Paul found himself staring at the idiots around him, his arms crossed, and his jaw clenched. All it had taken was a quick search on the internet to find this place. A free meeting and a guarantee to help.

He felt warm in the shirt. Warm and stuffy. And the people around him stared at one another very judgy. Too judge-y. He could handle Sam's look of disappointment. But these strangers had no right to judge him. He didn't attack some stranger because they looked at him wrong in the store. He wasn't that bad.

Was he?

"So, everyone, we've got a newcomer." Paul shot a glare to the overcheerful guy. "Would you like to tell us your name?"

He released a puff of air. "Paul."

"Great. Paul, why are you here today?'

Paul didn't really know how to explain it. Everytime I get angry, I explode into a wolf, and if it keeps going on, I'm going to hurt someone. "I get angry a lot… at everything," Paul shrugged. "And I want to get rid of it before I accidentally hurt someone." A certain someone in particular.

"Wonderful!" the man said warmly. "Now, how long have you been getting these uncontrollable anger bursts?"

Paul shrugged again. "Since I was a kid. But it wasn't a problem until I was sixteen."

The man nodded. "Very good. Now that everyone's introduced themselves, let's start talking about some techniques to use. One of my favorites is counting to ten in your head, backwards. And exhaling as you do so. Let's try it."

This was pointless shit. This was… a waste of his time, really.

He sat still in the meetings, not offering up much. He went for a week, every day. And at the end of the week, they asked him to talk about his past.

Paul had bolted. He didn't quite understand what a room full of strangers needed to know about his past for. It wasn't like it was a secret – hell, the whole pack knew about it, and Charlie had been called to their house enough times when he was little to put the pieces together. It wasn't a secret that Paul's dad was a piece of shit. Those that needed to know about it, knew. But he would be damned if he was going to walk around and tell it to every Mary Sue and Billy Bob on the coast of Washington. It was private.

He didn't go back.

He found sitting in Bella's room to be a more calming experience than he wanted. And whenever he caught himself growling, his thoughts taking him miles away from the book he was reading to her, he would stop abruptly and mutter an apology.

She wouldn't wake up. Every time he would finish the book she loved so much, he'd hold his breath. Was the reading good enough that it would wake her up? He didn't know.

He just knew her bruises were starting to go away. By the second week, the gauze around her head had been removed so that he could see the scarring. It wasn't as bad as he imagined. But her jaw had scars from where they had to stitch her together. From the surgery. From the deer. From everything. It was scarring that went all down her left side, escaping into her hospital gown. He could smell Leah's scent in her hair, and he knew that she was the one to braid it back so that it didn't give away how unkept she was. She was given baths regularly, but it still didn't shine like it used to. It still didn't carry her scent like it used to.

There were days he would make sure he was downwind, just to catch a scent of her shampoo. Something he would get pissed off at himself for later, but his wolf had enjoyed. He had hated her so much over something so stupid… Over something he really found he didn't care that much about. She hadn't slept with the leech. But he had slept with pretty much everyone else.

Fuck, he was an idiot.

He closed his eyes, his growling stopping. "Sorry," he muttered. And then just a hint louder, he began to read again.

By the first month, certain pages of the book were memorized.

And then he learned that she was off of the medication that kept her under, and she just wasn't waking up.

He had barely made it to the woods before he phased.

By the second month, he had ripped out a side of his home to start rebuilding it. It was something he had been thinking about for years, but decided needed to be done. It took his mind off of things when he wasn't at the hospital or working. Or doing patrols.

He barely slept. He counted probably a total of six hours a week. Maybe an hour a day. Maybe less. He didn't know anymore. He just knew that if he stopped keeping busy, he'd get angry. If he stopped working, he'd think about what he should have done. If he stopped reading, she'd never wake up.

If he stopped reading, he would be giving up on her. If he stopped reading, she'd be gone.

By the third month, he was working around the rez on the side, repairing things that needed fixing, helping with things that others couldn't. Babysitting was the worst of the jobs, but he found most of the kids were alright with a gruff guy telling them to finish eating and to shut up. He hated kids. He helped the oldest lady on the reservation garden, and when it got to be too silent, his mind starting to work itself up, she began speaking. She told him all about her children and grandchildren, her long gone parents and grandparents. Some of her words would slip into Quiluette. Some of them were too out-dated for Paul to understand. But he listened to her, so he wouldn't have to listen to himself.

By the fourth month, he was at his wits end. He read Wuthering Heights almost desperately to Bella. He built the new kitchen that his house needed – it hadn't been updated since his parents had bought the place in the eighties. He ran pathetically on patrols. And he would listen to the old lady even more as she invited him over to fix her washer and dryer.

