Standard disclaimer: All things Twilight are the sole property of the divine Stephenie Meyers. This fan fic is purely for entertainment (mainly mine!) with no other gain. No copyright infringement is intended.

I apologize for the rather extreme length of the Lily POV – give the blame to leelator (author of "How to Seduce a Werewolf") and her demands of "I want to know more" and "what did they say here?" etc etc. Give her the credit, too: without her insistence this wouldn't be half the story it is, either in length or interest!

**My apologies to the Quileute Nation for the liberties I have taken with their traditions…**

The Color of Rain

Lily POV

There was a last round of hugs and best wishes; then I got in the car and prepared to pull away from the world as I knew it: heat; endless blue skies; the wide, flat expanse of the Coastal Bend.

Resolutely, I fixed my gaze on the road ahead and drove off with a smile, I wasn't about to let the sudden onslaught of emotion show as I made my way to a new life in La Push, Washington. Mom, step-dad, sister, nephews, my best friend Joanie, some neighbors from the street where I grew up, all were well out of sight before I pulled over and gave into tears.

It wasn't regret or second thoughts, just an acknowledgement that the girl I had been was being left behind and that home would no longer be home, just a place to visit.

One face had not been among the well-wishers. That was fine. Tom hadn't understood my need to find a larger life or why his increasingly broad hints of the "house-dog-baby" variety had failed to convince me that paradise could be ours for the taking in Rockport, Texas.

Iliked Tom; I was very fond of him, actually. But liking and fondness weren't enough for the life he wanted with me. After about fifty conversations that always seemed to begin and end with, "What the fuck, Lil? Why are you doing this?" I had asked him to stay away.

A quick swipe to my eyes, a swig out of my bottle of Coke (bad idea: it brought on a round of painful hiccups) and I got under way in earnest; I planned to be in San Angelo before nightfall.

…………

Why, why had I let myself be talked into this? I looked around the council hall feeling wretchedly out of place. Irene, one of the teachers with whom I had struck up an acquaintance, had only said it was a tribal gathering and a good opportunity to meet people. Upon arriving I had found out that it was the engagement party of some complete strangers. How mortifying!

In an attempt to be inconspicuous, I shrank against a wall near a display of flags bearing tribal motifs. The atmosphere of camaraderie was quite inviting and for a few minutes I was able to lose myself in people watching.

The anthropologist in me observed that the sounds of community are similar wherever they occur, it seems. I had a pang of loneliness which I quickly suppressed; the overheard snatches of conversation and comfortable laughter made me feel very far from home. It wasn't that the locals had been unfriendly, hardly that, but there was always the background awareness that they belonged and I was…foreign.

Well, I had wanted an adventure and I was having it. To be sure, sometimes I felt as if I was playing an unscripted part in a Northern Exposure rerun, but on the whole it was good.

The reservation school didn't pay all that well, but they had been conveniently willing to overlook the meagerness of my resume. The first few weeks my classes had all seemed to be a sea of bronze faces and black hair; then, as my initial nervousness – not to say terror - wore off, I was able to pick out a look of bright interest here, a mischievous grin there, a sullen look slowly changing to one of remote approval. Suddenly, what had been a mass became individuals and I began to relax just a bit.

So here I was. As absorbing as these musings were, after a few minutes I became aware of the curious looks I was attracting from the legitimate party goers and my discomfort resurfaced. No one looked annoyed or put off, but still it reminded me of my outsider status.

I was trying to negotiate the crowd – whoever the couple was they certainly seemed to be popular – with the idea of making a discrete exit when I felt a hand on my arm.

"It's Lily, right? Remember me? Emily Uley. We met the other night at the school board meeting." I looked down into the cruelly ravaged features of the speaker. Hard to forget this woman who was smiling so affably at me: I wondered again what had caused such injuries to a face that had obviously been very pretty at one time. Hastily, I explained my faux pas and was quickly reassured as to the nature of the occasion.

"Really, it's no big deal; a hand fasting is an old custom but hardly a tribal secret or anything." One half of her face smiled pleasantly. "Everyone's welcome."

