DISCLAIMER: Stephenie Meyer, along with Little, Brown and Company, owns all the rights to the Twilight Saga.

A couple of weeks passed, and Sam and I returned to our normal routine. It felt so much better to not be avoiding him. Things had seemingly settled down.

I tried to do my share on the reservation. I continued hanging out with the Community Center kids. And last week after I haggled days off with Mrs. Newton, I started after-school tutoring sessions on Wednesdays. The first Wednesday, only a couple of the children from the Community Center came, but this past week, seven showed up, ranging from eight to fifteen years old. That was more than a little challenging, helping seven different students in seven different subjects and grade levels.

I loved the tutoring even after only two sessions. It showed me that a teaching career seemed like something I really would enjoy. I had previously thought I would have to go into teaching because of the lack of choices in the area. But I then knew I wanted to teach because I had a growing passion for it. Sam too loved my idea of tutoring. Firstly, he loved that I truly enjoyed it. More so, he thought it not only showed I cared about the community, but it would open the tribe's opinions for when I want to return and teach on the reservation. Perhaps I won't have to jump through as many hoops when that time comes.

So all in all, things in life were going good, which only meant something hid around the corner.

I arrived at Sam's around four in the afternoon Friday. I found the door locked, so I pulled out the key Sam had given me a few weeks earlier. Walking in, I noticed that it looked as if he hadn't been home since the morning.

I went straight to the kitchen and began to clean the dishes left in the sink. After that, I began to do some other cleaning – mopping, vacuuming, dusting and waxing. Almost two hours later and Sam still hadn't showed up. I began to get worried. He knew I planned to get there around four o'clock, so where could he have been?

After flipping through the television channels for a little while, I decided to just start on dinner. I got up and went to the kitchen. Going through the refrigerator, I found my options small. I found a few pounds of ground beef in the freezer and a few things in the pantry. I decided that meatloaf was my best option.

I had just put the pans in the oven when the back door slammed open.

"Bella!" Sam yelled.

"Sam?" I called as I ran toward the door. I stopped short when I reached him. "Oh my God," I breathed.

"Bella, I need you go the bathroom and get all the bandages and antiseptics and whatever other medical crap I have in there." I heard him speaking, but I couldn't take my eyes off of all the blood. "Bella, go, now!"

I nodded and ran to the bathroom. There I grabbed everything I could out of the bathroom closet.

I walked out, joggling the supplies, wondering where I was supposed to go.

"Guest room," Sam yelled out.

"Here," I said, dumping the things on the dresser.

"Now I need hot water and rags."

I numbly did as he said to do. I came back in the guest room to see Jared and Sam working on Paul.

"What happened?"

"Leech," Jared growled out.

"What can I do?" I asked weakly.

"Grab a rag and wipe him down. We need to see where the worst injuries are. I don't think there's anything too bad. I think the worst is his right leg and arm – they're broken. I reset the bones in the woods, so check out the rest of him."

"Okay," I said, holding my breath, I grabbed a wet, hot rag and ran it over Paul's chest, wiping away the dirt and blood.

"Bella, I need you keep doing that and apply pressure to the point that are still bleeding. If it's a bad spot, sew it up."

"Wait, what?"

"I need you take care of Paul."

"What– where you going?"

"Jared and I need to get back out there."

"No!" He couldn't leave me there with Paul – alone.

"We only came back to bring him. He'd be killed if we left him out there unconscious and unprotected. The leeches are still in the area. We need to either kill them or run them out. I need you, Bella. I need you to do this."

"But…"

"No, Bella, do this. I love you. I trust you. Take care of our brother and we'll be back soon."

"I don't…" I started, but Jared and Sam were already gone.

I looked back over at the unconscious Paul lying on the bed. I'm not sure how long I stood there in shock before I shook my head, focusing on the situation. I ran the rag over his body; thankful Sam or Jared had put his shorts back on him already. Wiping away the dirt and blood, it seemed that most of the wounds were superficial and already healing.

