I remember waking up that morning and not feeling able bodied enough to move. I rolled over, trying to peek through the covers to find my alarm clock and all my core muscles ached. More so than after any hockey practice I'd ever endured. And that was saying a lot.

I finally found my phone – ignored the twelve additional missed alerts – and discovered it was almost noon. And I was still exhausted. I carefully sat up, still wrapped in my covers. I had some mild vertigo and discovered that half of my head was congested.

Beautiful.

I stumbled out of bed and towards the bathroom down the hall. I was of a clear enough mind to at least notice that Jacob was mobile again, as I saw him putzing around the kitchen. "You want something to eat?" he asked. I thought it was strange that he actually offered, but then again, I had taken care of him for the past few days so he'd probably be nice to me until at least dinner.

"Please," I replied before slamming the bathroom door. I refused to turn the fan on or open the window – which would only contribute to our mold problem – but the steam of the shower helped the other half of my head not feel like it weighed fifty pounds. I wrapped myself in wool socks and some warm sweats and made my way to the kitchen. I plopped down on a stool and watched Jake finish the sandwich he was making. He extended the plate towards me before pulling out of reach. "Ugh!" I groused.

"You get this sandwich on one condition," he told me.

"It better be the acknowledgement of your undying gratitude to me for taking care of your ass for the past three days."

"Okay," he amended as he placed the plate down and slid it towards me, "Two conditions. Call your boyfriend."

"I'm not calling that asshole," I muttered as I took a vicious bite of the sandwich. Jake couldn't cook, but I can't deny the man made a mean sandwich.

"Look," he rolled his eyes at me, "you offered me love-life advice last night, so here's mine. Call the man."

"You don't even know the whole story," I said slamming my hand on the counter.

"You're right, I probably don't, but I do know that the guy's been a supreme pain in the ass. And he's not even in my damn pack. He's developed some kind of insane personality disorder. He's either a total jack ass – like he used to be – or he's a total mope and just brings everyone else down. Fix him!"

"I can't fix him, Jake! I'm his imprint, okay? I don't make life perfect simply by existing! I'm sorry if my love life is messing with your pack business; there's nothing I can do about it!"

Jake opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the phone. He leaned over and pulled it off the wall. "Hello?" he whined as he propped his head up with his arm. He was such a drama queen sometimes. "Yes, thank you very much! I'm working on it!" He slammed the phone back into its cradle and his forehand plopped against the counter top.

I gently put my sandwich down, realizing this not normal Jacob behavior. Before I could say anything he spoke, his voice muffled from its proximity to the counter. "That was Sam. He's called me seven times in two hours. Paul is crying on his couch. Emily's worried about him." He finally picked his head, he looked tired, mentally tired. "What the hell did you do to him, Rach?"

Oh no. We were treading into dangerous territory now. Territory that could end with Jacob knowing I went onto enemy land without any protection. If I thought Paul took it badly, Jake would've been worse. I had to address this tactfully, "I gave him an order."

"Oh?" Jacob didn't specifically know the power of an imprint-based order but he grasped the theory well enough. "And what was it that you ordered him to do? Why was it even necessary?"

"I ordered him to get out of my way," I said slowly as I kept my eyes on the formica countertop and swallowed another bite of my sandwich.

"Why?" Jake seemed genuinely confused. I just shook my head as I chewed.

"Rachel," he warned. "Either you can tell me, or I can call Sam back and have Paul tell me."

I nearly choked with that one. If Paul told Jake over the phone the Sam and anybody else at his house – and I doubt they were alone, they never were – would know I'd trespassed on enemy territory. I was bound by my own version of pack law and the treaty just as much as all these boys were. It didn't matter that we were starting to become peaceful neighbors. It didn't matter that my mission went off without a hitch. I didn't need to start an inter-pack scandal, because I knew none of them would take it well. Paul – in his apparently dazed state of hysteria – still hadn't told anyone, probably because he too knew what it meant. If they found out, I was in deep shit.

I glanced around the kitchen and out the windows, trying desperately to find some excuse or diversion to latch onto. Jake must've noticed my eyes linger over the conspicuously Jasper-sized dent in the driver's side door of the truck outside. He cocked his head and slowly made for the door. "Where are you going?" I asked.

He glanced at me once and then opened the front door and hopped off the porch. I watched through the kitchen window, my teeth clamped down on my lower lip, as he walked slowly towards the truck. At one point he paused like he'd been hit by a forcefield, and his face wrinkled in disgust. He took the last step that brought him next to the truck and crouched down. His hand grazed over the dented metal and scraped paint, before recognition came. He stood up and sprinted back into the house slamming the door as he came.

"You didn't!"

All I could do at this point was nod. I was so terrified – not of my brother, let's make that one clear – of the overall situation.

"Rachel," he huffed. It might've been an attempt at a hysterical laugh. "You… You– you went there. You went to their house? Are you absolutely insane."

