twenty-four.

(Jacob)

He doesn't show up for patrol or babysitting duties for the next two days — not that he's exactly been asked or ordered to, and not that he'd have shown any kind of willingness if he had. For the first time since he joined the pack, Jacob finds himself left alone. Completely alone.

It's oddly liberating. Peaceful. Mind-numbingly boring, yes, after what his life has been like recently, and his whole body aches as it struggles to keep the wolf in check. His thoughts are too quiet without the overlap of his brothers interrupting him, and he finds he misses them after their near-constant presence (even Paul, sometimes). But he certainly doesn't miss being at anybody's beck and call.

It's probably for the best, anyway, keeping his distance. For now, at least. Sam has probably been dying to exert some control ever since he almost lost it. And if it's true that he's been struggling with keeping everyone in line ever since, then it's the perfect opportunity to reinstate himself. Jacob only being there to throw another spanner in the works is cause for another disaster.

Of course, Sam could have assumed that his resignation would be with immediate effect. Maybe the Alpha is playing his own game, just to see how long this whole idea is going to last, and then he can have a great big laugh when it fails. Jacob thinks little enough of Sam that he easily considers this the most plausible reason why nobody's been sent to his door.

Yet.

On the morning of his third day playing truant, Jacob has to force himself to leave his bedroom (which still smells like Leah all over) and he just has to wonder how much longer he can keep this up for. He hasn't phased for six days now, not since the fight, his longest streak yet. But he can feel it building underneath his skin with every passing day; his limbs are heavy, his head hurts, his skin burns. And with the imprint being stretched as thin as it is, he's not sure if he can last another day. Let alone another hour.

Man. Quitting cold turkey sucks.

He's not going to make it, he knows that; he'll most likely be back on four paws by the end of the day. He's not delusional. Still, he'll have made his point and that's all that matters. He has to make use of all that stubbornness he's inherited from Billy somehow.

He hasn't been all that forthcoming with his father. Billy will surely be told everything at the next Council meeting, but at the moment he isn't exactly aware his son is essentially conducting an experiment. He'd flip if he did. He just believes that all this lousing around is part of an adjustment period to do with the imprint, and he thinks Sam has been gracious enough to grant Jacob some respite from all the hell it's given him.

Billy likes Sam. A lot.

Regardless, Jacob is more than happy to keep his father in the dark. Messing with the tribe's safety when the Cullens have returned (again) and there's a nomad on the loose? That's an absolute no-no, in the Council's book.

He feels kinda guilty about it. He's been spending a lot of time in the garage, either in his hammock or his toolbox, hiding from the impending storm he likes to call Big Trouble. It's exactly how he plans to spend the rest of the day, if only because losing himself within his safe haven is just about the only thing that distracts him from fully acknowledging the gaping hole Leah has left in his life.

If this is going to be a permanent thing — if he is going to be made to live with this loss forever — then he doesn't know what he'll do. How he'll cope when the wolf will never recover. When he will never recover, instead left to be this broken shell of a man he should have, could have been.

Much like his father, really. Billy has never quite recovered from the loss of Sarah.

It doesn't bear thinking about, turning into his father.

Billy's at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of joe when Jacob finally drags his feet all the way down the hall (broken, howls the wolf, that will be you, me, us).

The old man doesn't bother with pleasantries. "You heading over to see the Clearwaters today?"

Are you heading over to see Leah? is what he means.

"No, Dad. I told you. She'll find me when she's ready. Stop being so pushy."

"Okay, okay. I was only asking, sheesh." Billy tips his mug and trains his eyes the last of his coffee, his smile annoyingly wry. "Just seemed like you'd already kinda ironed everything out when she spent the night, is all."

Jacob sputters and feels himself turn beetroot. "Dad. We're not — she didn't — we didn't—"

The old bastard just laughs into his mug. In spite of all his hidden pain, he is absolutely euphoric about the imprint — exactly as Jacob always knew he would be — but the fact that it's Leah Clearwater has him practically giddy. He's as proud as punch.

