The Man With Few Words

"Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about seeking whom he can devour." –Saint Peter (Bible, I Peter v. 8)


Chapter Five

Jacob Black has always been an angry man.

Not like...angry-angry. He doesn't want to bash in people's faces, at least not, you know...all the time. He just had a short fuse. He supposes its part of the werewolf gene. Something unexplainable and primal. He likes to think that it's something he can't control.

When he first started phasing, he remembers feeling disorientated and shaky. His head was always heavy, like encased in steel, and he can never seem to walk straight. He'd shuffle around, long arms nearly sweeping the floor and drag himself from room to room.

Once in a while, people would talk to him. It could be a casual greeting or maybe even a proclamation of love. Doesn't matter. Anything, absolutely anything at all, will cause him to explode out of his skin and start howling his way towards the blue corn moon.

Billy: You want some eggs?

Jacob: Yeah. Sure, dad.

Billy: Scrambled or sunny-side up?

And he'd phase. Just—because. C'mon, Jacob was his son. How could he not know what kind of eggs he preferred? It was like a kind of irrational, delirious kind of anger that made him see red. He's sure he's never felt so provoked in his whole life.

As if every event was the most catastrophic in his life.

It was like somebody trying to set his skin on fire. Or ripping something from inside of him. It's an agonizing sensation of—of as if he's flipping and turning himself inside-out; some old, ratty T-shirt that needed washing.

But that's all over now.

They say that the beginning is always the hardest. Sam had told the barely 16 year-old Jacob that he'd 'get used to it'. And he did, eventually.

He got used to destroying his clothes and being hungry all the time. He got used to how he'll simultaneous sprout fur and claws and other creative shit so it's never a great idea to attend high-school gatherings. Because high-school gatherings tend to include alcohol.

And Jacob had found out through experience that he is one angry drunk.

But Jacob Black doesn't think he'll get used to the phasing. The fury and the hatred. The hatred that turns him into a monster. Jacob Black doesn't like being a werewolf. Hell, he doesn't want to be a werewolf.

Yet, he is.


January Jansen is watching Jacob Black replace her old, crumpling fences with new ones. He can feel her enchanting, silvery eyes on his back and it makes his red-burnt skin tingle.

He tries to ignore the tingle, of course. He tries to ignore all the overwhelming and pleasant emotions she gives him. He tries to ignore the dragonflies in his stomach, their wings beating and humming inside of him. He tries to ignore the dryness in his throat and the heat in his chest.

He doesn't succeed. But still he tries.

"Tell me something," Jacob grits his teeth as he pushes another piece of plank into the soggy dirt. His matted hair is getting wild, flying into his face with the wind and so he ties it up these days, with a string of leather cord. "Tell me something about your family."

Janie's standing beside him for assistance, handing him a tool or two. She's got her hands folded behind her back as she rocks onto her heels. She tilts her head, "Beg pardon?"

"Yeah. Tell me something." He holds his hand out for the hammer and she drops it dutifully into his hand. He pounds the board into the back panel then gives it a firm wiggle, making sure it was secure. He wipes his dirty hands on his jeans before standing up and turning towards her; because her dove-gray eyes were searing a hole into the side of his face.

"Something?" She repeats, unblinking.

"Sure." He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. He reaches for another piece of Lattice Top. And he'll freely admit it, she is quite gorgeous now that he's put her up. And he doesn't wanna be bias or anything, but Janie's fences looks awesome. "Anything. Everything."

He misses her clean, dewy voice. The way she talked.

"I suppose we're a pretty ordinary family. We're a big family. So it's always loud in the house," That's all the prompting needed to get Janie to jump into the conversation. And Jacob can feel the knot inside of him loosen as she talked, "I told you that daddy's a professor. But he was like—a fascist professor. He used to make me spell words out of my alphabet soup..."

Jacob feels at peace. Not scorching and agitated like he usually is, but rather warm and comforted. He lets her words wash over him, the smoothness of her speech and her rhythm of her staccato. And he works at a steady pace.

And he lets her distracts him with her wonderful stories and her silly, long hair. Her colors and her eyes and her awkward grace.