Once I had him pretty well cleaned up, I could see a spot on his arm that continued to bleed a good amount. On further inspection, I could see the cut went pretty deep. I took some rubbing alcohol and drenched the wound. Then I prepared the needle in the first aid kit. Luckily, I'd watched enough doctors suture my own wounds to know how to do the process adequately myself.

After taking a deep breath, I pulled the needle through his skin. I felt my head getting cloudy. I plugged my nose and took a few more deep breathes through my mouth, trying to avoid the iron smell. I finished up as quickly as I could. It wasn't the prettiest suture, but it did its job.

I pulled a chair in from the kitchen and sat to wait. Waiting for what, I wasn't exactly sure. I hoped Sam and Jared would return safely before Paul woke up. A half hour passed, when I remembered my meatloaf in the oven. I ran into the kitchen and pulled the hot pans out of the oven. They were well done, but not quite burnt. The boys would find them still edible I was sure. I set them aside, not sure when I'd be serving them.

I took a look around, wondering what to do next. I felt lost without Sam there. Suddenly, a half scream, half moan filled the small house. I walked quickly, but cautiously toward the guest bedroom. I peeked around the corner to see a writhing Paul.

"Paul," I said softly.

"Fuck!"

"Paul, are you okay?"

"Fuck no."

"I don't know what to do," I said in a small voice. "And it's just me here."

"Damn it," he said threw clenched teeth.

I ran into the bathroom and pulled opened the medicine cabinet. Nothing low dosage really did anything for the boys, but Sam kept some stuff for me around. I found the bottle I was looking for and returned to Paul.

"I don't know if this will do anything," I said, opening the bottle.

"What is it?"

"Tylenol. It's only thing we've got."

"Fuck!"

"Maybe if you take more than the prescribed amount," I thought aloud.

"The whole bottle," he grounded out.

"Um…I don't know if that's smart. We don't want you to overdose."

"Give me the fucking bottle."

"Okay, here," I said, handing him the pill bottle. "Let me get you a glass of water to…" I started, but he just poured the bottle's contents straight into his mouth, taking one huge gulp to swallow them all. "Or you could do that too."

Paul's eyes were clenched shut and he grinded his teeth.

"Can I do anything else?"

"I'm hot," he sort of whimpered out. Though, I didn't think it was possible for Paul to whimper.

"Uh, you run a temperature of 108. You're always hot, Paul."

"No, I feel unusually hot, like a fever."

"Okay, let me get the thermometer." I went back into the bathroom and hunted through the drawers until I found a thermometer still in its original wrapping. I think Sam had prepared for anything that could go wrong with me. I found that both sweet and a bit belittling.

I returned, tearing it out of the wrapper. I put it in his mouth and waited for the small beep. Taking it out, I read the little screen. My eyes widened.

"Paul, I think you should be dead."

"What?" he croaked.

"I didn't it was possible to be alive with a temp of 117."

"Fuck," he breathed out.

"Okay, okay. We can work with this. We need to cool you down. Think, think, think."

"Burning here, think a little faster."

"I trying! Just– I think the bath tub would be best, because it could easily hold a lot of ice."

"I'm pretty fucking sure you can't move me. And I don't think my leg will let me move."

"Fuck, I forgot about that."

"You just said 'fuck'," he chuckled before wincing.

"You must be rubbing off on me. I'll just put the ice in bags and lay them all over you. Be right back."

I ran back to the kitchen –again– to find that there wasn't all that much ice sitting in the freezer. Sam didn't have an ice maker, only the little dishes – which three of the four sat empty. How freaking hard is it to refill them?

I had to reassess the situation. Paul had to be cooled down and quick. I didn't really want to leave him alone. But what other choice did I have? I couldn't call anyone, could I? Kim, I can call Kim.

Grabbing the phone, I looked at the list of numbers on the fridge, finding hers. I dialed the numbers, letting it ring. On the third one, she answered.

"Hello?"

"Kim, thank God."

"Bella? Is something wrong? Why is Jared twenty minutes late?" she spit out fast.

