"I can accept failure, everyone fails at something. But I can't accept not trying."

Michael Jordan

The day before Christmas, I found Red in the Hallow House hanging an ancient and brittle looking cuckoo clock on the wall in the living room. It wasn't alone in it's decoration. There were pictures on the mantle, their shining new frames bright in window's winter sunlight. There was even an old rug, it's colors dull but somehow fitting -dark oranges and reds, and browns- hung on the wall, between the front door and the bay windows.

Peering up at it, I was surprised at what I found there. "This is a Quileute warding rug." I couldn't honestly tell you when the last one was made, but they were old, dating back to even before tales of the Third Wife. Few of the tribe still knew how to produce them. Only the oldest of the Elders still had them. "Where the hell did you get it?"

"Caleah Clearwater gave it to me when I dropped of her Christmas cookies." Caleah was Harry's Great Aunt, and only slightly younger than the infamous Old Mrs. Altera. She was the worst kind of shut in, never venturing outside of her front door. I hadn't even known Red knew of her. Caleah was less than welcoming to newcomers. "Lana introduced us," Red added on, perhaps at my confused face.

I eyed the rug. For all that it was faded in color, it was otherwise perfectly preserved. It seemed as if Red had taken great care hanging it. It was held to the wall with the same tapestry clips the Tribe used to display similar rugs in the Hall.

Red nodded, from where she was on the ladder, with the nail gun. "Uh, yeah. Lana explained it to me. I mean, I was a little weirded out when Caleah offered it. She pulled it out of a box, Sam. Not even a gift box, but an actual wooden box. It was wrapped up in all these old scarves. She insisted I take it though, for our home. Billy really has a big mouth."

"Caleah's probably the last in the tribe that knows how to make them," I said, mourning the loss of an old custom. "I can't believe she just handed it over."

"According to Lana," Red huffed, hanging the clock with careful hands, "it's an honor to make such offerings to the Chief and his ashat, and I would be rude to decline. I blushed about seven shades of red when Lana explained that word to me. Beloved consort; it's like something out of a fairy tail. She went on and on about how wonderful it would be when we finally got married that I sort of told her. Or well, I showed her the cuff. And then she gave me this clock." Shaking her head, she lowered herself down the ladder. "Her in-laws gave it to her and her husband when they were married. I told her she should keep it and save it for when Quil married. She started laughing like I'd told a joke."

I snorted. "Yeah, no one really expects anyone to marry Quil." I pulled her into hug, snuffling along her neck like I always did. "House looks nice. You've been busy."

"People keep giving me stuff!" She pulled away, giving me a wide eyed look. "Like, every where I go, some one has something for us. I had no idea what was going on! But Lana explained that it was an old custom, apparently. The tribe brings offerings, gifts and such, as a welcome to the consort, and as tribute to their chief. It's been happening for the last two days solid. You should go check out the book ends in the guest room. Drift wood. They're actually pretty neat. I'd appreciate them more if Old Quil hadn't shoved them into my hands at the minimart, blew pipe smoke in my face and walked away. That man does not like me." There was no point in denying it; Old Quil didn't really likeanyone. He got it from his mother.

Speaking of his mother..."You know, Lana's got a bigger mouth than Billy." There was no way it would say silent. No matter how Red spun it, in the eyes of the Tribe, we were married.

"Yeah." Red sighed, burrowing her face into my chest. "We should probably tell Charlie before some one congratulates him, or something. Are they going to make us do the ceremony part?"

Laughing, I kissed her hair. "You're married to the Big Man, Red. No one can make us do anything."

"Committed," she corrected, nipping my lip as I leaned down to kiss her properly. "Josh brought something by as well. I put it in the basement because it freaked me out. But uh...I think you should see it."

Making a face, I felt my mood sink. "I don't need to see it. It's Josh."

"I hate to point this out, but Josh has like, a serious hand in our marriage. If he hadn't brought you my cuff, you might have never thought to quietly marry me Quileute style. You would have gotten down on one knee and embarrassed the fuck out of yourself." Cupping my face in her hands, her smile softened. "Come see it?"

For her, I'd suffer the latent tortures of my father. Damn the man, but he was trying. I just wasn't exactly ready to be receptive of his attempts. Still...for her I would. We crept down the basement stairs, the scent of cheap, thick primer paint still hanging in the air.

"It's over by the washer hook ups," Red explained, tugging me along. Whatever it was, it was hidden beneath one of the drop clothes we'd used to paint, and tucked up under the utility shelving. "I wasn't really sure what to make of it at first. Honestly, I wanted to hit him a little, because seriously? But after he left, I took a closer look and well...I just think you need to see." She pulled the sheet away, revealing a small, handmade, wooden...

Crib.

It was cut and carved from a dark wood, the faint scent of ceder still clinging from beneath the stain. The craftsmanship was flawless, spindles hand carved in fat, round spirals. Each corner was finished with baying wolf finales, all four in miniature perfection. I pushed it with a fingertip, sending it rocking. It was beautiful and I wouldn't have hesitated to admire it as such had it come from any one else. All I saw was a self-invitation into my life, and my non-existant children's lives. That bastard had no right to make something like this for my children, proverbial, hypothetical, or otherwise.

A fucking crib.

"It's a rocking bassinet actually," Red murmured. I must have been mumbling. "For newborn babies."

"You have to know that I had nothing to do with this." I didn't actually think Red would believe I'd commission anything from my father, but the subject of babies was still a sore one between us. "Seriously, I can't believe he'd have the balls to make us-"

"He didn't make it for us," Red cut me off swiftly, taking my hand into hers. "Not for our babies anyway. It's not new, Sam. There's uh..." She fumbled, turning it with her free hand to reveal the back of the headboard. "He made it a long time ago."