If I recalled correctly, her husband seemed to be a chief or something, so probably she was a good authority on local etiquette. Emily continued, "I'll introduce you around, we're pretty informal here. As a matter of fact, there's the son of one of the honorees. Seth!"

My self-appointed sponsor was beckoning at a small group of kids I vaguely recognized from school. Talking to them was a very tall young man who looked up, smiling, at Emily's call; his glance moved from her to me – and the world stopped.

I love you. Yes, you. I love you.

The world restarted with a jolt. I gulped and found myself smiling self-consciously into the brown-black eyes. Mercifully, I hadn't spoken aloud; no one reacted to the words that had shouted themselves in my mind.

"Seth, have you met Lily Neal? She's the new Social Studies teacher for the middle grades. Lily just moved here from Texas, did I get that right?" Emily's voice seemed oddly distant. My hand was engulfed in a massive handshake. His touch seemed extraordinarily warm, but then I had been sort of chilly ever since I arrived in Washington.

He was all kinds of hot, really. Not to mention that it was a treat to meet a man significantly taller than me; add in dreamy dark eyes, with the kind of eyelashes any woman would kill for, and a melting smile.

"Lily Neal." he said thoughtfully. "It sounds like…music." He was looking at me with such warmth that I felt my knees grow positively weak, something I had always dismissed as a device of romance novels. I blinked and realized I was blushing under the intensity of his regard. I heard myself making appropriate responses while my mind clicked along frantically.

Dear God, please,PLEASElet him be single! Surely Emily would have mentioned it when she introduced us if he were attached.

"You know, Seth's a teacher too, of sorts."

"Really?" I asked, with devastating brilliance. Those looks and brains?

"Er, 'of sorts' is the operative term here. I teach the old language two evenings a week to some of the kids, the ones whose parents force them to come." He shrugged and gave a self-deprecating grin. "Very informal; it's really more of a hobby than anything else." We exchanged a few commonplace remarks; I found myself hanging on every word.

Is he the type that would mind if a woman asked him out? I cannot believe I'm reacting like this!

Seth's arm was claimed by a tall, superbly fit young woman who raked me with an appraising glance, a slightly mocking smile on her lips. "I don't believe I've met your…friend," she told him rather archly.

Who's this girl? She has a very proprietary air… Oh, his sister! There was a knowing look in Leah Clearwater's eyes as we were introduced; I wondered just how many women were hopelessly smitten with her brother.

Wistfully, I watched Seth – what a quaint, but manly sounding name – being towed away by his sibling. The rear view was quite worthwhile, I noted. He cast a look back at me that I couldn't interpret. I found myself hoping the ceremony wouldn't take too long.

Emily murmured something and handed me off to a heavily pregnant woman who kindly pointed out the participants and briefly explained the proceedings. "The bride-to-be is Sue Clearwater, standing with her kids, Leah and Seth. Her intended is Charlie Swan-"

"He's not Quileute?" I broke in.

"No," replied my companion, a Rachel somebody, "but he might as well be, he spends so much time here and fits in so well." She gave a sweet, but tremulous smile, remarking that this Charlie had been her late father's best friend.

"Dad would have been so pleased," she sighed and continued, "the girl with all the hair is Charlie's daughter and that's my brother Jacob, her husband. He'll be officiating now that Dad's gone. The others are the witnesses to the couple's intention to marry by the laws of the tribe. Witnessing events like this is a solemn duty; by tradition it's a paid position, but it's quite an honor to be included."

Inspiration struck: "Um, don't the spouses of the bride's children participate?" I asked with a carefully artless tone.

Surely it was my imagination that Rachel's lips twitched as she replied, "Oh, I think Dee stayed home with Hatsy… that's Leah's other half and baby girl. And I believe Seth's…" maddeningly, she paused and scanned the crowd before concluding, "Seth's between girlfriends just now." Air rushed into my aching lungs; I hadn't realized I was holding my breath.

The crowd quieted and my companion thoughtfully provided a whispered running commentary of the passages that were spoken in Quileute. The indulgent chuckles in response to what must have been blunders on the part of the non-tribal participants were heart-warming and spoke of great affection.

