Heya. Thanks so much for the reviews. I know yeah, it's sad and kinda depressin' (but they're hardly going to be singing, are they?), but hopefully this chapter makes up for it. It's lovely and cute and fluffy, and I hope you enjoy it. The next chapter is the last one (aww). Thanks for the support! lurrve xox

Songs for this chapter: Far Away, by Nickelback, and Miracle, by Paramore.

I'm not going/Coz I've been waiting for a miracle/And I'm not leaving/I won't let you/Let you give up on a miracle/When it might save you...

Chapter Five

It was an hour before I was due to go into surgery, and I was scared.

Scared of so much. Scared of what might happen as I lay there, unconscious on the operating table. Scared for the people waiting for me to come out of surgery, of how they might cope. Scared of what might be different, or what might be the same, when I woke up again.

I had convinced my parents to go for lunch. I was worried about them. All they insisted on doing was staying in the room with me, and it wasn't healthy. They were worrying about me, torturing themselves, imagining what ifs and maybes. They looked exhausted, they looked empty, and I was so sick of watching the people around me suffer, when I couldn't do a thing to help them.

Paul had been visibly shaken by my panic attack, and now whenever I took a breath that wasn't quite even, he jumped and half-rose out of his seat. I was sick of telling him to relax. I felt guilty, watching the mix of relief and anxiety on his face.

He was with me now. He rarely left. Sometimes I managed to coax him into getting some food, but he never left for long. He slept by my bed, holding my hand. I told him it was ridiculous and unnecessary, but he disagreed. I asked him what must his parents and friends think, and he said he didn't care. I was more touched than he could know, that he had abandoned it all to stay with me.

But I still knew he'd have to leave eventually, to return to his life, and I was still waiting for that moment, when he would sigh and get up and walk out of the door and never come back.

What if he wasn't there when I woke up, after the surgery? What would I do then? I depended on him so much, even though perhaps I shouldn't have.

And I was scared.

"It's going to be OK, Leona," he said soothingly. He wasn't stupid. He could see my fidgeting, and see the apprehension in my eyes. He knew how I felt.

"Is it?" I asked, before I could stop myself. I hated the pleading tone in my voice.

"Of course it will," he said fiercely. "Nothing will change. Except for the fact you'll be better. And I'll be right next to your bed when you wake up. Count on that."

He looked so sincere. I gazed at him sadly for a moment.

"Why?" I asked, quietly. "Why are you still here? Why haven't you left yet?"

His eyes widened and he stared at me, shocked. He opened his mouth, but no words came out, and he continued to gaze at me. I became transfixed by his eyes, almost forgetting that I was waiting for an answer.

He was silent for ages, and then his eyes softened.

"Because there isn't anyone else more important to me than you," he said softly.

My lower lip trembled, and I pressed my lips together, looking away from him. I stared straight ahead of me. My heart ached to believe him. I so badly wanted to believe I was as important to him as he had said. Because I needed him, more than I wanted to admit, more than I probably should. But I didn't care. I needed him.

My eyes returned to his face and locked with his eyes again. I couldn't really tell what he was thinking or feeling. I wasn't sure what I was thinking or feeling. We just gazed at each other for an immeasurable moment.

And then something in the atmosphere seemed to change.

My breathing had started to become a little uneven. Because he had moved closer. I was sure of it. I could feel his breath blow gently on my face, and he hadn't been that close before. He was moving towards me slowly, centimetre by agonising centimetre. I couldn't look away from his eyes, which were getting nearer and nearer. I was mesmerised.

The sound of the machinery around me and the noises of the nurses in the hall had become muffled, like I was underwater, and I couldn't hear anything clearly, except for my heartbeat. It pounded so loudly it was almost like it was beating in my ears, yet I couldn't even hear the heart monitor picking up on it.

My brain was scrambled. Fuzzy. Only one thought was battling its way through the haze. He was going to kiss me.

It was proven correct about a second later.

