twenty-two.
(Jacob)
It's several minutes before Leah is able to get her breathing under control. Jacob thinks that if he didn't know any better, if Quileute girls were able to phase, he'd be sure that she's battling with herself to remain on two legs right now. She's that angry.
She puts her head in her hands, eyes squeezed shut as she pulls in a ragged breath, her wolf-like rage practically seeping out of her.
"Jake," she begins, no doubt marking her first attempt out of several to talk him out of a rash decision. "You can't let him—"
"Not yet," he murmurs, so quietly that his lips barely move.
He doesn't have to check his rear-view mirror to know that Sam is staring after them— that he is watching, waiting, listening. Sam is kind of predictable like that, especially when it comes to battles of control, of ownership; the bastard has no goddamn boundaries. It's best to wait until they're out of earshot.
To her credit, she doesn't so much as even yelp when he stomps down on the gas. She simply sits herself up and calmly reaches for her seatbelt. The only sound of protest heard at all is the squeal the Rabbit's tyres makes as it races back towards the main road.
It's only when Jacob is absolutely sure he can't hear any heartbeats except their own that he lifts his foot from the gas and drops down a gear. The engine is purring like an absolute dream underneath his fingers. He loves running, loves the speed, loves having both Embry and Quil back at his side again, but leaving the pack will be an easy choice if it means he gets to drive the Rabbit for the rest of his life. Nothing compares. It's the greatest car in the world (of course).
He glances at Leah in the corner of his eye. She has her forehead pressed to the window, eyes staring unseeingly as the Rez rushes by, though she is aware enough to notice when the car begins to slow.
"Now?" she asks.
His gaze flicks to the rearview mirror. No Sam. "Be my guest. But you're not going to talk me out of it."
"You don't even know what I'm going to say!" she objects, cheeks red.
"I have a pretty good idea," he says. "I've been thinking about this a long time, Leah, pretty much since this whole thing started. The decision's been made already."
Her voice turns unnaturally quiet, her lingering rage dissipating before his eyes. "Since you imprinted, you mean?"
His heart soars in elation at the word she has so far been unable to say without scorn or stuttering— and then, just as quickly, it sinks with dread, because he fears how much she hates. How much she hates him for keeping it from her, for putting this choice into her hands.
Jacob keeps his eyes on the road, steering wheel held tight within his palms. "Yes, and no."
She sits up in her seat and waits for an explanation, and he tries his best to not stumble over the words.
"Yes," he says, "because I didn't want anyone to find out; I would have sooner stopped phasing than let everyone know before you did, and I was pretty sure that you wouldn't want to know anyway. It was the easiest option I could think of. But it takes a lot of willpower to quit. Far more than I currently have. And — well, without trying to blow my own horn, I have a hell of a lot more of it than the rest of the guys do."
She comprehends this. "So it's impossible, is what you're saying."
"Not impossible," he says slowly. "Just . . . doubtful, I guess. I definitely won't be able to manage it as quickly as I want to." His lips twist, rueful. "I guess that little notice period I gave Sam is going to be the longest any boss has ever had. Still, it probably didn't come as a surprise or anything. He's had it coming for a long time now."
Leah leans her elbow against the door and rests her head on her open palm, staring at him in that same contemplative manner. "Why do you have more control than the rest of them? Is it about bloodlines again?"
"Yeah. Most probably. Or maybe I'm that brilliant," he says, forcing a grin.
It's worth it when she huffs a laugh, her lips pulling up. "You're so full of yourself."
His grin blooms with genuine feeling, and she laughs again, shaking her head as she turns her gaze back to the open road. They're not far from her house now.
"What about the other part?" she asks then. "You said yes and no."
Jacob takes longer to answer that one. "No," he says eventually, "because I was always planning to quit anyway — before the imprint happened. I want to quit. I really do. But . . . it's like I said before, do you remember? Even if the Cullens leave, there are always going to be bloodsuckers, and that means there are always going to be wolves. That's going to make it even harder, knowing that."
"There haven't been since Ephraim was alive. Not until you," she reminds him.
"It might stop for a while, it always does, but as long as future generations have the gene . . ." He shrugs and turns the Rabbit into her road. "It'll never truly end, will it?"
"If it never stops, then what's the point?" she asks. "Why give it up?"