Rachel must have thought I was the most cordial person in the world as I thanked her effusively for her tutorial at the end of the ceremony. The scholar in me was grateful for the insights into tribal custom, but I was even more glad of the unspoken information that apparently Indian and white marriages were sanctioned.

Mentally, I slapped my head. Here I'd met a man half an hour before and I was already at the altar with him in my mind! Next thing I knew I'd be naming our children.

But first we need to have a honeymoon…

I kept looking for an opportunity to just casually find myself in proximity to Seth Clearwater but I was thwarted at every turn; now that the formalities were over I seemed to be the center of attention.

It was hard to fault the hospitality of the Quileute people, but I developed a strong feeling of solidarity with Queen Elizabeth as I shook hands, smiled, repeated my standardized bio, discussed how different the weather was from my home and politely accepted more plates of food and cups of violently-colored punch than I wanted.

Kids from my classes introduced their parents and I met the few elders who were not on the hiring committee. And there seemed to be any number of young to young-ish men who wanted to make my acquaintance, which might have been welcome at any other time, but just now…I had to force myself to give gracious answers as my eyes discretely scanned the crowd for the man who had captivated me with one look.

At last, reluctantly, I had to leave; the hall was emptying and I hadn't even seen the object of my sudden, blinding affection for a while.

"So, not quite like the old time Potlatches our people used to have, but what did you think?" The voice at my shoulder was the slightly husky one I had been hoping to hear all evening.

Clutching my keys so they wouldn't jingle in my shaky hands, I stopped and turned toward him. Yup, just as good looking as I remembered.

"Um, my degree's in cultural anthropology so I'm always interested in stuff like that. Maybe…you could tell me about it sometime?" Was that too much of a hint? Just enough?

What is happening to me? I run almost three thousand miles from home partly to get some distance from an unwanted relationship, only to find myself completely enthralled by a stranger that I've spoken with for maybe ten minutes! I don't even believe in love at first sight!

He considered for a moment while I quietly ground my teeth, "Things like that go better over some food and a beer…is Monday after school good for you?" My head was nodding like a bobble-head doll's.

The steering wheel on my Outback was the recipient of a big silly grin on the short drive home. I glanced at my watch; wa-a-ay too late to call Joanie back home. And way too early to tell anybody, even a lifelong best friend, about my newly altered reality.

But he wanted to see me! I did a little happy dance in the car seat, causing my vehicle to veer crazily on the road. Hastily, I pulled myself together and got the car back in the proper lane.

How on earth was I going to wait till Monday afternoon?

…………

"Is there someone else joining us?" I asked, hoping I didn't give away how disappointed I was at the prospect of sharing Seth's company.

"No, nobody. Why?"

"You ordered so much food…I just wondered."

He blinked and hastily explained that he'd skipped lunch.

We sat in the noisy, warm coziness of the little café, eyes locked as we went about the business of getting acquainted. I'd offer a little and then ask a question of him, wondering if I gauchely showed how absolutely avid I was for the answers. I couldn't recall having a crush of this magnitude even in middle school.

Humorous and thoughtful, he liked to read, with a whimsical preference for classic trench coat detectives like Sam Marlowe. We shared a love of surfing and swapped stories about the Gulf versus the Pacific – he won that one, needless to say. I couldn't suppress a cackle of triumph when we each, a bit sheepishly, admitted to an appreciation of Jeff Foxworthy.

"I've got this cousin-."

"-everybody has that cousin!"

We snorted with laughter; I felt almost giddy with the elation of justbeing with him.

Seth was a cabinetmaker, which somehow didn't surprise me – his hands were those of a working man, though less scarred and calloused than I would have expected, given his craft.

Ah, his hands. Watching their motions in the air as Seth described the stages of crafting a piece of fine furniture almost made me moan. I wanted those hands on me; I wanted to be the cause of that glow of satisfaction in his eyes as he talked.

"You love it, don't you?" I said faintly, "You make it sound so…sensual."

I was surprised to find that he was younger than me; he seemed so mature, with an underlying core of serenity that drew me like a magnet.