"June works in a day-care center now." She's wiggling her toes into the dirt, strands of her wispy bangs falling to skim her lashes. "I'm not surprised. Well, not really. She's always been good with kids. She used to baby-sit Jude and I a lot when we were kids. Daddy would tell her, 'June, you're in charge until I get home' and he'd tell us all to behave ourselves. But as soon as his car leaves the driveway, we'd all run wild. June always tries to keep order, but Jude's the neighborhood troublemaker, running around and causing havoc." Janie looks fragile and breakable with her NYU sweater falling over her snow pale shoulders. "But I'd just crawl up to the roof or lay on the grass. And I'll just...watch. And I'll breathe."

Jacob smiles.

Because January was just so calm and so magical to him. She was his escape. Here, he doesn't have to worry about the fury or the hatred. He doesn't have to worry about being a monster or about the loneliness or her.

Here, he's whoever he wants to be.

He can be different. He can be more. He can be better.

"April tells me that I'm a dreamer." Her bright gaze dims a little, but Jacob can still sense it—the tenderness. "She went to Duke, like daddy wanted. Poli-sci major. Living it up in Washington." She shrugs her little, round shoulders, "Last time we talked, she's running for Congress and dating the Senator of Georgia."

Jacob notices she's fallen silent, an uncomfortable lull in the air. He asks, "What about your other sister?"

And she starts again, "Oh. May's like a carbon copy of my father. Looks like him. Operates like him. Talks like him..."

He angles his head and indulges in a grin, there's still a stiffness around his cheeks, but it doesn't bother him anymore. "Then there's you."

She nods, looping her arms around herself. A chill was starting to pick up. "Uh-huh. Jude and I have always been the rebellious ones in the family. We were twins, after all. Jude went the obvious way, sneaking out and selling mama's favorite vase for concert tickets."

Jacob raises a brow. He attempts a laugh. "It's hard to imagine you as a rebel." It was probably because she was so small. And so elf-like. How do you rebel when you're an elf? You don't. You don't see Santa's workshop going on hiatus because of an elf-rebellion.

She beams, dimple quirking, "Well. I wasn't exactly hardcore or anything. But there was a phase, you know. Everybody has a phase." Yes, Jacob knew all about that. "I wore short skirts and talked to boys. And daddy nearly had my head."

"Don't all girls do that? I wouldn't really call that rebelling."

January's silvery irises sparked, "I had a nose ring for 3 weeks." She confesses, eyes wide.

And Jacob laughs. A real laugh. A loud, riotous that shot out of his chest like a bullet. When January had the nerve to look scandalized, he tries to hide it; suppress it. But it just felt so damn good to laugh again. But it was like he didn't realize that until now. Like he's been miserable all this time and he didn't even know it.

"It's not funny," Janie cries, "It was horrible. I tried to hide it at first. I told my parents that I banged up my nose really bad on the door and put a Band-Aid over it. But then mama found out and she made me take it out." She remembers sadly.

"How devastating." He responds, digging another fence into the dirt. The ghost of a smile playing on the edge of his lips. His hair is escaping from their hold, drifting in the breeze. Even his chest feels lighter.

Janie perks up, "I told her I hated her."

Jacob nods solemnly, "That'll show her."

Her charcoal irises are now dazed. She rests her chin in her hand, watching him as he punches in another piece of Lattice Top. The silence is nice, this time. And neither January Jansen or Jacob Black minded it.

He continued with his work. He'd dig a little hole where he's going to put the fence. Insert the board. Bury the little hole. Then he leans it against the panel in the back, and Janie hands him a hammer, and he nails it into place.

It worked fine. Their little system. Both of them lost in their thoughts. Lost in the present.

"Did I ever tell you I was a cheerleader?"

Jacob looks back to face her, his brows lightly furrowed. She's staring at him intently, appearing very serious. He licks his lips, "I don't think so." She just blinks up at him. He asks, "Why?"

"Oh." She blinks again, almost as if she hadn't expected him to answer. She frowns, "Have you ever...done something you really loved but then one day, just—stop? Not because you stopped loving it but like, you just didn't know how to continue anymore?"

It's Jacob's turn to blink. He isn't sure how to respond. He isn't sure what to say. He considers for a moment telling her about her. About how she broke him. About the hole she left him with and all the broken pieces.

"No." The man with few words says.

January shakes her head, "Yeah. I'm just being silly. I was just...I don't know..." She tries again, "I thought..."