(Sometimes Jacob wonders what life would have been like if the wolf had called a generation early, if his father would have imprinted on his mother. He certainly loved her as though he had — as much as Sam loves Emily and Jared loves Kim. And Jacob is frightened by that, mostly for his father who will never move on.)

Billy is still laughing when the phone rings. He picks it up from the table and answers with all that amusement in his tone still. That is, until it vanishes in the blink of an eye. The atmosphere turns so quickly that it's almost like the laughter was never there to begin with.

Jacob pauses warily at the fridge. There are only three things in the world that make Billy react like that upon answering the phone: the death of a loved one, the endocrinologist he has made it his life-mission to avoid, and Bella Swan's twice-daily calls.

"Hi, Billy," Jacob hears her tinny voice say through the receiver. "Is Jake there?"

His father sighs dramatically, more than strictly necessary (it's not exactly as if Bella is unable to hear him, which just goes to show how little patience the man has left), and he extends the phone half-heartedly with his thick eyebrows arched in question.

Jacob answers with a Look that very clearly says: Not a chance in hell.

Billy rolls his eyes and presses the phone back to his ear. "Yes, Bella," he replies wearily, rubbing his free hand over his face, "he's here."

"Can I —" She clears her throat. "May I speak to him, please?"

"He doesn't want to talk, Bella."

Bella doesn't answer for a second, clearly affronted, but she quickly ups the ante. "But I've been calling for days! I really want to talk to him. He's obviously right there, just tell him that—"

"He knows," Billy answers sharply. "He just doesn't want to talk to you."

Billy is firm in this, and Jacob is overwhelmingly grateful for his father being so stalwart — even if it is only because the old man utterly adores one Leah Clearwater. Billy has made it extremely clear over the last few days that, regardless of the imprint, he is very much in Leah's camp (at least once an hour, sometimes, if he's being especially pushy). He has always loved her like another daughter and Seth like another son, so if his family is to be matched with another, then who better than the Clearwaters? Their pedigree trumps that of Charlie's family, after all.

Jacob privately thinks that's all a bit old-fashioned, a bit too sectarian for his own liking. He loves his father, but the old man's judgement is skewered. And his Council are nothing but a bunch of bigots, no more than a group of old men who are blinded by heritage, by tradition; they would have quickly honoured any girl chosen as an imprint — even a paleface (after they'd gotten over the shock of it, anyway). Hell, Jacob would bet they'd welcome Bella herself.

But he isn't stupid enough to say that to any of their faces.

He throws a thumbs-up over his shoulder at the mild inflection in his father's voice before diving for the orange juice carton.

"Billy, please—"

"Sorry, Bella," comes the reply, and it doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest. Billy's feelings towards Charlie Swan's daughter have been on a steep downward spiral ever since he found out about her involvement with the Cullens. Her willing involvement. "Bye."

The phone clatters back down onto the table. Point made.

Jacob deliberately avoids any piercing eyes as he gulps down his juice. It's only when he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand that he throws a guilty but grateful glance. "Thanks."

"Learned some lessons from Leah dealing with that one," his dad grumbles, still evidently a little annoyed. Jacob frowns in question — what does that mean? — but he only receives a shake of the head and a sigh in return. "You're gonna have to tell her sooner or later, son. As much as I love having you home more often, I'm not gonna tolerate that much longer."

He doesn't need to clarify what 'that' is.

Jacob is unperturbed. "So pull the cord out." And at the long-suffering sigh he hears, he throws the now-empty carton into the trash and says, "Oh, come on, Dad. I'd be willing to bet Bella found out as soon as Embry and Quil—" and Leah "—had that run-in with her bloodsucker anyway. Mind-reader, remember? Probably spilled the beans to her first chance."

"So why's she still calling here all hours?"