And there was an odd sensation of darkness about him; not a sinister one, by any means, just an impression of…mystery. It was a quality of restrained wildness; of something hidden and potent. The possibilities of that feature made me suppress a shiver of anticipation; it called to me at a very basic level.

The things I had heard about rough sex didn't do much for me, but I knew that I appreciated a certain…vigor. I could return as good as I got in that matter. Somehow, I formed a conviction of an equal drive in the striking young man across the table. If anything, my attraction became even stronger.

And could he eat! The enormous order of food simply disappeared, consumed with the tidiest of table manners. The woman whose engagement party I had inadvertently crashed evidently knew a thing or two about raising children. I had a feeling though, that a lot of his courteous behavior was simply a product of being a genuinely nice guy.

Even in the depths of my infatuation I found myself wondering what's going to be the fatal flaw here? This man is simply too good to be true!

Using professional interest as an excuse, I asked about joining his language class and felt my heart soar at the glad expression that immediately shone from those devastating eyes.

The informal classes were held at his house two nights a week and I was oddly jittery as I knocked at the front door the next evening, it seemed so intimate, somehow. That old Van Halen song I'm Hot for Teacher was playing on a continuous loop in my head.

Was it my imagination or was his smile extra warm as he let me in? Not like much was going to happen with a bunch of observant school kids as chaperones. Not like anything is going to happen, I told myself sternly as he took my jacket, this is for educational purposes only.

Other than a few outstanding pieces that were obviously of his personal manufacture, the place was furnished with the typical bachelor mish-mash - a sofa that had seen better days a generation ago and a state-of-the art sound system and TV - still, for a single man's home, it wasn't too bad.

It seemed overly large for one person, but he explained, "I grew up here; it's still in the family. A few years ago, Mom and I moved in with Charlie over in Forks, but after I finished school and started working I came back. It is way too big for me of course, but it feels right, somehow. There're a lot of memories here…my dad, mainly." He gave a quirky smile and a one-shouldered shrug. I liked that he acknowledged that kind of sentiment without apology.

Half a dozen youngsters of varying ages made up the rest of the attendees and after a bit of mildly awkward shuffling on everyone's part we settled down around the dining room table. It was easy to see that he was popular with his small class and the thought floated through my mind that he would make a good father someday…There I go again!

Covertly, I studied the play of Seth's muscles under his tight white t-shirt as he wrote on the homemade black board, then brutally wrenched my attention back to the lesson.

It was surprisingly fun to be the ignorant beginner. Quileute has an alphabet of thirty-seven characters, a bewildering eight of which are some form of 'K' sound. My stumbling attempts to pronounce the words on the first page of the little booklet I was handed proved to be a mirth-provoking icebreaker and by the end of the class a pleasant feeling of fellowship had developed.

The session wound up with the telling one of the traditional Quileute tales of the Old Times, when animals and humans were facets of the same beings. I watched and listened in fascination, my heart swelling with something I couldn't quite define at Seth's performance. His mobile face took on different expressions and his voice rose and fell as he acted out the characters of Raven, Mole, Bear and Wolf. He blushed adorably when I complimented him on his skill.

Increasing effort was required over the next couple of weeks to keep my emotions regarding Seth under wraps. At any gathering I would find my eyes instinctively searching for him, the mention of his name in an overheard conversation would bring all my senses to attention. I could easily have become as giggly as one of my pupils whenever I happened to meet him in the village.

Surely, it wasn't just wishful thinking that he was…interested, too. Sometimes there would be a thoughtful expression in his eyes, one that said I know you, an expression that vanished when he saw me looking. And there was the way his fingers would brush mine if he handed me something, how his hand would rest lightly on my back when he opened a door for me. Surely, surely….

During one of our early morning runs, he asked if I'd like to go for a hike some Sunday. With a show of casualness, I agreed, and the plan was made. I groaned with disappointment when I woke to the sound of rain that morning, like what else was new? It shouldn't have surprised me that we went anyway: the locals didn't let a little thing like rain get in the way of plans. They would hardly have accomplished much if they did!