His patrols were being cut in half. Paul had protested when he found out, but Sam gave him a stern look. "Look at you, Paul. Like, really look." Paul gritted his teeth, dropping his gaze to his feet. He was running out of clothes, from phasing so abruptly, but whatever money of his that he had tucked away (the little mortgage he had to pay off was barely anything, and he wasn't home often enough to use the electricity or water beyond a quick shower twice a day and a bit of tv to drown out his thoughts as he took a nap) was going into rebuilding the house. Into keeping him busy. He would buy a few clothes, but nothing substantial. Just shorts.

"You're a lot better, but now you're starting to get worse in other ways. You aren't taking care of yourself. You're… when was the last time you even had a full night's sleep?" Paul didn't answer. "What do you do all night?"

Paul bit out a sigh and rubbed his eyes. "I read to her."

Sam raised an eyebrow, surprised. "You what?"

"Wuthering Heights. I… you know, read it to her," Paul muttered, shrugging it off like it was no big deal. Like he was embarrassed by the statement. "Every night. Cover to cover."

"I… I didn't know that," Sam admitted. Paul shrugged. He hadn't told anyone. It wasn't a big deal. "So when do you sleep?"

Paul hesitated. "I don't."

Sam sighed with the news, and cradled his head in his hands. "You're killing me, Paul. You… you're doing great. You're doing things you said you've wanted to do but never had time for. You're practically rebuilding our parent's house. You're helping people out on the reservation. You're being a nice guy. But… you aren't do anything good for yourself, either. You're just… pushing everything away, distracting yourself."

"Anger Management didn't work," Paul shrugged. "This does."

Sam sighed. "I know. But… Jesus, Paul, I'm worried about you. I'm worried you're overworking yourself. You're going to drop dead on your feet. I think Jake insulted you three times on your last patrols and you didn't even say anything." He had? That fucker. "He was really worried. Even if you don't get angry, you at least have something to say back. But you weren't even paying attention. He was barely getting anything going on in your head. So… promise me that with these fewer patrols, you'll fill in the time with sleep. That you'll sleep so that you're taking better care of yourself?"

"Yeah," Paul muttered. "I promise."

"If I find out you aren't, I'll Alpha order you," Sam warned. Paul gritted his teeth, but nodded. "I mean it."

"I know."

"We're just worried about you."

"She was supposed to wake up three months ago," Paul said quietly. "I'm worried about her."

"She'll wake up," Sam promised him quietly. And Paul stiffened as Sam got closer, but let himself be pulled into a hug. "You know she will. Bella's always been a pain in the ass. She's not going to start giving us a break now."

Yeah, Paul supposed.

"Charlie's been worried to. When he leaves for patrols, you're working on something in your house. And when he drives back in the morning, you're working again."

Paul shrugged, stepping out of Sam's grasp. "Yeah, I just… you know, want to get it done."

"It's also starting to get cold out. It's supposed to snow next week," Sam said pointedly. "If people think you're working outside shirtless and building a side onto your home, they're going to think you're insane. That's not what normal people do." So stop for the winter, maybe? was not said, but understood. Paul just shrugged and nodded again. "You're sort of… wallowing in disgrace… It's nothing to be ashamed of. You're doing better. You just need to start taking care of yourself, too. Maybe sleep at the hospital, if you want to stay the whole night."

Yeah… He could probably do that. He wouldn't be comfortable, but … Paul didn't really feel like leaving her alone all night. It was the only time of day that she was alone. And… if he was her, he wouldn't want to wake up alone.

The fifth month, some nights he'd be interrupted as they took her to tests to determine what was still wrong with her. Charlie refused to give up. Paul was pretty sure he wouldn't let him give up either. She would wake up.

Some nights, on Charlie's night off, he'd come and sit with her too. And that was the only night that Paul didn't read. Reading to her… had become something intimate, Paul felt like. Something private. Something he didn't want to be intruded on. Reading to her was like a fantasy in Paul's head. It was something that was between them. It was something that was solely theirs. Something that wasn't witnessed by the outside.

Fuck him, it was something he looked forward to every day.

But he didn't mind it when Charlie was there. It was then he could nod off, and wake himself up as he accidentally snored or something stupid like that. Charlie didn't seem to mind it, if it happened.

He'd just sit there and sigh every once in a while, shift in his seat, and hardly take his eyes away from her. "She must really mean something if you're here every night."

Paul wondered who had told him. Charlie had only started coming at night around two weeks ago. Fuck, was it Sam, again? He had already laid into him about telling Charlie pretty much everything, ever.

"The nurses notice," he supplied when Paul was silently brooding. "They think it's romantic. And that you're married." Paul snorted at that ridiculous notion.

"She doesn't want to get married," Paul said quietly. "At least, that's what she told her friends. So, don't worry about that, Chief. We didn't elope." But just the word elope brought back the plague of memories of the day at dress fittings. Fuck, he had almost forgotten about it. "Besides, I think Vegas is a little much."