"No, I'm totally sane!" I stated adamantly. I stood up and from the elevated position of our kitchen I was almost the same size as Jacob. "Listen, you were in there," I signaled towards his room, "screaming like you were going to die. I'm not used to not being able to help you Jake. And I've put up with a lot, but this was something in my power to fix. All it took was one trip to see Carlisle. Everything was fine."

"Everything was fine!" he repeated aghast. "Rach, there's a crater in the side of the truck from one of them. I can smell it. Do you realize what this means. You could've been killed, or worse." This was the part of his rant where he started pacing around the living room.

"They're not all stable over there. We have no patrol on their land, we never know when they could have visitors! Shit, Rachel this is a total broach of the treaty. Are you sure you're okay? God, we can't tell anyone else about this–"

"Jake!" I shouted. "Don't you think I know all that? That's why I haven't said anything. I'm fine. I lived to tell the tale. And don't tell me you regret it, because you would have been stuck in that room screaming like there was no tomorrow in sight. Don't tell me that pack bullshit, supersedes that. The pack doesn't supersede family. It's not more important than my making sure the people I love are okay!"

He began to shake as my tirade died down. I knew that the shaking was bad; I also knew that my brother had near unmatched control of his shifting, so I tried not make the situation worse. I walked towards him slowly. "Jake," I said calmly bracing his shoulders. "I'm sorry, all right? It's never going to happen again. Ever." I planted him on the couch and sat across from him on the coffee table.

Staying with him was pretty stupid. I'd had the talk from both him and Paul before that about how if them – or any pack member for that matter – were to start with that kind of shaking, I needed to get the hell out of the way. Staying with Jake and choosing to try to calm him was pretty stupid. If he shifted in a moment of rage I would have been killed. The sad truth is that Emily was actually really lucky. Emily is a good ending to that story. But I cared too much about this whole fiasco to just run out and let Jake ruminate on it, because I knew he wouldn't calm himself down. He'd stew until he did shift or was just on edge.

As he sat across from me, the shaking stopped. I felt bad, the self-control required for not shifting out of anger and tearing me to shreds was probably way more taxing then he really needed, given he was still rebuilding stamina. He leaned his head back against the couch.

"How many times have I told you to just fucking leave when that happens?"

"I'm not an idiot. I know you could hurt me, but I'm not just going to leave you here to stew. I have a lot more confidence in you than the others."

"Thanks…" he mumbled.

"Look, I'm sorry. What's done is done. But that answer's your question. Paul tried to keep me from going to the Cullens, but I made him get out of my way. It was pretty bad."

"No offense, but I don't really see where you get off being mad at him."

I chewed the inside of my cheek for a moment, trying to decide how to explain. "I felt like he was making me choose," I finally said. "Like I had to choose between helping you and doing what he told me."

"He wasn't ordering you around, Rach. He was looking out for you. Not even on an imprint level on a person-to-person level. You broke some serious pack law."

"I know," I whined. "I just… It made me so mad. I wasn't thinking rationally. You think I should apologize to him?"

"No," Jake replied in exasperation. "The guy's a total idiot. He could use someone to apologize to. He'll break at any time now, anyways. He's probably just waiting until he feels he can come over without you throwing something at him."

I nodded.

"Just don't ever, ever do that again. Or I'm telling dad."

My mouth dropped in surprise. "Low blow, Jacob Black. Low blow."

I had intended to something less menial with my day, but found my morning aches and congestion only intensified as the morning went on. I opted for food shopping, while Jake went back for his first patrol. Going alone was weird and my first instinct was to call someone. However, I didn't really know any people any more adept at grocery shopping than myself. Or at least none that would be available.

Leah had patrol after Jake, and probably knew about as much about food shopping as her brother, none of the boys knew anything and I didn't really know Kim or Emily. Okay, I haven't really gotten to know Kim or Emily. I'm really in a weird place. I'm the only Quileute really with dual pack loyalty, because of my brother and Paul. But I'm still an imprint and therefore I do identify with them obviously.

I'll be honest when I say I'm conflicted about Emily. Pre-imprint, before I knew about any of this wolfy business I was still Leah's friend. Therefore, the only story she was allowed to tell me was that Sam had broken up with her for her cousin. Needless to say, I was not the biggest Sam or Emily fan.

Now I know about imprinting. And I know what really happened. It doesn't make it any better, but it certainly makes it different. And as someone who has been imprinted on it's hard for me to hate Emily because this isn't really her fault. But do I side with her on that basis over Leah? Leah's been my friend since we were kids.

That's not even including the part where Emily and I just don't really click on a personal level. She's way more normal than me. She cooks and cleans and is smart and funny. I can roof a house, lay a driveway, I'm blunt and occasionally rude. Do you see where I'm going with this?

