The Movement of the Earth -- Chapter 2
Title: The Movement of the Earth
Author: audreyii_fic
Fandom: Twilight (Team Jacob)
Rating: T
Characters: Bella, Jacob, Charlie, and others (J/B)
Genre: Romance/Angst/Wolfpack!Humor
Warnings: Language, violence, and references to adult behavior
banner courtesy of lilabut
Summary: Jacob imprints on Bella. It changes things. A re-write of New Moon, beginning on page 242 in Chapter 10: "The Meadow." ( Link to the beginning.)
Chapter Two:
The Disclaimer Returns: Hey, this chapter lifts from New Moon AND Eclipse AND Midnight Sun -- how about that! But I still don't make any claims to owning it. And I don't give mumbling, incomprehensible interviews to fan sites, so I must not be Stephenie Meyer.
this is a cold war / you better know what you're fighting for
Janelle Monáe, "Cold War"
2. Order
I gaped in shock as the hulking figure of Sam Uley emerged from the darkness.
He was shirtless and in ragged cutoff shorts, as he'd been at Jacob's house. He nodded serenely at me, one hand resting on the hood of my truck. "Hello, Bella," he said, totally calm.
"I-- how-- why--?" I sputtered inelegantly, the soggy grass squishing between my bare toes. "What are you doing here?"
"I'd like to talk to you." He spoke as though he had every right to be standing in front of my home in the middle of the night.
Until now, I'd always thought 'seeing red' was just an expression -- but it actually felt as though a real crimson haze had descended over my vision, blocking my view of the man that was ruining my best friend's life. "Don't touch my truck," I ground out from between clenched teeth, my anger finding focus in the strangest place.
Sam didn't even acknowledge my words. "I'm sorry to have to do things this way, but Jacob's... stubbornness hasn't left me with many options."
"Get. Your. Hand. Off. My. Truck."
"I don't like leaving the others," he continued, "even for a few hours, but really, the only other one who could have come to do this is Jared. That's a bad idea for a lot of reasons." Sam frowned slightly as he spoke, and he absently drummed his fingers along the red metal of the hood.
Something in me reached a breaking point. I took two steps forward, pulled my arm back and then let it snap foward, punching Sam in the mouth with as much power as I could force out of my body.
There was a crunching sound.
"Ow! Ow!" I hissed, trying desperately to keep quiet. I yanked my hand back to my chest and sharp pain shot up my arm. Something was fractured, I could feel it. "Damn it!"
For a moment, it looked like a ripple ran through Sam's body -- but it was gone as fast as it came. And there wasn't even the tiniest mark on his face. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking concerned and more than a little surprised. He reached for my wrist and I jerked backwards.
"Don't touch me," I said, glowering. "Get out of here, or I'll scream."
Sam glanced in the direction of the darkened house. "I'd rather you didn't," he said.
"And I'd rather you stay the hell away from Jacob," I shot back, rubbing my wrist as it started to swell. "Now leave, or I'll wake up my father and he'll shoot you. And when you're dead I'll kick your body."
Sam blinked at me for a moment, then did the most annoying thing he could possibly do -- he chuckled. "Emily is really going to like you," he said, smiling indulgently, like I was a furious kitten who thought she was a tiger.
I was so mad I could hardly see straight, and the stabbing pains in my hand weren't helping. "Who is Emily? No, wait, I don't care. What are you doing lurking on my lawn in the middle of the night?"
"I wasn't lurking, I was waiting," he corrected. "Like I said, I need to talk to you. I only got here a few minutes ago. I didn't expect that you all went to bed so early."
"It's almost one in the morning."
"That's early for me," Sam said with another smile. "I was going to leave, but then I heard you moving around inside and figured I'd wait for you to come out. Where were you going?"
I rubbed my wrist and glared. "So you want to talk," I snapped, dodging his question. I certainly wasn't going to tell him that I was about to drive to the Blacks' for Rescue Mission Part Two. "Are you going to explain to me what the hell is going on?"
"No," he said flatly. "That's not my place."
"So whose place is it?"
"Jacob's."
My hands clenched into fists involuntarily, sending new spasms through my broken bones. "What have you done to him?"
"Nothing." Sam's entire demeanor was relaxed and controlled. Like we were talking about the weather instead of some horrible mindtrick he'd inflicted on my best friend that had somehow, in a mere two weeks, taken away all of the light that had made him who he was.
If it wasn't for the fact that I'd already broken my hand, I would have thrown another useless punch. "I don't know what your little cult is up to, but you give Jacob back," I demanded, trying to call on some air of authority or intimidation. "You give him back to me right now."
The words coming out of my mouth didn't even made sense.
What was going on?
Sam gave me that speculative, penetrating look again. The one that practically screamed I know something you don't know. "I've never seen this from the outside before," he remarked. "At least, not directly. It's really very interesting."
This was doing nothing for my temper. "Did you just come here to be cryptic?" I said acidly. "Or do you actually have something to say?"
