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Chapter Text

After She Left (Sarah)


"I'm going to kill that bitch," Sue seethes. (That is what Sue does -- she seethes.) "I'm going to hunt her down and snatch her bald-headed."


"Hush," Sarah murmurs. (That is what Sarah does -- she murmurs.) And she nods towards the doorway. "Little pitchers." Peeking out of the hall into the living room are three small dark heads. Two of them have already started repeating everything they hear; the Swear Jar in the Blacks' house paid for Sarah's new microwave.


"Oh. Right." Sue's daughter isn't talking yet, so she doesn't know what it's like to say Finish your peas and hear Hell no back. (The Clearwaters' Swear Jar will make the Blacks' Swear Jar look like pocket change. Billy is awful but Sue's mouth could curdle cream.) "Girls, this is grown-up language," Sue says firmly. "We don't say 'bitch' until we're thirteen. Understand?"


Sarah has known Sue for all of their twenty-three years, but sometimes she still doesn't understand how that woman's mind works. She adds, "Rachel, Rebecca, go back to your room. Show Leah your Care Bears, okay?"


Rachel and Rebecca are nineteen months old. They still manage to give Sarah identical eyerolls. It's a very Billy expression. But when Sarah frowns at them, they grab Leah's hands -- nearly pulling the baby off her unsteady feet -- and disappear down the hall. A moment later a door slams, not entirely blocking the sound of very elaborate Baby English explaining the nature of a 'Care Bear Stare'.


Sarah shakes her head and turns back to the shell-shocked man sitting on her couch. "All right, honey. Did she say where she was going?"


"No." The word is dry, and Charlie swallows. "She just said... she said it didn't work out. She said she really hates Forks. I would've moved anywhere she wanted to go..."


Sue snorts. "What, she's too good for this place? Fuck that." Sarah shoots her a severe look, and Sue throws up her hands. "Fine, fine. But this is nothing that some tire-slashing wouldn't solve."


"Go make coffee, Sue." Ignoring the grumbling from the kitchen, Sarah sits down in Billy's recliner and tries to catch her friend's eye. Charlie's as much a part of her family as Harry and Sue are and it hurts to see him in pain. "Maybe she just needs to get away for a weekend. You know, after the girls were born I thought about running away sometimes. If I'd been awake enough to operate a car I might've headed to Seattle for a few days and gone to a spa or something."


"She gave me this, Sarah," Charlie says hollowly. He pulls something out of his pocket and holds it out; Sarah takes Renee's wedding ring, stunned. "She said she didn't feel right about keeping it."


That bitch. (Just because Sarah doesn't say these things out loud doesn't mean she doesn't think them.)


Charlie's white face is even whiter than usual. "What am I supposed to do now?"


Sarah is spared coming up with an answer by the opening of the front door; Billy walks in, stomping snow off his boots. "Hey, Charlie, saw the cruiser out front, I thought you were--" He trails off as Sarah gives him a significant look. "What's going on?"


"That bitch left him." Sue comes out of the kitchen with two cups of coffee. "You're better off, Charlie. I always hated the woman."


"Billy, where's Harry?" Sarah says, looking at her husband a little desperately. Someone needs to rein Sue in and Harry is the only one who knows how.


"He's picking up stuff for fish fry." Billy is glancing between Sue and Sarah and Charlie, and his eyes widen. "You're not kidding."


Sarah shakes her head.


Billy's face reddens, and he mouths That bitch to Sue. Sue nods vigorously. None of them had thought the marriage was a good idea but it never occurred to Sarah that Renee would do something like this...


A loud wailing breaks the silence, and Charlie looks down in terror at the bundle in his arms. "I-- I don't--"


"Billy, there's a can of formula and some bottles in the cabinet over the fridge," Sarah says calmly as she stands. "Six ounces will probably do it. Sue, please get one of Leah's diapers out of your bag, they're a little big but they'll do for right now. I'll go find a warmer blanket. That dress is too thin for this weather, Charlie."


Charlie looks crushed in too many ways to count. "It is? I just... I put her in something and came over, I didn't think--"


"It's fine, it was a good choice," she assures him. "It's just gotten colder since you arrived. Don't worry." Any tiny criticism might shatter him right now. Charlie needs to believe he's capable of what he has to do... because in spite of her words, Sarah doesn't really believe Renee is coming back.


The wailing lessens as Charlie awkwardly lifts his infant daughter over his shoulder and pats her back. "It's okay, Bella," he whispers. "Don't cry. It's fine. It's gonna be fine."


Sarah hopes so.



***

Noises (Charlie) 


Charlie looks down at Isabella in her crib. She looks back up at him.


Charlie hadn't even wanted the name Isabella (which he suspects Renee got off of one of those soap operas she liked). He'd wanted something straight-forward, like Harry and Billy's girls. Elizabeth had been his first choice. It felt like a good compromise. Elizabeth was kind of like Isabella. They could call her Beth for short. Beth Swan.


Her name is Isabella Marie. In the end it didn't seem fair to tell Renee what she could name the child she'd carried for nine months and then pushed out of her body after sixteen hours of hard labor. But when Renee had cooed Izzy as the baby nursed, Charlie put his foot down for the first and only time in their short marriage. Not Izzy, he'd said. Bella. We're calling her Bella.


Renee had glared at him.


Maybe that's why she left.


Bella makes a noise and kicks her feet. Charlie's not sure if it's a happy noise, or a sad noise, or a hungry noise, or a wet noise... "Are you okay?" he asks his daughter hesitantly.


Bella just makes the noise again.


He has no idea what he's doing, and he's pretty sure his daughter can tell.


It's not like he didn't know he'd been more in love with Renee than she'd been with him. They'd met in college; he'd had a life-threatening crush on the blond girl with the zest for life, though she'd seen him as little more than an acquaintance. But she'd stayed in Seattle after graduation and he'd returned to Forks to join the police force, and he'd figured they'd probably never see each other again.


Then, kismet. They'd happened to cross paths in Port Angeles a year later. Renee was getting over the end of a relationship. Charlie lent a sympathetic ear over a bottle of red wine.


The condom broke.


Three weeks later she'd been in tears in his living room, terrified of what her very Catholic mother would say. But Charlie knew fate when he saw it. His parents had died while he was in school (his father of cancer, his mother six months later of heartbreak) and he owned their house and some savings. He had a good job. And after all, Billy and Harry were happy, weren't they?


Let's go down to the courthouse, he'd said. I'll take care of you. Both of you. I promise.


Renee had teased him later about how unromantic the whole thing had been.


Maybe that's why she left.


Charlie's dead on his feet but Bella's wide awake. What if she starts crying and he doesn't wake up? Maybe he should bring her to sleep in bed with him. Renee had done that sometimes. But wouldn't that be weird? He's her father, not her mother. Except now he has to be both, doesn't he?


If she has a bottle, will she go to sleep? He didn't know what kind of formula to get -- Renee had been breastfeeding -- so he'd picked up a can of every kind the little grocery store carried. Bella seems to like the soy one best, but what if it doesn't have enough nutrients? Don't babies need real milk?


He could call Sarah and ask. Except it's two in the morning and Billy would kill him.


The marriage hadn't started out on the best foot, but as her belly got bigger Renee had gotten more enthusiastic. She'd painted the kitchen cabinets. She'd bought pink curtains and lace booties (she'd been certain from the beginning it was a girl). Her hormones had gone haywire during the second trimester and they'd made love constantly, sometimes three or four times a day. There hadn't been any openings at the elementary school, but she'd put in applications everywhere between Sequim and Aberdeen (the commute didn't intimidate her) and she'd been confident that something would turn up.


Renee's smile lit up his life, and Charlie was so in love that he didn't even mind that he never went to La Push anymore. (Charlie suspected she'd picked up on their uncertainty about her; even Harry with his endless optimism had asked him what the hell he was thinking. Charlie knew they meant well, but a little more support would've been nice.)


The only problem was that Renee had grown up an army brat, and she'd spent two-thirds of her life in Arizona. Charlie loved the weather in Forks -- it made everything so green and alive -- but Renee had always been waiting for the sun to come out. She looked out the window more and more as time went on, and after Bella was born it seemed like that was all Renee had done. Just look out the window and cry.


Maybe that's why she left.


Bella makes that noise again, and Charlie feels like the worst parent in history. Bella is turning four months old next week and she speaks a completely different language from him. Harry and Billy and Sue and Sarah all seem to know what each tiny squeak means from their kids. He doesn't. He's trying to learn -- he's taken a three month leave of absence from the force while he figures out his life -- but he just doesn't understand her.


"I don't know what to do with you," he whispers at his baby. "I'm sorry."


Isabella gives him what can only be described as a frustrated look, then raises her arms impatiently. And she makes the noise.


Charlie picks her up.


Bella rests her head on his chest, puts her thumb in her mouth, and falls asleep.



***

Snacks and Brothers (Sue)


Sue brandishes a Barbie doll at the girls threateningly. "If you all don't sit and watch your movie and shut up for five minutes, I'm going to take you into the woods and leave you there to be raised by wolves."


Rachel and Rebecca give her identical smirks. Leah ignores her entirely. But Bella stares wide-eyed and falls silent, curling her two-year-old self meekly into the couch.


Sue likes Bella.


Saturday mornings are baby-sitting mornings. Sarah's at home with these kids all day, every day, and also she's incubating; Sue doesn't begrudge her wanting to sleep in and have five hours to herself for once. And the guys get up at five AM to go fishing. They get all cranky and shit if they don't have their private man-time at least once a week.


So the kids get dropped off at the Clearwaters' house, and Sue wrangles four children under the age of four until noon. She has not yet killed any of them, but it is only a matter of time.


(Many people expect that Sue, being a nurse, will have a sweet and warm bedside manner. Sue is not that kind of nurse. Sue is the nurse they call when the patient needs to be threatened with an enema before he'll take his medication.)


"I wanna snack," Rebecca says. At Sue's narrowed eyes she quickly adds, "Please."


If their mouths are full they'll talk less. "All right. What do you want?"


"Peenabutter cups!"


"Nem-an-nems!"


"Cheese!"


She knows it's her own fault for asking an open-ended question, but still Sue snaps, "Quiet. You can have goldfish or you can have pretzels."


A chorus of groans.


"Oh, nothing then? Okay, that's fine--"


"Goldfish."


"Goldfish."


"Goalfishes."


No response.


Sue glances at Bella. The Black twins run roughshod over the little thing; even Leah talks right through the girl's whispered sentences. Sue keeps waiting for the other kids' outgoing personalities to rub off, but apparently Bella's too much like Charlie. (And thank God for that. The more of her father she's got in her the less room there is for her mother. Sue still wants to spit whenever she hears that bitch's name.) "And what do you want, Bella?"


"Prezzles, Missus Kearaller please," she whispers.


Sue really likes Bella.


"All right, then." She points back at the television. "Watch the movie and sit still and I'll get your snacks."


"And apple juice?"


"Yes, and apple juice." Enthusiastic cheers, drowned out when Leah pokes at the remote and Tchaikovsky starts to play. Sue encourages them to watch Sleeping Beauty because the heroines are middle-aged spinster ladies and the villain is a gorgeous woman who can turn into a dragon. Cinderella is not allowed in the front door. No girl that Sue has any influence over will learn that tidy housekeeping will get you a man.


Admittedly, Sue's man loves her in spite of the fact that there's a two foot stack of dirty dishes in the sink. But still.


"And we're gonna have a baby brother," Rachel is explaining when Sue comes out of the kitchen with the snacks. "And we're gonna name the baby Prince Phillip like in the movie."


Rebecca shoves Rachel back into the couch cushion. "Are not. We're gonna name the baby The Tramp like in the dog movie."


"Nuh-uh!"


"Uh-huh!"


Leah looks up at Sue excitedly. "Mama, I wanna baby brother!"


"Baby brothers only come to big girls who use the potty," Sue explains. (Harry has been hinting recently that another child might be nice. Sue has no intention of going off the pill until Leah's out of diapers.) She sets the goldfish box on the couch and gives a plastic baggie of pretzels to Bella.


"I wanna brotha too," Bella says.


Sue frowns. Charlie has shown no signs of dating whatsoever. "Well... maybe one day."


Bella looks down and picks at the edge of her diaper thoughtfully.


"If you want," Rebecca says, sticking her arm in the goldfish box up to the elbow, "you c'n borrow our brother sometimes."


"Yeah. Mommy says babies are noisy." Rachel makes a face. "So we might not want Prince Phillip all the time."


Bella's eyebrows scrunch together. "But... she's not my brotha. Right?"


"He," Sue corrects. "Brothers are boys, so he'll be a he, not a she."


The girls look at her blankly, then...


"A boy?"


"We don't wanna boy!"


"Gross!"


"Ew!"


Sue makes a mental note to renew her birth control prescription.

Chapter Text

Daycare (Billy)


Billy considers himself forward-thinking. Yes, he married his wife out of high school and she is a stay-at-home mom, but he knows that's a job in and of itself and deserves nothing but the greatest respect. He adores his whip-smart daughters and expects them to go to college and make their ways through life as strong, independent women. He glares at men who make misogynistic jokes. He even watched Terms of Endearment with Sarah and didn't complain once. So he's hardly some sort of nineteen-fifties Neanderthal.


But a man has limits.


"Why," Billy asks dangerously, "does my son have painted toenails?"


Sarah is lying on the couch with her forearm flung over her eyes. The dark-haired baby is asleep on the floor in a padded laundry basket, and his toenails -- along with the majority of each foot -- are bright pink. "The girls," she says with a weary sigh. The girls is the answer to most untoward events in the Black household. "Don't worry, it's just paint. It'll come off."


"That's not the point." His son's toes are pink. That is the point. "I'm going to talk to them."


"Be my guest," Sarah mutters.


Jacob yawns lopsidedly and makes a sleepy smacking noise, unconcerned by this affront to his six-week-old masculinity.


When Billy opens the door to the twins' bedroom his vision is assaulted by an explosion of color. A palette of watercolors sits on the floor and everything is pink or purple or yellow, including the children. They look at him wide-eyed as he crosses his arms.


"Where did this paint come from?"


Rachel, Rebecca, and Leah all point at Bella, who scoots backward rapidly and disappears under the desk. The girl's voice is almost inaudible as she whispers, "Daddy gave me it."


Billy makes a mental note to kill Charlie. "Put that down," he snaps at Rebecca, who is still turning Rachel's eyelids red.


"But--"


"No buts." Rebecca scowls and throws the brush to the floor. She and her sister have 'make-up' all over their faces (though why they wanted blue lips, Billy has no idea) including colored fingers and toes. "Did you paint Jacob's nails while your mother was sleeping?"


Rachel scratches at her cheek. "Had to."


"Bella's all done," Rebecca adds. "And Leah says no."


Leah is on one of the beds, covered in and surrounded by splotches of green. "Imma dragon," she explains. "Dragons don't have painty nails."


Well, at least Sue will be happy. "Don't you ever paint your brother again, girls." Billy directs this at the twins, but he just uses the terms 'brother' and 'sister' in general when it comes to the kids. They may as well be siblings for all the time they spend together.


"But he likes pink!"


"He's too young to like anything except your mom," Billy says, frustrated. "And boys don't wear pink."


Three confused looks. "Why not?"


"Because pink isn't a boy color."


"Why not?"


"Because... it just isn't."


"Why not?"


"Sarah!" Billy calls down the hallway. "Will you explain to them why my son is not going to wear pink?"


A tired but still arch voice comes from the living room: "No, honey, I'd rather hear you explain it."


Billy is going to remember this next time Sarah lectures him about presenting a united parenting front. "Never mind. Just don't do it again. And all of you go get in the tub." He'd prefer to hose them down in the backyard, but it's fifteen degrees outside.


The twins head for the bathroom muttering discontentedly; Leah follows, examining her green arms. There's no movement from under the desk. Billy sighs. "Bella?"


"I-didn'-color-tha-baby-I-promise," a little voice says in a rush.


"You still need to wash up, so come out." Billy has to bite the inside of his cheek when the girl crawls out sheepishly. Every available inch of her body is coated in paint; she looks like she has been bitchslapped by a bad-tempered rainbow. When she tries to slink past him he touches her shoulder says, "Don't let the big girls bully you. When your dad was little he stuck up for himself with me and Mr. Clearwater."


Bella's round eyes get even rounder at his words. "How?"


By being able to punch the hardest, but ten year old boys sort things out differently than three year old girls. Besides, Billy is taking that secret to the grave. "He was assertive when he needed to be. Now go wash up."


The oldest three are clean in half an hour. It takes two weeks for the color to completely come out of Bella's pale skin. The purple tint in the bathtub stays forever.



***

Different Kinds of Milk (Sarah)


Sarah is not surprised that Rachel and Rebecca quickly lose interest in Jacob. They're not allowed to dress him up, or color on him, or see how many goldfish crackers they can fit in his mouth; they think his name is boring; he doesn't talk or walk or do anything except sleep and eat. Overall their brother is a big disappointment and they're back to chasing each other around the front yard as soon as the weather improves. Leah heads outside too, and spends much of her time finding bugs and lecturing them fiercely for having too many legs.


Bella, however, has turned into a little shadow. She stays inside and is always trying to get a peek at the baby. For weeks she's been no more than two feet away from Sarah and Jacob at any moment in time, not from the second Charlie drops her off at eight until she's picked up at five-thirty.  And she's one of the few things Jacob pays attention to other than his mobile.


Today she climbs onto the back of the couch and peers over Sarah's shoulder. "What's he doin'?" Bella asks. (Bella talks much more when the other girls aren't around.)


"He's having his lunch," Sarah answers, shifting her arms so that Jacob can latch more tightly. (The twins had been given formula -- she simply hadn't had the time to breastfeed them both -- but she loves getting to nurse her son, even though it's a lot more exhausting than she expected.)


"Why?"


"Because he's hungry."


"Oh." Bella's thumb drifts towards her mouth; Sarah gently catches her by the wrist before she can start sucking. Jacob kicks in protest at Sarah's movement, and Bella's eyes get wide again. "What's he doin' now?"


"He's kicking."


"Why?"


"Because he wants me to stay still so he can eat."


"Oh." Bella rests her chin on Sarah's collarbone; Sarah can't see her face, but she knows that the girl is frowning. Bella always frowns when she thinks. "What's he eatin'?"


"Milk, sweetie. Babies eat milk."


"Cows make milk," Bella pronounces with great authority. She has been watching a lot of Sesame Street.


Sarah smiles. "That's right. But mommies make milk too."


"Oh."


Had Sarah been more rested -- Jacob is always hungry and insists on eating once an hour every night -- she would have seen what Bella would conclude from this information. But she isn't more rested, and so she's taken by surprise when Bella says, "And I had mommy milk?"


Jacob squawks indignantly as Sarah freezes. She scrambles to both reattach him and think of how to answer. "Well, no, Bella. When you were a baby you drank milk from a bottle."


"Not from you?"


Sarah is not prepared for this. "Not from me. Your daddy gave you your milk."


"Daddies make milk?"


"Daddies can make milk in bottles."


"Not mommy milk?"


"No, not mommy milk."


"Oh." Bella curls herself up on the sofa cushion and hides her face against Sarah's spine. "I want mommy milk." Her voice is muffled.


Sarah suddenly realizes that Bella hasn't been shadowing Jacob -- she's been shadowing her. Bella has been trying to get her attention, not the baby's. And because she is full of hormones and loves this girl and hasn't slept more than two hours straight in three months, Sarah starts to cry. "I can get you some milk in a sippy cup," she manages to gasp, swallowing back estrogen-soaked sobs.


"Mommy milk or daddy milk?"


"Cow milk, sweetie."


"Oh." Sarah can feel warm breaths through her shirt, then Bella says, "I like cow milk. And I like sippy cups."


"I know." Hiccuping, Sarah reaches back over her shoulder awkwardly to pat Bella on the head. "Let Jacob finish, then we'll get some cow milk."


"C'n he have cow milk too?"


"No, not yet."


"Why?"


"Because cow milk is for big girls and boys."


"Oh." Bella leans around Sarah's arm and says to the baby (in a very formal voice), "When you're a big boy, you c'n have cow milk too."


Jacob rolls in his mother's arms, looks up at Bella, and blinks a few times. Then he gives her a huge, sloppy grin.


At lunch, Sarah sneaks Bella an extra oatmeal cookie.



***

Firsts


Rachel's first word was Sis.


Rebecca's first word was also Sis.


Leah's first word was No.


Bella's first word was Daddy.


Jacob's first word is Bells.

Chapter Text

How Leah Made Two Dollars And Fifty-Six Cents (Harry)


"What 'bout for my birthday?"


"Your birthday was last month!"


"So what?"