He chuckled softly, as if agreeing. "Renee and I went there, you know." Renee. Paul had been avoiding the woman. She cried whenever mention of Bella was brought up. She lived at the Beach House, calling her husband every evening whenever Paul drove by on his way to the hospital. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but she always did it outside, and he always kept his windows down to help with the heat that practically radiated off of him. She visited Bella in the day, not for a long time, but Paul supposed if there was nothing to do, it would get pretty boring after a while. She would go with Sue during lunch sometimes, or breakfast with Jake. Something. "Eloped. Came back to two very pissed off families. And after we got kicked out, we got a little place together, I joined the force, and Bella was born."

"Yeah?" Paul found himself asking.

"I was never happier than the day she was born. And when Renee…" Charlie sighed. "She left, you know. In the middle of the night. She never wanted to stay in Forks. She had loved Vegas, but like you said… it's a little much. I liked it here. Forks was home. And she took Bella with her. I didn't think I'd ever see her again. Renee was… she still is a pretty spiteful woman, if she's scorned. I refused to move. I refused to give up the life I had made here."

"You did good, Chief."

"We were only nineteen. But I think… Bella remembers the aftermath. She grew up in it. I never wanted her to see that. But the court refused to give me custody, and Bella was sent off to Phoenix with Renee. And Renee… Bella would come and visit me for two weeks every summer. Two weeks. Was I really that awful of a father that I only got to see her for two weeks? People in prison see their kids more."

"You're..." Paul nearly choked on the words. "Fuck, Charlie, you're the greatest father in the world. There's a reason Bella wanted to move in with you for high school. I mean, there's a reason she's so happy here, and it's because you're here. She could care less about the pack or her friends. When I called her and told her about the wedding, the first thing she asked me was if you were okay. You know, after that bender with the pounder cheeseburger you and Billy faced off with." Charlie chuckled at the reminder. "She still doesn't know you two were idiots and did that, by the way. I kept that part quiet."

"She'd have been so angry," Charlie agreed. "And insisted to move back to cook me real food."

"She makes really awesome lasagna, doesn't she?"

Charlie grinned. "You should try her imitation fish fry. Oh, I think Harry would have had a run for his money if he ever had it."

"She made it for her graduation party," Paul said quietly, at the reminder. "Yeah, she did great."

"She's always done great. Even with Cullen, she was always doing something awesome, you know? Getting into Dartmouth. I never even dreamed of that for her. And afterwards with the guys, she had restored a motorcycle with Jake, saved the world-"

"Technically, she helped us catch one vamp. That's not really saving the world."

Charlie shrugged as if it wasn't really a difference. "She's been … saving the world for a lot longer than I thought, you know? She's been fighting things I couldn't protect her from. And now this..."

"Yeah, I know exactly how you feel," Paul muttered.

"I just wish I could have been there for her more," Charlie admitted. "That I would have seen her grow up. Helped her tie her shoes. Learned more about what she liked, instead of being that awkward dad that never really knew her. Just having her here in high school was… It was a dream come true."

"Yeah," Paul agreed. But he understood Charlie. In some way, they were the same. They both wished they had spent more time with Bella, gotten to know her better. But where Paul had pushed her away himself, Charlie had been forced away.

"After I dragged her to enough fishing trips with Billy and Harry and Jake and Seth, she started to refuse to come up here," Charlie admitted. Paul swallowed at the emotion in the older man's voice. "She would head to California, to where my mother was. And we'd meet up there instead."

"Look at it this way, she would have met that fucker a lot sooner if she had been coming up here." It was the right thing to say, because Charlie seemed comforted by that. "I hate him for what he did to her. When Sam and I found her..." Paul swallowed. "I didn't even know who she was, really. I just knew she was your daughter. And I knew that she meant a lot to you. And you were someone I really looked up to as a kid."

"I was?" Charlie asked in surprise.

Paul shrugged uncomfortably. "I always knew when you'd come to my house, you would take care of it. You'd let my dad sit the night in jail and sober up. You'd give my mom some peace, even if it was for the night. Every time I called, or she called, I always prayed it'd be you that showed up."

"I… I didn't know that."

"You were really something. You still are." Paul cleared his throat as the old man seemed to tear up with the declaration. "To have a daughter like that, you have to be." He really was sounding like a sap. "She really loves you, too, you know. You said she'd come home and talk about the guys, but when she was with us, she'd always be talking about you. About what game you were watching, and she'd have Embry and Quil explain who won and what happened, so that when you got home from work, you'd have something to talk about. Or, you know, something funny you said." Paul shrugged again. "She adores you."