"Because she's neurotic," Jacob replies simply, flatly. He doesn't mean to be nasty, but she is; that's just Bella, always has been, and he's long since accepted it. She wouldn't have jumped off the deep end last fall if she wasn't. She wouldn't have jumped off that damn cliff. "You know she's not happy if she's not stressing out about something."

"Or someone," his dad remarks. "I'd call that being melodramatic."

"Whatever," he mumbles annoyedly, rooting through the clean laundry pile for his black shirt. He's done talking about this. "I'll be out back if you need me. You're not going anywhere today, are you?"

His dad's 1987 Ford Tempo is in his garage, and he really wants to sell it. With a little more work it's going to be an awesome drive, and it's not like Billy's going to be doing that ever again; he can't feel his feet. And Jacob was only using the little car as a means to an end until the Rabbit was road-worthy. Plus, it'd give them extra money they don't have.

(Jacob thinks it's not a bad way to earn a living, fixing up and selling cars. His dad disagrees — but luckily he's not pushing on the whole 'no school, no diploma, no future' problem at the moment. There are more important things.)

"No," Billy answers, rolling his chair towards the couch. "Tomorrow, maybe. And we're having Quil and Seth's bonfire on Saturday, don't forget. Sue is going to be there too — Old Quil invited her to take Harry's place on the Council yesterday. She said yes."

"Oh." Jacob isn't all that surprised. Sue has two kids in the pack now: her son as a wolf, and her daughter as an imprint. And he knows exactly what his father is hinting at. "Makes sense, I guess." But that means . . . "What's today?"

"Wednesday," comes his father's strained reply as he hauls himself up on the loveseat. In front of the television, naturally. "Leah will be there too, of course."

Jacob does his best not to swear, his stomach sinking. He's hungry but too agitated to eat, and now he's just going to be even worse. Because unless Leah finds him first, he has barely three days to get his shit together before he sees her again.

And he'd called Bella the neurotic one.

In the confines of his garage, Jacob buries his head — and his problems — underneath the hood of the Tempo. He replaces the cabin and the air filters because it's the easiest thing to do and because he has the parts to hand already. He was planning to do it weeks ago.

It's a clear sign of how he's feeling that he doesn't even turn on the boombox and works in complete silence. He's struggling now, fighting with himself. Nobody is calling him to phase, but his hands shake and a vicious heat licks its way up his spine as if they are.

After an hour, he finally allows himself to give into the temptation of glancing towards the back of the garage where two motorbikes stand — where he'd purposefully put them so that they won't be noticed in case any parental figures decide to pop their heads in, but also because he had been sick of looking at them.

Jacob openly stares at them now, weighing his options.

He's going to split his skin by the end of the day anyway. That's a given, with the way his fists are clenched tight. Why not make it worth it?

And he has to talk to the bloodsucker at some point. Sam won't do it because he believes Bella has made her mind up (which she clearly has) and that she's a lost cause (which she's not — yet), and for his part he is willing to let the situation slide until she offers her neck up.

Jacob, though . . . He's been considering this over the last few days. He might have imprinted, but that doesn't mean he has stopped caring about whether Bella lives or dies — her humanity falls under his protection, right? He might still be able to save her.

He has to give it a shot. For Charlie at least.

For himself. Because if Bella does turn into a vampire, he will have no hesitation in ripping her and her new family apart to keep Leah and the pack safe. He'd settle the transgression personally, would make sure he's the first in line to burn each of their remains. But what about afterwards? How would he feel then?

Like a murderer, probably, he thinks with no satisfaction.

He has to talk to the bloodsucker.

Jacob kicks up the stand of the glossy red bike, and heads for the highway.

Half an hour later, right on schedule, Charlie Swan turns positively purple before his eyes.

The man shouts for a whole quarter of an hour, promising to inform Billy of what's going on, what his son has done — what his son has been doing, because apparently building a motorbike and teaching his daughter to ride that bike is as good as coercion and aiding and abetting in the Chief of Police's book.

