Less than a month, I thought to myself, swishing dirty dishes through grey water. My hands were busy, but I wasn't really working; the laundry wasn't quite done, the groceries weren't bought, dinner was more imagination than reality. I was attempting to distract myself, and in a major turn of events, housework was not enough to accomplish the task. It seemed nothing was. In my reverie, I dropped the bowl I was holding for the third time and, exasperated, I gave up, sat down at the kitchen table, and committed to waiting.
Jacob told me he was going to talk to Sam himself. I asked him to bring Leah, and after a thoughtful pause, he agreed. We both knew without his saying so that he was really asking for Sam to help him; the Cullens were at stake, true. But Jacob was the one who would die. Being a member of the Guard—whatever that really entailed—couldn't be as final, as dramatic and grim, as death.
In my mind, I tried to imagine the meeting. Jacob attempts to explain his position, and words fail him. Sam nods darkly, knowing he is pleading for his life; Leah snorts, belittles them both, and then agrees with Jacob even while sounding like she somehow doesn't. Sam nods again, his expression still grim. Then he says no.
Jake and I run.
But where? Neither of us is Alice, able to dodge futures incompatible with her wishes by subverting the uninvited guests swarming her mind. Neither of us is even Edward, listening to the bickering and self hatred and honest love inside of strangers, able to sort the good from the bad. We could never see them coming. We would have to run forever.
But where? Where is far enough away? Where is close enough to be safe for us to finally relax, to be, to live, to grow old together and die on our own terms?
Perhaps Sam will tell Jake to leave; we endanger the pack, after all, if we stay. Can members be exiled? Would anyone leave with us, if we were forced to go? And then I think of that word—force. Who could force Jacob to do anything?
My hands were white knuckled and shaking on the table when I heard him return.
I flung myself at him as he entered the kitchen, his broad chest a warm wall beneath my cheek. I felt him kiss the top of my head and closed my eyes; when he didn't speak immediately, I knew the news wasn't good.
"He said he would help you leave," Leah said, her voice low and impatient. I didn't know she would still be with Jacob, and I dropped my hands from his back and made to turn away. He didn't let me, holding me closer instead, and we shuffled slightly to one side so she could come in the kitchen. She went directly to the coffee maker and got to work, talking in the same rushed voice. "He was apologetic, of course…no one can apologize for smashing your dreams like Sam can," she muttered. "He's got it down to an art form. 'You know why I can't help you, Jacob,'" she said in a deeper, fake voice, "'I sure would love to help you but I can't risk our lives like that.'"
She whipped around and handed Jake and I cups so fast I realized she was running on some kind of autopilot; it was the unfiltered, unwounded version of the militaristic Leah I'd seen after the battle by the cabin, interrogating Quil and Embry. Her pace didn't decrease as she marched back and forth across the kitchen. She was moving at werewolf speed, mind and body.
She stopped and looked at Jacob, her brow furrowed. It was obvious she was furious, and I wondered whether or not it was actually Jake and I's dilemma. Her reaction to the Volturi and the potential slavery of the Cullen clan aside, she had never indicated any special connection with Jake, or I, until lately...well, since I'd been back. I supposed I understood better how she and Jake were close; was Jake important enough to Leah for her to risk her own life….her fragile but crucial standing with the pack? I listened to her mumble and wondered.
"What I don't get," she was saying, "is why he thinks he'll be safe if they know about us." Her movement began again, her legs rapidly tick tocking back and forth across the kitchen and her dark eyes going back over Jake and I's faces over and over. "They'll kill us now, or later—as long as we're capable of producing another Jake there's no reason for them not to." I started to see where her mind was going. "It would be easy, if they tortured Edward, or Emily—any of the imprints, really, let alone the mind reader—they'd only have to kill a few of us. The gene is rare….and our parents are probably too old to have another batch of wolves…or they're already dead." She spat the last word, but didn't slow down. "If they kill Seth…" Ah, I thought. That's the key. She was staring at Jacob again. "After you, Seth is the next natural choice for Alpha." Jacob nodded, and I started to ask when she saw my face and interrupted. "Jake's grandfather was the chief when the Cullens came the first time. My grandfather was his right hand whatever. So, if Sam hadn't phased first—" her face twisted brutally, different agonies masking her beautiful features—"Jake here would be our chief now."
"Probably not," Jake answered in a low, rasping voice. Leah looked at him appraisingly.
"Yes you would've. You never would have watched the rest of them go through the change without taking care of them, once you knew you could."
"But I did—that's exactly what I did," Jake said, his dark eyes locked on hers.
"No," Leah gruffly rebuked him, and then paced the kitchen again. "What you did was phase after Sam, long after him, so that he was well established in his position, and then leave when you knew you might hurt him, and the pack." She watched the ground ahead of her, face down. Jake sighed. "I know you think differently, because of Bella here." She kept her eyes on the floor, her curtain of hair swaying behind her. "But you still found a way to help us. You were the protector of the entire damn pack for years, and even when every other human thing about you was dead that wasn't."
"I failed, Leah," Jake said softly, and she stopped again.
"You failed? No." Leah's voice was harsh. "Our fathers failed. They withheld vital information until it was too late for all of us, and they don't know anything useful about who we're fighting. It would have been useful to know why we're supposed to kill pairs—they didn't know. They didn't explain that vampires basically imprint. They didn't know that proximity to active pack members who fought vampires—even if there were no actual vampires nearby—might cause children to phase. We're still not sure how that works. I mean, they didn't even know—"
"About you," I whispered. She halted, staring.
"They know nothing about me," she growled, and then began to move again, but Jacob's gentle voice reached out to her.
"It's not all their fault, Leah." She kept pacing, rapid silent movements back and forth. "You know they would trade places with us even now if they could." I thought about Billy, sitting in Emily's. His face had deep lines now in new places, his hair was streaked with white. Leah's voice ripped me back.
"My father can't. My father can never trade places with my brother, and there is no one on earth who can trade places with me," she said in the same hard voice, and then caught her breath, staring at something outside, through the open back door.
"I'd trade with you," a soft voice said. Tears made Emily hard to hear, and she stepped through the door just as Jacob let me go. I quickly ran to her and wrapped my arms around her. It was impossible to hear Emily crying and not want to comfort her, but I should have thought about how my impulsive reaction would affect Leah.