Paul gently pressed his lips against mine, and my eyes closed. His mouth burned mine, but it was a good kind of burning. His hands seized my face, holding it gently, scorching the skin. My hands, even though I hadn't told them to, were gripping his shoulders, attempting to pull him even closer to me.

I totally forgot who I was. I forgot that I was Leona, the paralysed, stupid teenager. I forgot that I was about to go into surgery. I forgot about all the people like my parents and Georgia and Harvey, and I forgot about their pain, and about my pain...

All I could think was… Paul.

My skin burned. He kissed me so gently, like I was fragile, like I could break so easily. Like we had both discovered.

He pulled away after what seemed like forever, and we met each other's eyes for an uncertain second, gauging the other's reaction.

Paul grinned suddenly, his eyes flashing wickedly. I blushed.

"I hope you believe me now," he said, his tone lightly teasing. I smiled at him shyly.

I guess it wouldn't hurt to take a chance this time? To just believe him? I had already decided to give up on hope, to give up on faith, to give up on a happy ending. But Paul was different. He was my miracle. I couldn't give up on this miracle.

He had appeared from nowhere, and he hadn't left my life since then. He had to care about me, or he would have disappeared long ago. I wanted to believe in him. And I would.

I wasn't about to give up on this miracle, if it would save me.

People bustled in suddenly. Oh yeah. Surgery.

Paul watched them prepare me worriedly, his eyes flickering to my face every few seconds. I didn't look away from him. He was giving me strength, because he was the number one reason to get through this operation, to get better. So I could see him again.

I didn't see or hear anything but him. I vaguely remembered being manoeuvred away on a bed with wheels, seeing my parents in the hall and telling them I'd be fine, seeing Dr Cullen and accepting his reassurances, seeing the lights on the ceiling above me flashing by as I was wheeled to my surgery…

The only thing I could remember clearly was my fingers slipping out of Paul's grip.

And his whisper of "I love you" in my ear.

Paul's POV

'Cos with you, I'd withstand

All of hell to hold your hand

The Nickelback song, those lyrics in particular, were on constant repeat in my head, as I paced around the waiting room. They couldn't hold more truth for me now. I never related to them, ever, as much I did now.

I was in hell.

Because what if something went wrong? What if they couldn't save her? What if I had to leave the hospital, because my imprint was lying under a white sheet in a cold, sterile morgue, and there was nothing I could do to save her? What the hell would I do then?

I promised her I would be there to hold her hand when she woke up. And she had to wake up. If she didn't…

She had to wake up. She was everything to me now.

I'd survive every second of this hell, just so I could hold her hand at the end of it all.

I'd wait. Wait for this to be over, for her to wake up and tell me she loved me too.

Leona's POV

I was floating. I couldn't feel my body, couldn't really feel any sense of being anywhere. But that was OK. It was better than only feeling half of me, the other half numb and unresponsive. I was content to float here, wherever I was.

I could hear voices. I couldn't hear the words, but I could hear the pitch, the sounds, the break in between the sentences. I wanted to know who they were. My awareness struggled through my drifting, and reminded me that they were all waiting for me to wake up.

Mom. Dad. Georgia. Harvey, Suzanne, everyone else. Paul.

Paul. Paul who loved me. Paul wanted me to wake up, I knew that.

I decided then that I had floated for long enough. I wanted to let them all know I was OK. I wasn't in any pain. I was fine, and they didn't have to worry anymore. And so I waited.

But nothing happened. I was still floating. I still couldn't feel anything. I didn't know how to tell my eyes to open. I waited, wondering if it would change now that I was more aware, but my body wasn't co-operating.

My mind grew sharper, more alert, as I lay there. I could make out the conversation now, recognise the voices. It was my parents, their voices a mix of relief and stress, and the velvety smooth voice of Dr Cullen.

"The operation went well, no complications," he was saying.

"She's going to be OK, then?" my father asked.

"Yes… we won't be able to tell if it means that she will be able to walk again. We'll have to wait for Leona to come around. But, even if nothing happens, it doesn't mean it won't ever. These things take time, and sometimes they need lots of it."