"You were supposed to be a good influence on her — I trusted you with her!" he rants, which makes Jacob feel like an asshole for about three seconds until he reminds himself of why exactly this has to be done. So he takes it all in silence, gladly.

He'd been counting on Charlie's reaction. Now he just has to do his part.

He does his best to appear appropriately shamed as he leaves the house and saunters half-way up the path where he knows the bloodsucker will catch his scent, where Charlie cannot see or hear, and he waits.

It doesn't take long at all, considering how he'd been prepared to sit back and hang out until Bella's curfew. Maybe she's that much in trouble over the whole Italy thing that Charlie's only allowing her to go to work and to school. Surely she's being escorted by her one-tick protection detail, though.

When he finally sees the silver car roll by — a fucking Volvo, of all things — he is leaning against the mossiest tree trunk he could find (because he hopes it will help mask the undeniable stench he is about to be greeted with). There is only one heartbeat inside of the car, accompanied by the owner's shocked gasp. Jacob hears the betrayal within it. She must have seen the bike where he so conveniently parked it for the whole street to see.

There's a slight pause of comprehension, soon followed by a hiss of anger. "Is he still here?"

Jacob smirks to himself, even though he can smell the stench of the leech as soon as the Swedish piece of crap's doors open. Honestly. Couldn't it have afforded a better car?

Bella and her bloodsucker quickly start making their way towards him. One pair of footsteps are distinguishably heavier than the other, and it makes his stomach roll from how unnatural it is. How unnatural they are together, her and . . . him. Pronouns are hard to apply to the undead.

"Let me go! I'm going to murder him! Traitor!"

He knows Bella's shriek is for his benefit, and he snorts to himself. She might not be able to hear or see him, but he knows that the parasite latched onto her can — and that it's probably listening to his mind, too.

"Charlie will hear you," the tick warns. Jacob wonders just how many names for her vampire he can get through before the confrontation (the reminder, he amends) is finished. He'd be placing a bet with Embry and Quil, if they were here; it would be a sweet competition. "And once he gets you inside, he may brick over the doorway."

Hell, Jacob thinks, he'd help Charlie if he thought it'd do any good.

"Just give me one round with Jacob," he hears Bella argue through her teeth, "and then I'll deal with Charlie."

He laughs again, hoping that she can hear him this time. But the fresh stench infecting the air hits the back of his throat, and it's an effort not to spit. He's going to have to limit his breathing, just like he'd been forced to do with the tiny psychic who had whisked Bella off to Italy. Their two scents are different, one sweeter than the other, one fouler, and yet still the same. Still vampires. Still his mortal enemies.

"Jacob Black wants to see me. That's why he's still here."

Bella quietens, her noisy struggle against granite skin ceasing almost immediately. "Talk?"

"More or less."

She is suspicious. "How much more?"

"Don't worry, he's not here to fight me. He's acting as . . . spokesperson for the pack."

Bella doesn't pick up on the lie and allows herself to be hurried on. Her 'boy'-friend knows exactly why Jacob is here and under whose authority he has come: his own.

The last time Jacob saw Edward Cullen, he had cut in on a dance with Bella at her prom and passed on that whacky message from his father in exchange for twenty dollars and the promise of the master cylinder he needed to complete the Rabbit. Leah and his brothers have seen the abomination more recently than he has, and he hasn't shared their minds recently to know of the changes. Changes he realises he should have expected, really, when he sees the vampire again for himself.

The smell is the same — so much more potent; he realises now of course that it hadn't been any kind of rancid perfume she had been wearing that day — but his eyesight has improved since he was that kid with puppy fat still in his cheeks. The leech — Edward — looks like the pretend-sister did, like a damn crystal, all angles and shine even in the absence of the sunshine. Jacob compares the two images in his mind, pre-phase and post, and he is startled at his own blindness.

