out chair.

"What about you, Bells?" I ask, to try lighten the mood, "Any guys you have to get over… Or under?"

Bella arches an eyebrow, pulls a face, and then glances at Seth, who looks simultaneously entertained and scandalised. "No. There's no one."

As she says it, though, she blushes, and I'm a hundred per cent sure she's lying. I don't ask though, and neither do I tease her about it - not with Seth around - but I promise myself I will. Later.

"What about you, Jake?" She turns the tables on me. I was more or less expecting it, though, and I'm already laughing when she asks, "Is there anyone who's caught your eye?"

"No," I deny, and I try to suppress the bitterness. I don't think I'm particularly successful, but Bella doesn't prod. I'm grateful. "I'm too busy, and QUil gives us all a bad reputation, anyway."

Aside from school, and taking care of dad, and taking care of the house, and learning all of the tribal shit I need to know and do as Chief Black's only son, I also do under-the-table car repairs to make some cash. It's not a lot, and it's definitely not legal, but between it and Dad's SSI cheque, it pays the bills. I usually have a bit leftover at the end of each month, but it all goes into a savings account I keep for emergencies, for unforeseen expenses and such, and certainly not to pay for dinner dates and whatever else.

"Trust Quil," Bella laughs. She reaches over and squeezes my hand though, and I know without asking that she and I will be talking later, alone, about the other thing I'd mentioned. Or not mentioned, as the case may be.

And strangely, I'm not remotely bothered by the prospect.

-!- -#-

Paul

Emma's son is sick, and there isn't anyone available to look after him. As such, she's called in sick herself, Leah's covering her shift, and it's perhaps the worst way to start my Sunday. She's toxic, in a way - her attitude is, at least - and her irritation spills over onto everyone else.

I hate working with her. I understand poor moods - spirits know, I could probably write a dissertation about longterm anger, or sadness, or what the fuck ever else - but Leah doesn't have the courtesy of keeping it to herself. No, she's miserable, and she wants everyone else not only to know it, but to be just as miserable, too.

It's such that being polite, and friendly, and good-humoured with the customers becomes a strain by an hour into my shift, and I've taken to doing everything possible to avoid my unpleasant coworker.

One such opportunity arises when Chief Swan and his daughter, Bella, the girl I'd met the day before,arrives just as the lunch rush begins to die down. They're in my area, seated in a booth by the windows, so I approach them with a pen and notepad in hand, prepared to take their orders.

"Hi, Paul," Bella greets me. She wears a smile, and in the scattered sunlight through the diner's front window, her dark hair is highlighted with gold.

I don't ask if I can paint her, with all of the colours in her hair, with the faintest of freckles on her nose, with the smile behind her eyes, but again, I want to - paint her, that is - and I hope it doesn't show.

"Hey, Bella," I acknowledge her, "And you must be Chief Swan. I'm Paul Lahote. It's nice to meet you."

Chief Swan and I shake hands, and it's a little awkward. Bella seems amused, Chief Swan is unruffled, and I wonder if it's just me.

"Can I get you drinks to start off with?"

I take their orders, drinks and food both, and wander off to get the orders in question to the cook. I get them their drinks, and as I serve them, I make small talk with both of the Swans. Mostly about their fishing trip out by Lake Pleasant - Gramps has been trying to get me to go with him for months - and it's not terrible. A little awkward, maybe, with Chief Swan eyeballing me like I was one of his criminals - but pleasant, overall. Bella's nice - sweet, really - with interesting things to say, without any of the pity I've grown so accustomed to seeing, and it's refreshing. She's pretty, too - attractive in her way - but at the end of the day, I'm only their waiter, and I wander off to check on my other tables once both of them have their drinks, a complimentary jug of water, and their cutlery, as well.

"Are you hot for Isabella Swan?" Leah asks me, back at the counter.

"Hardly," I roll my eyes, drop my notepad and pen on the counter, and cast a gaze over my tables, "I barely know her. If I was though, what business is it of yours?"

"Nothing," Leah shakes her head, and walks away, and I get nothing else from her. Admittedly, I don't try, but as my shift progresses, as I chit chat with the patrons in my area, I wonder about Leah Clearwater, about her interest in my interactions with Bella Swan, about the brief glimpse of vulnerability I'd received before she'd shut me out again.

I wonder, but I don't ask. Likely, I never will.

Author's Note: Hey guys. This is a long shot, but do any of you know of a Bella/Edward Zombie Apocalypse AU in which Bella and Alice are sisters who meet Edward and Jasper on the road home to Washington from, like, Florida or something? I think Emmett is the girls' cousin/adopted brother, but I can't recall… If you know the story, that'd be awesome. I can't remember what it's called, but I never finished it and I'd like to.

Otherwise, are there any Australians here? I just finished reading the Tomorrow Series and the Ellie Chronicles, and I'm wondering why it's taken me so long to get around to it. I read them all in four days, and if you haven't read them - Australian or not - I'd definitely recommend them.

Anyway, thanks for reading. I probably won't update again until after Christmas/New Year's, so happy holidays! Until next time, -t.

ps. Where the hell did 2018 go?