three.

(Sam)

If there was one female in the world who could be a wolf, Sam thinks, it would be Leah.

She stalks around her bedroom, kicking off her shoes and shrugging out of her dress as she goes, looking absolutely feral. Her long, black hair swishes behind her with every movement, grazing the small of her naked back, wild and untamed as the rest of her.

He stands just beyond the threshold of her room, but she doesn't shut the door, doesn't slam it in his face. Because that would mean that she has to acknowledge him, which she has so very pointedly been trying not to do since she'd prised herself away from him in her kitchen earlier that morning. But she knows he's there, of course, and parades around her room in nothing but her mismatched underwear with a type of anger he's only just begun to learn from this side of the fence. There's a line between them now, which has done nothing but grow since he left her.

He's not stupid. He knows everything he had with Leah is dead with no hope of revival, because he will never betray Emily or the imprint. That, and Leah would never take him back even if he were somehow able to refuse fate. She's too stubborn and will never, ever forgive him. This line will just keep growing and growing. But she's in on this now. Minus a tail, she's all but part of his pack of ragtag teenagers.

He hadn't ever considered or entertained the idea of her knowing his secret. He'd resigned himself to a life of murderous looks from her, the tribe behind her and forever whispering behind his back. A life of people looking at Emily as if she's a homewrecker and as if he's no better than his father.

Then fourteen-year-old Seth had phased unexpectedly. It had been a miracle that he'd shredded the carpet and the door rather than his family, from what Sam has seen from the kid's mind.

Harry and Sue he would have been able to deal with. Harry is — was part of the Council. With Billy and Old Quil, Mr. Clearwater had been the one to sit him down and explain everything after he'd phased for the first time. Sam would never forget it. And, naturally, Harry didn't keep things from Sue, who had Uley blood and seemed to know everything about everyone anyway. But Leah . . .

"Jacob shouldn't have told you like that," Sam says to her back. Jacob knows it, too. He'd sloped off without so much as a word, hadn't even bothered to defend himself after Leah had pushed past them. Sam is still undecided on whether that was a wise decision or not, but he'd not pushed it. Later. He'd deal with it later, like everything else he's put on the back burner.

"At least he has told me," Leah snaps back. "Which is a lot more than I can say for you."

Then — with no misguided illusions about what she's doing, he's sure — she bends down and bares her ass to him as she roots around in her bottom drawers for some pants. The glass of water which she's brought from downstairs threatens to topple over on top of her dresser with the force of slamming drawers.

Of course, Leah doesn't know that what she's trying to do isn't working. It will never work.

It's strange to be so unaffected by her now, compared to a time when he would have grabbed her hips and held her close. Now the wolf inside of him barks in protest with what it sees and forces his eyes elsewhere . . . but all the things in this room are a stark reminder of everything the wolf tells him is Wrong. Everything here is from the last three, four years of his life. Everywhere he looks calls to him with familiarity. He's climbed through that window, slept in that bed . . .

He trains his eyes on Leah's bare feet as they move. The imprint is only somewhat mollified — it won't settle until he's back with Emily, but he's got no choice. He has to be here, not there. He has to tell Leah how important all of this is. It's his responsibility.

"Because you have done everything you can to not have that conversation," Leah continues, her voice rising with every word. "But it's over now, he's in the ground, gone. It's done. So whatever you're waiting for . . ." She huffs angrily as she shimmies into threadbare shorts, the kind she lounges around in whether the sun's out or not. "It's done," she says again.

Sam looks up, and she's staring right at him, eyes blazing.

He sighs, relenting after half a minute. He runs a hand over his tired face. "Please put a shirt on."

"Bothering you, is it?" She puts her hands on her hips, subtly jutting her chest out.

"Please, Lee. Today's been hard enough. I wanted to wait 'til all this was over."

Leah barks a laugh, a hard, unkind and frustrated sound as she turns away and reaches into her wardrobe and yanks a t-shirt off its hanger. She's a whirlwind in this space, moving so fast that once upon a time he would have had a hard time keeping up.

"Things were hard before," she says. "You didn't tell me then. You don't get to decide for me. Not ever."

He has never decided things for her, but he doesn't remind her of that. He's unused to this rage she has. He knows it's all because of him and losing Harry, maybe because she's had to deal with all of this without her brother, but still he struggles.

"If I want to know, Sam—" she spits his name "—it won't be on your terms."

That straightens his back. "It has to be on my terms."

This is the Alpha talking, not Sam Uley, not his imprint.

"You think too highly of yourself," Leah utters scornfully.

"There's rules, Leah. I need to keep everyone safe." Anything else is unacceptable.

"Why's it your responsibility all of a sudden?" she demands, pulling down her shirt and immediately reaching for her hair. "Why are you suddenly deciding who can and can't know what? Telling Jacob what he can and can't tell me? The legends might be true — fine," she concedes at his look. "They are true, but you're not Taha fucking Aki, Sam."