He shrugs away from the tree, his wolf already scrabbling to be set free so it can divide and conquer. He leashes it for the fiftieth time that day and looks at Bella, brown-eyed and pink and human, and descends into a lethal calm.

Edward hears all this, of course, and keeps Bella a healthy distance away, tucking her behind impenetrable marble. But not impenetrable to Jacob.

She peers around the corpse. Him. Damn pronouns.

"Bella," Jacob greets evenly.

"Why?" she whispers. "How could you do this to me, Jacob?"

Her pain doesn't pierce him as it one did. He remains stone-faced. "It's for the best."

"What is that supposed to mean? Do you want Charlie to strangle me? Or did you want him to have a heart attack, like Harry? No matter how mad you are at me, how could you do this to him?"

Jacob tries not to wince and keeps his silence. If Charlie Swan was about to have a heart attack, he would have had one when he'd seen the red bike or when he'd been unleashing his rarely-seen temper to its deliverer.

"He didn't want to hurt anyone — he just wanted to get you grounded, so that you wouldn't be allowed to spend time with me."

Jacob's eyes snap to the voice, narrowing with hatred he cannot contain. Apparently, Bella is given everything she wants. But will she ever be given the ultimate prize, he wonders? Does she really want it?

"Aw, Jake!" she protests. "I'm already grounded! Why do you think I haven't been down to La Push to kick your butt for avoiding my phone calls?"

"I knew you were grounded already," he tells her. Leah had told him as much. "But I like the point your bloodsucker plucked out of my head," he adds, jerking his chin sharply toward the party in question, "—so let's stick with that one. You've been doing pretty well without 'him' up until now, so why ruin all that progress?"

He is not frightened to hurt her like Edward is, and he doesn't show any remorse as Bella visibly flinches at the reminder — because she had been getting better, she knows it, they both do — and the arm of crystal around her only tightens. But Jacob knows she will forgive him. She always does. She's tough enough to withstand a little poke at her insecurities, tougher than her bloodsucker believes.

Bella blinks away the pain, masters it as she has learned how. Meanwhile Edward is quiet at her side, but Jacob can taste the fury there. Would see it if he bothered to look.

"If you knew I was grounded, then why aren't you answering my phone calls? I called today, when I was at work, and your dad—"

"He knows," Edward murmurs, "he was there, like you knew he was."

"Stop that," Jacob snaps through gritted teeth. It's so annoying. No wonder Bella is the only person who can stand it, being the only one whose thoughts are protected. "If you want to sort through my memories, then take the one that tells you why I'm here and then do us all a favour and leave her the hell alone before—"

"No," Bella gasps.

"Hush, love, it's fine," Edward reassures her. She is thinking the worst — neurotic to a tee, didn't Jacob already say so? Then the leech adds, for his benefit, "I know why you're here, Jacob. But, before you begin, I need to say something."

Jacob waits, clenching and unclenching his hands as he tries to control the painful shivers rolling down his arms that tell him he is very, very close to ruining his clothes and the second-to-last pair of decent shoes he owns. Emily can sew just about anything, but she's not that great at mending sneakers. He'll be going barefoot soon enough.

"Thank you," Edward says, and Jacob refrains from gagging at the sincerity. "I will never be able to tell you how grateful I am. I will owe you for the rest of my . . . existence."

Jacob stares, eyes hard but nonetheless surprised.

Edward fakes another intake of breath. "For keeping Bella alive. When I . . . didn't."

"Edward—" Bella interrupts, but her bloodsucker raises a hand and keeps Jacob's gaze.

Five seconds, ten. And then, Jacob spits, "I didn't do it for your benefit. For your existence."

"I know. But that doesn't erase the gratitude I feel. I thought you should know. If there's ever anything in my power to do for you . . ."

Jacob considers this, and thinks one clear direct thought, similar to how he focuses on speaking within the pack mind: I'd like you to fuck off. Die, preferably, if you're so willing.