A dangerous pause. "Oh, you did not just So what me, Leah Clearwater."


The most important thing Harry has learned in the past few years is to stay out of the way when his wife and his daughter are arguing. This is why he is in the living room, reprogramming the Betamax. Soon he will be asked to intervene. Volunteering is not an option.


"HARRY!"


And there it is.


Sue storms out of the kitchen and throws a stained dishtowel on the floor. "Get your child out of my hair before I toss her into the ocean to be eaten by sharks," she growls.


"I like sharks more than I like you!" Leah runs past her mother and jumps onto the couch before crossing her arms with a glower.


Harry recognizes this is not the time to point out that his daughter is a carbon copy of his wife. "I've got it," he says to Sue, still calmly working on the tape player.


Sue makes a disgusted noise and returns to the kitchen; the sound of banging pans that follows is louder than it needs to be.


Harry ignores the steaming little girl sitting next to him. If he tries to talk to her too soon she will only stay angry. After about five minutes he says, without looking up from the remote, "You have problems, Fuzzy Duck?"


A huge, world-weary sigh. "Lots of problems."


"Is that so. Which one's the biggest?"


"I wanna baby brother."


"Do you."


"Uh-huh. Mommy promised after I stopped diapers. She promised."


Harry remembers that Sue did promise. She promised him the same thing, as a matter of fact. But that was before Sarah had Jacob; Jacob's a year old but Sarah's still an exhausted shadow of her former self. It has scared all baby-making inclination right out of Sue. "Well, you have to wait for these things."


Leah groans loud and long. She'll be a nightmare as a teenager, Harry can see it now. "But I've been waiting forever. And Rach'an'Beck got a brother."


"And they're always trying to get rid of him," Harry says reasonably, turning to face her. "Maybe you can play with Jacob sometimes."


"He just wants to play with Bella. And I shouldn' steal 'cause Bella's not gonna have a brother, everybody knows that."


Harry's pride for his daughter not wanting to 'steal' is cut off quickly by surprise. "What do you mean, 'everybody knows that'?"


Leah frowns at him. "Bella doesn' have a mommy, and mommies make brothers," she explains slowly, like Harry is very small. "R'member when Mrs. Black's tummy got really fat? That was a brother. That's where brothers come from, Dad."


Harry has to look away and take several deep breaths to keep from cracking up. "That's right. But Bella might have a mommy one day, you never know." (He and Billy have been pushing Charlie to start dating again but Charlie hasn't budged.)


"Bet her mommy won't get her a brother either," Leah mutters.


"You have to wait for these things," Harry repeats. He shifts sideways on the sofa and Leah leans her head against his arm. "And you have to play outside a lot or brothers can't get started in mommies' tummies. Brothers take lots of time. Sometimes they never come at all."


"Uh-huh."


"And," he adds, "sometimes they aren't brothers. Sometimes they're sisters."


"Really?"


"Yeah."


Leah pauses for a long moment, considering. "I don't wanna sister," she says finally. "Sisters braid hair." (Rachel and Rebecca have started braiding anything that sits still. Leah spends most of her time up trees to save herself from the indignity. Bella is always pigtailed.)


Harry would also prefer a boy, but not because of fear of braids. It's because Harry knows that one day he'll be in a house where Sue and Leah are menstruating at the same time, and that's a terrifying enough prospect without another daughter in the mix. "You don't get a choice about that sort of thing, Fuzzy Duck. Sometimes babies are boys and sometimes they're girls. If you want a brother, you have to risk a sister."


His daughter scowls. "Well, I'll think about it," she says, sounding exactly like her mother. Harry loves her so much that he thinks he'll explode.


"All right then," Sue interrupts. She has been watching from the kitchen doorway; Harry has been pretending not to notice. "Leah, do you want your allowance?"


Leah jumps off the couch happily. "Yes! Yes yes yes yes yes. Please."


Sue smiles, just a little. "You're funny," she says. (There is no higher compliment in Sue's eyes.) Then she takes the Swear Jar off the shelf and grabs a handful of change. (Leah starts to wiggle with excitement.) Sue opens the window and tosses the coins onto the lawn. "Go. Everything you can find is yours."


Leah's out of the house in less time than it takes to blink; the instant the front door slams, Sue pulls her shirt over her head. "That'll keep her busy for awhile. Let's get started on another rugrat."


Harry manages to keep a straight face as he stands. "Aren't you still on the pill?"


"I'll go off today."


"So this won't actually do anything."


"It's practice."


"You just want to take my pants off."


"Yeah, well, it gets me hot when you're all sweet and shit. C'mon."


Harry follows his wife into the bedroom, and they make good use of the half-hour it takes Leah to pick all the pennies out of the grass.



***

Ice Cream Perils (Billy)


Rachel and Rebecca are determinedly staying inside, even though it's a rare sunny afternoon. This sort of behavior is very suspicious.


"Come on, girls," Billy pleads. The Mariners are on network TV. "Wouldn't you like to go swing on the tire?"


"No."


"No."


"How about the garden?" Sarah is asleep in the bedroom and he really wants to watch the game instead of The Wizard of Oz for the three hundredth time. "I think some of the tomatoes are ripe."


"No."


"No."


"You could look for frogs in the creek."


"No."


"No."


Billy resists the urge to bang his head on the wall. "Why not?"


"Because."


"Because."


"Because why?"


"Because Leah played outside too much and now she's getting a baby brother." Rachel scowls. "We don't want another baby brother."


"Yeah." Rebecca shoots an evil look at Jacob, who is carefully organizing his treasures on the dining room table. How he tells all of those dried leaves apart, Billy has no idea, but damned if the kid doesn't throw a fit if a single one goes missing. "Jake's a pest."


"Don't call your brother a pest," Billy says automatically, blinking as he processes this information.


"But he plays with our stuff!"


"He eats our cookies!"


"He talks too much!"


"He's sooooo aggravating!"


Where did his five year olds learn to say aggravating? "Be nice. He's little and he just wants to play with you."


"Does not."


"He only wants to play with Bella."


Jacob looks up from his leaves. "Bells?" he says hopefully. (He's eighteen months old and he has a half dozen words -- and a nearly endless stream of baby babble -- but Bells is by far his favorite thing to say.)


Billy rolls his eyes. "It's Sunday, Jake, she's with her daddy." (Jacob is not yet clear on the concept of weekends.) He turns back to Rachel and Rebecca. "And the reason he wants to play with Bella and not you girls is because Bella isn't so rough with him." (Jacob also plays with Leah, when Leah is willing to come down from her trees. That's not often.) "Going outside doesn't make baby brothers, mommies and daddies do, and Mommy's asleep--" (unfortunately) "--so don't worry."


The twins give him identical confused looks. "Mommies and daddies make babies?"


Billy freezes. "Maybe," he says quickly. "Now go outside."


Rebecca's eyebrows come together. "Don't babies grow in mommies' tummies?"


"Yes--"


"So what do daddies do?" asks Rachel.


Oh shit. "They... uh... get ice cream and stuff. For the mommies. To help them grow the babies."


The girls stare in horror at the freezer. "Ice cream makes babies?"


"No!" Billy is hosed and he knows it. "Okay. Look. When a man and a woman love each other very much--" (is he really saying these words?) "--they... spend some time together, and afterwards they have a baby." Then he gives his daughters a severe look. "But only once they've gotten married because until then they've been very, very, very careful."


"Oh."


"Oh."


Billy sighs with relief when they don't ask any more questions. "Now go outside. Take your brother with you." When the girls open their mouths to protest he shakes his head firmly. "No buts. And don't feed him bugs this time."


"He was the baby sparrow!"


"He had to eat bugs or he'd starve!"


"No bugs." Billy sits down in the recliner and points at the door. "Out you go. All three of you. Now."


Rachel and Rebecca give theatrical sighs, then pull Jacob off his chair and out onto the porch. Within a few minutes the sounds of "Come here, baby sparrow" and "Mmm, tasty cricket!" can be heard from the yard.


Billy only makes it into the second inning of the ballgame before he falls asleep.



***

Being Careful (Charlie)


When Charlie picks Bella up from the Blacks' house she's white as a sheet. Even more so than usual.


He asks her how her day was; she stares at her hands.


He asks her if she did anything fun; she bites her lip.


He asks her what she wants for dinner; she fidgets with her pigtails.


By the time the cruiser is parked in the driveway, Charlie has gotten very nervous. He's become more confident in his parenting, but moments where something is clearly Wrong still scare the shit out of him. His high-strung little girl is his whole life.


Bella wants to be carried into the house, and she keeps sneaking her thumb into her mouth. Charlie pulls off her shoes and her backpack, takes her into the living room, sets her down on his armchair and crouches in front of her. "Okay, Bella," he says seriously. He keeps his voice nice and calm so hopefully she can't tell he's terrified that she's caught meningitis or is having a nervous breakdown or something. "What's wrong?"


Bella's face crumples. "Daddy!" she sobs, and she launches herself forward into Charlie's arms and clings desperately to his neck.


Oh, dear Christ, she is having a nervous breakdown. "What are you sorry for, kiddo?" Charlie says, rubbing her little back. His face is an identical shade of white as his daughter's.


"I wasn' careful with Jake," she manages to say through huge, wet hiccups, "and now I'm gonna have a baby!"


Charlie's mouth drops open. "You... what?"


It takes several minutes of hugging and coaxing and yes, a few jelly beans before Bella is calm enough to explain. "Me an' Jake were playing, an' I wasn' careful an' I stepped on his mud pie an' broke it." Huge tears run down her cheeks as she wails, "It was only by accident!"


"I'm sure it was," Charlie says as he strokes her hair. "Um... was he upset?"


"Nuh-uh. He just made a new one." Bella wipes her snot on her sleeve. "But Rach'an'Beck said since I spend time with Jake and then wasn' careful we made a baby and I asked Leah and she said she doesn' know about being careful but we were playing outside and playing outside makes babies and Rach'an'Beck said Jake's gonna marry me and he's suppos'd to get the ice cream an' Leah said I might get some pennies an' I like ice cream an' I like pennies an' I like Jake but Daddy I don' wanna have a baby!"


Charlie has never been more confused in his life.

Chapter Text

The First Day of School (Charlie)


Bella is smart; Charlie's pretty sure it's not just paternal bias that makes him think that. She can read The Cat in the Hat. She can count to twenty-two (because that's how many stairs there are in the staircase). She knows some Spanish from Sesame Street and some Quileute from the reservation. She can write Bella, Daddy, home, cop (after several failed attempts at police), and sparrow (though she forgets the second r and Charlie's not even sure why she knows sparrow anyway). According to Sarah Bella even has to be stopped from doing Rachel and Rebecca's homework, because she finds it fun.


Kids born between September first and December thirty-first have a choice; Bella can either start when she's four and be one of the youngest kids in her class, or start when she's five and be one of the oldest. She can read and she can write and she can count, so Charlie goes to the elementary school and registers his daughter for kindergarten. (When he sniffles and embarrassedly grabs a tissue, the secretary says not to worry about it; when Jack Newton came in a few years ago to sign up his oldest he cried so hard he had to sit down.)


Bella may be smart, but Charlie's not naive; he knows this is going to be a big change. He prepares her by making a big deal about how neat kindergarten is going to be. School supplies change Bella's position on the subject from 'moderate interest' to 'ecstatic excitement'. She's so enthralled with her little backpack and her crispy composition notebook and her brand-new box of sixty-four Crayola crayons that she can hardly stand it.


"Daddy," she says at dinner fifteen days before his baby girl who he still can't believe can walk is going to start school (not that he's counting), "are they gonna have paper at the class?"


He smiles as he fills her plate with chicken nuggets. "I bet they will."


"That's good. They need lots."


"And why's that?"


Bella picks up her fork and stabs a nugget. (When did she learn to use utensils? Wasn't she spitting out strained peas about three days ago?) "Because Leah gets mad whenever she messes up and crumples it." Bella shakes her head at this foolishness. "I tell her she has erasers but she doesn't listen. She's gonna use all the paper. The teacher better have a bunch."


Charlie goes cold as he realizes the implications of Bella's words. How did he miss this? "Bella," he says slowly, "remember when I drove you past the school?"


She nods and her ponytail bounces. "Uh-huh. It has a red door."


"Right. And that's your school."


"Yep."


"But that's not the school Leah's going to go to."


Bella shakes her head. "No, Daddy, Leah's starting the school too. With Rach'an'Beck."


"Rach'an'Beck-- I mean, Rachel and Rebecca have a different school that they go to. It's on the reservation with them." He can't believe he didn't tell her earlier, he thought she knew but of course she wouldn't have realized... "And Leah will go there too. But you'll go to the school with the red door."


She frowns; her nugget-laden fork lowers to her plate. "Huh?"


There has to be a way to explain this that she will understand. "Bella, you know how sometimes the Blacks and the Clearwaters do things and go places that we don't?"


"Uh-huh. The fire parties."


"That's right. This is like the fire parties. Leah will go to her school, and you'll go to yours."


There is a long moment of silence. Then Bella shakes her head again. Violently. "No."


Charlie's heart sinks. "I'm sorry, kiddo. But your school will be lots of fun--"


"No."


"--and you'll still see the girls at Mrs. Black's every afternoon--"


"No!" Bella jumps up from the table -- her plate falls to the floor as she does -- and runs out of the kitchen. By the time Charlie has cleaned up she is hidden in the laundry hamper and her bedroom floor is covered in broken crayons.


For the next two weeks Bella goes to pieces.


While at Sarah's she spends all day disappearing into progressively more bizarre places, even somehow managing to squeeze behind the refrigerator; Jacob is the only one who can consistently locate her. If she's not hidden she's glued to Leah's side, who thinks the whole thing is ridiculous and there's no point in school anyway when they can just move into the forest and live inside hollow trees. (Leah has recently seen My Side of the Mountain on PBS.)


At home Bella won't eat and whenever Charlie brings up the subject of kindergarten she claps her hands over her ears. After the crayons she rips all the pages out of her composition book and tries to bury her backpack in the yard (but she doesn't have a shovel so she ends up just covering it in grass clippings).


At nine AM on September fourth Bella clings desperately to Charlie's arm as he buckles her into the back seat. "Daddy, I don't wanna go to school." She's crying so hard she's hyperventilating; the pale white skin of her face is turning blue. "I don't want the red door. I wanna go to Mrs. Black's house. I want Leah and Jake. I wanna stay home with you, Daddy, I don't wanna be by myself, I don't wanna go, please don't make me go!" And then she can't speak through her panic-stricken sobs.


When Sarah opens the front door of her house Charlie expects to see reproach in her face. But she just shakes her head. "I don't think she's ready either," Sarah says.


It's another twenty minutes before Bella will let go of Charlie's neck. He calls out of work and spends the day playing Candyland with Jacob while his daughter trembles in his lap.



***

Jacob's Spring (Sarah)


Sarah folds laundry and worries about Jacob.


In most ways it's so much simpler now that the twins and Leah are in school. And Seth is incredibly easy-going; he's a great napper and lives to watch Bob Ross and Julia Child. The days are quiet and simple and Sarah feels like herself again for the first time in almost three years.


But there are things that are more complicated.


"Bells? Bells, lookit." Jacob pulls something out of his toy box -- it's an old spring he found in the garage over the weekend. He hands it to Bella like it's made of solid gold. "You like?"


"Uh-huh." Bella sets aside the spring without looking, completely absorbed in her picture book.


Jacob frowns and takes his spring back. He fidgets with it for a moment before dropping it to the floor and digging deeper into the toy box.


Sarah's frown (like her smile) is the same as Jacob's.


Half the time she thinks it's fine, the way her son dotes on Charlie's daughter; it's exactly the right age difference for a hero-worship crush. And Bella, unlike the twins and Leah, has always had time to play with Jacob. It makes sense. In all likelihood it's something he'll grow out of once he gets older.


"Bells? Lookit. Lookit this." He's found a rock this time, one of the ones from First Beach. "It's black, Bells." When she doesn't pay attention, he scowls and drops the rock right on her book.


"Hey!" Bella finally glances up, but only to give Jacob a dirty look. "Stop! I'm reading!"


Jacob grabs the rock away and throws it angrily back into the box.


The other half of the time Sarah is scared to pieces about what it might mean. And she wonders if it's her fault. Sue had threatened, cajoled, and even begged Sarah to go to the doctor; Post-partum is totally normal, she'd said, so stop acting like an idiot and get some help. But Sarah couldn't bring herself to do it. Now that she's finally feeling better she's found herself with a distant husband, two uncontrollable daughters, and a son whose day is ruined if a five-year-old girl doesn't like his rock more than her book.


(In her darkest moments she thinks Jacob and Bella are so close because they somehow know they were both accidents. Sarah never meant to have three children in three-and-a-half years and even though she loves them with every fiber of her being sometimes she thinks she understands why Renee ran away.)


"Jake?" Bella says. Jacob's sullenly kicking the side of the toy box and gnawing on his knuckle. "Hey, Jake? You wanna read with me?"


"No."


"It's good. It has alligators and stuff."


"No." But he glances at the book out of the corner of his eye.


"You can turn all the pages."


Jacob hesitates for a moment. Bella smiles, and he starts to smile back... then he clearly remembers that he's mad and turns away again.


Bella's shoulders slump.


Sarah worries about Bella, too. The girl is sweet and polite as can be, but she's also more skittish than a deer. Charlie's a homebody and has never pushed her the way Sarah suspects Bella needs to be pushed. Bella often falls apart unless someone's there to hold her hand.


(Sarah thinks that that might be why Bella -- in her own, quieter way -- loves Jacob nearly as much as he adores her. Jacob is a hand-holder.)


But next September Bella will be going to kindergarten in Forks, and then first grade, and then a year or two after that she'll become a latchkey kid and stop coming to La Push. It's inevitable.


Sarah doesn't know what will happen when Jacob and Bella don't see each other every day.


Sarah finishes folding the towels. She tiptoes into the hallway to stack them in the linen closet, which opens silently -- seven years of raising children has taught her to keep every hinge in the house well-oiled -- and listens for Seth as she does so. Nothing but light snores from her bedroom, where he sleeps in an old playpen. The child is almost a year old and still takes four hour naps. Sarah loves Seth.


When she returns to the living room Jacob is snuggled into Bella's side, happily finding each alligator on the first page of the book. The spring has been wound into Bella's ponytail (which she wears every day for the next month).


Or maybe everything will be fine and Sarah's worrying for nothing.



***

The Second First Day of School (Bella)


Bella is so scared that she can't stop shaking.


She knows she's supposed to be here. Daddy said she'd like school if she just gave it a chance, and anyway she's too big to stay at Mrs. Black's all day anymore. But she thinks maybe Leah was right about the hollow trees.


Everyone has to sit in a circle. Bella wants to hide in the coat rack.


Everyone's saying their names. Bella wants to cover her face with her hands.


Ms. Schwartz nods in her direction. "And will you tell the class your name?"


Bella shakes her head. Daddy never makes her talk. Daddy likes to be quiet the same way she does.


"Come on," Ms. Schwartz coaxes. "I bet it's a pretty name."


Bella shakes her head again. Rach'an'Beck and Leah never make her talk. They do all the talking for her.


"All the other boys and girls have shared their names."


Bella's face turns red and her eyes fill with tears. Mrs. Black never makes her talk. Mrs. Black is okay letting her talk when she feels like it.


Ms. Schwartz sighs, and someone giggles. "Okay, maybe later." And Ms. Schwartz goes on to the next girl.


After Circle Time it's Free Time, which means everyone can get out the toys and play games if they want. Bella doesn't want. The other kids know each other and they're all so pale like her (Bella hates that she's pale) and none of them have long black hair and they don't ask her to come play. It's like they've forgotten she's there.


Jake never forgets she's there. Never ever.


Eventually Bella gravitates towards a girl named Jessica who talks more than Rach'an'Beck combined. Jessica says "Hi!" and talks and talks and talks and doesn't make Bella say anything back. But then Jessica goes to play with other kids too and the other kids try to ask Bella questions and Bella doesn't answer because she doesn't know what to say.


Mrs. Clearwater never asks Bella questions. Mrs. Clearwater just tells everyone what they're supposed to do.


After Free Time Ms. Schwartz takes the class on a tour of the school. Everyone has to walk in a line. (Bella makes sure she's at the end.) They see the cafeteria and the playground. When they see the library Bella waits until all the other students have walked out and then she ducks behind a bookcase and sits on the floor. No one notices.


Bella wraps her arms around her knees so that she doesn't suck her thumb. Big girls don't suck their thumbs. But it's hard not to.


"You should be in class," says a stern voice. Bella looks up. A tall woman with gray hair is frowning at her. Her face is wrinkled like an old peanut.