"Some of us have gotta get a life at some point or another, honey. I wanna be the first."
Leah hums, noncommittal, as he pulls the parking brake outside of her house and turns off the engine. She leans back against her seat, not seeming to be in a hurry to go anywhere just yet.
Neither is he.
They're silent for long enough that he is content enough to tip his head back against the headrest and simply watch her and the emotions playing out on her face. She's deep in thought about something, and he wonders what it is. Wonders what she wants him — them — to do.
After a while she breathes deep and offers it without prompting. Maybe him staring is enough.
"If you're really quitting because of me," she tells him, her words sounding deliberate but careful, "and you're trying to spare my feelings again, then you shouldn't. I don't want you to do that."
"I'm not, not really. Honest. This has just kind of sped the whole thing up a little, is all."
She nods. "Okay. But you shouldn't feel like you have to do things because of me, is what I mean."
He does feel like that, but he doesn't say it out loud in fear it will upset her. Everything he does, will ever do, is for her. It's literally why he exists, whether she likes it or not, and he's so tired of fighting it. Tired of pulling himself back and stopping himself from saying and doing what comes so effortlessly now.
Jacob picks his next words with more thought than he ever has. "I can't be in Sam's pack anymore. We were already struggling against each other before this. The hierarchy thing, that's been the only defence he's had to put me back in my place." And now it doesn't work. His orders don't work. "Honestly, the only thing that can happen now is that I either do this — I start learning to stop phasing and we start being really careful when we're around each other 'til then — or I accept Alpha."
"I hate that things have got worse for you because of me," she admits. "I'm the reason. And don't lie," she adds quickly. "You know it's true."
"Maybe," he says carefully, slowly, because it's hard to tell her the truth when it will cause more harm than satisfaction, "but I don't necessarily see it as a bad thing."
"That's because your judgement skills are all screwed up."
He can't help it. He laughs.
"What?" she demands. "They are. You're not exactly yourself, are you? Stop laughing!"
"S'nothing. You sound like Embry moaning about Jared, that's all."
"Well, maybe that's not a bad thing," she sniffs haughtily. "Someone has to talk sense 'round here."
"Embry? Talking sense? He'll love that. I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said about him."
Leah flushes brilliantly. "Okay, so that was a bad comparison," she mumbles, dropping her eyes. He's still chuckling, and he knows how much she hates feeling like she's being laughed at but he can't stop. "Shut up. You know what I meant. I just think that you're not exactly seeing all that straight, are you."
He rolls his eyes. "My judgement is perfectly fine, thank you."
"Really," she drawls, deadpan.
"Yep. I know what I'm doing." Sort of. And because she still looks doubtful, he shakes off his amusement and reaches over to drape his arm across the top of the passenger seat. She doesn't shy away from him, though, not like he expected she might, and he turns hopeful. Surely she must see how good they'd be together. How effortless it would be. "It's going to be fine, okay? Don't worry."
She seems unconvinced, but nods anyway. "Will it be easier for you to manage, if you stop phasing? The imprint? Is that part of why you're doing it?"
"I didn't think about that." His arm gravitates closer towards her shoulders unthinkingly, just as the rest of his body does, like she's the moon and is commanding his tide. "Is that what you really thought?"
Leah nods again and suddenly her questioning him makes so much more sense now, all that adamance of hers to not be responsible for his decisions.
"I don't know," he says honestly, voice coming out quiet. "Is that — is that something you want to happen? If it worked like that?"
She doesn't answer. But then he didn't expect her to, not when the question is so close to prompting a decision she's still so hesitant to make.
For him, it feels like an age since he imprinted. She's had less than twenty-four hours.
His nose is dangerously close to pushing against her cheek by the time he feels the mood change. He can practically taste it.
Leah sits herself up, back straight, her focus back, and Jacob pulls away. Moment lost.
Is this it?
She fiddles with the end of the braid, radiating nervousness. Still, it takes her another ten beats to speak.
"I need some time," she says quietly, and Jacob has to tamp down the rising panic he feels at her words, has to remember to be reasonable, remember that she hasn't accepted this — and won't, not easily, not unless he gives her the space to do so. It's not as if her two encounters with Sam Uley in one day has exactly helped any, either. How is he going to be any more helpful? How has he been any more helpful?