But it makes no sense, I guess, to push her (or Kim for that matter) further away. Because for all Leah and I are friends, she'll never understand what it's like to be imprinted on. Even if she imprints on someone, it's not the same. She'll never be someone I can really talk to about that with.

With the resolution to stop distancing myself from the women that could actually help me, I opened my phone and scrolled down to Emily's number. "Hello?" she picked up rather quickly but sounded exasperated.

"Oh, hi, Emily. It's Rachel. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"Oh! Sorry. Hold on one sec!" I heard her cover the receiver and then something like the closing of doors. "Back. Sorry about that. If Paul had heard your voice through the receiver he would've wrestled me for the phone. I'm on the porch now. So what's up?"

So Paul was still moping at the Uley house. "I actually wanted to ask you a favor. I wanted to see if you'd come with me to run some errands? You know, girl time? I figured we could all catch a break off the res?"

"Oh absolutely! You're a life saver!"

Wow, she was taking this well. "Great, I'll be by in ten minutes."

When I actually made it Sam and Emily's house she was already waiting on the porch. I don't know if she'd been there since I called or not. She began sprinting down the steps the moment I began to slow. She tore the door open, hopped in and slammed it shut. "Go, go, go," she told me. "If he smells you, we'll never get out of here."

"Good call," I replied, putting it back into gear. "So he doesn't know I called you then?"

"Nope," Emily said settling into her seat and buckling her belt. "I think he was too out of it. If he was all there," she tapped her temple, "he would've picked up on it."

"Are you telling me he's losing his mind?" I asked hesitantly.

"A little bit," she shrugged. "Nothing irreversible. I mean, it's totally self-induced. He'll be fine. He's just like Jared, Quil and Sam: overly dramatic when it comes to their women."

"Wow, well… sorry," I offered.

"What do you have be sorry about?" she replied in shock. "You just gave me totally legitimate reason to get out of there. You saved me. I would've been stuck there until he figured his life out or Sam came home. Really, it's no problem. So what are we off to today?"

I found Emily especially talkative. Maybe because she was still riding some of that Paul-induced hysteria. Maybe she really was ecstatic to leave the house. Maybe she really was this talkative and I just never noticed. Fail, Rachel. Fail.

"We'll I need to shoot over to the Thriftway in town for some food and then to the hardware store for some grout."

"Still working on your bathroom?" she inquired.

I was also surprised that she remembered a passing comment I must've made at a pack meeting or bonfire about my bathroom. And that she knew what grout was. From there, conversation flowed pretty easily. It was surprising and reassuring. At the Thriftway she actually helped me shop, she even gave me some advice on simple things to make that I probably wouldn't mess up or burn. I would actually say it was a fun trip.

We talked about all sorts of things and I was amazed at her knowledge base of food and homey-related things. When I voiced this aloud she just smiled. She explained that her mother was always a 'working woman' and while she respected that, Emily always wanted to be at home. She didn't like the idea of working all the time and not getting to see her family as much as she liked. She told me about how some of her friends in school had always said she was being 'anti-feminist' and was just submitting to the stereotype. She didn't think so.

I wouldn't consider myself a feminist, but I'm pretty sure denying women the right to be domestic was just as bad as denying women the right to vote or run for president. Because it all panned down to denying women the choice of something based only on stereotypes. Because as Emily seemed to show me: it's what she wanted. No one made her be a domestic – and certainly not Sam. She never had it as a kid, and it was just a quiet life she wanted. Who could argue with that? So she made some people angry or confused along the way. Don't many of the women that strive to make their own way in the world?

We ended up getting lunch in town and when the waiter asked if she wanted the hot peppers in her Italian sub she replied with a chipper "of course!" that made me laugh. I could tell she was hesitant to go home so I enlisted her help in putting my groceries away and she actually stayed at my place until Jared and Kim stopped by on their way to her house.

"Bye, Rachel," she said as she slipped her coat on. "I had a lot of fun today. I don't get to see you too often."

"Yeah," I replied honestly. "We'll do it again sometime."

In short, I left our adventure with a completely changed idea of Emily Young. She was talkative, observant and would speak her mind. Unlike me, she was just way more tactful and polite about it. I don't know if we'd end up being friends, because we were still such different people, but it was nice to actually know her and not just assume.

I still wasn't sure how I was going to reconcile the old me, who was best friends with Leah, with the new me, who couldn't help but identify with Emily. That would be something I'd have to figure out as I went, I suppose.

I made macaroni and cheese that night and pulled it out of the oven just before it began to burn. I was doing a little victory dance, when Dad and Jake came home. They were both amazed that I made edible food and we actually had our first family dinner in a long time. Dad wnet to watch the Mariners game as Jake helped me clean the kitchen. "Emily Young?" he whispered to me as he wiped the counter next to me. "I never thought I'd see the day."

I punched his arm as I grinned. "She's got me making real food, don't complain. Take your Vicodin and go to bed."