"If… if this is all going to turn out good, can I count on you coming to dinners?" Charlie asked.

Paul swallowed the lump in his throat at the idea of attending family dinners with the Swans. "I'd like that, I guess. I don't know. Bella doesn't know anything about… the imprint, or anything. She thinks I imprinted on someone else. Not her." Charlie gave it a considering thought. "I broke her heart a lot, Charlie… I made all of this happen, and… I'm sorry. I really am. I wish I could go back to her senior year and just tell her everything then."

"When she wakes up, you'll tell her, though?" Charlie asked. "If everything's alright, you'll tell her and help her heal?"

"I'll do whatever she wants me to do." Even if it was grovel on his knees whenever he saw her. Even if it was give her a massage when she hurt. Even if it was sleeping on the front door stoop. He'd do it. As long as she wanted him to. As long as she spoke to him. Fuck, he didn't even care if it was an insult. He just wanted to hear her say something to him.

"Just promise me that… that you won't do what Cullen did to her." He'd rather kill himself than do that.

"That is a promise I really intend to keep." In all honesty, anyone can do better than that shit did. Even a fuck-up like Paul.

"I love you like a son, Paul. I'd really like to have you as one some day." Paul didn't mention that he practically had begged whatever deity would listen that he wanted Charlie to be his dad as a kid. That he had wished every minute he could trade his dads to have someone like Charlie. But then that would mean that Bella would have been stuck with a … and his childhood wish had vanished. No, he would have gladly taken his dad to spare her from that asshole. He was just stricken that Charlie actually thought of him as family. That Charlie felt like he was someone to be proud of.

Fuck. "I … That means a lot," Paul said, his throat feeling thick with the emotion that he was feeling. He had never felt so emotional in his life than he had these last few months.

"When she wakes up, I don't want you to push us all away again, you hear?" Charlie returned, just as sternly. "Because I won't stand for it. You've showed me you deserve to have my baby girl. Now show her."

"Yes, Chief." Paul cleared his throat.

"And if I ever catch you sneaking out of my house in the middle of the night, I will arrest you and you will spend a month in jail, do you understand me?" Paul gave the man a wide eyed stare, and a nod. Jesus, what the fuck? He wasn't even dating Bella. He didn't even think he'd get the words out before she'd slap him again. "You either stay the whole night or not at all. Unless you've got patrols. But Sam's giving me your schedules so I know who should be wandering around and who's up to no good."

Did Charlie just… give him permission to stay the night at his house with Bella? Was he dreaming? Had he fallen asleep? Or had Charlie finally lost it?

"Er, yes, sir."

They were silent for the rest of the night, until midnight when Charlie left. And then Paul picked up the book, and began to read. And he found that he barely had to look at the pages anymore. He spent most of the time watching her as he spoke the words, and most of the time, he wondered if Heathcliffe was him… and if she really thought he was as bad as Heathcliffe… if she thought he'd dig up her grave and practically worship it. That was fucking creepy.

He just sat by her lifeless body and read to her like it was a daily ritual.

Fuck. That wasn't… creepy, was it?

But he held her hand as he finished and clutched it so tightly, he worried on if he was hurting her. And he surveyed her. All of her casts were gone, her external pins removed. She looked normal. She looked… like the Bella he knew. She just wasn't awake. She just wouldn't wake up. His hand was hesitant as it reached up to her hair, and he gently tugged on the elastic of a braid, until it came undone. And he wanted her to sit up and yell at him for it. He wanted her to wake up.

"Wake up," Paul whispered. "Please… just, wake up."

And he finished off the braid before he put the elastic back in, and stood as he heard the elevator ding. And he left. There was no goodbye. There never was.

It was two weeks later, as he laid under the car that Jake called his name, far too excited in the freezing winter breeze. Paul slid out, covered in grease and bits of oil, and he shot Jake a glare. "Go take a shower. Bella just woke up."

And that was all Paul needed to drop his tools and practically sprint home. He didn't think much over the fact that the water hadn't even warmed up yet. He just washed himself as fast as he could before he threw on whatever clothes he could grab, and then he was driving towards Forks, unable to stop the stomach-dropping feeling he felt.

And he came to the realization that she didn't know anything that he did. She didn't remember the long nights he'd spend with her. She didn't know about the reading. She didn't know about him helping out on the reservation. She didn't know about him rebuilding his shithole of a house. Only he had done that. Only he had seen it. She hadn't… Fuck, what was he supposed to say to her when she woke up? She didn't know any of that… The last thing she'd remember of him was when he called her a prostitute. A good one, but still a prostitute.

"Fuck," he groaned. And when he parked in the parking lot, he waited for Jake to get there. Because he was not going to walk in there alone. He needed someone to remind him to stay … stay better. He had to stay better.

Or it would never work out between them.

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