He takes a deep breath, one, two. Her words sting, but she's not to know about the fight he and Jacob are having every single day. He's all but killing himself holding onto something that Jacob doesn't want, something that he's offered to Jacob more than once, and although Jacob has refused he has been subconsciously challenging him for it every single damn day since he phased.

"I'm the leader of this pack."

Leah rolls her eyes with a snort as she ties her hair back. "Pack."

"Yes, Leah. Pack. Which Seth is now part of—" she flinches at her brother's name, the only slip in her otherwise fiery facade "—whether you like it or not. You weren't meant to know about any of this, but now you do, and I've got to work around it."

"Sorry I'm such an inconvenience," she snaps.

He can't help the roll of his eyes. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Do I?" Leah flicks her high ponytail over her shoulder. It brings out the sharp lines in her face more than ever. "This morning was a mistake," she tells him, finding her resolve again. "I won't be so inconvenient again."

"God, Leah. You're not an inconvenience!" He throws up his arms which are in danger of shaking — he's letting his temper get the better of him. "I just meant that not everyone can know about this!" he hisses. He's mindful of who is left downstairs. Most who came back to the house have left, but there's still keen wolf ears and Charlie Swan and who-knows-who else.

Leah scowls. "I'm not going to tell anyone, if that's all you're worried about. I think everyone who I might have wanted to tell knows anyway. One of them is in that room." She points over his shoulder. "So if you'll excuse me."

He has to tell her more. He's not going to get away with keeping her in the dark, knows that things are only going to spiral that much more out of control when she finds out the rest, but maybe — maybe hard truths can wait. He didn't want to do this today anyway.

"Fine." He moves out of the way. "I just wanted to see if you needed anything before I go."

"Back to Emily."

He wants to say yes — yes, Emily, always Emily, but knows no good will come of it so simply nods his head and watches as Leah takes the glass of water off her dresser and disappears behind her mom's door with it.

That morning, he'd caught Leah as she'd crumpled to her knees in her kitchen. She'd fought him, at first, telling him over and over again that she was not his problem, sobs wracking her body as she cried her protests and obscenities until they finally dissolved into something which had her gripping the lapels of his ill-fitting suit. So he'd held on to her, because it was the break he'd been waiting for since that first night after he'd brought her and Sue back from the hospital.

He had known that Leah would rather cry in the confines of her kitchen with nobody else to hear her rather than in front of her father's coffin with an audience. He still knew her. That was why he'd pushed her too far. He had let himself into her house before she'd gotten out of bed and had followed her around all morning, pushing and pushing.

Leah had always been tough. But she'd become a little rough around the edges since he had left her on Third Beach and broken her heart. She worked differently now.

"Is this about college?" she asked that day. "I know I've been a little nervous, but it's only because—"

"It's not. I'm not going to college anymore. I can't." He couldn't even leave the Rez without his skin itching, almost as if reminding him of what — who — he was leaving behind unprotected. "I know you don't understand. And maybe you won't ever understand," he said, almost to himself as he stared above her head, anywhere but her already tear-stained face. "I'm still having trouble with it. But I know I don't feel the same anymore. I'm not the same."

"Nothing's changed—"

"It has. Everything has. I'm sorry."

He'd repeated that same word to her on the kitchen floor as he had on the stillness of Third Beach. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

It hadn't made anything better. It would never make it better, no many how many times he said it. To Leah, to Emily's scarred and lovely face. To his brothers, who understood just as much of this new world as he did, though he did his best to pretend otherwise. Sometimes it even worked.

Since Harry had died, Sam had found himself treating Leah as pack because she resembled his brothers so much. Her anger at everything, the sharp bite to her words. He'd reached for her a few times, if only to check that her temperature was normal and that her heart rate was steady. But she was still Leah. Mostly. Thankfully. She didn't feel warm to him, like only Emily and his brothers did these days.

Eventually she'd wormed herself out of his arms, had stood on her shaky legs and pushed him away. She'd swiped erratically at her wet, flushed face and muttered that she needed to get ready.

"We've got a while yet, Lee."

"I'm late. I've got to get ready," she mumbled again. "Leave me alone."

He'd not really left either her or Seth alone since the kid had phased and hidden away. He wouldn't make it to the funeral. Hell, Jared had taken three days to get himself back on two legs. Sam was almost sure that Seth was going to take even longer.

"Please go," she then asked quietly, and he hadn't been able to help but remember that she'd asked the same of him on Third Beach. Maybe she had remembered, too.

Only his pack greet him when he jumps the last stair, anger fuelling his every move.

Except for Jacob, whose eyes are still downcast, they look at him and wait to be told what to do next. They all can't help but listen, though, to Billy and Charlie who are talking in quiet whispers on the other side of the door. The door which is still broken, courtesy of Seth.

Sam makes a note to fix it next time he's here. "Everyone else gone?" he asks the room.

"Jacob herded them all out," Jared says.

Sam's gaze turns on his tallest brother. He can't admonish him, he supposes. Leah had asked him to clear the house — they all heard her. "Good. You should tell Charlie about Bella before he goes home, Jacob."