Edward only shakes his head. Jacob thinks he might see disappointment there — at the cursing, or the being unable to die part? A man can hope. "That," Edward replies sombrely, "is not in my power."

"Whose, then?" Jacob growls.

Edward looks down to Bella, and their eyes lock. "Hers. I'm a quick learner, Jacob Black, and I don't make the same mistake twice. I'm here until she orders me away."

"Never," she replies, her voice barely above a reverent whisper.

Jacob can't hold it then, and he finally gags. He makes it as theatrical as he can, for fun, and is amused when Bella snaps back to him immediately. She's funny when she looks angry, almost like a little cub who thinks it can roar.

"Was there something else you needed, Jacob? You wanted me in trouble — mission accomplished. Charlie might just send me to military school. But that won't keep me away from Edward. There's nothing that can do that. What more do you want?"

Jacob trains his eyes on Edward, cool and calculated. "I just needed to remind your bloodsucking friends of a few key points in the treaty they agreed to. The treaty that is the only thing stopping me from ripping his throat out right this minute."

"We haven't forgotten," Edward says at the same time that Bella demands, "What key points?"

"The treaty is quite specific," Jacob tells Bella in a more reasonable tone than he can believe he is capable of at this very moment. He might as well be talking about the weather. "If any of them bite a human, the truce is over. Bite, not kill."

Bella hardens. "That's none of your business."

Jacob knew. He'd expected this. And yet still, it hurts to have the assumption confirmed from her own mouth.

"It is my damn business," he growls, suddenly hardly unable to keep himself in check. He has the most control out of his brothers, but even he is having a hard time staving off the wolf right now. He knows what he must look like to her, convulsing all over. Dangerous. A monster. "But the fact that you actually want—"

He can't finish his sentence. He doubles-over, desperately trying to keep himself within the here and now. It's the worst thing, the worst, to know that she wants this, that she's probably planning it. Maybe she has already. But that is the whole reason he has come — to stop her. Stop her from making this mistake and dying because if she dies then he is going to have to be the one kill her again. He can't let his brothers do it, he just can't—

"Jake?" comes her nervous voice. Still human, he reminds himself. There's still time. Still human. "You okay?"

"Careful! He's not under control!"

Still human, Jacob chants to himself. And so am I.

"Like I'm the one who's going to hurt her. That's all you're worried about, isn't it?" He almost laughs, hard and scornful, and a voice echoes at the forefront of his mind — exactly where it belongs, where it always should be. "Leah was right about you — you'd spout anything. Especially if it makes you look like the good guy over me, huh?"

Bella's eyebrows dip into a frown, confused and displeased in equal measure. "Leah?"

Jake glances at Edward and thinks, You didn't tell her?

The leech gives a minute shake of his head, unnoticed by Bella, and all Jacob can think is, Huh.

"What's the deal with Leah all of a sudden?" Bella asks, oblivious and still scowling. Jacob hates her name on those lips, hates it said like that with that tone. "She was here on the weekend, too, with Embry and Quil."

"Charlie is basically family to us, Bella," he reminds her with a frown of his own. It's almost like reprimanding a petulant child. How many times is it that he has ignored her acting like this before? Has he been that ignorant? He hardly recognises her right now.

"Your family," she says. "Not—"

"Your dad means a lot to people on the Rez — more than just Billy and me. He was Harry's best friend, too, remember?"

Bella looks appropriately shamed. At least she does for all of two seconds, before her displeasure about that statement hits home and she's unable to cover it up again. She never was any good at hiding her emotions.

"BELLA!" Charlie's bellow carries; he has reached his limit. "YOU GET IN THIS HOUSE THIS INSTANT!"

Bella all but whimpers. "Crap."

She turns, looking down the path, comprehending her fate. But Jacob's not sorry. He'll do whatever it takes. Hopefully Charlie will wise up and get a restraining order and end up saving his daughter himself.

Yeah, right. As if that would work.