Bella doesn't say anything.


"Is this your first day of school?"


Bella nods.


The peanut woman's frown deepens. "And you don't like it so far."


"I want my daddy," Bella whispers. "I wanna go home."


"It doesn't work like that." The peanut woman looks her up and down. "You look like a girl who reads books. Do you read books?"


Bella nods again. She does read books. She reads books even better than Rach'an'Beck and Rach'an'Beck are in second grade. (She doesn't read books better than Leah, but Leah will only read books that have people living in the woods or the mountains or on desert islands.)


"Well, I'll tell you what. I'll let you borrow a book. And when you're done, you can come back and borrow more. But I will only let you do this if you return to your class."


Bella glances around at all the shelves. She likes books an awful lot. Books don't make her talk either. "Okay," she whispers.


"I can't hear you."


"Okay," Bella says, a little bit louder.


"Good." The peanut woman turns and runs her finger along a shelf, then plucks out a big book with a complicated picture on the cover. "This one is about an elephant's birthday party. It's difficult but you'll manage. You have five days before you'll have to return it, and I expect you to have finished by then."


Bella nods.


"And you'll have to give me your name before you can check it out."


"Isabella Swan," Bella says. "But I'm called Bella."


"Good. My name is Mrs. Hughes. I'm called Mrs. Hughes." Mrs. Hughes holds out the elephant book, just a little too high for Bella to reach. Bella has to stand up to get it. Then Mrs. Hughes puts a stamp on the back of the book and sends Bella back to Ms. Schwartz.


Bella finishes the book in two days, not five, and Mrs. Hughes lets her check out another one right away.

Chapter Text

Where They Don't Go To Port Angeles (Rachel and Rebecca)


"We need green ones," Rachel whispers to Rebecca.


"No," Rebecca whispers to Rachel. The sound of the station wagon's creaking engine keeps her words in the back seat. "Pink."


"Green."


"Pink."


"Green."


"Pink."


It is a common misconception that Rachel and Rebecca never disagree. They do. They just do it quietly, where no one can hear, and mostly over small things. Like the color of their new ribbons they're going to get. They have a very large collection of ribbons, which they use to make barrettes.


"We can get both." Rachel digs out their plastic coin purse and fishes through it with her index finger. "But only if we don't get any lipstick."


"But we're out of Dusky Rose."


"Then we have to pick one ribbon color."


"Pink."


"Green."


"Pink."


"Green."


"What are you two conspiring about?" Mom glances in the rearview mirror.


"Nothing."


"Nothing."


Mrs. Clearwater is in the passenger's front seat. She looks back and narrows her eyes; Rachel and Rebecca gulp. "Don't think I'm not watching you," Mrs. Clearwater says darkly. "Cause one ounce of trouble and I'm turning this car around."


"Sue, I'm driving."


"You know what I mean."


Mom shakes her head.


They are on their way to pick up Bella. Bella always gets picked up from her house after school, and today Mom and Mrs. Clearwater are taking the three of them to Port Angeles to look for spring dresses. Dad is staying home with Jacob and Seth and Leah. (Leah said she'd eat road kill before buying dresses. Leah lives in overalls.) Rachel and Rebecca are going to use this opportunity to figure out Bella's Color Palette.


It is another common misconception that Rachel and Rebecca don't care about Bella. Bella is great. Leah is too fast to catch and Jacob squirms and yells, but Bella sits perfectly still while Rachel and Rebecca braid her hair and paint her nails. Bella is the only one who knows that one day they're going to open a salon and that they will be world famous. Bella thinks this is a good idea, and told them that you're supposed to go to business school if you want to open a world famous salon. So Rachel's going to do that (since she's better with keeping track of the coin purse) and Rebecca's going to invent a holding spray that sticks to their heavy black hair.


Rachel and Rebecca consider themselves very lucky to have worked everything out by fourth grade. Some kids are still eating paste.


The station wagon turns onto Bella's street and Mrs. Clearwater says, "Who... Sarah, is that--"


Then things get exciting.


Mom hits the gas and drives about a million miles an hour down the last block. The car has barely stopped moving before both Mrs. Clearwater and Mom are getting out. "Girls, don't move," Mom orders as she slams the door.


Rachel and Rebecca jump from their seats instantly, of course, and press themselves against the window. Bella is on her front step, her arms wrapped around her backpack. Some blond lady is sitting next to her.


"Who's she?"


"Probably a kidnapper." There was a blond lady on America's Most Wanted just last week.


Mrs. Clearwater starts saying stuff to the lady; Rachel and Rebecca can't hear much of it, but there's definitely a lot of Swear Jar words involved. (If this keeps up Mrs. Clearwater won't have enough money left to get a dress for Leah.) Mom's chin is up in that way it is if someone's really, really in trouble. And the lady is crying.


Rachel and Rebecca can barely keep themselves from vibrating with delight. Important grown up stuff never happens in front of them. This is so cool.


Mom says something to Mrs. Clearwater and points at the car (Rachel and Rebecca quick-scoot return to their seats). Mrs. Clearwater scoops Bella right off the steps and a second later Bella's in the back with them, sprawled over their laps.


"What's going on?"


"Who's that?"


"Was she trying to steal Bella?"


"Are we gonna call the FBI?"


"Not now." Mrs. Clearwater shuts the door again.


Bella settles down between Rachel and Rebecca, holding onto her backpack. She fits just fine into the middle seat. Bella is teensy, barely bigger than Jake. And right now she's white like cottage cheese.


"Who's the lady?" Rebecca demands.


"Don't know," she whispers.


Rachel pets Bella's head a few times and Bella starts to relax the way she always does when they do her hair. "Should we get green ribbons in Port Angeles, or pink ones?"


"Green," Bella says, closing her eyes. "Green goes with more stuff."


Rachel looks up at Rebecca triumphantly, but Rebecca is staring out the window with her mouth open. Mrs. Clearwater is pulling Mom toward the car. Mom -- their mother! -- is shouting Swear Jar words at the crying lady.


"Wow," says Rebecca.


Rachel turns and looks. "Wow."


Bella picks at her backpack.


Mrs. Clearwater gets behind the wheel; as they drive away Mom leans her head back against the seat and looks at the ceiling. Rachel and Rebecca know that they had better be quiet right now or they're dead meat.


After a minute Mom says, "Thanks, Sue."


Mrs. Clearwater reaches over and smacks Mom's arm. "Leave the ass-kicking to me, woman. You don't even have the sense to close your fist."


Mom snorts.


Rachel and Rebecca are not thrilled when they realize the station wagon is returning to La Push.



***

Mothers and Fathers (Billy)


It's nearly midnight when the cruiser pulls into the yard. Moths are swirling around the porch light and Billy is sitting on the front steps. "Bella's on the couch," he says preemptively as Charlie walks up. He holds out a Budweiser. "Let her sleep for awhile."


Charlie pauses, then accepts the beer and opens it with a fizzy pop. "Was she okay?"


Billy takes a swig from his own can. He's drinking Mountain Dew, which is a far more illegal substance in the Black household than alcohol. "Kind of. She didn't say much. I don't think she gets it."


(Sarah had come home hours earlier than expected and with Bella in tow. She'd sent the kids out of the house and called Charlie while Billy put a lasagna in the oven. After that she'd pulled Billy into the bedroom and made silent love to him, more desperately than she had in years, all smooth skin and soft curves and smelling like the wife he still loved and had missed for so damn long. He didn't really understand why she did it but he certainly wasn't complaining.)


Charlie's twenty-nine but he looks fifty as he sinks onto the steps. He's silent for a long moment, sipping the beer. Then he says, "Fuck."


"Yep." The Mountain Dew tastes really good. "You talked to her?"


"Uh-huh."


"So where's the bitch been?"


"Don't do that," Charlie says wearily. When Billy gives him a disbelieving look he adds, "She's the mother of my child. Don't call her that."


"Oh, Jesus, are you thinking of taking her back? If you do I'll beat the shit out of you."


"She doesn't want to be taken back." (Billy does not fail to note that Charlie skirted the question.) "She just wants to see Bella."


That bitch. "She might've thought of that earlier."


"She says she was sick."


"So what? Sarah didn't run away." Thank God Sarah didn't run away. There were times Billy had stayed awake all night for fear she'd be gone when he woke up.


"I'm not saying it was right. I just..." Charlie rubs his hand over his face. "Shit. I don't know. What would you do?"


Billy tries -- and fails -- to ignore the shame that twists in his gut. "Man, trust me, I'm not the guy to ask."


(He'd asked. Of course he'd asked. Tiffany didn't know and didn't plan on finding out; it could very well be her asshole boyfriend's and she didn't want her kid tied down with that. She'd said she didn't need or want anything aside from a new start and to please just let it lie; Sarah had been pregnant again and already getting sicker. Billy can't stand watching Jacob and Embry together so he steers clear of the playground.)


"Talk to Harry," he adds. "Harry always knows what to say about shit like this." Harry is like Yoda on weed, except Harry doesn't smoke. Harry is naturally that mellow. Maybe it's all those meds he takes to keep his heart rate down.


"I don't have a damn clue how to explain it to Bella. I never told her much--"


"Which is right," says Billy. "The girl's eight, she's got the rest of her life to be freaked out by the heavy stuff. Carry it for her for as long as you can."


"Yeah. Yeah, probably." They drink in silence for another few minutes, then Charlie sets the beer aside; it's still two-thirds full. "I've really got to get her home."


Billy stashes the soda can under the porch with the others.


The living room is empty. They find Bella on Jacob's floor, both of them asleep under piles of blankets.



***

Reading Material (Bella)


Bella fidgets with the in-flight magazine. She's finished all the articles and all the books she brought and the In Case of an Emergency instructions and there's still an half and hour left before they're going to get there. She can't wait. Her skin is so dry from the desert heat that she thinks she might just burrow into the wet sand at First Beach and stay there until she's pruny.


This is the second summer that she's spent a week with her mother in Phoenix. Last year she was afraid but she made it, all five days and four nights, and she only cried a couple of times. This year she didn't cry at all (though she did hide once or twice).


Renee turns away from the window. "Did you have fun, baby?" she asks anxiously, patting Bella's hand.


Bella nods.


Renee (Bella tried to call her Mom but it sounds weird) treats her like she's a little kid. As soon as she had said she likes reading Renee went to the store and bought a ton of books, but they were all for third graders. (Bella just finished third grade but she hasn't read at that level in years; Mrs. Hughes has been requesting more and more transfers from the middle school library, and even loaned her her own Russian history book after Bella liked Animal Farm.) Then Renee had taken Bella to the zoo and pointed out all the animals like Bella didn't know what they were just because she'd never been to a zoo before. And Renee insisted on flying with Bella both ways, which was nice last year but is silly this year. This year Bella is nine and knows how flying works.


Bella sees a mystery paperback poking out of Renee's bag. "May I read that, please?" she asks, pointing.


Renee glances at the book, then shakes her head. "No, baby, I'm sorry. It's got too much sex in it. Maybe next year."


Bella goes back to the magazine. The foot massagers are really expensive.


The biggest problem is the way Renee wants to talk all the time. Bella's much better at talking than she used to be (one day she had to talk in front of the whole class about the food groups and Jessica made her rehearse again and again and again until Bella could give the presentation with her eyes closed, which she did, and after that it got easier) but she still doesn't like it very much. She especially doesn't like talking about Deep Stuff, but Deep Stuff is Renee's favorite thing. Renee likes to talk to her the way Mrs. Black and Mrs. Clearwater talk to each other, except Renee doesn't cackle the way Mrs. Clearwater does and Bella doesn't smile and shake her head the way Mrs. Black does.


Bella's going to go crazy if she doesn't read something, so she digs out her letter. It got to Phoenix three days after she did.

Bella got a plastic rattlesnake for Leah from the zoo, even though she's pretty sure Leah was asking for a real one.


Last year the trip was extra scary because on top of being away from Dad, Bella had never not seen Mrs. Black and Jake and Leah and Rach'an'Beck and Baby Seth for more than two days at a time. This year it is easier because now she stays at home by herself after school every day for an hour and a half until Dad's done at the station. She still goes to the Blacks' or the Clearwaters' on Saturdays, and she has sleepovers with Rach'an'Beck and backyard campouts with Leah, but since she's not in La Push every day it's a little less weird to be in Phoenix for a week.


"So is Jake your boyfriend?" Renee teases, reading over Bella's shoulder.


Bella scowls and folds the letter up.


When they walk off the plane Bella gets hit instantly by a warm, familiar hug. "Your flight was late," Jake says, almost angry, and then he starts a long report of all the stuff that happened while she was gone (his dad let him help fix the station wagon, Leah's tadpoles grew legs, his friend Quil fell out of a tree). Bella feels herself relax for the first time in a week.


Mrs. Black is talking quietly to Renee. Renee's not saying much back.


"Bells? Are you listening?" Jake demands.


She nods. She's listening more to his tone than his words. "I have a book I think you'll like," she says. (It's one of the ones Renee got.) "James and the Giant Peach."


"What's it about?"


"A boy named James. He lives in a giant peach."


"Oh."


Renee gives her a big hug goodbye and promises to call soon (last year she did every week for a month and then not until Christmas). Then she gets back on the plane and she's gone.


"Are you ready to go?" Mrs. Black is smiling. "Everyone's at home watching Mr. Clearwater make fish fry. Your dad said to tell you you're in charge of making sure there's a piece left for him."


Bella hesitates for a long moment, then steps forward and wraps her arms tight around Mrs. Black's waist.


"I missed you too, sweetie," Mrs. Black says softly.


The fish fry is great, Leah likes (but is slightly disappointed in the rubber quality of) her rattlesnake, the grown-ups talk in the kitchen and say some Swear Jar words, Rach'an'Beck fight with Jake over whether peaches can fly, Seth tells knock-knock jokes to anyone who will listen, and when Dad arrives Bella sits on his lap for an hour.

Chapter Text

They have to nail Sarah Black's coffin shut.



***

Like Parent (Harry)


"I want Mom to tuck me in," Seth insists as Harry pulls Power Rangers blankets up to his chin. "I want Mom to sing to me."


"Mom already tucked you in." This is, in fact, the third tucking-in Seth has had tonight. He keeps getting back up to come find them, something he stopped doing when he was four but has restarted this week. "It's time to go to sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a very long day and there won't be time for a nap."


"No, wait, don't leave me--"


"We'll be right downstairs. I'll turn on some music, but that's it."


Seth gnaws on his thumbnail for a moment, then nods reluctantly.


"Okay." Harry futzes with the old clock radio until Louis Armstrong starts playing; the jazz station is one of the only two that reach La Push (the other broadcasts the Mariners games, thank God). "Goodnight."


"'Night."


Before Harry goes downstairs, he hesitates by Leah's door; there's no sound from inside. Leah hasn't had much of a reaction yet -- Harry is expecting it to hit her any time now -- and she, at least, is willing to be sleep at eleven-thirty at night.


The last person to get into bed will be the most difficult.


Harry's eyes water as he walks into the kitchen; everything smells like fried onions. Sue doesn't look up from the stove. "Did he go down okay?"


"He wanted you, but he's fine." Seth is reacting differently than either of them had anticipated. What's upsetting him is more than Sarah's death; it's the realization that Parents Can Die. It's been a struggle for him to let Sue out of his sight. "What are you cooking now?"


"A casserole." Sue covers a dish with aluminum foil. The sink is full of soapy water and the counters are covered in food.


"What kind of casserole?"


"It's a casserole. There's not kinds."


"What's in it?"


"Stuff."


"How long is it supposed to bake?"


"I don't know. 'Til it's done."


"Have you ever made a casserole before?"


"You're bothering me," Sue snaps, shoving past him to grab an oven mitt off the top of the microwave. "Go away."


Harry reaches for the stove and turns off the burners. "You've done enough," he says gently.


"Have not. Do you have any idea how many people are going to be there tomorrow?" Sue pushes a frustrated hand through her hair; there's a smudge of something orange on her cheek. "Every fucking member of the tribe is coming. And whoever's driving down from Neah Bay. I don't know how I'm going to feed them all--"


"Everyone'll be bringing something. Billy will have leftovers for a month." Harry empties the coffee pot and hopes Sue hasn't had too many cups. "You need to sleep."


"I have to finish--"


"No, you don't. Come on. Bedtime."


"Don't you dare handle me like I'm one of the kids, Harry Clearwater." Sue's expression has turned from peeved to outright murderous. "If you want to go to bed, then you go."


"We'll set the alarm for five AM. There will still be plenty of time to wrap up, I promise." Harry kisses the orange smudge on her face. "Please."


She flinches. "Fine," she says as she throws the oven mitts aside (they land on the toaster). "But if everyone starves tomorrow I'm blaming you. Publicly."


"I understand."


Once they are in bed and under the covers and the lights are off Harry tries to spoon against Sue's back. She elbows him away. "Leave me alone."


"Okay." And he leans back against the pillows.


Light sleet taps against the roof. There's been ice on the roads since Saturday.


Twenty minutes pass; Harry almost asleep when he feels the other side of the mattress start to shake, and he knows the waiting is over. "Hey," he says softly, stroking his hand down her bare arm. "C'mere." Sue rolls into his embrace, and for a rare moment he's genuinely surprised; he expected the tears, but not for Sue to grip his shoulders and cling so tightly she could crawl under his skin.


But it only takes him the moment to figure it out. Sue is so much like their daughter; sometimes he forgets Sue is also like their son. "I'm right here, Pretty Girl. I'm not going anywhere."


"Don't leave me," she sobs into his neck.


"Have I ever?"


"You can't. You have to promise you won't. Promise me."


"Oh, baby, it's okay--"


"It's not okay!" Harry strokes Sue's hair as she grapples with the realization that Spouses Can Die. "Don't ever miss your medication. Don't you dare miss a single cardiologist appointment. Not ever."


"I already don't."


"We're going to eat broccoli from now on."


"That's fine."


"And I'll dismantle the Cavalier if you ever drive one mile an hour over the limit--"


"The pavement was slick, Pretty Girl," Harry interrupts, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "She wasn't speeding."


"Then you can't drive. Not anymore. No driving."


"So how am I supposed to make it to my appointments? Horse and cart?" He smiles just a little, letting her feel the curve of his lips against her skin. "There's room in the backyard for a donkey, but you know that Leah will train it to kick."


Sue tries to muffle her snort.


"Seth will end up playing in the haystack," Harry continues, his tone mild and reasonable, "and come inside covered in ticks. So we'd better get one of those giant wooden barrels. I'll fill it with flea-dip, you can hold him by the scruff of the neck and dunk him in. His hair might fall out but at least he won't get Lyme disease."


"Stop it."


"The real problem is going to be shoes. Where do you find a blacksmith in this day and age? If we ask some of the kids to build a forge and start working with red-hot iron we'll get lots of volunteers, but they'll start chasing each other and trip and it's probably a felony to burn a national park to the ground--"


"Shut up. I hate you." Sue's sobs have changed to somewhat wet giggles. "My best friend's funeral is in ten hours. Stop trying to make me laugh."


"But it's what I do best." Harry pulls Sue's hands from his shoulders -- he will have half-moon welts from her fingernails -- and kisses her knuckles. "I'm going to miss her too. But we're still here together and we'll survive, okay? We'll keep going. I promise."


A long, heavy sigh raises gooseflesh along Harry's skin. "You and I will," Sue says. Her voice is leaden. "But what about everyone else?"


Harry doesn't have an answer for that.



***

Like Child (Leah)


Leah has consented -- just this once and absolutely never again -- to wear wedge heels. (Dressing up is a sign of respect, Dad had said.) She's helping out by telling the attendees where to leave their cars. (Everyone knew Mrs. Black and there's not enough parking spots in the whole of La Push for this funeral.) She helped Mom clean the Blacks' house and set out the food. (There is no way everyone's going to fit in that place and it's too cold to be out on the lawn, so Leah is clueless about where they'll eat.)


She's doing what she can, but she's just not that good at this sort of thing. Being sad and stuff.


It's going to be better when Bella gets here.


Seth is pulling at his tie. (He's seven, why should he have to wear a tie? Stupid.) "Why is everyone bringing flowers?" he wonders. "What are they for?"


"They're not for anything," Leah answers. "It's dumb." (They're standing in the foyer; everyone who has walked past has had some kind of carnation thing or daisies or crap. What difference does it make? Mrs. Black's not going to see them. It's not like a tulip's going to make Rachel and Rebecca stop crying. It's not like a card's going to make Jacob forget his mom is dead. It's all so absurd.)


"I'll ask Bella," Seth declares. "She'll know."


Leah shrugs. (Bella probably does know. Bella's probably spent this whole week reading some big, thick book called The History of Mourning. Bella pretty much knows everything.)