"Yes, we understand that," my mom said, sounding teary. "We just want her to be OK."

"She is," Dr Cullen assured her. "She will be."

I tuned the conversation out. I still wasn't hopeful. I was already resigned to my wheelchair. I wouldn't be hopeful. But I just couldn't bear to hear how hopeful my parents obviously were. They didn't want to believe their only daughter was wheelchair bound, because no one even warned them that that was how my life could turn out. They had had dreams for my future… college, a dream job, my own house, a respectable husband and a couple of grandchildren for them to dote on. Absolutely nowhere in these dreams for me did they see a wheelchair present.

I drifted for a while, and the voices soon faded away. There was nothing but silence, and I listened to it. I continued to float, continued to drift, until another voice dragged me away from the haze.

Paul's voice.

I was now desperate to open my eyes, to wake, so I could see him, and speak to him and tell him that I was OK. I knew he would be more worried than my parents were, because for whatever incomprehensible reason that existed, he loved me. He was never going to leave my side, and that doubtful little part of me was gone, and I truly believed and trusted that he was not going to leave me. I wanted to tell him that I hadn't left him, and that I was never going to either.

But nothing happened, yet again. I was still floating. But I could hear him, and I listened closely.

"You probably can't hear me at all," he was saying, sounding self-conscious. I wanted to give him some sign that I could hear him, but I still couldn't feel anything. I waited anxiously, listening to the silence, waiting for him to speak again.

"So…" He exhaled loudly. "I feel like a right tool."

I wanted to laugh. But nothing happened.

"But, there's no one here but you to witness it, so I might as well keep on making a fool of myself…"

He fell silent then. I wished I could see his face. It was a while before he spoke again, and I counted every second.

"This wasn't how it was supposed to happen," he sighed, and his chair creaked. Had he stood up, perhaps? I listened, forcing my ears to pick up the smallest sound, and my theory was confirmed. I listened to his soft footsteps pacing up and down the room.

"You know, my whole life altered the day you bumped into me on the beach. Before that, I was having a really bad day. Everyone was irritating me. I was in such a bad mood. Embry really wanted to go to that beach party and pick up girls… I had no intention of going at all, but he dragged me with him. I was having quite possibly the worst evening ever, watching Embry surrounded by half-dressed females, listening to him bragging at the top of his voice… I was really in the mood for punching someone. We were finally about to leave, when you bumped into me.

"'Sorry' was the first thing you ever said to me, you know," he said, his tone changing into a more sombre one. "Maybe it was a sign. Kind of set the tone for the rest of our relationship. You, always apologising for being stupid enough to get into a car with a drunk driver. Me, always apologising for letting you go and get yourself hurt, when I wanted to stay with you for the rest of the night, more than anything…"

I wanted to frown, to portray my confusion in some way, and to also tell him he was overanalysing. He must have thought about this too much.

"My heart stopped when I saw you for the first time," he said lowly, and I had to strain to hear him. "Everything that had irritated me, everything that was driving me crazy… it just all vanished, became irrelevant, meaningless. I didn't care about anything else, because none of it mattered to me anymore. From that first second, you have been my first and only priority."

I was hypnotised by the sound of his voice.

"But, I had to be clever about it," he continued. "I had to act normal, like my whole world hadn't just flipped on me. I couldn't announce to you then and there that you were my imprint, my other half, my whole world, because you would think I was insane. I knew I had to do it the right way, the human way. Once you trusted me, then I could tell you everything and you would believe me and then I wouldn't have to pretend any longer. At least, that was how I imagined it. Maybe it wouldn't have been quite so easy.

"But you know, I do underestimate you sometimes. You're so strong, stronger than I thought. I expected this to totally destroy you, but you're surviving. And I can tell you're not going to let this accident destroy you at all."

He didn't get it. It was him that made me strong, him that gave me the will to survive. The hours before he had burst into my hospital room, shouting and roaring my name, I had been struggling. He had changed my perspective on everything, when I started to depend on him. I quickly refocused back on his voice as he continued with his confession. I didn't understand everything he was saying, and I was hoping he'd give me some more clues. I wanted to understand.