"Just one more thing," Edward says, turning back to him. "We've been unable to pick up Victoria's trail. Have you found anything?"

Jacob bites down so hard he thinks he might bleed. It's an effort to breathe — the moss hasn't helped the stench in the slightest. "You already know the answer to that, bloodsucker. You asked my brothers the same question," he says, accusing. His thoughts drift to Leah, thinking of the argument she spoke of but he has not seen for his own eyes yet.

Edward's soulless eyes are unmoved. "And since then?"

"No." Jacob is sure of this. "The last time was while Bella was . . . away. We let her think she was slipping through — we were tightening the circle, preparing to ambush — but then she took off like a bat out of hell. Near as we can tell, she caught your little female's scent and bailed. She hasn't come near our lands since."

Edward nods. "When she comes back, she's not your problem anymore. We'll—"

"She killed on our turf," Jacob shoots back vehemently. "She's ours!"

Bella lurches forward, almost as if she thinks she will be an effective buffer between a werewolf and his mortal enemy. "No—" she starts, but another threat from Charlie echoes into the trees where the three of them are hidden from his sight and her unhappiness morphs swiftly into fear at the sound of her dad's voice. She knows how much trouble she's in.

Good. Maybe being grounded will give her a week or two to consider her life choices. Ironic as that is, when everything she wants is going to send her to her death.

"BELLA! I SEE HIS CAR AND I KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE! IF YOU AREN'T INSIDE THIS HOUSE IN ONE MINUTE . . . !"

"Let's go," Edward tells her, but Bella looks back, her whole damn heart displayed on her face again.

"You promised," she reminds him desperately. "Still friends, right?"

Jacob shakes his head. "You know how hard I've tried to keep that promise before now, but . . . I can't see how anymore. I have priorities, now. People. Just like you do," he says. He looks at Edward and rethinks that last part with a look of disgust, deliberately uncensored. "Well. Sort of."

Bella's people are not people. But Jacob, he has Leah to think about. And as soon as the bloodsucker tells Bella about the imprint, he's pretty sure she's going to stop caring anyway. What's the point in trying to be friends when he knows how it's going to pan out? He's not even sure he wants to be friends with her anymore. How? How could he be friends with a vampire? It's impossible. Not if he's going to be the one to kill her.

Beside her, out of her sight, Edward's lip curls silently in warning. Jacob pays him no notice.

"I miss you," she pleads, reaching out over the arms she is trapped within. Not trapped. Restrained. It makes Jacob kind of sick, but she made her choice about him a long time ago.

Jacob shoves his hands deep into his pockets. "Sorry."

Tears threaten. "But why? Jake . . ."

"ISABELLA SWAN!"

"Come on, Bella," Edward tells her, all but dragging her along. "Charlie's mad."

Jacob looks at the retreating form of his friend, knowing it could be the last time he sees her.

He is running back to La Push on four legs before she is inside the house, his clothes carrying in the wind behind him.

Hefty Disclaimer (optional): I didn't put this at the beginning because it would have acted as a spoiler. But, as you have probably realised (and kudos if you didn't — have you managed what I have not and wiped the books from your brain?), this chapter relies on a considerable amount of 'borrowing' from New Moon's epilogue in the form of one of its scenes and direct line lifts from that scene. Far much more than I've ever used before, but I thought this would be interesting from Jacob's POV. Call it character development. Or improvement.

I also included his "canon" thoughts about a few things noted within the extra SM wrote for him (available on her website in the New Moon book section, if you're so inclined to read something in second person that I don't think does his character any justice as she clearly intended it to. I hadn't read it before now and could have gone another twelve years without doing so, but I digress). So, I'll say it again: Twilight and its inclusive material (including its alternate universe, 'Life and Death') is copyright to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: That time I said I hate notes? Yeah, forget that. Just wanted to get this (important) monster out before I start work (hoping that it tides you over) and to let you know that I promise there's a reunion in the next chapter. Much love.