"Paul Aaron Lahote!"

"Jesus Christ," he sighs, "I seriously regret telling you my middle name Rach..."

"You didn't tell me," I remind him. "I stole your ID."

"Okay, okay," he rolls his eyes, "what are you screaming at me for?"

"I heard about today," I told him. To most it would've been a completely arbitrary statement. Like we were speaking in code. Hell, maybe we were.

"God, I don't want to talk about it Rach..." he mutters.

I turn back to the sink with a shake of my head. He never wants to talk about it. That's part of the problem. I just tell anyone how I feel at anytime. Paul does not. You need the jaws of life - or a crow bar on a good day - to get anything out of him. And this is me we're talking about. It should be a cake walk for the center of his world.

I hear him at the fridge as he pulls out one of the three plates of leftovers from Emily. "Are you okay?" I ask staring out into the setting sun.

The fridge closes with a thud and tinkle of jars. "I'm all right," he says quietly. "The big leech got too close our land". I turn around and he's right there, his blue eyes boring a hole into my soul. He knows I worry about him. Someday his temper's going to get him in a whole mess a trouble.

"You're all after the same vampire that's been skirting the treaty line. I don't see why you don't work together. Ever hear the phrase 'your enemy's enemy is your friend'?"

"Yes," he says joining me at the counter with his plate. "That could definitely work the other way as well. Team up with the red head and polish off that vampire girl and maybe a few of her comrades."

"There's also the phrase 'lesser of two evils'," I look at him through narrowed eyes, "Leave the Swan girl alone, Paul."

"Jake shouldn't have told her," he said quietly. He's mad about it. He's been mad about. Don't get me wrong, I completely understand. My brother told whiny Bella about all this before he told me. In fact he never actually told me. Paul did. But we covered that. So I empathized with Paul. But talk about beating a dead horse? My boy could hold a grudge like it was his damn job.

I push myself up onto the counter. "She's one of the Them."

Yes. Them with a capital 'T'. The Cullens are hardly favorites around here and since they reappeared a while back no one's been more disappointed then Paul - except maybe Sam.

But Bella's knowledge of the wolves has not gone over well. Especially since my brother did kind of lead her on. He likes her. I know he does. But I've seen her and she's a total headcase. The Cullens left and she just went batshit. She slowly drove herself crazy. No one likes getting broken up with, especially with someone you grow so attached to but Bella's reaction was not healthy. And my baby brother is making ridiculously heroic attempts to patch her up. Even now.

Personally, I think she's a lost cause. Nice enough girl, I guess, but I don't want her dragging my brother down too.

"Well, you and I both know Jake hasn't spoken to her in weeks," I said pointedly, "so lay off."

Paul just doesn't like her. Period. End of story. She's a bitch.

These times are strange. My brother is a wolf and one of his packmates imprinted on me. So I'm torn between separate entities almost constantly. Shifted around the politics of a world I don't even fully participate in. I only ever get half stories and biased opinions. From Jake and Paul.

Since the Clearwater kids have started shifting a few weeks ago I usually talk to Leah. She makes it a personal mission to hate them all and will tell me the God's honest truth no matter what. Then I talk to Emily because the Alpha's girl usually has damn good insight as well. And after those four consults plus my own discernment and I can usually form clear pictures of a situation.

Plus, this is a really awkward stage in Paul and I's relationship. I mean they're all awkward but... There's this fringe border between us. His mind and his emotions are telling him I'm the one but I've only known him a few months and that's strange to me. It's like we're at different developmental stages of the same relationship. He's at the ten year mark and I'm just rounding the three month bend.

We're still working on it. Most days I don't mind because I care a lot about that ridiculous boy; I can see the down sides to imprinting but that's one issue we don't have. I truly love Paul. Though I've yet to tell him. Color me a wimp but I haven't had the pluck to verbalize yet.

But some days I just feel like it's not right. It's not right because he cares more for me than I do for him. It's not right because he had no choice in the matter. It's not right because my ever even contemplating leaving would dump piles of guilt on both of us.

Paul reasons that imprinting does give a choice. He says it's not just some physical quirk that picks out someone who'd be a good mate. Animals do that and they make babies and go their separate ways.

"There's a hell of a lot more to it than function," he explained once. "Because I don't need imprinting to tell me that you're hot, Rach. I have a separate appendage for that."

Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I'm not so sure

"The way I think about it," Paul reasoned, "guys are kind of stupid when it comes to love and a lot of us walk away from what would be the best things in our lives. So maybe it's just our genes interceding on our behalf."

"Not all of us imprint. I mean Embry? And Jake? And Seth is still pretty young but still... maybe they're all open minded enough to be able to see they're better half when God gives it to them. Jared never looked at Kim twice and Emily was only visiting the res for a few days..."

It's a gift and a curse.

This past three months have been a maturation process. About two months ago both Seth and Leah Clearwater shifted for the first time. It was kind of scary, because I've never really known when La Push kids were shifting.

Leah was a veritable spitfire. She didn't take too long to shift back, but in the interceding time she was mad as hell. Emily, Kim and I used to sit in Kim's truck on the edge of the woods. They were all in there, dealing with an irate Seth and Leah. We couldn't hear them but we knew they were there. And at sparing intervals one would come out half crippled. Like I said, mostly due to Leah's aggression.

I can't say as I blame her for being so blindly angry. First Sam just drops her like a hot potato when he truly, genuinely cared about her. So that makes her angry – her anger triggers a recessive female wolfy gene and that – plus her brother – gives her dad a heart attack. I'm not saying Seth and Leah killed Charlie Clearwater, because they didn't, but they scared him. Scared him bad. So after all that, Leah's in some messed up animal's body and she can hear people in her head. My brother, Paul, Embry, Quil, her brother, Sam. She can hear these boys she hates inside her head. I'm surprised she didn't go absolutely and completely crazy.

Anyways, Leah would run over these boys like a cheese grater. Every six hours one of them came out. Quil, Embry, Paul, Jared - we never saw Sam or Jake. And they'd be cut across the chest and back, bruises and black eyes, busted femurs, torn hamstrings, the works. We bring them home – through the shadows of the town so no one gets suspicious – and clean them up while they magically heal. That was the routine for five days while Seth and eventually Leah developed enough control to shift back.

At first though, I wasn't prepared. That Monday towards the end of March, I'd got a voicemail from my brother and then Paul about "pack stuff" and "nothing major" and "call you later". It was practically the same message from two different people. I went about my daily business and passed out around 11:30PM. Somewhere in the night my phone sliced through the quiet darkness with a force to knock me out of my bed.

"Hello?" I asked my voice still deep and scratchy with sleep.

"Rachel?" I heard a breathless voice shout at me through the receiver. I'm pretty sure it was my brother. And he was yelling. Not in a panicked way but in a I-work-in-an-industrial-mine-and-I'm-going-deaf kind of way. Or an I'm-at-a-Metallica-concert-and-my-ears-are-bleeding kind of way.

"Jake?" I asked. "Jesus, what time is it?" I fumbled around on my nightstand and the day glo green blinked 3:09AM back at me. "Jacob, what the hell is going on? Where are you? Are you drunk?"

"No, Rachel," he was clearly a bit preoccupied, "can you do me a favor? Just one thing?"

"Sure," I said rubbing my eyes. Clearly this was important. "What do you need?"

"Get down to the woods at the town line? Bring your car."

"Sure," I nodded through a yawn. "Give me five minutes. Is everything okay?" I only got a click and dial tone in response.

Seven minutes after that I had my window rolled down on the cool night air and was coasting at a few miles per hour down the only road out of town. I was peering into the woods as best I possibly could, looking for my brother or anyone for that matter, and failing. It was as black as pitch and I could only see two feet into the trees.

I pulled onto the soft shoulder and killed the engine. I had no idea what the hell they could possibly be doing out here but I know Jacob wouldn't have called me unless it was important. I leaned forward resting my chin on the wrapped steering wheel when the trees ahead of me began to shift and the leaves whistled with movement.

I saw two shadows lumber out of the woods. Two guys walking side by side. I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. I'll assume this is what I had been looking for. I turned the ignition. My headlights blared to life and I could see – with perfect clarity – my brother as he all but hauled Paul bodily toward my car.

My hands snapped to my mouth to stifle my gasp. Jacob was dirty but seemingly fine. Paul was not. His face was in shadow but I could see a whole half of his face was bruised, the arm not over Jake's shoulder was hanging at an odd angle and he was covered on the opposite side of his torso with blood.