We stepped into another world; not a Disney forest, but one out of Tolkien. Vast ancient trees, carpeted in thick moss, huge primeval ferns, fleshy, lividly colored fungi the size of washing machines, and unexpected pockets of dense mist. All were held within the spell of a brooding, expectant silence; silence that was broken only by the sound of dripping water and the occasional scurry of an unseen animal. It was easy to believe in Sasquatch and windigos and ents in such a place.

Seth named the trees, read animal tracks for me and gave me the Quileute words for them all. As we clambered up hillsides and negotiated streams, it occurred to me that I had never seen a person who seemed so much a part of his environment.

For his part, Seth was fascinated by my description of my own home. Shaking his head, he laughed, "No hills at all? And all that sunshine, and warm water for swimming! That's so hard to imagine. But then, I think I was in fourth grade before I found out there were places where it didn't rain all the time!"

"Oh, it has its merits." I shrugged. "But this - this is so beautiful! I'm glad I have you as a guide, though," I admitted, "these woods are…spooky.

"What kind of wild life is there around here?" I asked a little diffidently. "Does anything…big ever come close to the village proper?" He looked politely interested. "Oh, it's probably just my imagination, but sometimes if I'm out at night or go get wood for the heating stove…I feel like there's something…there, in the trees, watching. Not menacing, really, just there and, um, big." It sounded so lame when I said it out loud and I was sorry I had brought it up; maybe there was an ugly witch under my bed, too.

Seth's transparent features were bland and open as he quipped cheerfully that he'd never seen anything scarier than himself around La Push.

Once again, I had that breathtaking sensation of concealed power that seemed to lurk just under the surface of this intriguing man. He looked down at me, his face serious now, and the silence took on a certain expectant quality. He leaned closer and – a loud cawing and a flutter of black wings erupted in the stillness of the forest; startled, we jumped apart. The moment was broken.

"Sometimes a flock of crows is referred to as a "murder of crows". Did you know that?" He remarked easily.

I could have happily murdered that particular crow for its untimely intervention. We resumed our hike.

…………

"Um, what's The Lodge like? I mean, what should I wear? Is it nice?" I asked Irene, a little hesitantly. We had established a pretty chummy relationship and I felt the need of some girlfriend advice. Her response to the question both pleased and alarmed me.

"Seth Clearwater is taking you to The Lodge?" She exclaimed, too loudly for my comfort: we were sitting in the cramped teachers' lounge over a spartan lunch of yogurt and apples. Irene's black eyes glimmered eagerly; mercifully, she lowered her voice as she continued, "Things must be…going well with you two! Are you guys…uh…?" She gave an encouraging smile, plainly hoping for a juicy admission.

"We're…not at that point yet, I guess." I muttered with a rueful grimace.

"Too bad," she commiserated, "but that could be a good sign. I mean, Seth's kind of played the field up till now; not in a bad way, mind you, he's just never gotten serious with anybody. Maybe he's, um, trying to make a statement or something."

A pleasant tightness formed in my chest at her suggestion, but I forced myself to say lightly, "Is that what an invitation to The Lodge means? He's serious?"

"We-ell, let's just say that the food is quite good, but you mainly go there for the romantic atmosphere."

Irene insisted on coming over after school to examine my rather limited wardrobe. I've always been the tomboy type and don't have many dress-up clothes, but after trying various possibilities, we hit on the right balance of alluring and lady like.

Our combined efforts paid off judging by the glow of admiration in Seth's dark brown eyes when I answered the door that evening. I was very glad that I'd taken such care: he looked amazing – all in black and his shirt was silk.

"Oh, my sister Leah bullied me into buying this," was the response to my artfully nonchalant comment. "I think she's grooming me for that androgynous, metrosexual look." Thus our evening started with a laugh; as if he could ever look like anything but a full-blooded, completely male creature!

The Lodge, despite the unprepossessing name, was very romantic. Part of an upscale resort complex, the timber and stone building was invitingly rustic; inside the damasked tables, heavy cutlery and polished stemware made for an atmosphere of discrete luxury. My hopes, and my heart, rose: it was definitely the sort of place that said "serious" to me.