The wall has one of those clocks that ticks. Loudly. That's the most ridiculous thing yet. How is making people think about time going to help? Leah's twelve and knows this is stupid, so why doesn't everyone else?


It's two minutes 'til ten when Mr. Swan shows up. "Sorry," he says a little breathlessly. He's fidgeting with his tie almost the same way as Seth. "Is there still room in the back?"


"Think so." Leah looks behind Mr. Swan and out the door. "Where's Bella?"


Mr. Swan pauses for a long moment. There are creases in his forehead. "She'll be here later."


The words are hard to piece together in Leah's head, but when she does... "She's not coming?"


"Not to the funeral, no."


"How come?" Seth asks. "Is she sick?"


"I... kind of."


His eyes widen. "Bella's not going to die, is she?"


"No, no, son, don't worry about that." Music starts to play, and Mr. Swan shakes his head. "We'd better get in there." He holds out a hand to Seth, which Seth grabs; he offers his other hand to Leah.


Leah doesn't take it.


They slip into the very back row. The Blacks are sitting in the front, and Jacob is looking over his shoulder every two seconds. Leah sees how his face brightens a little when Mr. Swan walks in, and sees how he looks at her, then at Seth, then at the nothing behind them. Leah sees how his expression turns confused and stunned and completely, totally lost. Leah sees how Jacob tries to stand, and how Mr. Black puts a hand on his shoulder to hold him in place.


The service starts. The tribal elder says a bunch of crap about beginnings and ends and beginnings again. Seth grips Leah's hand and his fingers turn pale.


Mrs. Black's coffin is white. It's going to be under six feet of dirt and sand. Are the worms supposed to appreciate the gold handles?


The instant the speaking stops, before they've even carried away Mrs. Black's body, Leah slips out the door. She takes off her stupid wedge-heeled shoes and dashes back to her house. It's freezing cold but she's the fastest runner on the reservation, and her toes aren't even numb by the time she opens the front door.


She goes into the kitchen and dials the number she's always known by heart. She counts the rings. One. Two. Three.


At Twenty-seven a hoarse voice finally answers. "Hi, Dad."


"Where the hell are you?!" Leah shouts into the receiver. "Why aren't you here?!"


"...Leah?"


"Jacob was looking for you! He wanted you! Who the hell else is supposed to make him feel better, huh? That's your job! Who's supposed to make Rachel and Rebecca stop crying? You're supposed to do that stuff! Why aren't you here? You're supposed to be here!"


A choked sob from the other end of the line. It makes Leah the angriest she's been so far. Bella should fight back. (That is what Leah does -- she fights.) "You don't care about us at all, do you? Why aren't you here?!"


"I... I couldn't..." Leah hears the rustling of blankets and knows Bella is hiding under the covers. (That is what Bella does -- she hides.) "I couldn't--"


"You could! You'd be here if you wanted to be here! You're supposed to make them feel better!"


"Leah..."


"You were supposed be here!" Leah can barely breathe. "You don't care about us, do you? Well, fuck you! We don't care about you either! We don't need you if you're just going to leave!"


A low, keening noise. Two of them, actually.


"I hate you! I hate you! You just... you just stay in Forks! You stay there! We don't want you here any more! You're not one of us anyway!"


Leah slams the phone so hard the cradle chips. She peels off her stupid, pointless, meaningless clothes that Mrs. Black is never going to see. She puts on her jeans and a t-shirt. Then she goes to help serve casserole to people who don't feel better for eating casserole, because casserole doesn't raise the dead.


Bella doesn't come back to La Push.

Chapter Text

First Beach (Jessica)


The weather decides to finally admit it's August, and everyone goes to spend the day at First Beach.


Mike Newton is looking at Jessica Stanley and Jessica Stanley is pretending not to notice. Jessica Stanley has curly brown hair that shines and boobs that have grown two sizes this summer (so far), so Jessica Stanley is getting very good at pretending not to notice when boys look at her.


She does peek at Mike out of the corner of her eye when she's sure he's not looking, though. And she thinks his growth spurt agrees with him.


It is only two and a half months until the very first homecoming dance of Jessica Stanley's high school career. So when Mike glances at her again, Jessica gives him a tiny smile. He blushes and looks down at the sand, and Jessica thinks she will look very nice in knee-length rose-shaded velvet.


As the afternoon wears on (Lauren's mom is coming to pick them up after five and they are all getting a little sunburned), some Native boys show up. Their frisbee hits Mike in the head by accident. Before long the two groups are no longer Kids From Forks or Kids From La Push but rather Kids Playing Frisbee or Kids Eating Chicken Salad.


Jessica is a Kid Eating Chicken Salad. There are various reasons for this. One is that she thinks sweating is overrated. Another is that the picnic bench has a very good view of the Kids Playing Frisbee, and the growth spurt that agrees with Mike also agrees with the Quileute boys.


Of course, one of the boys sitting across the table from her even looks good eating sandwiches. Jessica smiles at him, and he grins right back. "Hey," he says around a mouthful of food. "I'm Quil. Quil Ateara."


"Jessica," Jessica replies. She points to the other girl sitting at the picnic table. "This is Angela."


Angela nods; she's eating chicken salad like Quil, but she's far too polite to speak with her mouth full.


"I'm Seth," pipes up the second boy who has sat down with them. He's a lot younger, someone's baby brother or a tagalong or both. "Can I have some chips?"


"Sure." Jessica pushes the bag across the table; Seth dives in happily. "How come you guys aren't playing frisbee?"


"I'm hungry," says Quil.


"I suck," says Seth.


"I'm sure you don't suck." Angela's voice is gentle; she's got two little brothers at home. Jessica has never stopped marveling at the other girl's patience.


"Nah, I really do." Seth seems perfectly cheerful about it. His face is already orange from the Doritos. "It's okay. My sister's teaching me. She says once I don't have little hands I'll catch better."


"I bet you'll be great," Angela says encouragingly.


Seth beams.


Quil swallows before he speaks this time. "So, how's your summer going?" he asks, pushing shaggy black hair out of his face.


"It's okay." Jessica grabs a Dorito of her own. "Kinda boring. Everyone's out of town for vacation. Eric's at Disneyland and Tyler's in Vancouver and Bella went to Phoenix--"


"You know Bella?" Seth's eyes light up instantly, like Jessica has just announced she knows the President or Santa Claus. "Bella Swan? Really?"


"Uh, yeah," Jessica says. "We go to school together." She glances at Angela, perplexed; Angela shrugs. "Why?"


"I know her too." Seth is almost vibrating off the bench with excitement. "I haven't seen her in forever."


"Oh." Jessica does, in fact, remember that when they were in elementary school Bella's babysitter or something was on the reservation. "Well, she always spends all summer in Arizona--" which Jessica thinks is dumb because who spends the summer in the desert  "--but she comes back in the fall, if you're looking for her."


Seth waves frantically at the kids racing around in the sand. "Jake!" he shouts. "Hey, Jake!"


One of the boys takes his eye off the game just long enough to glance over. He's lanky and his hair is held back in a ponytail that touches his shoulders. "Yeah?"


"Guess what?" Seth points at Jessica and Angela. "They know Bella!"


The boy freezes for a moment. Then his face darkens. "Who cares?" he snaps back at Seth, before running after the frisbee, which has sailed right past him and landed in the surf.


Jessica has a sixth sense about gossip. "Backstory," she demands, turning to Quil.


Quil shrugs. "They hung out when they were little or something. I dunno. I never spent much time with her." And he takes another bite of chicken salad.


"They were friends," Seth says. He looks dejected at Jake's dismissal. "We were all friends."


Jessica has never known Bella to stop being friends with anyone. But she feels bad about the look on the kid's face, so she rummages in the cooler. "Want a popsicle? We've got grape and we've got cherry."


That's all it takes to cheer Seth up.



***



Legends (Charlie)


Charlie would kill Billy Black if Billy Black wasn't so hell bent on killing himself.


Charlie thought their friendship has reached its low point just after Sarah. Between his wife's death and his rapidly worsening illness, Billy's temper had started swinging like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; after he shouted that it was Bella's fault Jacob had all but moved into the garage, Charlie almost clocked him. It had taken Harry hours of persuading to get them back on speaking terms.


(It wasn't like Charlie hadn't tried, but no cajoling, reassurances, or threats had made a lick of difference. The one time he'd asked Sue to talk to her Bella had disappeared out the window and not come back until nearly midnight, dirty and hypothermic from her twelve hours hiding in the forest. She'd been grounded for two weeks, but she'd also made her point. Nothing short of duct taping her into the cruiser was going to get her back to the reservation.)


Finally Billy wound up hospitalized for four days after nearly dropping into a diabetic coma. (Sue got pulled from his rotation after it was discovered she was deliberately missing veins when inserting his IVs. I'm gonna stick the idiot until he learns his fucking lesson had been her defense.) After that he finally started following doctors' orders and checked his blood sugar, ate better, never forgot his insulin -- all of which was monitored by Jacob, who'd come out of the garage to make sure he didn't lose another parent.


(You have to take these, Bella said when Charlie had gone to visit during Billy's recovery, shoving a bag of peanut butter cookies into his hands. You have to. There's no sugar. Say you made them. She had literally begged. Please, Dad, they won't eat them if you don't, they won't want them if they're from me but they have to have some cookies, please, please do this, I want them to have cookies. So Charlie claimed improbable baking responsibility, and since then Bella had sent at least one diabetic-friendly food a week under his name.)


In the three years since things had been better. Not the same, of course -- there was a big, Sarah-shaped hole in all their lives that no one knew how to fill -- but better. Saturday morning fishing was once again the best part of the week.


Until now.


"Why the hell aren't you helping?" Charlie paces through the Clearwaters' living room, kind of wishing there was something he could shoot. He's been putting in a lot of hours at the range recently. "Don't tell me you buy all this crap, too."


In thirty years Charlie has never seen Harry look so uncomfortable. "The new guy is creepy," Harry says evasively.


"Uh-huh. 'Creepy' is a great reason to let yourself lose a leg. Rachel says he's having trouble driving." Charlie still has nightmares about the bloodstained sheet that covered Sarah's body, the mangled station wagon he'd photographed for the accident report.


"Yeah, I know. And I know Billy needs to see a doctor... it just can't be this doctor."


"Doctor Cullen's brilliant," Charlie says flatly. (He'd thought for sure that kid on the motorcycle wouldn't make it -- he'd been stunned she was still alive at all when he arrived on the scene -- but damned if she hadn't been back on her feet in two weeks. Carlisle Cullen is a fucking miracle worker.) "But if he doesn't want to see Cullen then he should damn well go to someone else."


"The entire hospital is--"


"What? Creepy? Sue's still working there!"


"Yeah, and I wish she wasn't." Harry stands up, and his face is grave. "Look, buddy, I'll talk him into going to Port Angeles. But you need to drop this. It's something you can't understand."


Charlie can feel a vein in his forehead throbbing, and he wonders if he's going to need a doctor before this is all said and done. "Fine. I can't understand. But when Billy winds up in a wheelchair because he's feeling superstitious then it's on the two of you."


He knows he doesn't know about lots of Quileute things. That's the way it is, the way it's always been, the way it's always going to be. But if Charlie knows anything it's that there's no story anywhere worth getting yourself killed over, and Billy Black is trying to do just that.


They've already buried someone too early.


"It's on the two of us." Harry is subdued. "Go home, Charlie. Say hi to Bella for me."


When Charlie stalks back to the cruiser he waves to Leah. She is perched in the maple tree reading Thoreau. She doesn't wave back.



***




How To Cry In History Class (Bella)


"The new kid is staring at you," Lauren whispers.


Bella is too fascinated with her European History textbook to pay attention. "Did you know the Romans used to eat peacock tongues?"


"Ew!"


"And they threw away the rest of the bird. It was a sign of wealth and status." This book is a treasure trove of information. Until now Bella has read literature almost exclusively, but now she's in college-prep classes. There's so much more to learn. High school is amazing and it's only the first day.


Lauren is clearly less concerned about the Ancient Romans than she is about the newest residents of Forks. "Seriously, Bella, it's weird. Did you piss him off?"


That gets Bella's attention. "What do you mean?"


Lauren nods toward the back of the room.


Bella looks.


Edward Cullen is staring. Viciously. As though he'd like nothing more than to murder her and bury her body in the woods. His hands are clenched into fists around the edge of the desk.


She turns around so fast she almost falls off her chair. "I haven't said anything to him," she whispers to Lauren, her face flushing deep red.


"You must have done something."


"I..." Bella can practically feel Edward Cullen's glare boring into her back. "I don't think so?" she says uncertainly.


Bella, like everyone else, had been intrigued when she'd heard five new kids would be joining them in high school. No one ever moved to Forks. To have not just one new student but five was unprecedented.


And they were so good-looking. Impossibly good-looking. Destroy your self-esteem just by being in the same room good-looking. Peek around the corner of the hall just to catch a glimpse good-looking.


Bella had done the latter between first period and second period. She'd peered out of a classroom, trying to hide behind the door, trying to get a decent look at these inhumanly gorgeous siblings. She hadn't succeeded -- she'd only seen their backs as they huddled together by their lockers.


Maybe Edward Cullen had seen her? Maybe he was angry that she had been spying?


Embarrassment and shame creeps through her body, starting in her face and running all the way down to her toes. That has to be it; she'd been incredibly rude. Goggling like they were some sort of circus attraction when she'd never even spoken to them.


She'd just have to apologize right after class. The thought catches her breath and she has to fight down the urge to hyperventilate -- approaching someone she doesn't even know and talking to them -- but it is the polite thing to do. She'll just... do it fast, before she has time to blush too much.


"Maybe he likes you," Lauren says as the teacher stands up from his desk and starts passing out papers.


Bella turns to look again, just for a quick second. Edward Cullen is beautiful, like one of the marble statues in the Grecian mythology book Mrs. Hughes had lent her last year (Bella had promised to walk to the elementary school and visit at least once a week, there was no way she could do without Mrs. Hughes). Edward Cullen is dazzling -- so dazzling he doesn't look real. He doesn't look alive.


And he is much, much too pale.


"He's not my type," she whispers back to Lauren, and then the history class begins.


Bella waits just outside the classroom after the bell rings. The people she's known her entire life file past her, juggling notebooks and wrestling with backpacks. She takes several deep breaths, and then Edward Cullen appears in the doorway. He stops instantly at the sight of her.


"Hi." Her voice squeaks but at least it's audible. "I'm Bella Swan."


His nose wrinkles.


"I... I just..." She falters, quailing under his furious black eyes. She forces out in a rush, "I'mreallysorryIspiedonyou."


Edward Cullen's lip curls in obvious disgust, revealing blinding white teeth. Then he turns on his heel and storms down the hallway faster than she's ever seen anyone move.


Bella tries -- she always tries, she tries so hard -- but she bursts into tears anyway.


(She is getting better about it. She hasn't had a complete breakdown since two summers ago; she'd been staring at the endless shelves of feminine products, her gut twisting in wretched pain, her father standing red-faced next to her and unable to help, and she'd known that Mrs. Black would have known what she should buy. She'd cried so hard she'd had to run out of the store. Her father had come back to the car with one of everything and a big tub of vanilla ice cream.)


"Wow." Lauren is standing nearby, waiting for Bella to come to algebra. "What a jerk."


Hiccuping, Bella thinks maybe she doesn't like high school after all.

Chapter Text

Bella Swan's First Kiss (Bella)


When Edward Cullen comes back to school after a two week absence, he's not angry anymore; in fact, he seems to want nothing more than to be Bella's new best friend. He volunteers to be her lab partner in Chemistry and he walks with her from class to class and he's always waiting for her in the parking lot.


Flabbergasted, she asks why.


"Because I can't read you at all." Edward's golden eyes search her expression like he's trying to lift all her secrets right out of her head. "You're... different. New. You're fascinating, Bella Swan." A tight look comes across his face when she blushes bright red, and he walks away quickly. He does that sometimes.


Bella doesn't know what to make of it. She's just... Bella. She's Officer Charlie Swan's daughter. She lives in the blue house on Perry Street. She was born in Forks and she's grown up in Forks and she intends to stay in Forks. She's really not very interesting.


Edward Cullen apparently thinks she is, though.


It's all very strange.


And now no one believes Bella isn't dating the most handsome boy in school. All the girls are giving her dirty looks at every turn. Even Lauren and Jessica are mad; they're jealous and they think Bella is lying about the relationship. No one talks to her, so she winds up talking to Edward more, so no one talks to her, and Bella feels very lonely overall.


But in spite of their bizarre beginning, Edward is okay. He has major mood swings, and he intimidates her even when he's clearly trying not to, but even so... it kind of makes her feel good, the way he looks at her. No one's ever looked at her quite like that.


Bella's never been fascinating before.


Her father encourages the friendship; he's made it very clear that he thinks the Cullens are a wonderful addition to Forks. So when Bella tells him Edward's coming over after school to work on homework -- that she's going to be alone in the house for two hours with a boy -- Dad only reminds her where the pepper spray is eight or nine times.


Edward finishes his half of the lab report in about fifteen minutes. He peppers Bella with random questions for the next hour while she struggles with stoichiometry.


What color does she like in clothes? (Green. It goes with everything.)


Does she miss her mom? (All the time-- oh, wait, Renee. Not too much.)


What's her favorite book? (The House of the Spirits.)


What's her least favorite movie? (Cinderella.)


Is it hard being a girl and living with her dad? (She loves her dad more than anything but a second bathroom would be nice.)


Is she looking forward to college? (Yes, and she'll need lots of scholarships in order to afford it, so she has to get a good grade on this lab report.)


Edward smiles that strangely perfect smile. "I'm bothering you, aren't I."


"No-- I mean, yes-- well, kind of." She flushes and Edward gets the hard look on his face. "You're not bothering me, I'm just having trouble with these equations."


"Hmm." Edward tugs her paper away. Within seconds all of the problems are completed. "What about boys? Have you ever been on a date?"


Bella goes from being angry -- she could've done it! -- to nervous. "I... no." What is he saying? Is he asking her out? She's never been asked out before. It's too frightening a prospect for words.


"So there hasn't been anyone at all?" Edward presses. Then he seems to notice her discomfort, and his sudden intensity fades into something gentler. "Don't worry. I'm just curious." The smile again. "You're a little young for me. Yet."


That makes no sense -- they're the same age, after all. Still, she lets out a relieved breath. "Well, there's been some things," she confesses.


She tells him about Roberto, who she met last summer, and how he invited her over to play video games then told her she was beautiful. ("You are," Edward assures her.) She thinks she might've gone to the movies with him if she hadn't been coming home in two weeks; it was the first time she'd regretted leaving something behind in Phoenix. He was the high point of her visit.


She tells him about Jessica's thirteenth birthday party, and how they'd played Seven Minutes in Heaven and she'd wound up in the closet with Tyler. They'd kissed -- even with tongues -- but when he'd tried to touch her chest she'd pulled away. ("He forced himself on you?" Edward asks furiously. She explains that Tyler had apologized immediately and it was no big deal.) Afterwards they'd been too embarrassed to look at each other for almost a month.


Bella has never shared any of this. Edward Cullen is surprisingly easy to talk to sometimes.


"And was that your first kiss?" he says, looking amused now. "Playing a game in a closet?"


She responds without thinking: "No, my first kiss was with Jake."


When she realizes what she has said the whiplash of pain takes her breath away.


"Who is Jake?"


Bella shakes her head. "It doesn't matter," she manages to say. "We were just kids, so... it didn't really count."


She'd tiptoed into his room after everyone else had gone to bed, sobbing, overwhelmed because the blond woman had said I'm your mom and Baby I missed you so much and Bella didn't know what she was supposed to do about it. Jake had pulled all the blankets out of the closet and made a sparrow's nest on the floor for them. He'd kissed her lots of times, childish presses of his lips that only lasted a half-second apiece, until she'd stopped crying and they had fallen asleep in the dark.


He'd been six and she'd been eight.


It counted.


"I don't want to answer any more questions," Bella whispers. "Please stop asking."


They finish their lab report. After Edward leaves Bella stares at the phone, her fingers hovering over the dial, but she knows he doesn't want to talk to her. Jacob Black hates her for what she did -- he must hate her -- and she can't bear to hear him say it out loud.


She has dried her face by the time her father comes home.



***



Jenseits von Gut und Böse (Sue)


Leah is fifteen years old and at this rate she will not survive to sixteen.


Sue cannot think of a sentence in English or Quileute that accurately summarizes her rage, frustration, and shock. "You... I can't believe... How could..."


"So I flunked," Leah says. She's sitting on the couch, her arms crossed and her jaw set. "What difference does it make?"