He clears his throat, head heavy with her scent after being so close. "Yeah, I understand."
She looks over at him. He can feel the struggling emotion on his face, and he knows that she can see it, too.
"Don't give me those puppy eyes, Jacob Black. I didn't — I'm not saying no, okay? I'm saying that I only found out about this today, and I want — I need to get some space. This is too much for me. I have to take a few steps back and think, y'know? Think, and sleep, and spend some real time at home. My head's so messed up that I can't even remember the last time I saw Seth. Can you let me do that?"
"You don't need to ask."
"Trust me, I do. It's just . . . Would you believe me if I told you how wrong this feels wrong for me, too?" she asks then, and he's struck by how she's hit the mark of his thoughts so easily. She laughs. "Oh, come on, it's written all over your face. I know that's what you're thinking. I can feel it. I can feel everything, and it's driving me mad. But do you understand now? I need to think about how all of that makes me feel. Does that make sense?"
Yes. No. Kind of. Not really. "Sure, honey," he tells her almost automatically. "Take all the time you need."
She reaches out and puts her hand on top of his. The warm contact settles him almost instantly, and he almost feels like he'll be able to let her go. This is the Leah he has grown-up with; she has always done things her own way and in her own time, has always been this headstrong. How can he not give her what she wants? He has to. He always will. It's exactly what he's been made for, regardless of whether he personally thinks that putting some distance between them is going to suck to high hell and back.
"I'm sorry," she mumbles, sounding as pained as he is.
"Don't be. Really. You're not the one who should be apologising."
Her sigh is equally as miserable. "I can't help it. I have a freaky radar telling me things now. About you. Guess this thing goes two ways, huh?"
Maybe it's miserable because he feels miserable, too. And it physically hurts to say his next words, but they have to be said. A choice. She will always have a choice. "It doesn't have to."
"I don't know about that, Jake, I don't. Because right now I'm pretty sure that if I told you to take a running leap I'd just spend the rest of my life kicking myself for it because it'd seem so wrong. And I need to figure out whether that's the me part which feels like that or the other part. The imprint part." She shrugs. "Maybe they're one in the same now, I don't know. But I need to figure it out, and I realised today that I can't do that when you're looking at me like I've hung the moon or something. I can't think clearly. And I'm so mad at Sam that I could scream, I could just . . ." She trails off with a moan of frustration, patting his hand a few times. "It's not fair on you, dealing with that."
He tries to smile as he threads his fingers through hers, keeping her here for just that little bit longer. "I can take it."
"Yeah, well, you shouldn't have to. You shouldn't have to do anything. You shouldn't feel like you're competing with him, or something, like how I feel like I would have to compete with Bella if I just accept this for what it is."
"But you don't—"
"I know," Leah cuts in quickly. She lifts their entwined hands up and rests her forehead against them, eyes shut tight. "I know. I think . . . I think that's the me part, feeling like that. The other part I'm not sure of. Yet."
"I meant what I said," he says. He has to stop himself from dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "Bella's not — you know. I don't feel that way about her."
"Yeah, I believe you." Leah sighs as she pulls herself up a fraction, frowning as she talks their hands, twisting them this way and that as she considers them. He has a feeling she doesn't want to, can't look him in the eyes, especially when she says next, "Maybe it's just because I don't like the girl acting like she's got some claim on you. Maybe I just don't like her, period. Who knows. Let me think about that one and I'll get back to you."
He doesn't answer, and after a few minutes of silence she squeezes his fingers one last time before untangling them from hers. She reaches for the door handle and looks at him over her shoulder. She's going. He wants to stop her.
"I'll see you soon, okay?"
"Sure, sure." Please, he thinks up towards whoever might be listening, don't let it be the last time. He pulls his keys out from the engine before pressing them into her free hand. "Take these."
She smiles, and he feels a little pathetic, but he has to ask. "You'll come find me?"
"Yeah, Jake. I'll find you," she says, that same smile and a small laugh in her voice, and then she's gone, up the path, fishing for her own keys out of her jacket. She doesn't turn back.
Jacob waits until she's through her door and then forces himself to get out of the Rabbit and walk away. He's pretty sure that he'd sit there waiting until he rots, otherwise.