The panic, the unyielding feeling like I was going to lose it began filling the car like steady flood… Get it together, Rachel! I told myself. Because clearly my panic was not the biggest issue here. I took a deep breath – in through the nose out through the mouth – and stepped out of the car. I opened the passenger side and pulled the seat back as far as it would go.

I stood up and the gimpy pair had made it to my car. Jake awkwardly put Paul inside, Paul swearing and wincing the whole time. "What the hell happened?" I demanded.

"Watch out for his left arm, and his right leg. Get him home, clean him up and he should heal up all right," Jacob began retreating from where he just came. I was pissed; I wanted to punch him. Why the hell would he not answer my damn question? He kept deflecting.

"Son of a bitch," I growled as I attempted to rein in my anger and close the passenger side door gently. I took a few of those deep cleansing breaths that I'd learned to utilize in instances with my brother's asshat-edness as I walked around to the driver's side. I climbed in and couldn't help but cringe. Paul looked even worse under the dim yellow light from the headlamp.

I knew that he'd be fine. I'd seen all these boys heal broken bones in a forty-eight hour time span. But it didn't make it any easier to watch. I leaned into the back seat and pulled a towel from my beach bag. This boy – I now know – is champion bleeder. If there was a bleeding Olympics, Paul would wipe the floor with everyone. Paper cut, scuffs, scrapes, bite wounds inflicted by manic new wolves – it doesn't matter, he just starts practically hemorrhaging.

"Come here," I indicated leaning over the console and taking a gentle edge of the fabric as I cleared his face. I went slow and tried not to do anymore damage. "Where's your leg busted?" I asked.

"Below the knee," he told me. So, I gently swung myself over the console and landed lightly on his lap. Because he was bleeding over the side panel of the door and I couldn't reach from my seat, but I didn't want to hurt him further.

He just smiled back at me with a close lipped grin. "You are a mess," I told him quietly.

"Don't I know it," he laughed, "I'm bleeding all over your car. People are going to think you tried to kill me."

"I don't know," I mused as I reached to wrap the towel around his waist and cover the gash on his side along his ribs. "I've got it out for a few other people. You're hardly at the top of the list, dear."

I carefully fell back into the driver's seat and put the car into gear. We made it to my place without Paul's dying or bleeding too much more on the car. He only winced when he moved so I gathered he wasn't in a total state of pain. I pulled up the dirt driveway, killed the engine and made my way to the passenger side.

"Come on," I indicated bending forward ready to help him out.

"What? Are you crazy? I'm going to crush you," he insisted.

"Paul," I sighed, "I'm not a total flower; I'll be fine."

"But…" he continued.

"You're fucking crippled," I said, because it was rather blatantly obvious, "how the hell else are you going to get into my house?"

With a resigned sigh he lifted himself out of the car and I ducked under his arm. He needed my support more than I thought because he was seriously leaning some weight on me. But I'm not made of crepe paper; I'm a pretty strong individual. Just because these boys were tall and strong themselves, didn't mean they weighed a metric ton. I kicked the door shut and after about five minutes we'd hobbled our way through the front door. I was quite proud that we made it all the way to our closet of a bathroom without waking my dad.

Now, I consider this day – above all others – to be a turning point in our relationship. Because we'd reached this impasse and we had to find some way to overcome it. There were solutions other than the one we chose that might've suited other people in other times. But this decision sort of set the course for us, for who we were together and what we'd inevitably become.

"Okay," I said awkwardly because this was about to become really weird. "Can you stand up on your own?" I asked.

"That would be a no," Paul nodded from his spot on the closed toilet. "I can barely sit here."

Fantastic. Because in addition to being bloody, he was covered in sweat and all manner of dirt and forest debris. He needed a shower. And he couldn't even stand up.

"Is this going to be weird?" I don't know why I even bothered asking. I think weirdness might've been guaranteed.

"Is what going to be weird?"

"Paul," I said flatly, "you need a shower but you can't even stand in said shower. Unless you want to wait for one of the guys to get off duty and help you it's going to have to be me."

He sighed and leaned back against the tank with a light clank, "This is going to rob me of any dignity I have, isn't it?"

I sat on the edge of the sink, thinking. I can't say as I blamed him for not being gung ho about this. I would've been pretty embarrassed if the tables were turned. He was helpless to even move on his own for the next few hours and now I had to strip him down and help him shower?

Then I decided that there shouldn't be any awkwardness, because regardless of where life took us, Paul was always going to be a really important figure in my life. There couldn't be walls between us. We'd have to break them down eventually and I believe life had just presented us with a sledgehammer for our first demo.