"You flunked in June!" It is now October. "You've still been in ninth grade for two months and you didn't tell us?!"


"I repeat: what difference does it make?"


If Sue had known what raising a teenage girl would be like she'd have gotten her tubes tied the day she turned eighteen. "How did this happen?" A terrible suspicion enters her mind. "Does Sam Uley have something to do with it?"


"No." Leah's glare could set things on fire. "You think I'd drop out just because a guy told me to?"


"Drop out?! You are not dropping out of school!"


"Once I'm sixteen you can't stop me."


"Wanna bet?"


"Sure," Leah says flippantly. "What would you do, exactly? Shackle me to a desk?"


It is illegal to hit children. It is illegal to hit children. It is illegal to hit children. "What the hell is wrong with you?"


"You don't get it. Existence has no meaning. Knowledge is only bound by perspective, so I'm not going to waste my time in some brick building learning about prepositions."


Sue's teeth grind. "I am going to kill whoever gave you that Nietzsche book." How did she wind up with a daughter who argues using nineteenth century philosophy? "I can't believe you, Leah, I seriously can't. Rachel and Rebecca don't cause Billy this kind of trouble. Bella doesn't cause Charlie this kind of trouble--"


"How would you know?"


"I know because Charlie's not going gray the way I am!"


"Right. Well, I'm so sorry I don't measure up to Bella Swan." Leah kicks the floor darkly. "If you're still waiting on that you'll be waiting a long fucking time."


"What the hell are you--" Sue trails off... and her face turns red. "Oh, you did not just curse at me, Leah Clearwater."


"So what if I did? I've got some quarters in my pocket. The Swear Jar's been looking empty."


Leah is saved from having said Swear Jar thrown at her head by the timely arrival of Harry. He takes in the situation at a glance, then hangs up his coat, unperturbed. "Am I missing something?"


"Your daughter," Sue shouts, "is using nihilism as an excuse to flunk out of school!"


"...I beg your pardon?"


"She got held back! Connie Littlesea tells me at the general store that it's too bad Leah's missing so many classes! She asks me if she's been sick!" Sue is so angry she can barely speak. "Sick in the head, more like!"


Harry pauses for a long moment. Then he very deliberately turns to Leah. "Is this true?" he says quietly.


Leah avoids his eyes. "Yes."


"I see." Sue watches as he takes a deep breath and then exhales slowly. "Go to your room and wait."


"But I--"


"Go. We will talk later. I am too disappointed in you to discuss it right now."


In thirty seconds Harry has accomplished what Sue couldn't in an hour: their daughter's eyes fill with tears, and she slinks up the stairs with her head bowed.


Once they hear the door upstairs shut, Harry sighs. "Okay. I'm going to get a beer. You want one?"


"God yes." Sue flops onto the couch and hits the back of her head against the wall a few times. She's pretty sure she's not a complete failure as a parent; she's done well enough with Seth so far. But she and Leah have been fighting since the moment Leah decided to be born breach, and things have been so bad recently that Sue despairs of making it through the remaining teenage years.


Sue misses Bella. Bella had been such a good influence; Leah had silently held the girl on a mile-high pedestal. (Sue wouldn't have known that if she hadn't done the same with Sarah at their age. Sue misses her best friend like she'd miss a limb; there are still days she dials the Blacks' number and doesn't remember until Billy picks up.)


Sarah had known how to murmur. Sue only knows how to seethe, and that has no effect on Leah. Her daughter has always acted like shouting doesn't count for anything. Sarah would have known what to do.


Harry sits down next to her and puts the beer in her hand. "If you're not careful it'll be your blood pressure we monitor," he jokes.


"She's grounded 'til she's sixty."


"That won't do any good unless we chop down the tree outside her window."


"Damn. I like that tree."


"I know."


Harry spends three hours talking to Leah, and after that Leah's grades are perfect. Sue asks multiple times how he did it, but Harry just shrugs and says, "You can't fight fire with fire."


Annoyingly, Sue knows he's right.



***



Education (Rachel and Rebecca)


Having driver's licenses is the Best. Thing. Ever.


Okay, so the Chevy pickup is a piece of junk. Okay, so they can't afford more than one tank of gas every two weeks. Okay, so it's not like they have anything exciting to do. That's not the point.


Rachel and Rebecca can go wherever they want now. They can go to the ends of the earth. They don't have to ever come back if they decide they don't want to. Maybe.


For today, though, they'll settle for going to the Forks diner. They need milkshakes. (Rachel likes chocolate; Rebecca likes strawberry. Of course the best is when they're combined to make chocolate-strawberry.)


"U-Dub," says Rachel.


"WSU," says Rebecca.


"U-Dub."


"WSU."


"U-Dub."


"WSU."


This fall they'll be seniors. They'll obviously be applying to both the University of Washington and Washington State University, but the question is which to select for early enrollment. U-Dub has the better business school. WSU has the better psychology program. (Rebecca has decided to major in psych, since running a salon is as much about being a therapist as a beautician.) It's the strongest Rachel and Rebecca have ever disagreed on anything.


(The elephant in the room is the obvious solution: They could each go to their first choices. Separately. They're avoiding that possibility for now.)


Rebecca looks over the menu. "One plate of fries, or two?" (They load up on carbs whenever they go out; diabetes-friendly food gets old.)


"Two."


"With cheese."


"And bacon."


"Well, obviously."


The diner is quiet -- they're one of only three tables -- which is why both Rachel and Rebecca hear the squeak. They turn in time to see a dark head duck behind the bar.


The twins glance at each other. As one they stand up, push in their chairs, and walk to the counter. They peer over.


A pale girl in an apron is crouched on the floor, clutching a plastic bin full of dirty dishes. Her eyes are squeezed shut.


There is a long moment of silence.


Finally Rebecca says, "Good lord, Bella, when's the last time you cut your hair?"


"It is the completely wrong length for you," Rachel adds.


Bella opens her eyes.


When they go home that night Rachel immediately ducks her head into Jacob's room. "Hey, dork, guess who we saw today?"


Jake looks up from his bed; it still weirds Rachel out that his toes touch the foot board. One more growth spurt and he'll be taller than they are. "Who?"


"Bella Swan," Rebecca says in a sing-songy tone, her voice carrying from the bathroom. The dork's going to explode with this news.


Jacob pales, then quickly focuses back on his comic book. "Yeah, right."


"No, really, she's working at the diner. Saving for school." Rachel grins. "We're gonna stop by again next weekend. You wanna come with?"


He snorts. He is such a moody brat these days. Thirteen year old boys suck. "Did she ask for me?"


"Nah." Bella didn't ask for anyone; she'd just looked stunned to be addressed. In a half hour of conversation (wherein Rachel and Rebecca filled her in on a bunch of gossip and asked what she thought of U-Dub versus WSU) she'd barely spoken three words together. Basically, aside from longer hair and a few inches of height, Bella's exactly the same. "But you know you wanna go."


"Do not," he mutters.


Rachel rolls her eyes. "Fine. Suit yourself."


Jacob's response stops her before she leaves the room. "Why are you bothering? She loved Mom, not us." His tone is laced with bitterness. "Otherwise she would've come back."


"Maybe." Rachel and Rebecca thought that too, for awhile, and it had hurt. But it was so obvious who sent those weekly desserts. Jacob was the only one who still believed Charlie could bake. (He probably still believed in the Tooth Fairy too.) "But Bella was always strange in how she thought about things."


"She would've come back," Jacob insists.


Rachel heaves a theatrical sigh. "All right. I guess we'll just have to say you can't be bothered to come see her, won't we?"


Jake's fingers tighten on the edges of the comic, making a little crinkling sound. "Say whatever you want. I don't care."


Rachel is insulted by how stupid her brother must think she is. As though she can't see the dog-eared copy of James and the Giant Peach still sitting on his nightstand.

Chapter Text

Warning (Billy)


Billy knows his driving is going to hell, but it's not his legs that make him nearly skid off the road, it's that he's going way too fast. When the car slides on the wet pavement he flashes to Sarah's funeral; he sticks to the speed limit the rest of the way. Even though this is an emergency.


He'd been doing a crossword, pretending not to watch Jacob pretending not to listen to the twins as they reported on their latest diner visit. (Billy wasn't sure whether it was good for the girls to be teasing their brother with all this information on Bella -- what clothes she was wearing, what book she was reading, what disagreement she'd solved that day -- but he figured Jacob could always go to his room or the garage if he didn't want to hear it.) Then Rebecca casually announced, And that Cullen kid came to see her again. She says they're just friends, but you wouldn't know it from the way he looks at her.


Jacob had gone to his room at that point, and Billy was out the door and into the Stratus as quick as he could manage with his cane.


That Cullen kid came to see her again.


When Billy pulls onto Perry Street his skin crawls. His first impulse is to do a U-turn and get the hell out of there; his second is to find what feels so wrong and destroy it. If there are changes, he won't be one of them -- he's much too old, and getting closer and closer to a cripple each day -- but the instincts are there. He is the grandson of Ephraim Black.


Then the thing comes out of Charlie's front door.


Its yellow eyes meet Billy's as Billy pulls into the driveway, and a tight smile forms on that ghostly face. It nods curtly as it passes (there's the faintest whiff of something sweet and rotting). It gets into its shiny Volvo and leaves without a word.


The thing knows he knows.


Her response to the rap on the door is quick. "Did you forget--" Bella quits speaking as she looks up; Billy is a tall man.


"May I come in?" he asks.


She nods and steps out of the way. Before she can disappear up the stairs -- like she always does on the rare occasions he comes over -- Billy stops her with, "Hey, hang on a second."


"Dad's not home yet," Bella replies automatically. "He'll be ten or fifteen minutes." (That has been the sole basis of their communication for the last few years: short reports on Charlie's whereabouts.)


"That's okay. You're the one I want to talk to."


The girl's eyes widen, and for a moment she bites her lip so hard it turns white. "Oh. Um... sure." And she creeps silently into the living room.


He follows and settles into Charlie's recliner. Now that it comes to it, Billy doesn't really know where to begin. "How've you been, Bella?" he asks awkwardly, trying to buy time as he ponders the best way to say Please stop seeing that creature before he leaves you a shriveled husk.


"I'm okay. How are you, Mr. Black?" Her eyes briefly flick to the cane.


"Just fine, Bella, just fine." (The pains in his left leg are killing him and a week ago he realized there are small numb spots on his right foot. He knows he needs a complete diagnostic workup, to have all his insulin levels readjusted, and probably to start new medications. But the guy in Port Angeles is an idiot who only tells him to eat more salads -- goddammit, he is eating salads -- and Billy won't go to Forks Hospital as long as that monster is there.) "Rachel and Rebecca tell me you're working at the diner now."


"I'm busing tables. They've been really nice, stopping by." Bella is studying the rug like she hasn't seen it every day of her life. "They don't have to."


"They're happy to do it." That's an opening, of sorts. "They tell me one of the Cullens has been coming to see you. The one I just saw leaving, right?"


She looks up at that, obviously confused. "Edward? What about him?"


"Is he your... friend?"


She blushes deep red and Billy's stomach drops. But then she stammers, "No. Yes. A little. Not what people keep-- I mean, we're friends, but... that's all. Oh, and lab partners. But that's all."


Thank God. "Right. Well... I need you to listen to me for a minute." Not for the first time, Billy wishes Charlie had married one of the girls from the reservation; if Bella were half-Quileute this wouldn't be an issue. (And with both the Blacks and the Clearwaters behind the match no one would have voiced an objection.) "I know that boy's family, and you have to be very, very careful. They aren't good people."


A little wrinkle appears between Bella's eyebrows. "I know he's kind of strange, but he's not so bad. His dad's really nice, and his brothers and sisters are--"


"You've seen the doctor?" Billy cuts her off, appalled.


"I needed a couple of vaccines on my birthday." She looks outright suspicious now. "Why are you asking?"


It's even worse than he thought. The thing had stuck a needle in her. Broken her skin. Smelled her blood. This is the girl that used to nap with his children and sucked her thumb while she did.


"They aren't good," he repeats. He knows he's being cryptic, but he's bound by duty and tradition to keep the secrets of his people. All he can do is pray she'll take him at his word. "The Cullens might seem nice, they might be nice to you, but believe me when I say they're not. Please, sweetie, don't trust them. It's important."


Bella pales when he calls her sweetie.


That is why he did it.



***



Bad Dreams (Charlie)


When Charlie hears the scream he runs for Bella's room before he's even awake. He yanks her bedroom door open to see his daughter backed against the wall; her table lamp is held high over her head, ready to be thrown (for all the good it will do her -- it's still plugged into the socket). "What happened?" he demands as he automatically reaches for his holster, which he is not wearing.


"Edward!" she shrieks. "Edward Cullen was in my room!"


"What?"


"He was there!" She points at her ancient rocking chair. It is perfectly still. "He was watching me sleep!"


"Oh." Charlie exhales and flips on the light, his panic beginning to abate. Thank goodness it was nothing serious. "Kiddo, I think you were dreaming."


"I wasn't! He was right there!"


He carefully takes the lamp from her trembling hand. "Bella, I know nightmares can be really vivid--"


"I've never had nightmares!"


"--but there's no one here. You're safe." Charlie strokes her head gently, which never fails to calm her down. "Everyone knows I'd shoot on sight."


But Bella doesn't calm down this time. If anything her hyperventilation gets worse. "Dad, please, you have to believe me. He went out the window. He moved so fast. He's been acting so creepy lately--"


Charlie sighs. "The window, huh?"


"Yes!"


"Okay, okay." It's three AM and Charlie is tired, but he has never been able to stand seeing his little girl panic. He is willing to indulge her in this -- though he is not getting out the fingerprinting kit.


The window is locked from the inside. There is no sign of forced entry, no smudges on the sill, no stacks of books disturbed. Nothing is out of order. He flips the latch and pushes the panes open, letting in a cool spring breeze; there's no way to climb up, and jumping out would be a twenty foot drop into raspberry bushes. "I don't see anyone, kiddo," he says wearily.


Bella's eyes are wide and her face has lost all remaining color. "But there wasn't a squeak," she says in a small voice. "It should have squeaked. Where's the squeak?"


Charlie frowns. She's right. The window has always squeaked, a tiny noise like a squirrel or a chipmunk. He's been meaning to fix it for years.


He leans close to examine the steel hinges.


They look greased.


"Daddy?"


Before he turns he schools his expression into something calm and neutral. "Bella, what did you mean when you said Edward's been acting creepy?" This is not the first time he's heard the Cullens called that.


"I told him a few weeks ago that I didn't want to hang out so much anymore," she says, still shivering in her long nightshirt. "Since then, I... I don't know. It's weird. I think he's been following me."


"Following you? Why didn't you tell me about this?"


"Because... I mean, he hasn't... I can't point to anything specific. But he was in my room--"


"We don't know that for sure," Charlie says reassuringly. (None of this sounds good, but nothing will be gained by scaring her even more.)  "Listen. First thing in the morning I'm paying a visit to Dr. Cullen--" which may or may not involve Charlie's shotgun "--and I'll get to the bottom of this."


Something finally overcomes the fright on Bella's face: a look of profound adolescent mortification. "No, Dad, don't do that."


"Bella--"


"I'll handle it--"


"Bella, if this boy is stalking you, that is very serious business--"


"Please don't go all Officer Swan on this, Dad. It's embarrassing."


That stings. Badly. It seems like all Charlie does these days is embarrass his daughter, and he doesn't even know how he's doing it. "Well, what do you want, then?"


Bella opens her mouth to speak... then pauses. She glances from Charlie to the window. She is caught halfway between ten and twenty years old. "Let me talk to him tomorrow at school," she says finally. "Then... you can go see Dr. Cullen the next day. But I should... I don't know, warn him first or something. Make things clearer."


Charlie resolves to be waiting at home when Bella gets off the bus. "All right. But you stay in sight of all the teachers, okay? Don't go off with him."


"I won't."


"Good." Charlie latches the window firmly, then rearranges Bella's stacks of books; if someone tries to come through there will be a loud crash. It still doesn't seem likely that anyone was really here -- probably it was just a bad dream prompted by the Cullen kid's unacceptable behavior -- but it's best not to take any chances. "All right. Well, I'm--"


"Can we watch a movie?" Bella tucks her hair behind her ears and can't quite meet his eyes. "Downstairs? You and me? And, um, stay in the living room?"


Charlie sleeps terribly on the recliner and he doesn't care at all. "Sure thing."



***



Departure


On Monday Bella tells Edward to go away and leave her alone.


On Tuesday Charlie goes to see Dr. Cullen; he is informed Dr. Cullen has resigned.


On Wednesday the bonfires of La Push illuminate the night sky.

Chapter Text

The Christmas Cactus (Renee)


Renee thought it was cute, but Bella looks at the little tinseled cactus like she's about to cry. "Merry Christmas," Renee says, keeping her voice bright. "Do you want something to drink? Milk?"


"I don't like milk," Bella says. "If there's some coffee though, that would be nice. Thank you." She stumbles into the living room and sits in the papasan chair, rubbing her palms against her eyes. She isn't smiling.


(In retrospect, it probably would've been better not to cancel the summer vacation. But Renee had spent the baseball season on the road with Phil, and Bella wouldn't have enjoyed that, so they rescheduled the visit for the winter holidays instead. She and Phil were broken up by the end of August and Bella clearly doesn't like her Christmases to be seventy degrees. Not worth it.)


"When did you start drinking coffee?" Renee asks, scooping Mocha Sunrise instant grounds into hot water.


"At the diner."


"Do you like it there? You've never said."


"It's all right. It's a job."


Renee laughs. "Baby, I know that one."


Bella doesn't laugh in response. It's not unusual. Sometimes in the summer it takes her weeks to warm up... but this time they only have ten days, and two of them are gone already.


(Bella had been eleven during the first long visit. It was the only time she had called Renee "Mom" on a regular basis; she'd actively sought hair-brushing and hugs and homemade lunches, even climbing into bed with her at night a few times. But after a month or so it stopped, and they'd settled into a relationship that worked better for them: eating Mexican takeout and watching Queer Eye For The Straight Guy marathons on Bravo. Renee isn't an idiot. She knows she makes a poor substitute for Sarah Black. But she never was Sarah Black.)


Renee brings the coffee to Bella before flopping onto the couch and tucking her legs beneath herself. "Would you like some scrambled eggs for breakfast?" Renee is a vegetarian; she had figured eggs were a good compromise.


"In a little while, I think." Bella looks up at that and smiles apologetically. "I'm not quite awake yet."


"Okay." Sometimes when Bella is sleepy she is more inclined to share, so Renee asks, "How are your friends at  school? It sounded like you were having trouble with them."


"It's okay now." Bella shrugs and sips her coffee, still looking at the cactus sitting on the coffee table. "They stopped being weird after this one guy left town. We're getting along again."


"Oh, that's nice." The idea of Bella not having a good social life has always appalled Renee; how was the girl supposed to function in the world if she didn't get out there? "I'm so glad to hear that, baby. Have you heard from any of your La Push friends?"


Bella hesitates for a moment, then says, "The Black twins have been coming to see me at work."


"That's great!" Renee knew there had been some sort of falling out between Bella and the kids on the reservation a long time ago -- it was one of the pieces of information Charlie had shared during their travel-arrangement conversations -- but Bella has always given one syllable answers on the subject until now. "Have the others been coming to see you, too?"


"No. No one else. They... they haven't invited me to come back either, so... yeah."


Renee frowns. "Well, then, maybe you should invite yourself."


"No. I can't do that. Not unless they want me there." Bella's finger is tracing the edge of her mug restlessly, and she whispers, "I messed up and I can't just... go."


Renee can't advise on that, because she knows there are mistakes that don't get wiped clean just by coming back. There's nothing to do but change the subject. "And how's your love life going?"


Bella shakes her head. "There isn't one."


"No one special at all?" Bella is sixteen now; she should've had two or three boyfriends at this point. "Someone must be secretly in love with you, baby."


The flush that covers Bella's cheeks makes her prettier. Renee can't blush like that; she's too tan. "Well, there was someone--"


She knew it!


"--but it was really weird and I wasn't interested."


Renee winces sympathetically. "Oh, that's the worst. What was wrong with him? Not your type?"


"Not at all." Bella's drinking her coffee steadily and is starting to look more alert, but she doesn't elaborate.


Renee had been looking forward to this age; talking boys was something motherly that she might actually be good at. But apparently Bella doesn't want to. "Should we open presents, do you think?"


"Yeah. Yeah, presents sound nice. Let's do that." She bites hard at her lower lip. Renee does that too, ever since she quit thumb-sucking as a kid. When she turned two her mother coated her hands in Tabasco sauce to stop the habit. It's her earliest memory.