Jacob Black thought she looked so sad. So sad and fragile sitting there with her ink black tress and pretty, pretty mouth. And he's struck by a bout of awkwardness. He was never too great with words. He clears his throat and in his desperation, blurts, "Tell me about Peter."

He wanted to bite himself. Because it was just a stupid thing to say. He didn't want to hear about this Peter. He didn't want to know all the cute, adorable things he did to woo her. He just wants to forget the fact Peter even existed.

But January is looking too beautiful for him to change his mind.

"Peter?" She cups the back of her neck with one hand, looking a bit bashful. "I've known Peter since I was 6. The first time I met him was when a bunch of boys pushed me into the mud during recess—"

"—And he was the boy that pushed you? And you hated him?" He interjects. He hopes that didn't come out sounding too hopeful. Even though he is.

Janie twirls with the rings on her hand absently, "No. He's the boy that came to help me up, actually. Peter's always been the good guy. My brother's actually the one that pushed me, now that I think back at it." She smiles dreamily, "We've always been friends, I suppose. He's Jude's best friend, but I've always thought he was pretty."

Jacob remembers the picture. Remembers Peter's dark hair, brown eyes, and lopsided smile. Like some wounded puppy. Girls love wounded puppies.

"He's shy, you know. I thought I was going to be 50 by the time he gathered the guts to ask me out." January peers at him through her butterfly lashes, "It was junior prom. He went to my father for permission," She rolls her eyes playfully, "He was always kinda girly like that."

The burning under his skin turned up a notch. The feeling of somebody had just stuck a torch into his chest. He squirms, he can't help it. The brain farts. "Are you still dating him?"

Janie reaches into her hair to pull out the pen she's kept in there, shaking out her curtain of onyx tress. It spilled over her shoulders, drifting down to her narrow waist. She looks even smaller somehow.

"No." She replies simply. Her grin turns hazy again, "But he's still very pretty."

Jacob is hesitant, an emotion he rarely experiences. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other as Janie picks a wildflower up from the ground and tucks it behind her ear. She's telling him something. Something about how Jude used to always put flowers in her hair.

Jacob interrupts, "You miss him." He blurts. She seems confused by his outburst, so he clarifies, "Peter. You miss him." Now she looks surprised. But oh, he knew he was right. He knew from the way her silvery eyes kind of go out of focus and the way she bites down on her bottom lip. She loved this Peter.

She nods, tucking her chin into her neck, "Yeah. I miss him a lot." She grins, "But I've got you now, Juh-co-bee."

Jacob tries to ignore the way his ribcage blazed. So he just installs the last plank of Lattice Top. He gives her the ghostly smile he saved just for her. And calls Janie for the hammer.


Jacob Black knew that this wasn't going to work.

He supposes he knew from the moment he found January on the trail. This little...friendship of theirs wasn't going to have a happy ending. It just wasn't going to fly.

He means—what is he thinking? That they'll just become buddy-buddy? That they'll develop something more than a companionship? He doesn't know what he wants. And he doesn't know what January wants.

He doesn't know how to be without her though. And he hasn't seen her in a week. And there's this throb in his chest, near his left shoulder. And he's angry.

All. The. Time.

"Jake! What are you still doing here? It's your turn to patrol."

What? What was that? Who was that? He angles his head slowly, mind still foggy with pensive thoughts and images of January. Oh, it's Quil. It's just Quil. He turns back to the television. It's showing an infomercial for blankets. Snuggies.

How cute.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You never miss patrol duty. Are you sick? What's going on? C'mon, man. Talk to me."

He doesn't want to talk. Why can't anybody understand that? That there's nothing to say? Nothing to cry about? Nothing for him to feel. Why can't they just leave him alone? God, he just wants to be alone.

Quil settles cautiously on the arm of the couch and he stares at Jacob in a way that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt, "Is this about how we sent Seth after you? We don't really mean to spy. We're just worried, man. But you seemed to know what you're doing so we didn't press on, but now it's like you're back to moping again..." Quil trails off.

Jacob blinks. Moping? Oh yeah. He does do that a lot. Doesn't that mean they should be used to it by now? Why is Quil here again? Oh right. Patrol. Is it his turn already?