"Yes, Paul's hurt and Jared is with Sam still out in the woods. I need ice, a lot of it. Paul's burning up with what I'm pretty sure is the highest recorded temperature ever, and Sam has no freaking ice in this house. I need you to bring as much as you can get as soon as you can."

"Oh, okay. I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Thanks, the door's open, just come in," I said, slamming the phone back on its holder.

I grabbed the twelve measly pieces of ice the freezer housed and wrapped them up. I went back to Paul. I put the ice on his forehead, trying to at least cool it off.

"Kim's on her way with more," I said softly.

"Mmph," he moaned out. It took less than a minute for the ice to completely melt. I hoped like hell Kim bought all the ice she could get her hands on. I took the rag into the bathroom and drenched in the coldest water that would come out of the faucet. I then rubbed it over his forehead and down his neck.

I heard the front door open and slam. "Bella?"

"Guest room on the right," I called back at Kim.

She came in, dragging two large bags of ice behind her.

"Please tell me you have more," I said, lifting one on top of Paul's chest.

"Yeah, in the car. You know, he doesn't look too bad," she commented.

"Fuck you," Paul groaned.

"I've cleaned him up already. He looked a lot worse."

"Fuck both of you."

"I'm helping, so you zip it, mister." I lifted the second bag, draping it over his abdomen. "Let's get the other bags, Kim."

I followed her out to the car. She only had another four bags. I grabbed two of them.

"Did they have any more?"

"Yeah, but this is all I could get with the cash I had."

"We'll need more. I give you my debit card."

"Won't this cover him?"

"Yeah, but his body temp melts the ice fast. We'll have to keep applying new bags until he cools down."

"All right," she said as we entered the house. I laid the two other bags on his legs. Then I went to find my purse in the living room. I rummaged through it until I found the card.

"Here. The pin is 8588," I said, handing her the card. "Get at least twenty bags."

"That'll cost quite a bit, Bella."

"It's fine. We need it."

"Okay, I'll be back as soon as I can."

I started loading the bags on the rest of Paul's body. I replaced the original two.

"Bella," he said quietly.

"Yeah, Paul?"

"I'm tired."

"No, Paul, don't go to sleep. I don't know if you have a concussion or not. I need you stay awake."

"Too tired."

"Stay awake, Paul."

"Mm." He clearly wasn't listening. But I had to keep him awake somehow.

I leaned down to his hear and yelled, "Paul, wake the fuck up."

His whole body jerked. "God, Bella. Don't yell."

"Then stay awake, you asshole."

"So mean," he grumbled.

"Open your eyes."

"No."

"I'm going to hit that leg with a bat if you don't open your freaking eyes right now, Paul."

"Fuck, leave me alone, bitch."

"This bitch is trying to keep you alive, so you could be of some help and corporate a little."

"Shut up," he said, opening his eyes.

"That's better. Now just keep them open."

"Still hot."

"I'm back!" She must have sped the whole way, but I didn't care if she broke the sound barrier as long as we got Paul cooled down.

"Kim's here. Let me go help her bring in more ice for you. And your eyes better be open when I get back."

"Shove off."

Kim and I pulled in another four bags. I lift them up on Paul, while Kim brought in another pair.

"What do we do with the extras?"

"Put them in the bathtub. The freezer would be lucky to hold one, so that's our best bet."

I went outside and helped bring in the rest of the bags. After four trips, we had them all piled in the tub. I went back into the room with Paul.

"Paul, are you feeling any cooler."

"No."

"Well, they say feed a fever. I'm not sure if that actually works, but I think we should try anything we can. So do you feel up to eating?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

"You don't have to get smart."

"Food, woman."

"I feel severely sorry for the woman deemed your imprint."

"Fuck imprinting."

"Whatever, I'll be back."

I went to kitchen and found Kim sitting at the kitchen table, staring out the back glass door. I ignored her for the moment and fixed Paul a heaping plate of meatloaf. I hadn't fixed any of the sides yet, so hopefully that would be enough. After setting it in the microwave, I set the time.

"Kim, you all right?"