Renee starts to pull the envelopes out from under the coffee table. She can never figure out what books Bella wants, so she's bought gift certificates to Amazon. One to Victoria's Secret too, because every girl needs a few pairs of lacy underwear.


"I wish we had a tree." Renee looks up; Bella's staring at the cactus again, her eyes full of tears. It occurs to Renee that Bella's probably always had a real pine and this must not feel very Christmas-y.


"Well, I know, I just thought... it's one of your presents, actually."


"Huh?"


Renee's embarrassed now. "I don't really know if it will survive in Forks, but I thought it would be nice for your room. You know... just a little something of me." She does her best to smile. "You are a little something of me, after all."


Bella is still for a very long moment, then she sets her coffee aside and picks up the little cactus gently. She very carefully picks off each piece of tinsel and sets them aside until it's just a cactus again. "I like it," she says, and her smile is finally genuine. "Thank you."


Renee heaves a sigh of relief.



***



Things That Seth Clearwater Knows (Seth)


Seth pays a lot more attention than anyone thinks. He pays attention to facial expressions and body language. He pays attention to words that are said and words that aren't said. He knows why people are the way they are. Well, not always, but lots of the time.


For instance, he knows why Sam Uley has come over to play basketball. Seth doesn't mind, though, because he likes basketball, and Sam's a nice guy. Sam doesn't have any brothers or sisters and Seth knows that Sam does like Seth's company.


But still, Sam's not really there to hang out with Seth.


"Leave my brother alone, you asshole!" Leah's leaning so far out her bedroom window that she might fall out. Anyone else would. Leah's awfully good at balance, though.


"It's okay," Seth calls up, dribbling the ball. He can dribble without looking down at the driveway. "We're having fun."


"I'm teaching him to shoot a three-pointer," Sam says innocently. Seth knows what Sam's doing.


It works. "I can teach him a three-pointer!" Leah shouts down. "Go away!"


"If you can teach him," Sam retorts, "why doesn't he know already?"


Leah scowls and slams the window shut so hard the glass panes rattle.


Sam turns back to Seth, a little smile on his face. "It's important to keep your eye on the backboard, not the hoop itself. Otherwise you'll undershoot."


"Right." Seth walks back until his feet are a few inches onto the lawn. "Eyes on the backboard."


Leah storms out of the house, the screen door squealing on its hinges. "Just because you're nice to Seth doesn't mean you get to come over here, Sam Uley."


"Really? Seems like he should be able to invite whoever he wants."


Seth knows that Sam likes Leah even though he annoys her on purpose. Seth knows Sam has liked Leah for forever, but she hates him because he always beats her at the hundred meter dash and cross-country. (And Seth knows Leah thinks running's the only thing she's really good at and now Sam Uley is better. Seth thinks that's dumb, because Leah's really good at being a sister and Sam's got longer legs.)


"Get off my lawn or I'll hit you with a rock." Leah's hands are twitching, and Seth backs up a couple of feet. "I have great aim."


"Tell you what," Sam says. He makes a quick move and bounces the basketball right out from under Seth's palms, then lifts it over his head, twirling it lightly. "Knock the ball out of my hand, and I'll go."


Seth can actually hear Leah's teeth grinding. Two years ago she would've been able to do it, but now Sam is really, really tall. Almost as tall as Mr. Black. (He grew crazy fast winter before last, which worried Dad -- Dad gets little lines in the corners of his eyes when he's worried -- but then it stopped and Sam stayed the same height and Dad's little lines went away.) Leah's not short, but she's still six or seven inches below Sam. She can't reach the basketball.


Leah looks so upset that Seth says, "That's not fair, Sam. She should get to play you for it."


Sam glances at Seth, a smirk playing on his lips. "Whose side are you on, huh?"


Seth just shrugs. He's not on anyone's side, never is. But he does hope Leah wins, because it might make her not hate Sam so much. Because Seth knows she doesn't really hate Sam Uley. She actually likes him. She just gets mad and doesn't know what to do about it.


(Seth remembers that Leah didn't used to get so mad, and he wishes Bella would come back. Bella would talk to Leah and Leah would laugh instead of scowl. But Seth knows something happened that Leah feels super-guilty about -- she looks at the floor and kicks her feet whenever someone talks about Bella -- and he thinks she might have said something that hurt Bella's feelings and made her leave. But Seth thinks Bella should still have come back, because if there was anyone who knew that Leah gets mad and doesn't know what to do about it, it was Bella.)


"I guess I'm up for that," Sam says, reluctantly lowering the basketball. "Are you, Leah? Unless you think you can't beat me."


Leah's face gets even darker, and she yanks her sweatshirt over her head. It's March but it's not that cold today. "Fine. If I win you get out of here and you don't come back."


"And if I win, I get to come over whenever Seth invites me."


Leah glares at Seth. Seth shrugs again. He'll probably invite Sam over a lot. Sam likes to teach the younger kids stuff at school and pretends it's not because he's lonely, and everyone knows what Mrs. Uley is like. And Seth likes Sam. He's pretty cool and he never gets upset.


(It was weird for those months when Sam was growing so much, because he did get upset then. A lot of the time. It was one of the few things Seth hadn't understood. But then it stopped, and Sam seems a lot happier now.)


Plus, Seth will invite Sam over so that Leah will stop thinking she hates him.


The two older kids start to play furiously, darting around the driveway and getting in close and it's almost more like dancing than sport. Seth goes inside to get a glass of milk, and when he glances out the kitchen window he sees Sam kiss Leah. Then, while Leah stands there frozen, Sam sinks a shot.


Seth knows there's going to be more kissing, so he takes his milk and goes to the living room to play Playstation. It's okay. He already knows how to shoot a three-pointer. He has for years.


Seth likes being sneaky.



***



Matches (Bella)


It's like the beginning of every horror movie ever made.


It's a dark and stormy night. Lightning has been arcing through the sky for hours. The electricity finally went out so Bella is huddled in her bedroom with no way to tell time. She's all alone in the house because her father -- now Chief of Police -- is working one of his necessary third shifts. The phone (an ancient corded thing unaffected by the blackout) has been ringing every five minutes since the storm started, and she doesn't pick up because those are the rules. (It might be someone checking to see if you're alone, Dad had warned. If it's important I won't call, I'll just come to get you.)


So Bella was scared out of her wits before someone started pounding on the front door. "Go away," she whispers, as though the person trying to get in can hear her.


Whoever it is doesn't go away. He or she keeps knocking. Endlessly. At least, it feels that way.


Maybe it's an emergency. Maybe one of the neighbors had a heart attack. Maybe someone had a car accident out front.


Maybe it's a burglar or a murderer or something.


Maybe it's Edward come back.


(The thought of Edward Cullen still weirds Bella out. She's no longer sure whether or not he had really been in her room that night -- a year later and it all seems like a dream -- but the whole thing was... creepy. It disturbs her to think of it.)


The pounding continues.


It's got to be at least six hours until her father is due to come home, and she can't just cower in the dark while someone waits outside. Besides, wouldn't a burglar have broken a window by now or something? Probably it's safe. Still, before leaving her room, Bella grabs her Louisville Slugger out from under the bed. (She's kept it there ever since the Edward incident.)


She creeps down the steps, trying not to trip over her pajama bottoms (she finally developed hips this year and she's so clumsy all of the sudden), and pads her way silently to the foyer. The door is rattling under the force of the person's blows. "Who is it?" she calls -- but her words are drowned out by a crack of thunder.


Heart racing, Bella slides back the deadbolt, then unlocks the knob with shaking fingers. She raises the baseball bat over her head... and quickly yanks the door open.


A tall man stands on the front step, his fist coming towards her.


Bella swings the bat as hard as she can.


"OW!" The dark figure reels back, clutching his wrist. "Jeez, what was that?"


Remorse and concern rushes through Bella as she realizes the man hadn't been trying to hit her; she'd just interrupted him mid-knock. "Oh my gosh, are you all right?"


The man doesn't respond. Rain is coming out of the sky in sheets, driving sideways. She can make out a white t-shirt sticking wetly to his body. "Are you all right?" she asks again. "Did I hurt you?"


Lightning flashes through the sky, illuminating the yard and the porch and the man, and Bella realizes who it is.


The bat drops from her hands.


"Hi, Bella," Jake says stiffly.


Bella just stares.


She's looking at Jake. Not only is she looking at Jake, she's looking up at Jake. She's looking up a long way.


Jacob Black is on her front step and he is taller than her.


Her brain can't process it.


"Can I come in? It's kind of raining out here."


Jacob's voice -- a deeper voice that she barely recognizes -- shocks Bella into moving. "Oh, right, yeah, sure, of course..." She stumbles backward, almost tripping over the baseball bat, and watches as Jake squelches onto the mat and takes off his shoes. Even when he bends over he looks tall.


Jacob Black just walked into her house.


There has to be some place to hide.


The ringing of the phone makes her nearly jump out of skin. "Who is that?" she shouts, glaring toward the kitchen, prepared to take out her adrenaline on inanimate objects if necessary.


"It's Rachel," Jake says. The shadows make it impossible to read his face. "She called the house and told me to come here and make you answer. Said it was an emergency."


"An emergency?" Bella repeats blankly. Rachel and Rebecca are in Hawaii, enjoying a post-graduation week in the sun. They saved for it for years. "What kind of emergency?"


"She wouldn't say. Are you going to pick up or not?"


Bella turns and runs to the kitchen as fast as she can manage in the darkness, less to answer the call and more to get away from the acid in Jacob's voice. She manages to grab the receiver on the sixth ring. "Hello?"


"Bella? Shit. Thank God. I didn't think that dork would actually go over there."


"He-- he did." Bella pulls a chair out from under the table and sinks into it, her mind and heart racing. "What happened? What's the emergency?"


"Rebecca says she's getting married."


"She's what?" As Jacob comes into the kitchen he's nearly garrotted by the phone cord; Bella waves to him and points at the top drawer of the cupboard, where the candles are. He nods. "To who?"


"His name's Solomon." Rachel's words drip with disgust. "He's a surfer. We're supposed to fly back tomorrow afternoon but Beck's going to the courthouse in the morning. Bella, you've got to talk her out of it."


"Me? Why me? If she won't listen to you--"


"--then she'll listen to you. You always solve this stuff. If you tell her it's stupid she won't do it."


"I don't-- maybe you should call your dad--"


"Are you kidding? He'll freak out and make everything worse." Rachel's voice cracks; she sounds exhausted. "Please, Bella, you have to help. She says she's going to stay here. She doesn't even want to come home."


A flickering light adds the softest illumination to the room; Jacob sets the first candle down on the counter.


"Okay," Bella says hesitantly. "I'll... do what I can, I guess. Is she there?"


"She's out on the balcony being all lovelorn. It's disgusting. Let me grab her."


"What's going on?" Jake says, his back to the table as he searches for more candles.


Bella shakes her head in disbelief. "Rachel says Rebecca's getting married."


"What?"


"I don't know, I'm just--"


"Bella!" Rebecca's voice couldn't be more different from her twin's; she sounds over the moon. "Bella, just wait until you meet him. He's fantastic."


"I... I guess he must be pretty amazing, yeah," Bella says cautiously. "I mean, if you love him after a week."


Jacob lights another candle, and Bella can see him mouth the words, Where's Charlie?


At work, she mouths back.


"He is amazing. I know Rach is upset and everything, but she doesn't get it. She's never been in love."


"Well, yeah, but--"


"It's not like I'm dying or anything, I'm just moving away. And there's lots of surfing in California, too. In a few years, maybe we could--"


"A few years? What about school?" (After over a year of arguing -- with Bella running negotiations -- Rachel and Rebecca had compromised on Antioch.) "What about the salon?"


"Plans change. This is... different." There's a rustling, and Bella suspects Rebecca is moving to the far side of the room. The next words are a whisper. "Look... Solomon loves me. Bella, he loves just me. I mean, it's not like he doesn't like Rachel, I think they'd really get along if she just gave him a chance, but I'm not Rach'an'Beck to him, you know? I'm just Rebecca. It's wonderful. And the sex! Wow, I can't even--"


"Uh, right." Thunder claps overhead and Bella flinches involuntarily. "Okay, I guess I understand all that. But what about Jake?"


"Oh, the dork will be fine."


"And your dad?"


"He's got Jake. And they'll both have Rach. Trust me, no one will even notice I'm gone."


"That's not true." Bella digs her thumbnail into the pad of her index finger; the little sting distracts her enough to keep the tears at bay. "And what about me? I... I thought you were going to come visit some weekends."


"I'm sorry about that." Rebecca really does sound apologetic. "But, Bella... you don't know how good this feels. This is right, I know it. I love Solomon. I want to marry him. I want to be his wife."


More and more light fills the room as Jacob finds more and more candles. The flames are swimming in Bella's vision -- she is going to cry, she knows it, she can't fix this--


--and then she has an idea.


"Okay," she says. "Do it. Get married." Jacob makes a choked noise; Bella avoids his eyes. "Get married tomorrow morning. Fly home tomorrow afternoon."


"Six hours isn't much of a marriage, Bella."


"Sure it is. Husbands and wives live in two different places all the time." Bella stands up and starts to walk in a circle around the table. "You can go to school and work on getting a transfer to some college out there, or he can work on finding a job here. I mean, there's lots of surfing in Seattle, too."


"I don't think so. I'd miss him so much--"


"Yeah, of course you would," she says quickly, cutting Rebecca off. "And it would be really hard, but you'd call each other every day and send email and get webcams and stuff. It's not like fifty years ago when people could only write letters to one another. And remember, you'd be married. You'd be his wife and he'd be your husband and that's stronger than distance."


Jacob shoots her a disbelieving look; Bella shrugs helplessly in response.


"That's true, I guess..."


"And then," Bella adds, "when he moves out here, or before you move there, you can have a big second ceremony and everyone can come. You know they'll all want to. And just think of the awful colors you could choose for Jake's cummerbund. Orange, maybe."


Rebecca starts to laugh. "No, chartreuse. It'd completely wash him out. God, Jacob in a tux..."


"He'd look ridiculous. You wouldn't deprive La Push of seeing that, would you?"


"Maybe not." A long sigh, and Bella's heart starts to lift. "I'll think about it."


"That's good. Thinking about it's a good idea. And it's not like you have to decide anything right this minute; you've got a whole night and morning before your flight."


"I suppose. Okay, look, I've got to go. I'm supposed to meet Solomon on the beach in a few minutes. Thanks, Bella."


"No problem. Have fun."


At the click, Bella hangs up the phone and hits her forehead gently against the wall, closing her eyes.


"You told Rebecca to get married?" Jacob's tone is disbelieving.


"It was going to happen no matter what." She wonders vaguely what time it is, and if this is all just a weird dream, because Rebecca eloping in Hawaii is ridiculous and Jacob striking matches in her kitchen is even more so. "Maybe this way she'll come back."


"And you convinced her to do that by saying I'd look stupid at the wedding?"


Bella pauses, then turns slowly.


Jacob is so different. He's not as much of a man as he looked when she opened the front door; the candlelight shows her the softness still in his face, the awkwardness in his movements. He's pushing six feet but he hasn't gotten used to it yet. He's skinny the way boys are after a growth spurt, but under his wet shirt she can see the wiry muscles that will thicken as he gets older. His hair is long and dripping on the floor. His expression is full of a hard wariness.


"You'd look great in a tux, Jake," Bella says softly.


He swallows... and then he's striding for the door. "I gotta go," he says, and Bella's not sure she can get used to this new, husky voice. "I gotta get home."


A wrenching sensation rips through her chest. "No. Wait. You can't leave." She glances out the window as she follows and adds, "It's still storming."


Jacob is already putting his shoes back on. "I'll be all right. I got here fine."


"Do you even have a license?"


"Nope, so I better be gone before Charlie comes home."


"Yeah, but..." Bella tries to come up with something to say other than flatly begging him not to go -- at least not before she's had a chance to look at him and talk to him and touch him and it's Jake -- but she can't think of what would work. And he clearly wants to get away. "Sorry I hit you with a bat," she says instead.


"It didn't hurt too much." He opens the front door; the rain is still coming down in sheets. "Thanks for, you know, stuff," he mumbles quickly. He doesn't meet her eyes.


It's been five years since Bella Swan last saw Jacob Black, and in that moment she is overpowered by fear that another five years will pass before she sees him again. She slams her body into his and throws her arms around his neck and tries to pretend for a moment that things never changed, that the two of them do this every day and it's no big deal.


For a long moment there's no response -- then Jacob's embrace is crushing her ribs, just the way it used to. He's just bigger and stronger now. She feels his breath on her hair and his chest under her cheek and his fingers digging into her back.


Maybe he doesn't hate her after all. At least not all the way.


Bella's not sure how long they stand there, clinging to one another, but eventually the warm arms around her pull free. She can't remember Jacob ever being the first one to end a hug. "I gotta go. Dad's gonna flip if he realizes I'm gone."


"I guess." Bella looks up to see Jacob searching her face. She can't read his expression anymore -- they're too far away from the candles -- but she can feel his gaze anyway. It's hot and unfamiliar.


That's not a part of the Jake she remembers, either.


"Bye, Bells," he whispers. And he runs out to the truck, through the storm.


Bella sleeps in pajamas still damp from his t-shirt.

Chapter Text

The Ulterior Motives of the Card Cataloging System (Mrs. Hughes)


"I don't know what to do."


Mrs. Hughes looks up from her computer. "Pardon?"


Bella is hunched over a long table, flipping through the pamphlets with a hopeless look on her face. "Look at all of these. Why did they start sending them so early?"


"You scored well on your PSATs." Bella has come to the elementary school library at least once a week since she graduated from fifth grade, usually to do her homework quietly in the corner, sometimes to ask for a book recommendation or a bit of academic advice. Today she is surrounded by shiny brochures advertising every college and university within a thousand miles. "They're hoping to snap you up as soon as possible."


The girl is near tears, the way she always is when she's overwhelmed. "But how am I supposed to choose?"


"Carefully and with research," Mrs. Hughes says. "You have a long while to do so."


Her expression doesn't clear. "There's so many..."


Mrs. Hughes logs out of the computer and pulls a yellow legal pad out of her desk drawer. (She uses computers because she is forced to by the school board, but everything worth doing is done with paper and pencil.) She draws a few quick lines down a page, then walks to the table and sets the pad down in front of Bella. "Make a list of what traits you value most, then create a point system to categorize those traits in level of importance. Rank each college by said traits and then cross-reference."


Bella's eyes are wide, and she lets out a tiny sob.


Mrs. Hughes sighs and shakes her head as she pulls out a chair. She picks up a pen and puts it in Bella's pale hand. "Bella, what do you want in a school? One line at a time."


The first word is automatic: Academics.


"Obviously. Next?"


Inexpensive.


"Of course. Next?"


A long moment of hesitation, then: Nearby. She glances over like she's expecting a rebuke, but Mrs. Hughes just nods. "Good. Next?"


Bella chews on her lower lip for a minute, then finally shakes her head. "I don't know. I don't know what else."


"That's all right. This is a good start." Mrs. Hughes sweeps the brochures into a neat pile, then taps them with her index finger. "Your requirements will weed out well over half of these. More, depending on your definition of 'nearby'."


"I..." Bella flushes red and looks down. "Three hours away, maybe. I think I could do that."


"And not Seattle, I assume."


"No. Too big."


"Well, then, you're down to a half-dozen options. Evergreen or Puget Sound, most likely. Take tours and see which appeals most." Mrs. Hughes smiles, which she rarely does because smiles should be for special occasions or they lose their meaning. "There. Now put these away for a year and worry about your chemistry homework instead."


"I know. I know I should." Bella is still studying the tabletop. "It's just... I'm a junior. I have to get ready. I don't even know what I want to be yet."


Mrs. Hughes narrows her eyes. "Isabella Swan, no one knows what they want to be, so put that nonsense out of your head at once. If you're speaking of a career, however, you're going to be the librarian when I retire."


That makes Bella look up. "What?"


"You'll be the librarian here," Mrs. Hughes repeats flatly. "Please be efficient and become licensed in five years instead of six. I have my eye on a condo in San Jose."


The girl is clearly flummoxed. "But... what makes you so sure?"


"When I tell the board to hire you, they will. I frighten them."


"No, I mean, what makes you so sure I'll do it?"


"You'll do it," Mrs. Hughes says, "because you'll be superb. And you'll do it because you don't want to leave."


The blush covers Bella's cheeks again. "You're right," she mumbles. "I don't."


Mrs. Hughes raises an eyebrow. "Does that embarrass you?"


"No-- I mean, not really... a little." She shrugs helplessly. "All my friends, all they talk about is how excited they are to be getting out of Forks. They want to go to Los Angeles and Chicago and New York..."