"Patrol. Okay." He murmurs distantly, pushing himself up from the comforts of the couch. January's sweater is still there. Something in the back of his mind is keeping close tabs on her. He can't control it. He should return it.

"Don't bother. I already covered for you." Quil splays himself across the sofa, occupying the space he just vacated. His big, deep eyes are droopy, "Your shift is exhausting. Really, I mean. It's like the graveyard shift. I had to run into a tree a couple times just to stay awake."

It's five in the morning. Jacob notes that it is indeed the time his patrol would end. Jared should be taking over now.

He runs a hand through his tangled hair and pinched the bridge of his nose. His head is pounding. And his eyelids burned, but whenever he closed them, all he can see is January in her frilly sundress from that photograph by the ocean.

And so, Jacob nudges Quil's body towards the back of his couch and fished his hand between one of the cracks. His fingers touched on the soft rumpled material and gingerly pulls out the cardigan. He shakes it for good measures, dusting out the wrinkles. It smelled enchanting.

Flowers and the ocean.

"Where are you going?" Quil's sleepy voice is heavy and Jacob considers, for a moment, to tell him what's going on. What he's feeling. What he's going through.

But then he just runs out the door.


He knocks on the door. Restless and frantic knocks. He slams his palm onto the mahogany wood and presses the doorbell with his other hand. He peeks through the windows and he frowns.

What was going on? Why wasn't she answering? Was she mad at him? He pursed his lips together. His insides were all knotted. And his neck feels hot...his face too. And he suddenly just feels stupid. What the hell was he doing here? Why? Didn't he agree with himself that he needed to leave her alone because this friendship thing is going nowhere?

His cheeks are scalding. As if he had just committed a terribly embarrassing act. As if he's blushing.

But he's not blushing. Why would he blush? There isn't even anyone here. And Jacob hasn't blushed since the days of her. When she made him blush with her miserable beauty and her electrifying voice and her delicate—elfness...wait—who was he talking about again?

"Jay-cub?" One of the double doors has been pulled open. But just by a sliver. And January Jansen peeks her head out. Her long, raven hair is tousled and is furling around her slender waist. She looks bone-pale under the dark sky, lavender almost. Like her cardigan. And her smoky eyes are glassy, like she's looking at him but not really seeing him.

She's sleepy.

"Yeah." He responds awkwardly. The flame on his face brightened and he thanks God for the cover of the night. He shifts his weight, lowering his voice, just because he feels that if he spoke regularly, she would break under the volume, "I'm...I'm sorry, but it's just—"

She rubs her bleary eyes, mussing up her childish bangs unintentionally, "Yeah. No, it's all right. Wh-what are you doing here?"

He rests a hand on the doorframe and he checks over his shoulder. He knew there wasn't anyone there, but he just needed a thought to keep him occupied. His fingers found their way into his disheveled locks and he thrusts the sweater towards her, "It's, um, it's yours. From the day we met. On the trail. I-uh, I came to return it."

She takes her cardigan from him slowly. She doesn't question him for his odd timing or the fact that he seemed like he was trying to mug her house at 5:30 in the morning. She just stands there, pretty and magical as always.

"Thank you." She trills. Her voice isn't as clear as usual, but rather a kind of muffled airiness, yet still like velvet.

Jacob gives a curt nod. He bounces on the heels of his feet, his stomach is a tight, nervous coil. She doesn't invite him in. And he makes no move to enter. They stand there, still and silent. Jacob didn't care much for this silence. He wishes she would say something.

But she doesn't.

She just continues stand there. Looking all small and delicate and deliciously bedraggled.

Jacob wets his lips. He swallows as she waits, and he confesses, "I had to see you." It came out as a frayed murmur. Heated but rushed. It sounded as if all his words had blended together and his voice had cracked in the middle of 'to'. He feels the need to try again, so he repeats, stronger this time, "I had to see you. I had to see you, January."

Her calm, placid expression doesn't falter. She gazes up at him with her stormy eyes, neck slightly craned because of his height, both hands remaining on the doorknob. Her brows crease, just a little, and she frowns faintly.

"I'm sorry." She apologizes.

It wasn't a 'I'm sorry but I don't understand what you're talking about'. Nor was it a 'I'm sorry but this is kind of weird of you'. It was just a 'I'm sorry that you feel that way'. Not filled with rejection or regret; sincere and innocent.