Jake grunts noncommittally. Hell, Sam needs to get better with his directives. Jacob is always finding loopholes.

"Go and tell Charlie. Now," Sam orders. He makes for the living room, not waiting to watch the boy slope off. "The rest of you, come and clean this up. I'll do the kitchen."

He can feel all of them behind him. Embry's hunger, having not eaten since before he'd left to watch over Seth. Jared's longing for Kim, the imprint still so new compared to his own with Emily. And, somewhere far away, Seth's heartbreak and Paul's frustration. Probably because he's babysitting. Then there's Jacob's . . . whatever that is. Jacob is a total freakin' mess. He's all longing and uncertainty and sadness and confusion and nerves. It spills over with his misery and angst over Bella fucking Swan.

Always Bella fucking Swan. A skinny pale wreck of a thing, nothing but a walking nightmare of complications, and always, always undoubtedly the source of any kind of pain Jacob was feeling. But she's not Sam's problem anymore, because the leeches are back. Well — one of them. But the rest are sure to follow, of that Sam has no doubt. He'll soon have more than Seth phasing to worry about — half of his pack will be thirteen, fourteen-year-old kids before he knows it when the leeches come back to Washington in full force.

Not if. When. The certainty has been constantly nagging him at the back of his mind since Jake brought him up to speed, all the way through the service. And the fact is that, when the leeches come back, the pack will have far too much territory to cover. On its own, the boundary line defined by the treaty — the single line between their land and Leech Land — is fifty miles long. Fifty miles for six of them.

As if the redhead isn't enough. As if Quil being a second away from becoming a new weight in Sam's heart isn't enough.

Because Sam can feel Quil, too. The sensation is like an itch he can't get to just yet, his anticipation steadily building. He'd wanted to crawl out of his own skin by the time Jacob had finally phased. Quil won't take as long.

Sam listens to Embry and Jared as he moves about the kitchen, hands busy as he contemplates everything. It sounds like they're eating everything in sight, but at least they're clearing up. Sort of.

"C'mon, man," Embry says around a mouthful. "You just saw her four hours ago!"

Jared grumbles, but whatever he's feeling only raises a similar yearning in response within Sam's own chest. Emily, Emily, Emily.

It had taken more strength than he'd had to watch her walk away from the service and back to her little house — her grandmother's house, once, and now his too, he guessed. He spent far more time there than anyone else, barely went home to his own mom who was incoherent more than half the time. He only went back to pay the bills, to make sure there was food in the fridge. And that was only because Emily told him to. He would never have bothered otherwise. His mom has long since made it clear that he reminds her too much of his father, and she wants nothing to do with him. Especially since he's gotten a name for himself on the reservation by leaving Leah and all but moving in with her cousin.

Sudden yelling from outside lets Sam know that Jacob has done his job and told Charlie who his only child has run off with.

"Sounds like trouble," Jared mutters. He seems hopeful, though. As if it might get him back to Kim that more quickly, and that hope only jumps higher when an engine revs not too long before Billy is being wheeled back into the house by Jacob. Sam meets them in the hall, the kitchen clear of any evidence of a wake being held.

Billy sighs. The lines on his worn face seem deeper. "Good thing you didn't say anything about Italy, son. That girl is going to be the death . . ." He lets his words fade and glances warily towards the ceiling, where he knows Leah and Sue are. "Well," he says gruffly. "You know."

But Jacob's not listening, it seems. He stares up at the same spot on the ceiling as his father, his hands tight on the handlebars of the wheelchair.

Longing and uncertainty and sadness and confusion and nerves.

Sam frowns. What is that? "Jacob?"

"Are they asleep?" the boy asks, still looking up.

"Doubt it," Sam says. He would know. Their breathing might be even but Leah's not slept for more than two hours straight since Harry died, Sue probably even less so.

(He has to get Seth home as soon as possible.)

Another sigh from Billy. "Let's leave them for tonight, kid. C'mon."

Something even Sam can't quite catch flashes over Jacob's face, pulling at his mouth. "We'll come back tomorrow?"

"Sure, sure."

Jake looks reluctant, but eventually jerks his head and starts wheeling his father out. Maybe it's because he's lost his mom, maybe it's because he needs to jump on another crusade to keep him busy whilst Bella is probably getting her throat ripped out. Sam isn't all too sure. He's hardly ever sure when it comes to Jacob. Too many problems, too difficult to even try and pick apart. Whatever this is, though — it's in danger of turning out to be yet one more problem.

Which, undoubtedly, will become his problem, too. It always does. Emily and these ragtags are all he has.

"You're with Seth tonight," he reminds Jacob before he leaves. "Take over from Paul at ten."

And for once, Jacob only nods. No questions, no defiance, no snappy retorts.

Definitely a problem.

A/N: Annnnnnddddd . . . that's just about the last chapter I ever want to write from Sam. I wonder how many of you I lost along the way(?!). But part one, two, three as each of them made sense at the time, I swear. It definitely does not count as a thank you for all of your lovely reviews. Thank you, thank you.