Fuck the awkwardness, I decided. We were totally running the gamut with this relationship, might as well keep going. I hopped off the sink fished a hair tie out of the medicine cabinet and tied my long black hair into a knot on top of my head. I slipped off my flip flops and tugged my old t-shirt over my head revealing my basic white bra.

Paul just sort of stared at me like I was crazy. Then he was just plain old staring at me. After eight years of hockey, I wasn't exactly some tiny sprite but I certainly had plenty in the way of muscle tone. "Look," I rolled my eyes, "I'm not going to rob you of your self-respect by approaching this like some clinical nursing home."

He laughed quietly for a moment, "my girlfriend fucking rocks."

I shook my head and slid off my sweat pants. Paul got up and was leaning against me as I pushed his shorts down. So, I in my white bra and neon green boy shorts, and Paul in his navy blue boxers climbed unsteadily into the tub. I kept one arm around him as I leaned down to turn on the water. The hot water rattled through the pipes and sprang from the showerhead. We were soaked in a matter of seconds.

Both of us were, for the most part, robbed of any kind of mobility. So I decided to concentrate on cleaning up caked on dirt and open wounds. I stood up on the edge of the tub – because Paul was so damn tall even compared to my five feet nine inches.

I cleaned his slashed up back with careful fingers, feeling the jagged interruptions of his serrated skin under my own hands as the hot water ran crossways down his muscled back. I spent a good five minutes on the gash on his side. It wasn't terribly deep, but he was missing a lot of skin – it looked almost like road rash and there were grains of dirt and sand embedded in there.

He smiled lightly against my hands as I washed away the mud and blood on his face as he held onto my waist for support. "Much better," I smiled too, moving my sopping bangs from my eyes. "You feelin' any better?" I asked from my spot on the side of the tub. I didn't know just how fast this healing stuff would set in but I hoped not being coated in his own blood helped.

His eyes were closed as he stood in the steady stream of water, "Rachel, I feel better whenever you're around me."

And that sentiment didn't make me feel anxious or concerned or stressed. It just made me feel loved. That sort of all-encompassing love that hits you when you least expect it. When you can't help but feel just so purely happy. I think it's the closest anyone can ever get to reasonless euphoria. That gentle release of adrenaline through your veins, just enough to make you feel its presence

For a moment I just stood there, smiling like a fool, as we balanced under the rush of water. Paul's face was just so calm. The black eye and cut across his cheek could've been nothing. He just looked so peaceful. He didn't have those harsh deep lines that crept into his face when he was irritated or busy. He wasn't drawn or anxious. He just was; and that was such a rare thing. I really hadn't seen much of it in my short two months with him.

In the pulsing heat of the shower I leaned forward, ever so slightly, being careful not to lose my balance on the edge. I let my wet hands slip down the side of Paul's face until the rested on either side of his neck and I dipped my lips to his own.

It was an instant shock. Like the rest of him, his lips were several degrees warmer than my own. But I loved it. He smelled like cedar and soap. His lips were dry and smooth and his taste was savory. His hot mouth fitting perfectly with my own.

He was not really prepared for me. His eyes snapped open almost instantly, blinking against the water coursing over us and soaking us to the bone. Until this point I had drawn this careful line in our relationship. We had never kissed because I just wasn't there yet. He never pushed it but I knew it was on his mind.

So he just sort of seized up. I leaned further forward, trying not to throw off his already shaky balance, and pulled myself closer to him, kissing at one corner of his mouth. At this point I was actually quite mad at myself. Paul didn't even have to move for me to realize that kissing him was definitely in the top five things I would spend the rest of my life doing – and I had wasted all this time? I tugged at his top lip with my teeth, practically begging him to get some enjoyment out of this.

I felt his arms wind around my slippery waist and my chest was pressed right to his own. I heard a small thud as his back leaned against the tub wall and began to slide downward, my no longer really supporting much weight, and taking me with him towards the floor.

I felt one of his hands against my bare back as the other slipped to cradle my head. I gently coaxed his mouth open with my tongue and was delighted when he didn't pull back. He actually seemed to enjoy it more than I was at this point. His tongue massaged smoothly against my own, slow and tender.

