DISCLAIMER: Not mine – some parts of this belong to SM, all bits from Breaking Dawn.

CHAPTER ?:

"Kid, please don't even try this time. It won't work." Paul paused in his lecture. He said the same thing, every time it was his shift. "And besides. I'm sick of sponging blood off my shirts. And I can't even break your nose. You're fast, kid. I'll give you that."

"Whatever." I stood there for a second, and then stalked into my room silently. Don't think about it. Simple.

As simple as not thinking about a purple orangutan.

I tried to listen to other sounds, the wind in the trees. It wasn't the same, not through human ears. There were a million voices in the wind that I couldn't hear in this body.

But these ears were sensitive enough. I could hear past the trees, to the road, the sounds of the cars coming around that last bend where you could finally see the beach - the vista of islands and the rocks and the big blue ocean stretching to the horizon. The La Push cops liked to hang out right around there. Tourists never noticed the reduced speed limit sign on the other side of the road.

I could hear the voices outside the souvenir shop on the beach. I could hear the cowbell clanging as the door opened and closed. I could hear Embry's mom at the cash register, printing out a receipt.

I could hear the tide raking across the beach rocks. I could hear the kids squeal as the icy water rushed in too fast for them to get out of the way. I could hear the moms complain about the wet clothes. And I could hear a familiar voice . . .

I was listening so hard that the sudden burst of Paul's donkey laugh made me jump half off the bed.

"Get out of my house," I grumbled. Knowing he was under strict orders not to. Following my own advice, I wrenched open my window and climbed out the back way. I'd see Leah, but at least I wouldn't have to talk to her.

I paced down to the shore, my fists in my pockets. Nobody looked at me twice when I went through the dirt lot by First Beach. That was one nice thing about summer - no one cared if you wore nothing but shorts.

I followed the familiar voice I'd heard and found Quil easy enough. He was on the south end of the crescent, avoiding the bigger part of the tourist crowd. He kept up a constant stream of warnings.

"Keep out of the water, Claire. C'mon. No, don't. Oh! Nice, kid. Seriously, do you want Emily to yell at me? I'm not bringing you back to the beach again if you don't - Oh yeah? Don't - ugh. You think that's funny, do you? Hah! Who's laughing now, huh?"

He had the giggling toddler by the ankle when I reached them. She had a bucket in one hand, and her jeans were drenched. He had a huge wet mark down the front of his t-shirt.

"Five bucks on the baby girl," I said.

"Hey, Jake."

Claire squealed and threw her bucket at Quil's knees. "Down, down!"

He set her carefully on her feet and she ran to me. She wrapped her arms around my leg.

"Unca Jay!"

"How's it going, Claire?"

She giggled. "Qwil aaaaawl wet now."

"I can see that. Where's your mama?"

"Gone, gone, gone," Claire sang, "Cwaire pway wid Qwil aaaawl day. Cwaire nebber gowin home." She let go of me and ran to Quil. He scooped her up and slung her onto his shoulders.

"Sounds like somebody's hit the terrible twos."

"Threes actually." Quil corrected. "You missed the party. Princess theme. She made me wear a crown, and then Emily suggested they all try out her new play make-up on me."

"Wow, I'm really sorry I wasn't around to see that."

"Don't worry, Emily has pictures. Actually, I look pretty hot."

"You're such a patsy."

Quil shrugged. "Claire had a great time. That was the point."

I nodded. Before I joined the ranks, it had been hard being around imprinted people. No matter what stage they were in - about to tie the knot like Sam or a much abused nanny like Quil - the peace and certainty they always radiated was downright puke-inducing. I wondered if I was like that. Probably not. Twenty-seven and a bit days away from Chrissy was enough to send me into a nervous wreck.

Claire squealed and pointed at the ground from Quil's shoulders. "Pity wock Qwil! For me, for me!"

"Which one, kiddo? The red one?"

"No wed!"

Quil dropped to his knees - Claire screamed and pulled his hair like a horse's reigns.

"This blue one?"

"No, no, no . . . " the little girl sang, thrilled with her new game.

Quil was having just as much fun as she was. He didn't have that face on that so many of the tourist dads and moms were wearing - the when-is-nap-time? face. You never saw a real parent so jazzed up to play whatever stupid kiddie sport their rugrat could think up. I'd seen Quil play peekaboo for an hour straight without getting bored.

And I couldn't even make fun of him for it - I envied him too much. Not, obviously, the peekaboo part. Not the Claire part. But just being able to spend an hour with her.

"Quil, you ever think about not seeing her? At all?"

"Huh?"

"No, no yewwo!" Claire crowed.

"You know. If it was probably better for her?"

Quil stared at me, his mouth hanging open. No, of course not.

"Pity wock! Pity wock!" Claire screamed when he didn't offer her another choice. She smacked him on the head with her little fist.

"Sorry, Claire-bear. How about this pretty purple one?"

"No," she giggled. "No poopoh."

"Give me a clue. I'm begging, kid."

Claire thought it over. "Gween." she finally said.

Quil stared at the rocks, studying them. He picked four rocks in different shades of green, and offered them to her.

"Did I get it?"

"Yay!"

"Which one?"

"Aaaaawl ob dem!"

She cupped her hands and he poured the small rocks into them. She laughed and immediately clunked him on the head with them. He winced theatrically and then got to his feet and started walking back up toward the parking lot. Probably worried about her getting cold in her wet clothes. He was worse than any paranoid, overprotective mother.

"Sorry if I was being pushy before, man." I said.

"Naw, that's cool," Quil said. "It kind of took me by surprise is all. I hadn't thought about it."

"Impossible, right?"

"Well, yeah." Quil scratched his head. "But if it was she really wanted, and it was what she really needed, I guess. I dunno."

He didn't say anything else.

"But she would never want that, would she?" I guessed.

"I can't see it," he said in a low voice. "I can't imagine."

I looked at him significantly.

He hesitated a second and then said, "I believe you, Jake. But Sam . . . He won't listen."

Sam didn't seem to think that I had really imprinted on Chris. His argument was that I wasn't dedicated to her enough, that my devotion was too weak, therefore I couldn't have imprinted on her.

What he didn't understand was that she didn't want me to be a slave. She had picked up on my servile, fawning nature even when she didn't know that I was actually a creepy, mythical creature who had a creepy, mythical connection with her.

He didn't understand and thought that I had used an obsessive high school crush as a mockery of what the other guys had because I was still depressed over Bella choosing Edward. Like I cared about that. How could I care about that when Chrissy could be hurt? Car crashes, flu, gas leaks, another crazed high school killing, or that old vampire could return.

I shuddered at the thought.

Quil sighed.

Far away, too low for anyone but us two to hear it over the waves, a howl rose out of the forest.