"I…" Jacob pauses to shove his hands into his pockets because they were shaking. "I can't stop thinking about you." He admits at last. And suddenly, the burn—the blush is back. The heat rolling around in his chest and the dragonflies in his stomach. It's all coming back.

But January doesn't blush. She doesn't seem surprised or even react.

"I'm sorry." She repeats.

Jacob swallows again. His throat is tight and his mouth is dry. "I thought that we could do something together. Talk."

January shuffles forward. She's wearing fuzzy slippers in the shape of turtles. And black wooly stockings that went up to her thigh. The collar of her green pinstriped button-down is soft and worn, and much too boyish to be a woman's. She's still wearing those indecent shorts of hers though.

She brushes her long, messy hair behind her ear. She tilts her head, a familiar movement, "Talk?" She asks, as if the meaning is foreign.

"It's what normal people do, isn't it?" Jacob answers wryly.

Janie pauses. She scrutinizes him in a way only Janie can. Just by blinking and looking elfin. It's frightening. And Jacob always feels like she's playing some sort of Jedi mind-trick on him. Her brows un-furrow themselves, and she beams. "That's a joke, isn't it?"

He smiles a little, angling his head towards the rosebush in her front yard. She's a little too enchanting for him right now. A little too familiar. "Yeah, it is, Janie."

She nods. Then shrugs. "Okay," She agrees softly. "Why don't you come tomorrow? And we can..." She bites the inside of her cheek. Her pale fingers are tangled in her dark waves when her silvery eyes danced, "And we'll get drunk."

Jacob raises a brow.

"Yeah," She prattles, confident. "That's the best way to get to know someone, isn't it? Get wasted. We'll buy a bunch of liquor and get smashed here—just so we don't make complete fools out of ourselves. We'll drink and smoke and...talk."

Jacob is skeptical. He thought they were going to eat pizza.

But when January Jansen gives him a charismatic sloppy grin, he knew he had caved. Because everything about her was so sloppy. Her ruffled clothes and tangled hair and muted voice.

"All right," says Jacob Black and he slinks back down the porch, letting January retire back to the depths of her tea-cozy house and Alice in Wonderland dreams.

He laughs, because for a second, he thought that this had been the most catastrophic event of his life.


End Note:

It's SHOUTOUT time!

To 'Morning-Sunset' who is wonderful and beautiful for leaving reviews that always make me think and make me laugh. To 'LaughingAngelsGibberish' who has been with me since the beginning of the story, I suppose and who's awesome for sticking by me. To 'jacobblackismineduh' for reviewing ALL 4 chapters AT ONCE! WOAH, girl! You rock. But for the record, Jacob is mine. To 'Fairy skull' who tells me she can't wait for more, which encourages me to write more. To 'JusTheUnderdog' who wrote me this fantastically long review that left me giddy for hours, and of course dearie, you may take anything from me--that sounds a little dirty, doesn't it? But if MWFW inspires you, go ahead and let it because it inspired me as well. To 'missy' who fell in love with this story, and made me fall in love with her. And to 'Ra'iira The Fiend' who told me to sex her. So, let's sex.

And a little bit about the story, would be the imprint issue. I am wary and hesitant on it because it's really such a sensitive issue. I mean, yeah, it is part of the werewolf complex. And yeah, the idea of it is quite romantic--shifting gravity and the earth standing still and love until you die. But! It's hard to write about. The whole subject of it, without coming off as a cliche. Or perhaps I'm just a sucky writer. I've always wanted January and Jacob to have a very...natural progressing in their relationship. With all the strains and all the efforts of being a real couple.

As for the question of Peter, when I asked you guys, most of you guessed that he was dead. And that's when I though, wow, we're a rather morbid bunch, aren't we? But most of you seem to enjoy the idea of Peter (it's because he's pretty, innit?) but I REALLY became enthralled by the whole characterization of him. Actually, I started writing a little piece...a companion fic of sorts, about the nature and adventures of Peter and January. And if you guys are interested, drop a line for me in the review, and I'll try to work it out and publish it. It's definitely a different dynamic compared to Janie and Jacob but still rather enchanting.

Question of the day: If you had to choose a song for January and Jacob, what would it be? And exactly how drunk do you think they'll get?

--Loves, Kitty.