"I was delighted when you said you'd go to lunch with me. Actually, that's a lie. I was overjoyed, ecstatic… whatever. I was going to treat you to a lunch we'd never forget. I had it all planned in my head. A picnic on the beach, with a stereo and a load of sandwiches with two much butter in them. I'd make a load of stupid jokes, and you'd pretend to find them funny…" I could hear the smile in his voice, and I wished I could smile too.

"I arrived at your house too early. No one was home, so I thought maybe you'd gone out and got delayed, so I hung around and waited. The thought that you would stand me up, or give me the wrong address, didn't occur to me. The impression I got of you at the bonfire told me that you wouldn't do things like that. I waited and waited, and you never came home."

I didn't want to hear this. This was the way my life would have gone, if I had gotten home safely. Paul would have been waiting at my house to take me out. He had been waiting at my house for a Leona who had never come home. She still wasn't home. She was lying here in a hospital bed, comfortably numb thanks to anaesthetic, paralysed, different. She wasn't the same girl that Paul had met at the bonfire. But yet he still wanted Leona, whoever she was now.

"I got extremely worried, eventually. I was imagining all types of horrors. Like maybe you were lying inside, stabbed to death by an intruder who broke in to steal a TV. Or maybe you had gotten into a car accident. Funnily enough, even though I imagined it, I didn't think it would actually be true."

If I had been awake and able to see his face, I might have been crying. His voice sounded so upset and desolate, and I couldn't stand it.

"I crossed to the neighbour's house, to make sure you actually lived there. They told me your mother had called them and said you had gotten into an accident, and that they were minding your cat. They probably thought I was psycho - I just turned around and ran straight to the hospital, looking for you.

"When you told me you were paralysed… I felt like I had my world in my hands, but it had been given to me, damaged. I was so angry, with everything. I couldn't believe something like this could happen, to me, to you. You hadn't done a thing to deserve this, Leona. I couldn't stand the fact that you were hurt, so irreparably, and I couldn't do a single thing for you. I mean… when you're living as part of the supernatural, you believe anything is possible."

He'd lost me there. The brooding tone of his voice was confusing me too.

"But then when something like this happens… you realise you can be a freaking werewolf, but you still don't have the power to stop car crashes from happening, and that you don't have the power to keep the one you love completely safe, completely well. I'm so sorry I failed. I shouldn't have been so convinced that reality couldn't get in the way."

Maybe I wasn't lucid after all. Maybe this was a dream. It didn't make any sense. Did he just say he was a werewolf? My imagination was never that wild.

"And I don't even love you," Paul corrected himself, and my heart twisted with pain. I didn't like this dream. "I freaking adore you," he continued, and my heart stopped twisting. "I'm infatuated with you, and everything you do renders me stupid, because you freaking amaze me. You don't even know how much."

Oh.

"If the guys could see me now," he said suddenly, laughing. "They'd call me a right patsy."

I listened to the sound of his laughter, a sound so wonderfully familiar, yet one I didn't hear often enough. I hadn't given him enough reasons to laugh. I wanted to keep him laughing. I wanted to make him happy, make him laugh. Because I adored him too. He amazed me too, because he was here, defying all logic.

I suddenly realised something. I didn't need to walk again - I didn't need that miracle. I needed Paul, my miracle. One miracle was enough for me, and Paul was all I needed. Bring on the wheelchair.

"I'm the angry one," he said, in a low tone, capturing my full attention once again. "I'm the angry one, the one with the temper, the short fuse. The one they like to wind up when they feel like a fight. The one who normally runs away from these types of situations, away from the emotions and tears. They'd make me run miles.

"But I can't run away from you. I don't want to. I might as well be handcuffed to your bloody side. I don't want to leave you. I won't. I can't. You're my entire world."

He was quiet for a minute, thinking. I waited, my heart swollen, my mind swirling.

"You're like my wheelchair," he mused. "Without it, I fall."