"Just worried. If Paul got hurt with the three of them, how are Jared and Sam doing with just the two of them?"

"They're fine, Kim."

"I know it's not right, but sometimes I wish more boys would phase."

"Why?"

"That way there would be more of them to help each other. The more fighters, the less chance they get hurt, right?"

"I guess I can understand that reasoning. We just have to hope that we never have so many vamps that the three of them can't handle it."

"How long ago did they leave?"

"Um…" I looked at the clock on the stove. "Maybe two hours at the most. I'm not completely sure."

The microwave beeped. I grabbed the hot plate and left Kim to her thinking. Walking into the bedroom, I saw Paul's eyes closed.

"Wake the fuck up!"

"Ugh. Don't you ever leave?"

"You want your food or not?"

"Yeah."

"Then loose the lip." I set the plate on his chest and watched as he tried to feed himself with his left hand. Paul was clearly a righty.

"Need help?"

"Not yours."

"Fine, but the object of eating is to get the food in your mouth, not all over yourself and the bed."

"You are so God damn annoying."

"I don't feel the love, Paul."

"Go fuck yourself if you want to feel the love."

"I think you have a lot of anger in your heart."

"Where'd you get that idea?" he asked, lifting a large pile of meatloaf on his fork. An inch away from his face, it rolled off the fork. "Fuck."

"You sure you don't want help?"

"Fuck no."

"All right, fine. I'm going to bring in some new ice." I went to the bathroom and dragged two bags behind me. I switched out the two on his upper body, moving the plate on top of the one on his chest. Then I walked back and brought two more for his legs.

As I got ready to leave the room, I heard Paul speak in a small voice.

"I need help." I turned back to look at him.

"What was that?" I asked, though I heard him perfectly fine the first time.

"Feed me," he demanded, not looking at me.

I raised an eyebrow. "Can you say 'please'?"

"Please, damn it."

"I guess that's the best I'm getting." I sat down next to him and picked up the plate. The ice had cooled it down some, but at that point, I didn't think Paul really cared.

"Open up for the plane," I said, lifting up a fork full. "Zoom, zoom."

"I really fucking hate you," he said, opening his mouth.

I dropped the bite in his mouth. "Aw, I love you too, Paul."

Eventually, I helped Paul finish the plate. I continued to annoy him in efforts to keep him awake. A little while later, Paul closed his eyes and let out what sounded to be a sigh of relief.

"Thank fucking God," he muttered.

"What are you going on ab– "

I was cut off by Kim squealing in delight, "Jared!"

"Kim, what you doing here?"

I didn't hear her response because Sam called out, "Bella?"

"Guest room."

"Paul, you're awake," Sam said, sounding surprised.

"Lucky me," he grumbled.

"I thought you'd be resting."

"Your girl won't let me fucking sleep. She's been yapping at me the whole damn time."

Sam looked at me with his eyebrows pulled together. "Bella?"

"If he had a concussion, I couldn't let him go to sleep."

"Why would he have a concussion?"

"He got knocked out," I said like it was obvious.

"No, he passed out from the pain when I reset his bones."

"Oh."

"You mean, she annoyed the hell out of me for hours for nothing?" I had to agree with Paul. I would have much rather had a sleeping, silent Paul if given the option.

"Bella was clearly doing what she thought was best for you. You should be thanking her for taking care of you."

"Whatever."

"Now, what's up with the ice?"

"His temp spiked to 117 Fahrenheit. I did it to cool him down," I said, really hoping that action wasn't for nothing as well.

"117, really?" I nodded. "Damn, must be an infection or something. How you feel now, Paul?"

"Better. I don't feel like I'm in an oven anymore."

"Good. Bella, let's check his fever now."

"Okay." I put the thermometer in his mouth. After the minute, I pulled it out. "109.3 Fahrenheit."

"Much better. I'm sure you'll survive just fine."

"Gee thanks. Did you get the fuckers?"

"We got two, the third got away. We ran all the way Canada chasing the thing."

"Which one got away?" Paul asked.

"The redhead." My head snapped up.

"What?" I breathed out.