"Bella, do you want to stay in Forks because you're scared of the world, or do you want to stay in Forks because you like it here?"


When she responds a whole minute later, Bella's voice is barely above a whisper. "I like it here. I love it here. It's me. I don't want to live anywhere else."


"All right, then." Mrs. Hughes takes the stack of pamphlets and puts it in Bella's backpack. "You were fortunate enough to be born in the place you were meant to be. Appreciate your luck instead of being ashamed of it."


Bella is looking around at the bookshelves with new eyes. "Is this why you taught me the catologuing system?" she asks suddenly.


"Did you think I did it for my health?" Mrs. Hughes has had many favorite students in her thirty-four years of teaching: older, younger; boys, girls; extroverted, introverted; logical, intuitive. Isabella Swan is the only one to whom she'd give her library.


"For the record," she adds, "if you do not spend at least one semester abroad I will deem you underqualified for the position. See which exchange programs are available at each college before you choose."


The smile that creeps across Bella's face is the most optimistic one Mrs. Hughes has ever seen.



***



Business Versus Psychology (Rachel)


College is great in lots of ways. The introduction to management classes are fascinating. Getting to grocery shop without considering sugar content of is fantastic. Spending all night in downtown Seattle without a curfew is spectacular.


The only problem is that Rachel is going to kill her twin.


"What do you think of lapis?" the new Mrs. Finar says. "You'd look good in lapis."


"It won't work for Bella," Rachel replies. She's read the same paragraph of Things Fall Apart for the last twenty minutes and hasn't absorbed a word.


"Hmm. Maybe eggplant. Do you think Leah will wear strapless? Probably not, I'm guessing."


"Leah agreed?" Last Rachel heard, Leah had said she'd eat dirt before she wore a bridesmaid's dress. Rachel likes Leah a lot these days.


"No, but she will. How do you feel about empire waists?"


Rachel looks up, hoping Rebecca can feel her glare right through the mattress. "Don't you have reading to do or something?"


"Finished already." There is clicking from Rebecca's laptop. "Jesus. Why does anyone buy a real bridal gown? Half this stuff is basically the same, it's just six hundred dollars cheaper. I think I'm going with the satin one I showed you. The one with the pick-up."


"In white?"


"No, in champagne. White would be kind of weird. I mean, I'm already married."


"Right," Rachel snaps. "Don't know how I forgot." There's no way to get away from this crap; their studio apartment is only four hundred square feet.


Rebecca's head appears over the side of the top bunk. Her hair falls towards the floor in a curtain. "Are you all right?"


"Peachy."


"Okay." And Rebecca disappears again.


Rachel really, truly, honestly hadn't expected this. Okay, so Rebecca and Solomon did the whole courthouse thing three hours before the flight home from Honolulu. Big deal. At least her husband had stayed in Hawaii where he belonged. Rachel had even talked to her father in the baggage claim while Jacob distracted Rebecca by asking about surfing careers; she'd warned Dad that he needed to keep his mouth shut, because otherwise Beck would dig in her heels. She'll forget all about him in a month or so, Rachel had said. It'll be annulled by the end of the summer.


It wasn't.


Against all odds, Solomon found a job in Seattle as a diving instructor. (Rachel didn't even know there was diving in Seattle.) He'd be arriving in December. The wedding (It's a marriage blessing, Rebecca had emphasized many times, we're already wed) was January fifteenth. Three months away.


"I think empire waist really is the best. I mean, you're a 36D and Bella can't be more than a 32B. Empire waists are good for all boobs."


"It'll be huge in the middle."


"So we'll take it in. No biggie."


"Fine. Whatever."


"'Whatever'? Seriously, are you on the rag or something? You're supposed to be my maid of honor, here."


"I'm fine, Beck."


"You don't sound fine."


"Well, I am. I just don't give a shit about empire waists, all right?"


A long pause, then a hurt, "Okay."


Rachel grits her teeth and tries to make it through chapter eight. It's still not absorbing.


There's only ten minutes of quiet before Rebecca starts up again. "I think votives as centerpieces would look nice. On mirrors."


"And how are you going to afford all this stuff?" Rachel bursts out.


"Sol's mom is helping out. It'll be enough."


Rachel snorts. Mrs. Finar -- not the one on the top bunk -- is Samoan but lives in Portland and apparently couldn't be happier than her son would be three hours away. Never mind that he married a girl he'd only known for a week.


"And you and I can do all this ourselves. It won't be expensive. I mean, we can get votives on sale at a craft store or something and put them together--"


"Oh, that sounds like so much fun."


The bed frame shakes as Rebecca kicks it. "Okay, you need to tell me what the damn problem is. Are you jealous? You don't want Sol, but it's not like you're never going to find--"


"I am not jealous," Rachel snaps. (There's obviously no issue over Solomon, and she's not worried about spending her life alone or crap like that. That's another great thing about Seattle: the dating options are spectacular. Cindy from Poli Sci's asked her out twice and they're going to a club on Friday.) "I just think you're losing your focus with all this wedding stuff."


"Excuse me? My grades are better than yours."


"Because you're taking easier classes."


"I'm taking the classes I'm supposed to take."


"Good for you. I need to study, thanks. I still care about opening a salon."


"And since when do I not care about that?"


"Since you started obsessing over empire waists."


"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize being married meant I couldn't have a career."


"Whatever. Like you're going to care about running a business once you start popping out kids--"


"Who said anything about kids?"


"--and have to get dinner on the table by six--"


"Jesus, Rachel, I'm not Mom!"


For a moment it's like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. Rachel literally can't breathe. Her lungs burn.


When Rebecca speaks again her voice is hoarse. "Rach, being a wife doesn't mean I have to be a homemaker. Mom wanted all that stuff."


Rachel swallows and turns a page in her book. "Well, it didn't make her very happy, did it?"


"After Jake? Oh, come on, that was textbook post-partum depression. You know that."


Rachel is silent.


"...Rach? You did know that, right?"


Still silent.


A long sigh from the top bunk. "Thank God I'm the psych major." The frame shakes again, and Rebecca climbs down and settles at the end of the mattress, her feet poking Rachel's armpit. She sets the computer on her lap and goes back to scrolling through pages.


"Black," Rachel says.


"Excuse me?"


"The bridesmaid dresses. Make them black. Elegant contrast with the champagne. If you add color at a winter wedding it'll look like a Christmas party."


"Winter marriage blessing." Rebecca clicks the keyboard a couple of times. "You know, I think that could work."


"Of course it will."


"Of course."



***



Reconciliation (Bella)


The shelves of ribbon are seven feet high and twenty feet long. Satin, lace, skinny, thick, wire-lined, non-wire-lined. Every color imaginable.


But not one of them are labeled Champagne.


Bella glances to the side and is relieved to see an identical look of panic on Jacob's face. "Let's look for the votives first," she suggests.


Jacob nods vigorously. "Yeah."


Bella had gotten Rebecca's wedding shopping list in October; it took until November for her to ask Jake if he wanted to help. When she finally had found the nerve to call (and not hang up mid-dial) she'd asked Mr. Black to let her speak to Jacob... only to realize the husky voice on the other end of the line was Jacob. She'd almost fainted from humiliation. Her stumbling suggestion that they go to the craft store in Port Angeles together was nearly incomprehensible, but after a long pause Jacob had said he'd bike to her house on Saturday. And he did.


Things aren't even that bad. They're hesitant, uncertain, but they haven't lost their natural rhythm. They are Jake and Bells still.


"Hey, Bella?"


"Yeah?" Bella says, trying to pick her way around the racks of holiday decorations.


"What is a votive?"


"It's a tiny candle."


"A tiny candle."


"Yep."


"And Beck wants how many?"


"Two hundred."


"Can't we just get twenty real-sized candles and be done with it?"


Bella looks over her shoulder and sees Jacob smirking at her. She smiles back... and promptly trips over a display of Christmas ornaments, sending herself and two dozen red boxes falling to the floor.


Any shoppers that didn't notice the crash turn to look when Jacob starts howling with laughter.


"Thanks," Bella mutters, her cheeks turning fiery hot. She rolls onto her back and covers her face with her palms; she can feel her hair sticking to the boot sludge on the grubby linoleum. "That's helpful."


"Sorry," Jake says, not sounding sorry at all, and she listens to the sound of boxes being stacked. After a minute he says, "Are you going to hide behind your hands for the rest of the day?"


"Maybe." Embarrassed tears are pricking at her eyes. She tries to keep her voice steady. "I'll just stay here, if you don't mind."


"I don't think that will work." Then there are warm fingers pulling on her forearms. "C'mon out, Bells." Jacob's grin is wide and familiar, but it slips as he takes in the look on her face. "Oh, jeez. You okay?"


She sits up, wiping her eyes on her wrist. "I'm fine, it's no big deal. Can't help it." She laughs wetly. "I'm a crier, that's all."


"Yeah," Jacob says, "I remember. I'm sorry." And this time he sounds it. He helps her to her feet, then steps away awkwardly. "Let's go find some of those teeny candles or whatever."


In the decorations isle they puzzle over square votives versus round and white tealights versus ivory. And Bella sneaks glances at Jacob the entire time, trying to reconcile the boy she remembers with the boy standing next to her now.


He's still growing; in the five months since she last saw him (she'd gone to Phoenix for the summer and then there was school and then she couldn't figure out how to call him, she just couldn't, and anyway he didn't call her) he's definitely gone past six feet. Billy Black has got to be six-three or six-four; his son will probably be the same. It's disconcerting for Bella to think of. She already feels miniscule next to him.


Jacob Black is bigger than her. It's just... she can't adjust. He's younger. She's supposed to be bigger, and now she's not, and it messes everything up in her head. This isn't Jake.


But then he picks up a candle off the shelf and turns it over in his fingers, examining it with his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed and it is Jake. "Beck wants a bunch per centerpiece, right?"


Bella blinks a few times as she tries to bring herself back to the present. "That's what she said when she called. How many tables are there going to be?"


"Dunno. The rec center's not that big, though." Jacob shrugs and sets the candle back with the others. "She oughta just have it on the beach. There's plenty of room there."


"In January?" Bella says, raising an eyebrow. "It'll be cold."


"Bracing, you mean."


"For you, maybe. You'll be wearing a jacket; I'll be in spaghetti straps." She makes a motion across her collarbone, indicating where the skin will be exposed. "Cold."


Jacob's eyes follow her gesture, and further down to areas that certainly won't be exposed in the bridemaid's dress. Then he looks back at the shelf quickly, his brown skin tinting crimson.


Bella swallows.


He isn't just taller. Jacob is... kind of... different. Different in the way that makes her want to check and see how her hair looks. (Right now it's full of boot sludge. She tries not to think about that.) He's fourteen (Almost fifteen, her brain reminds her) and he certainly doesn't look as old as Mike or Tyler or Eric, but it's not like seventeen year old boys and fifteen year old girls don't--


--and it is ridiculous because this is Jake. The Jake who might thank goodness somehow not hate her after all and she's lucky enough to even have that much. It's Jake.


And it's not Jake.


"So," he says after a moment, tucking his hair behind his ears (it reaches past his shoulder blades like a black waterfall, he can't have cut it since they were kids), "teeny candles, but we don't know what shape. Ribbon, but we can't find the right color. What else are we supposed to get?"


Bella glances down at the list. "Tulle."


"Tulle?"


"Tulle."


"Tulle is not a real word. You're making that up."


"It is! Come look." Bella grabs Jacob's hand, pulls him three isles over, and points. "There. Tulle."


Jake tilts his head to the side. "You mean the mosquito netting?"


"It's not mosquito netting. It's tulle."


"You keep saying that, and I still don't believe you."


"Look at the label. Tulle."


"Okay, fine. But what's it for?"


"Decorations, I think. Making bows and stuff."


"And keeping out mosquitoes."


"There aren't mosquitoes in January."


"So why do we need tulle?"


Bella sticks out her tongue at Jacob, and lightning-quick he taps her under the chin, making her pull her tongue back automatically. "You're lost all your manners," he teases.


"You haven't gained any," she retorts.


"True. So what kind of tulle are we supposed to get?"


Bella consults the list again. "Champagne."


They look helplessly at the shelves.


After three hours of shopping they are headed back to Forks with only a package of tinsel for their trouble (and that's for Charlie). "Rebecca can order this stuff online," Bella says to Jacob for the fifth or sixth time, gripping the steering wheel tightly as she reassures herself. "She'll probably even find it for cheaper. It'll be okay."


"Yep." Jacob obviously isn't paying much attention; he's peering at the dashboard instead. "How's the transmission holding up?"


"Just fine." Charlie had bought the truck from Billy at the end of the summer; Seattle was no place for a Chevy pickup, and Bella had been quietly envying it for years. "Some hitches when it's cold, but nothing major."


Jake nods. She sees him looking at her out of the corner of her eye, and his next words are a curious mix of pride and shyness. "I rebuilt it, you know. The engine."


"Really?" Bella doesn't take her focus off the road -- she's a nervous driver -- but she spares a quarter-second to glance sideways. "You did?"


"Uh-huh. The whole thing. I'm pretty good with cars now."


"Wow." She strokes a hand over the wheel with new appreciation. Jacob made this. "That's really impressive, Jake."


"Thanks." More of that bashful pride. "But I can do better. Just wait until I've got the Rabbit up and running."


"What's a Rabbit?"


That explanation lasts the rest of the ride home.


By the time she pulls into her driveway Bella is trying to come up with excuses for Jacob to stay. Just for a little while longer. "Are you hungry? I've got stuff for sandwiches."


"Nah. I've gotta get home and make sure Dad eats the broccoli in the freezer instead of leftover mashed potatoes."


"Oh. Right." Bella fidgets next to the truck and watches as Jake unlocks his bike from around the tree. "Can I send something with you? I can make cookies. It wouldn't take long."


Jacob pauses for a moment at that, but then his hands resume winding the cable through the handle bars. "That's okay," he says, and his voice is strange. "Some other time."


Bella is starting to feel panicky. She just wants a few more minutes, just a few more... "Do you--" She bites her lip and screws up her courage. "Do you want a ride back to La Push? We can put your bike in the flat bed."


She can see his shoulders shake as he draws a long breath. "No, I'd rather... I'm just gonna clear my head for awhile, you know. But thanks."


He doesn't want her on the reservation. Not even to take him home. Not even to spare him a fifteen mile bike ride.


"I'm sorry," she bursts out, and her words are ragged. "I'm sorry I didn't come to the funeral."


Jacob looks up.


"I tried," she continues. "I mean, I didn't but I did. I meant to come, I just... I couldn't."


She'd had on her black clothes and everything. But before they left her father had asked if she wanted something to drink first, since she'd probably dehydrate herself crying. She'd nodded and he'd brought her a glass of milk and then Bella was in bed under the covers with her arms wrapped around her middle and she couldn't face it, she couldn't go, she wanted her mother and it hurt too much...


She's always known she should have gone anyway.


"I'm sorry I wasn't there," Bella repeats. She is studying the grass and putting as much effort into not crying as she ever has in her life. "I should have been there for you. For all of you. I know you needed me and I... I'm sorry, Jake."


There is a long moment of silence, and then a hard, cold, thoroughly foreign voice-- "So what?"


Bella meets Jacob's eyes. His face is red, and she can feel all the color draining out of hers. "Huh?"


"That's what you're apologizing for? You think I care that you weren't at the funeral? That you weren't there for that half hour?"


"I-- I don't--"


"I don't care!" Jacob shouts. He is advancing on her, and she shrinks back against the truck. "Where were you the next day, Bella? Or the next week? Or the next year?!"


It feels like someone's ripping things out of her chest. "I wasn't--"


"You're telling me you didn't come back all this time because you were embarrassed that you screwed up? You couldn't get over that for us? For me?"


Any effort that Bella had put towards not crying is overwhelmed; the tears are running down her cheeks so fast they're leaving wet spots on the driveway. "I thought you hated me," she whispers.


"Yeah, right."


"Leah does." The memory of the phone call that she can't ever stop hearing makes her throat close. "She told me, and I... I was sure you did too, that you didn't want me to come back..."


Jacob's next words are through gritted teeth. "Leah doesn't speak for me. She never did. Not even when we were kids."


"I--"


"If you thought I didn't want you then you never knew me at all."


"Jake..." She tries to speak, and he listens, but she can't form another word.


He turns and storms back to his bike with a snort of disgust. "I'm getting out of here. Thanks for the ride to Port Angeles. I'll tell Beck how we couldn't find anything."


"I'm sorry," Bella says again, choking out the words. "You're right. I screwed up."


"No fucking kidding."


"I'm not perfect, Jake."


If Bella could look up she'd see Jacob swiping angrily at his face. "Yeah, well... I thought you were."


And that is the point at which Bella stops breathing.


"I'll see you at the wedding," he says as he fits his feet into the pedals. "Or, you know, in five years. Whatever." Then he is gone.


Bella is still sobbing when her father comes home, and he makes her a cup of hot chocolate, because he has at least learned never to bring her milk.

Chapter Text

The Time Sue Clearwater Apologized For Trying To Kill Her Husband (Harry)


Harry doesn't hear the shouting until he opens the front door. This is a good thing. Five Alarm Fights are audible from the street.


"What the hell were you thinking, Leah Clearwater? You're seventeen, not seven! I can't believe I'm even having this conversation with you!"


Harry glances up the stairs; Sue is yelling at Leah's closed door. He goes to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of orange juice. "What happened?"


Seth doesn't look up from his math homework and shows no concern for the noise overhead. "Leah had a fight with Jacob at school and she punched him."


"That's a new one."


"Yep. But she didn't punch him 'til he called her a bitch."


"I see."


"Yeah. I'm glad." Seth taps out a few numbers on his calculator. "I think I was supposed to punch him if she didn't, since he called my sister a bitch and all. And I don't think I can reach that high up."


"Do you know why he did it?"


"'Cause she said stuff to Bella when Mrs. Black died and that's why Bella stayed away. Leah has anger displacement issues. Do you think Bella will come back now? I think she should."


Harry has to bite his lip to keep from smiling. "Anger displacement issues, huh?"


"Mom's got them too. And she got them from Grandma." Seth's tone is very matter-of-fact. "I haven't decided yet if it's nature or nurture. Will you pass me an apple?"


Harry shakes his head as he takes an apple from the counter and tosses it to his son. "Sometimes I wonder where you came from."


"Leah played outside too much."


"How long have they been going at it up there?"


"About ten minutes. She's probably out the window by now."


"Right." Harry sets the empty glass aside.


The maple in the back has turned fiery red in the cool autumn air; the leaves are rustling even though there's no breeze, and they stop moving as Harry walks across the yard. He leans casually against the trunk and starts picking dirt out from under his fingernails. "You have problems, Fuzzy Duck?"


A long moment of silence from inside the tree, broken by a reluctant: "Lots of problems."


"Which one's the biggest?"


No response.


Harry pulls a tiny splinter out of the palm of his hand. "You shouldn't have hit Jacob."


"He would've hit me if I wasn't a girl, and therefore according to the categorical imperative he willed the action to become universal law."


"I can't help but notice these philosophical treatises come in handy when you're trying to excuse your behavior."


"That's why philosophers write them in the first place."


"I suppose that's true."


There's another rustle overhead; Harry doesn't look up. "I did a bad thing, Dad."


"Is that so."


"Uh-huh."


"And what are you going to do about it?"


"There's nothing to do."


"No?"


"It doesn't matter anymore. It's not like it'll make a difference. Once you mess up it doesn't get undone." A thunk like someone kicking a branch. "It was too long ago anyway."


Harry finishes with the nail of his left pinky and starts work on his right thumb. "Leah, did I ever tell you how your mother and I met?"


A long groan from twelve feet up.


"I was three," Harry continues without pausing. "Billy and I were at the playground, and the prettiest girl I'd ever seen slid down the slide. She was wearing overalls and a pink tank top--"


"--and you knew that she was the one," says a bored voice.


"I walked up to her and said, 'My name is Harry Clearwater and I'm going to marry you.'"


"And she pushed you over in the sand."


"Right on my face. Everything I ate was gritty for two days. Have I told you this before?"


"Only six or seven thousand times."


"What about the time she threw a rock at me after I made her a valentine?"


"That too."


"And when she almost drowned me in the river when we were twelve?"


"Yes, Dad."


"Well," Harry says calmly, "did I ever tell you about how she said she was sorry?"


"Look, I-- wait, what? Really?"


"Really. She said she was sorry she pushed me over and threw a rock at me and that she's glad I can hold my breath for as long as I can because it would have sucked if I'd drowned. I'm quoting directly."


"...how come you didn't tell me that part?"