After some very pleasurable debate, I settled on crab-stuffed Grey Sole with a silky white wine sauce and Seth had a wild game mixed grill on an intriguing warm white bean salad. There was a thoughtful discussion with the waiter over the wine list and a bottle of Chateau Ste. Michelle Pinot Gris was produced and approved.

"I didn't know you knew about wine," I probed casually.

He gave me a conspiratorial grin, "I don't. I just asked myself, 'What would James Bond do?' Did you notice that I didn't really say anything? I just asked the guy for recommendations and nodded a lot." Seth's playful humor and candor, as well as his refusal to take himself too seriously, had me utterly captivated. And so the evening went, on through the dessert, a lovely pear cake and gingerbread ice cream.

Late that night, I reluctantly said good bye and softly shut the front door. Dreamily, I hung my coat on the peg, not registering that it slipped off onto the floor. I drifted into the bedroom. Undressing took rather a long time since I stopped every few seconds to dwell on the memory of Seth's handsome face across the table, to review every word we had exchanged, examining each for meaning that would support my hope that his feelings were similar to mine.

Slowly, I pulled out the combs that held up my hair, imagining Seth's hands loosing the strands. Closing my eyes, I fell back on the bed and traced the edges of my mouth with my finger tips, reliving each detail of our good night kiss…

We had stood on the little porch, the air rife with anticipation. Seth bent his head as if to kiss my cheek.

Okay, so he gets points for taking the subtle approach. Well, the hell with subtle.

Instinctively, I turned my face so that my mouth became the target instead. If I'd had the slightest doubt that I was in love - which I hadn't - that kiss would have convinced me.

His lips were strong, as I'd known they would be, and sensitive; I lost myself in his tongue stroking mine. I felt the firm column of his neck under my hands - how had they gotten there? His skin was as smooth as suede under my fingers. A little gravelly hum vibrated deep in his throat and his arms wrapped around me. Silently, I damned my coat for coming between us, but even through the heavy layers of fabric that separated us I could feel the solid strength of him. Without reserve, I molded my body to his. Seth's height and sheer bulk were a revelation: it was so rare for me to feel 'smaller than'; I found that it answered a previously unknown need in me.

With a simultaneous gasp, we separated just enough to look into each other's eyes. "Lily," he whispered in a tone of wonder, raising a hand to smooth over my hair. He tantalized me with tiny, nibbling kisses around the edges of my lips and I gave a faint moan of bliss as mouth claimed mouth yet again.

Unconsciously, I ran my fingers over Seth's eyelids and ears and the line of his jaw, drawing a picture of him by touch, and savoring the different textures I found. It occurred to me that I had never really known the true power of attraction. What I had felt for previous boyfriends hardly came under the same description as my feelings, physical and emotional, for Seth.

But something was off…"Seth! You're burning up!" Anxiously, I felt his forehead and checked for swollen glands, "How do you feel? Is your throat sore?"

"Seriously, I'm great! Never better, thanks to you," he chuckled softly. He tenderly took my hands and placed them flat on his chest, under his open jacket. Yes, he was very warm, but that heat seemed the most compelling thing I had ever experienced. Unbidden, my hands slid up and my arms wrapped around his neck as he explained, "The temperature thing, it's a, uh, genetic anomaly. Several of us have it."

"Hmmm." I murmured doubtfully, "I don't recall anything like that from any of my text books…I'll have to do some research." Then my rational mind was swallowed up by the sensation of Seth lightly sucking in my lower lip as a prelude to another searching kiss.

At last, reluctantly, we drew apart, murmuring a good night, followed by another kiss, light and gentle this time, a promise of things to come. Only an almost inhuman act of will kept me from grabbing him by the collar and dragging him into the house with me. Never one to be especially shy with the opposite sex, in this instance I was torn by wanting things between us to move forward fast and wanting to draw out the painfully sweet anticipation.

Nevertheless, it was high time to take some action.

…………

End notes:

Sorry. I simply had to break here – because this was too dang long for one chapter! Next time: The Party; The Conversation; The Cliff; The !!!!

Please don't make me beg for reviews…