At this point I was just overwhelmed – in a totally good way – and let Paul do his thing. He pulled back for a moment, taking a ragged breath. I felt his lips at the corner of my mouth and his quick breath over my cheek. His teeth glanced lightly over lip and I felt his rough cheek against my own.

His mouth trailed down the side of my neck, under my ear to my throat. My fingers tangled in his dark hair as his lips trained so expertly down my soaked flesh.

I sat on Paul's drenched lap, my eyes closed, processing everything that had just happened and riding a total post-kiss buzz. I smile crept up my face as my hands rested on his chest.

"Rachel?" he spoke slowly. I opened my eyes and Paul was right there, his electric blue boring into me.

"Yes," I bit my lip. He opened his mouth a few times, attempting to say something. But the movement of his mouth just kept distracting me, so I spoke up before I attacked him again. "Thanks," I nodded.

"What?" he asked through a laugh.

"That was really pretty fucking awesome," I nodded.

"Ha!" his bright eyes crinkled at the corners as he chuckled. "What do you say we get out of this bathroom and you put some dry clothes on before I do something stupid?"

I just rolled my eyes, stood up and helped him out with me.

Paul healed okay in the next twelve hours. He spent the interceding time explaining to me why the hell he was in the shape he was in. The knowledge that the little Clearwater kids were running around as pack now was a little scary, a little strange. Twenty four hours later he was out in his rambunctious doggy shapes.

Leah Clearwater shifted back towards the end of the week. Some days I really cannot make heads or tails of her, mostly because I can never even imagine what she's been through, but I try to keep my eye on her. Seth is still a kid and pretty much in love with the legend he's turned into. God bless him for it.

That was our first big step in our relationship. Part of me was just seriously turned on and part of me just couldn't really squelch the fear that I was going to lose him. They all have a dangerous job – and that week Kim, Emily and I sat vigil was just proof positive. I knew I wouldn't lose him to one of his brothers (or now sister) but I didn't know the cause of his injuries at the time. And the general possibility of loss still rang true in my head. I didn't want him leaving my sight without trying… without knowing…

I really like the way Paul has sort of taken my stunted progression of our relationship in stride. Like I said, we have our share of imprinting problems, but my not returning the sentiment is not one of them. Which is nice.

Before that day we were just friends. And that was good because it allowed me to, you know, learn Paul's last name. And his address. And his real age.

Through all the ups and downs of it all, we're very good for each other. Paul lightens the mood or can make me have fun whenever I take things too seriously. He insists that life is far too important to be taken seriously.

And apparently Paul has calmed down substantially since we've been together. My first reaction was "Really?" because I found it hard to believe he had even worse temper before he met me. But everyone I know corroborates this.

He's never been mad at me. I don't know if it's even possible. I could set his hair on fire and he'd probably still love me. Anyways, in no particular order I give you the top things that set Paul off, as compiled by me:

#1. When the toilet paper is fed over and not under

#2. Anything having to do with the Cullens

#3. Anything having to do with Bella

#4. Sam telling him what to do

#5. Anyone telling him what to do

#6. My brother's constant thoughts about the "leech lover".

#7. Leah's perpetual "mental bitchiness" and her purposeful desire to make them all miserable "because Sam dumped her two freaking years ago, for the love of God, Rachel, do you hear where I'm coming from?"

#8. The Mariners "because they couldn't suck anymore this season even if they wanted to. I swear, it's like they're trying to replicate Major League or some shit."

#9. Himself. He inevitably ends up blaming himself for the most random ass shit in the world. Usually with things pertaining to my or his happiness.

#10. And maybe the biggest one: anything that makes me less than gleeful. Because if the right brand of laundry detergent is not on sale when I buy for the house *heads will roll*.

And a few oddball things in between will set him off but he's good enough to stay fully human during the experience. Which, apparently, requires practice.

Usually I'm the one that gets to talk to him out of his tree. When he's about to go dismember a packmate or bust a skull for someone else. I seem to have this natural knack for calming him. I think it's just because he never likes being angry around me.

Paul doesn't just get irrationally angry. He's an extremely passionate individual. Most people see his passionate anger, but he feels sadness, love and happiness the same way. He loves his family and me with that same energy he smacks his packmates around with.

But he's a total dude. So don't say anything. If he found out I was telling people he loves passionately he would just get all huffy and insist I'm painting him to be a total pansy-ass.

If I said it once, I'll say it a thousand times: I love him but he's an idiot. And I wouldn't have him any other way.