Etched in flawless, swirling lettering that curved with the cut of the headboard was 'SAMUEL'.

Kneeling, I brushed my fingers over the letters, each one carved so carefully. "I really hate him."

"He's trying," Red murmured, laying her hand over his shoulder.

"That makes me hate him more." Scrubbing a hand over my face, I growled. "It all feels a dollar short and a day late. What is this suppose to mean? Because fuck if I know!"

Red kneeled beside me, and laid her head against my arm. "I think it means he wants you to know that..." She frowned, words falling into a whisper, like what she had to say might not be well received. "I think he wants you to know that he wanted you."

"That's shit." I'd spent my whole life thinking otherwise, I wasn't prepared to believe anything else. "Josh made it damn clear what he thought of me. I never doubted it for a second, not even before he let his mother publicly denounce me and call my momma a whore, not even when a whole year would elapse before I saw him, and even then I would be lucky enough to get a hair-ruffle and a 'hey kid, where's your mom?'. Josh did not want me, Red."

Her fingers brushed one of the baying wolfs, and she sighed. "I think he did Sam. But...sometimes people make bad decisions. Hell, sometimes the bad decisions are the best ones we can make."

"That makes no sense."

"Do you think Josh would have made a good father if he'd stuck around?" She asked, looking up at him, eyes wide and searching. "Do you think he would have been different? Do you think he would have drank less or fucked around less? Would he have grown up?"

"Damn year twenty-seven years, and four children -that we know of- and he hasn't changed yet." Gritting my teeth, I shook my head vehemently. "Josh is a fuck up. He wouldn't have changed. Momma and I were better off without him."

"Maybe Josh knew that too." She shrugged, pushing a loose curl from her face. "I'm not giving him an excuse, Sam. I'm not saying what he did was right. But maybe he knew he wouldn't have been much of a father to you, or a husband to Helena."

Sitting back on my haunches, I glared at the little crib. "Then why come at all? Why not just go and be gone?"

Red laughed, soft and gentle. "Whatever there is to be said about Joshua Uley, he does love your momma, Sam. In all the wrong ways, sure, but he loves her. And you I think, in his own fucked up way. You said it yourself, he would have never been much of a father to you. Maybe he knew that, and never tried because of it."

"I don't want him to fuck up the girls." It had worried me from the moment I'd let the bastard walk back into our life. Would he do to them, what he'd done to me? "I don't want them to get attached, only for him to fuck off again. I don't want them to grow up thinking he never wanted them. But damn the man because he's not. He's honest to god trying with them. He's done more in these last few months for them than he'd managed to do in my life. He can even tell them apart."

"You resent it?"

Guilt hit me, sharp and hard, but I wouldn't lie to Red. "A little bit. I mean, why now? Why them? Don't get me wrong, I want them to have a daddy, I do. But...why not me?."

"It was never about you being good enough, Sam." Red sighed, looping her arm into mine. She had no idea how close to home she'd hit. I remembered when I was young -not so young, maybe fourteen- wondering if my father had another son, a better son. One he bothered to love. "It was always about him not being good enough for you. But he's a different man now. He's chan-"

"Has he?" I cut her off rudely. "Has he really? He might be trying, but I don't trust it. People don't change."

Her voice was soft, but not condemning. "I did."

Instantly contrite, I pulled her close to me, intent to sooth any insult with a kiss. "That's not the same-"

"It kind of is though," she insisted, tucking her head up under my chin. "It's just...you made me want to change. To be better. To be more. I wouldn't be hard pressed to say you've done the same for Josh. You're amazing, and I don't' blame the man for wanting to be a part of your life. I don't blame him for pushing, because...you're just that amazing. He has had no hand in your upbringing, but I bet he's damn proud of you anyway."

"I can't forgive him."

"He said it himself." Shifting, she looked up at me. "Even if you did forgive him, he'd still spend his whole life being sorry." Sorriest son-of-a-bitch around.

"Then let him." I couldn't forgive him. I couldn't.

Not yet.

No. Never.

Not yet.

She nodded firmly, quick to agree. "So be it. Let him be sorry, but let him try anyway. Not just with the girls, or Embry, but with you too. I already know you have been. You hired him. Don't let this," she gestured wildly to the crib, "ruin what progress you've made. Because this? It doesn't have to be something terrible. It just means, no matter what you've thought, you've been on his mind for a very long time."

I ignored her latter sentiment; I just wasn't ready to believe Josh had ever wanted me. He and momma had been young and dumb. They'd married quietly in a court house in Sequim without telling a soul, only days after finding out momma was pregnant. For all my own personal doubts, I never really believed Josh didn't love my momma. But it was as Red said, he loved her in all the wrong ways. "I hired him because he's skilled in areas I required," I replied stubbornly, pointing to the crib. "Clearly." It bothered me that I might have inherited my own skills from him. I didn't want anything from him, not even his last name. "I wonder if I can change my last name to Swan. Sam Swan." Or maybe not.

"Now you're just being ridiculous," Red laughed, pulling us up to our feet. "Take it with a grain of salt if you have to, Sam. Your dad's trying so hard, just like I said he would. He's trying because you're trying, and I'm proud."

Words ringing familiar, some of my petty hurt was soothed. "Does this mean I get another blow job?"

"I don't know." She pulled the drop cloth back over the crib. "Are you really going to change your name to Swan?"

tbc