Harry smiles. "Because she said it last month. After three glasses of wine, of course, but it was still nice to hear."


A long, exasperated sigh. "Dad, is there a point to this?"


"No, not really." His fingernails are clean. "It's just that there's no statute of limitations on apologies, Fuzzy Duck. That's all."


Silence.


"Anyway," Harry says, "you need to climb back up before your mother realizes she's been yelling at an empty room for fifteen minutes. Open your door and apologize to her, then spend the rest of the evening thinking about what you're going to do next."


The leaves of the maple shiver for a moment, then still. "Dad?"


"Yeah?"


"Why Mom?"


He looks up. "Excuse me?"


Leah is clinging to a branch high overhead and her brow is furrowed. "You're a Clearwater. You could have married any girl in La Push unless Billy or Quil Senior wanted her first. Mom tried to kill you and then didn't apologize for it for twenty-five years, so why her?"


Harry just shrugs. "She was the one." When he sees his daughter scratching at the bark he adds gently, "All the smart boys like a little bitchiness, Leah. Otherwise life gets boring."


She shrugs too, and the shrug is the same as his.



***



Borrowing (Embry)


If Embry pounds any harder on the garage window he's either going to break the glass or knock himself off the milk crate. "Jake! Dude!"


Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.


"You said you'd loan me your saw!" (The last storm knocked a tree over in the yard and some of the branches too big to move even with Mom helping.) "Open up, you emo douche!"


"Can I help you?" a voice says.


Embry does fall off the milk crate at that, but Mr. Black catches his arm before he hits the ground. "Sorry," Embry says, embarrassed. "I, uh, kinda need the power saw."


Mr. Black glances in the window, which is caked with grime; he doesn't need to stand on anything to see. "This is getting ridiculous," he grumbles before rapping on the side of the building. "Jacob!"


Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.


"At least we know he's in there," Embry deadpans.


Mr. Black tries the door; it's locked. "I suppose he's got the spare key with him."


"Yep."


"This is coming out of his allowance." Mr. Black wedges the head of his cane behind the doorknob and gives a hard pull; the muscles in his shoulders stand out, the frame cracks, and the door swings open.


"Wow," Embry says.


Mr. Black smiles.


The garage isn't meant to be closed up and the air inside is musty. A long frame is stretched out in the old hammock, tossing a tennis ball against the ceiling repetitively; there are headphones over his ears and he doesn't acknowledge their presence.


When it comes to Bella Swan, no one can mope like Jacob Black.


Embry picks up an empty soda can and throws it at Jake, bouncing it off his forehead. "Dude, if that's Evanescence in the Walkman I'm revoking your guy card."


Jacob opens his eyes and scowls as he sits up, though he quails slightly at the look on his father's face. "It's Dio."


"Whatever. Where's the saw?"


"Oh, right. Sorry. It's over there." The bruise on Jake's cheek is fading; yesterday it looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to his face. Leah's strong.


Embry digs out the saw from under a tarp and Jacob flops back on the hammock, and both boys flinch when Mr. Black booms, "Out of the garage, son."


"I'm fine in here, thanks," Jacob mutters. (Embry remembers when they were nine and Jake slept in the garage for almost three months after his mom died. Even though Jake was obviously sad Embry had still been jealous; his bedroom didn't have paint cans or a mini-fridge.)


"I didn't ask your opinion."


"But--"


"Now, Jacob. There's a lot of work to do and it's not going to wait because you're in a funk."


(Even before the epic fight with Leah Jacob had spent two days sitting in the cafeteria pushing cookies from his lunch bag around the table, and when Quil had asked what was up he'd just mumbled something about Charlie Swan being a lousy cook. Embry is pretty sure that unless the Seahawks make the Superbowl Jake won't stop being in a funk any time soon.)


Jake scowls again and throws the tennis ball against the ceiling with renewed force. "I'll be in soon," he says.


Mr. Black's face turns red, and Embry decides it's time to make a getaway. "I'll see you in school," he says quickly, hoisting the power saw. "Thanks for the loan."


The frost is starting to settle in early now; the grass in the yard crunches under Embry's feet. Before he makes it to the road, though, he hears Mr. Black calling his name. "Yeah?"


Mr. Black catches up quickly for someone with a cane, and he's got nylon rope in his hand. Behind him, Jacob is walking back into the house. "Take this too. Just in case you need it. I know that storm took out your oak."


"Oh. Thanks."


"Have you--" Mr. Black pauses, a strange look on his face, then starts again, "--are you able to do this on your own? The tree moving, I mean?"


Embry frowns. "Mom'll help."


"I know. I mean, I'm sure she will. But... I suppose it's hard, being the man of the house?"


"Nah." Embry really doesn't think about it that much. Lots of kids on the reservation only have one parent. Besides, he's seen some of the jerk-offs Quil's mother has dated, so all things considered he's pretty happy that it's just him and Mom. "I do fine."


Mr. Black nods slowly. "Well... if you ever need help, with trees or... questions, or anything else... you can always come to me. I'll be here."


"Okay. Thanks, Mr. Black."


"You can call me Billy."


Embry nods. He shifts the weight of the saw as he takes the rope. "Thanks, Billy."


"Sure, sure."



***



Two Girls


One girl parks a truck in the driveway. The other girl sits on the front steps of the house.


The girl from the truck approached the house hesitantly. "What... what are you doing here?"


"I didn't think you'd really stay away," says the girl on the steps. "I missed you. We all did. I'm sorry."


There is a long moment. The girl on the steps picks at her fingernails.


Then the girl from the truck says, "Do you want to come in and have some lemonade?"

Chapter Text

Before (Charlie)


Charlie doesn't like neckties. But it's Rebecca's wedding day, so he'll wear one.


He smooths down his trousers (he's not going to put on his jacket yet, he's got to be there three hours early to help set up and the last thing he needs is to rip or stain his only suit), makes sure his hair isn't standing up too egregiously, and calls, "Ready, Bella?"


There's no answer.


He frowns, then crosses the hall from his bedroom to hers. He knocks on her closed door. "Bella?"


Nothing.


Seventeen years of raising a girl has taught Charlie to be very, very careful about simply barging in to a room without invitation. There's always a danger of seeing something he's not meant to see and those moments are scarring. So he just barely cracks the door open and peers around the corner, prepared to beat a hasty retreat if necessary.


It's okay. Bella is fully clothed in her black dress, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hair up and her head down. She doesn't move as he enters. "Hey, Dad."


"We've gotta get going, kiddo." She's got that Something Wrong look written all over her, and normally he'd try to figure it out, but there's not time. "You've got all that bridesmaid stuff to do and if I don't put those chairs in place Sue'll have my hide."


She shakes her head. Just barely. "I... I don't think..."


He looks down at Bella's hands; she's twisting something between her fingers. A little metal spring. "What's that?"


"Daddy, I can't go," she says in a rush. Now she meets his eyes, and her pale skin is tinged blue from her shallow breaths which are rapidly degenerating into hyperventilation. "I can't go, I can't, I can't do it..."


There's a lot of things Charlie has done wrong as a father, and one of them was to not teach his child how to be brave when she's afraid. He wanted her to be happy and realized later than most that sometimes you have to push a kid through some pain to get them to where they need to be.


But Charlie Swan learns from his mistakes.


"Isabella," he says, "go get in the car. Now."


She shakes her head again, but he holds her gaze levelly.


Bella looks down. And she puts the spring away in her nightstand drawer. "Okay," she whispers.


Charlie pulls his handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to her. She dabs at the corners of her eyes, and when she returns it he's stunned to see the cotton hasn't turned black. "What on earth are you wearing?"


"No Run Mascara." She smiles -- a small one, but a smile nonetheless. "Rebecca says it's the really fancy stuff."


"Well, that was a good idea." Charlie watches as Bella slides on her heels and checks her hair in the mirror, and in an instant he's absurdly close to needing the handkerchief himself. She looks so grown-up it makes his chest hurt. He's positive she was in a bassinet ten minutes ago.


Bella takes a few very deep breaths, bites her bottom lip, and then nods nervously. "Okay. Let's... let's go."


Charlie resolves that if this is how he feels when she's a bridesmaid, then she is absolutely never allowed to be a bride.



***



During (Billy)


Billy doesn't like neckties. But it's Rebecca's wedding day, so he's wearing one.


The ceremony was nice. Old Quil said all the right things, mostly Quileute traditions but with a few of the Christian vows. (At love, honor, and obey Leah and Sue had snorted simultaneously.) Bella cried (so had Charlie), Rachel smiled several times, and neither Jacob nor the groom's little brothers (one sixteen, one twelve) fidgeted too much.


And Rebecca glowed. Which made it annoyingly hard to hate Solomon Finar.


In fact, by the time Solomon had kissed Billy's oldest daughter and grinned with the most blissfully enthralled look, Billy had given up on rooting for a quick divorce.


All things considered... maybe it'll turn out okay after all.


And now he's settled comfortably at a reception table, eating grapes from the centerpiece, keeping his weight off his feet, watching most of the younger population of La Push giggle and dance to what he personally considers to be appallingly bad music but they seem to enjoy.


Charlie picks at the bow on the back of his chair. "What's with the mosquito netting?"


"It's called tulle," Harry says, sipping a glass of champagne.


"What's tulle?"


"That's tulle."


"The mosquito netting?"


"Yes."


Charlie gives Billy a confused look. Billy shrugs. "Damned if I know."


Harry shakes his head, then goes back to watching the crowd. Billy notices how his friend's observant eyes keep turning to Leah. She's tied the hem of her skirt almost up to her waist, and she's dancing with Sam Uley, who's home from college for winter vacation. He whispers something in her ear and she bursts out laughing.


"What do you think of that?" Billy asks bluntly. (Harry's been suspiciously quiet on the subject of Leah's boyfriend, though Sue's been ranting for months about the long-distance charges on their phone bill.)


"Leah seems happy. And Seth thinks it's a good idea. He's got a pretty good feel for these things."


"Uh-huh."


"But if that boy hurts my daughter I'll bury his body in the forest," Harry says mildly.


Both Charlie and Billy turn to look at him at that. Harry just takes another sip of his champagne.


Some Seattle friend of the twins' is dancing with Rachel. Rachel's got her hand on the girl's butt. Billy decides not to mention it until someone tells him what he should say, because whatever he comes up with on his own is bound to go horribly wrong.


Bella was only talking to the girls until Quil Ateara brought her soda and she started to giggle. Jacob was joking with Jared Cameron until Quil brought Bella a soda. He and Charlie's girl haven't spoken to each other all evening.


These kids. Except they're not really kids anymore.


"I don't recall giving anyone permission to grow up," Billy grumbles.


"Just wait. In a few years you might be a grandpa."


"I swear to God, Clearwater, I will shove this cane so far up your ass it'll break your teeth."


"I live with Sue, Billy. I'm immune to threats."


"Hey, guys?" Charlie interrupts. He's looking nervously across the dance floor. "What's with Solomon's mother?"


Billy turns to look. Judy Finar -- early forties, divorced five years, stone-cold fox -- is giving Charlie the eye from the other side of the room. And she's not being shy about it.


"Charlie," says Billy, "I know it's been awhile, but you can't have forgotten what a look like that means."


"Huh?"


"Jesus, Chief Swan. When a man and a woman love each other very much--"


Charlie instantly turns bright red, and as usual, Harry is the one to take pity on him. "Just go on over there. You'll do fine. I talked to her earlier, she's nice."


"And hot," Billy adds.


"Well, yeah-- I mean, she is, but I don't-- I haven't--"


Harry reaches over and pats Charlie's back. "Do you want me to have Sue talk to her for you?"


"No. We're not in high school anymore--"


"Exactly," Billy says firmly. "So man up."


Charlie glances back across the room at Judy. She smiles openly and gives him a little finger wave. "I... okay." And then Charlie finishes his champagne in one gulp, straightens his tie, and walks off like he's heading to his execution.


Billy glances at Harry out of the corner of his eye. "I haven't had time to talk to her. She really is nice, right?"


"Oh, yeah. She'll treat him just fine."


"Good. No more bitches."


"What do you take me for?"


"I take you for the guy who just called me a grandpa."


A slightly slurred voice interrupts: "I swear, you two bicker so much sometimes I forget I'm the one married to you, baby." Sue wraps her arms around Harry from behind, then leans down over the chair to kiss the side of his neck.


"Enjoying the champagne?" Harry's having a hard time keeping the smirk off his face.


"Mm-hmm. C'mon, let's get out of here."


Billy shakes his head. "You know there's about two hours left of this party, right?"


"Yes." Sue shoots Billy an evil, slightly drunken look. "Not that it's any of your business, but there's a perfectly decent coat closet right out in the hallway--"


"Forget I asked."


Harry allows himself to be pulled out of his chair and gives Billy a What can you do shrug. "Duty calls."


"Sure, sure."


On the other side of the room, Judy laughs at something Charlie has said, and he blushes and smiles in response. Seth is effortlessly flirting with one of the Littlesea girls. The little candles on the tables are keeping things bright even though it's after ten o'clock.


Sarah would have loved this.


And then Rebecca's standing in front of him, holding out her hand. Her dress is pinned up and she's smiling as happily as he's ever seen her. "Ready?"


"You bet." It takes a creaky moment, but Billy stands up and leads Beck out to the floor, because, after all, that's why he's been staying off his feet all day. He is damn well going to dance with his daughter at her wedding.



***



After (Jacob)


Jacob doesn't like neckties. But it's Rebecca's wedding day, so he wore one.


But there's no rule saying he has to keep wearing the tie. Rach'an'Beck assured him repeatedly that he didn't look like an idiot, but Jacob's really not a tuxedo sort of person. At all. If he ever gets married, he's doing it on the beach in shorts. Even if it's the middle of winter. (Jacob doesn't get cold very easily.)


The clothes are uncomfortable but the party's fun. Lots of food, lots of music, and the mosquito netting wound up looking kinda pretty in a weird mosquito-netting kind of way. He and Leah aren't actively fighting anymore (he apologized for calling her a bitch, she apologized for punching him, and while they're both still kinda pissed they're leaving it at that). Neither of his sisters have given him a noogie, which somehow they're still able to do even though he's four inches taller.


But Bella's here.


Bella's here.


If his father wouldn't kick his butt into next Tuesday, Jacob would be drinking a lot of champagne right now. As it stands he's a little worried that his heart is going to pound out of his chest.


He'd told himself right up until the ceremony began that Bella wouldn't show. Then when she did he reminded himself that she came for Rach'an'Beck. She wouldn't have come for him. (In the back of his mind he knows he's being unfair. But he spent the spring of his ninth year jumping up whenever he heard a car pass by the house only to be disappointed every time. Eventually you learn to stop hoping.)


She didn't come over to him when the reception started. He was generally feeling content to just watch her out of the corner of his eye while having a good time, and that was going fine until Quil brought her a soda and started saying stuff that made her giggle.


Jacob doesn't mind that Quil made her giggle. It's that Quil made her giggle while he, Jacob, had made her cry.


He has to talk to her.


He waits until the party is winding down before he makes his way to where she's hunting the last few strawberries out of a bowl of fruit salad. "Hey, Bella?"


She jumps, then stares up with huge brown eyes.


"I... um..." His words falter a little, but is he man or mouse? "I'm gonna go home and change. This shirt itches a ton."


"Oh." Her teeth nibble at her lower lip. "Okay."


He hopes he comes across a lot cooler than he feels as he says, "Will you walk with me?"


Even in the candlelight of the hall he can see her face tint pink... but after a long moment, she nods.


He gives her his suit jacket so she doesn't get cold.


They don't say anything during the five blocks between the rec center and his house. Luckily, being a lot taller now means he can look at her without her seeing him look.


It's weird, that she's shorter than him. She's a new Bella now, not the skinny girl in his living room who squished next to him on the couch while they watched movies until you couldn't tell where one of them ended and the other began. Now she's different. He noticed that before, of course, at her house and at the craft store and especially when she hugged him, but now... the black dress she's wearing makes the differences really obvious.


He doesn't know this Bella.


He wants to.


Jacob's very happy when he unlocks the front door without dropping the keys, given that his hands are shaking with nerves. He's already coming across as the most hopeless sort of geek and that would've just been the icing on the cake. "Sorry the house is a mess. We kinda let it slide and there's all this ribbon and crap everywhere, plus we've been living off frozen pizza for like six days, Dad too but I did find some of that gluten-free stuff at least." He opens up and flips on the overhead light and wishes he had time to at least pick up the paper plates. Too late now.


He glances over his shoulder. Bella has paused at the bottom of the porch. She's shivering.


Jacob frowns. "It's warmer inside, Bells. Come on."


As she climbs the steps her knuckles turn white on the railing.


"Right." He kicks aside a box full of invitation cardstock and makes a beeline for his bedroom. "I'm just gonna change. Be out in a minute."


"Okay."


Jacob is careful undressing. The shirt is his but the rest -- the vest, the tie, the pants, the shoes -- are all rented, and if anything happened to them Beck will kill him stone dead. Plus, it's a good idea to take his time since he doesn't know what he's going to say and he's never wanted to get something right so much in his life.


Even if you thought I didn't want to see you, didn't you want to see me? Or is Mom the only one that mattered to you? You talked to Rach'an'Beck at the diner, you talked to Dad at your house, why didn't you ask for me? Didn't you miss me? Can you at least tell me you missed me?


So, yeah. I know we haven't seen each other in forever and there was a bunch of misunderstandings. That's cool. I mean, you've got lots of other friends, and I've got lots of other friends, so we probably wouldn't have had much time for each other anyway. But Resident Evil's coming out in a few months, so if you felt like coming over to play with the rest of us, that'd be fine. Or whatever.


Remember when I told you I'd build a house in the backyard for us? There would be shelves in the wall for my collections and I'd make sure there'd be lots of closets and sneaky places for you to hide when you needed to and there'd be space to build on rooms if we had babies but I know you're not sure you want those so we could always just turn the space into a kennel instead because dogs would be nice too. I was thinking dalmatians. I've still got the design around here somewhere, want to look? It's in crayon but it's not too hard to read.


I don't believe you thought I hated you. I don't believe you. You can't have thought that. Even though Leah said all that stuff you can't have thought it. You had to have known me better than that, so it's got to be some sort of excuse. I know it is.


Your dad didn't bake all those cookies, did he.


"Hey, Bells? I'm... uh, I'm really sorry I yelled at you before. I felt bad about it later, if that helps. The whole thing's pretty screwed up, but I think... I still kinda miss you a lot. So if we could just maybe, I don't know... start over, or something... that would be good, I think. Not start over all the way. Just a little. And we don't have to be best friends again or anything, but... yeah."


Jacob's really glad he's not standing in front of Bella right now, because the shame at his own incoherent dweebiness has turned his face flaming hot. Luckily, he knows from hard experience that every word said in his bedroom can be heard in the living room. "Does that sound okay? I mean, does that sound like something we could do?"


When he doesn't hear a response a stone settles into the pit of his stomach, and he takes an extra few seconds to pull on his jeans, because those extra few seconds are an extra few seconds he doesn't have to know that she's gotten up and left again.


But she's there when he comes back into the living room. She's still there. She's sitting on the arm of the couch -- the ancient one they've never replaced -- and she's crying so hard her sobs are soundless. It's when he sees how her fingers are digging into the faded upholstery that he gets it.


Jacob said goodbye to his mother a long time ago. Bella never did.


He steps forward and wraps his arms tight around her shaking body, because loving Bella Swan is part of being Jacob Black.


"I miss her," she sobs into his chest. She's let go of the sofa and her fingers have fisted into his shirt. "I missed Rach and Beck and Leah and Seth and I missed you so, so much, Jake, I missed you--"


Jacob bends down and kisses her. A few times. Little ones that only last a half-second apiece. He doesn't even have to think about it. He learned a long time ago his kisses make Bella stop crying.


But then when he starts to pull back her lips follow his. And the last kiss stops being childish.


When it finally ends they're both blushing, and Jacob has no idea what to say. He feels like he did drink the champagne after all. "I... uh..."


"You want to start over," she blurts out. Her lashes are wet but her makeup hasn't run; that's got to be Rach'an'Beck's doing. "And I... um..." She grasps his forearms, and then she's slowly steering his hands from her lower back to rest at her waist instead. "I'd like that. If... if you'd like that."


Jacob can't move for a long moment, but when he does, it's to rub his thumb gently against the fabric of her dress. He can feel the curve of her hip. It's part of the new Bella he wants to get to know. Badly. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I think I would."


Jacob doesn't think Bella's perfect anymore. But when their lips meet again, he thinks this might be.



***



Epilogue


And while happiness is a strange and flowing thing, they all lived ever after.