"No, I have something to say."
"Then say it and get the hell out of here."
At that moment the full moon broke through the clouds, and in the sudden relative brightness I saw just how truly enormous Sam Uley was. He was at least six and a half feet tall, and seemed to be made of solid muscle and bone. I had to crane my neck just to glare properly. He looked too big to be possible.
And here I was, threatening him.
I swallowed and hoped my sudden attack of nerves wasn't too obvious.
If my mouthiness bothered Sam, he didn't show it. Instead he said evenly, "You'll go to First Beach tomorrow morning. Jacob is going talk to you. He will answer all of your questions then."
"Huh?" The emotional day and sleepless night was beginning to catch up with me; my hand throbbed miserably. I understood less and less of what Sam was saying as our conversation wore on. "I... I thought you didn't want Jacob to talk to me."
Sam's expression was almost pitying. "No. I've been trying to get him to contact you for over a week."
It took a few moments for what Sam was saying to sink in -- then new pain lanced through my chest. It wasn't Sam that was keeping Jake away... he was avoiding me all on his own. It was my worst fear come true. "What makes you think he'll talk to me now?" I asked hollowly.
"Because this time I ordered him to."
"You..." I looked up at him in shock. "You did what?"
"I ordered him to talk to you," Sam repeated. "So he will."
His arrogant words destroyed the remains of my fragile patience and ignited a fuse inside me, one that threatened to blow me to pieces with fury. "What right do you have," I hissed dangerously, "to tell him what to do? Just who do you think you are?"
As desperate as I was to speak to him, the idea of Jacob being ordered to do anything against his will made me want to set the world on fire.
As I tried to get my breathing under control, Sam narrowed his eyes, studying me again. His probing stare roamed over my face, then my body, seeming to take in each of my features. I felt like a piece of meat; crossing my arms defensively accomplished nothing aside from sending another spasm of pain through my hand, but I refused to back away from him on my own lawn. After a long moment he said abruptly, "Are you Quileute? At all?"
The non-sequitor threw me for a loop. "No."
"How about Makah?" he persisted, still examining me closely.
I raised an eyebrow and held my good arm out. My whiter-than-white skin all but glowed in the moonlight. It spoke for itself.
Sam frowned. "Right. Still, it's not like you're a blonde or anything... you don't have a single drop of Native blood? Are you sure?"
"I don't think so." As far as I knew no one had done genealogy on my family, but both Renee and Charlie were from the Pacific Northwest... technically, I supposed it was possible that I had a Quileute ancestor, but if so it was so far back as to hardly matter. It certainly didn't show in my singularly Caucasian appearance.
Cold gripped me as the pieces clicked.
"They're all about our land, and tribe pride," Jacob had said.
Was that the problem? Was that why Sam had called Jacob back inside the house this afternoon, why Billy had sent me away? Jacob had become too close to me, and my lack of Native blood was unacceptable?
If my extreme whiteness was indeed the issue, there wasn't much I could do to solve it.
"I..." I swallowed, suddenly feeling awkward, but I was determined to defend myself. "If... if it doesn't bother Jacob, then I don't see what business it is of yours."
A wrinkle appeared on Sam's forehead, then he shook his head with impatience. "No, that would be a family concern, and it doesn't matter now anyway. It's just... a surprise, that's all." He stared off into space, lost in thought. "I'll need to talk to the Council about this," he said absently, like he wasn't speaking to me at all. "The legends have really left a lot out."
"What legends?" I snapped. "This is ridiculous. Give me some straight answers."
Sam's expression cleared, and for a moment I thought he was going to laugh at me again. "No. That's for Jacob to do."
"Right," I said sarcastically. "Because you ordered him to."
"Yes." He was thoroughly unrepentant on this fact.
Furious tears pricked at my eyes. I hated feeling helpless, and I was never anything but helpless. I couldn't keep my best friend out of a cult; I couldn't rescue him from them; I couldn't even throw a punch without breaking my own hand. I was useless. "How can you do this to him?" I said harshly, forgetting to keep my voice down. "Just... order him around, make him so unhappy? Jacob doesn't deserve it! How can you be such an awful person?"
Sam's expression darkened, and that ripple passed through his body a second time.
"Don't push him." I jumped as I heard Edward's velvety voice in my ear, like liquid gold. As always, it filled the wounds in my chest -- well, one of them, anyway -- with delicious pleasure. "Let him calm down."
I waited quietly. I would do anything for that voice.
After a moment, Sam took a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't expect you to understand yet," he said, bitter anger bleeding from his entire being. "I've tried to stay out of it, out of courtesy and because it really is between the two of you, but Jacob is wasting too much of his energy fighting something that can't be fought. I need him focused or someone's going to get hurt, so this has to be resolved, and it has to be resolved today. For the good of the pack."
"The pack," I echoed sarcastically. "Is that what you're calling it?"
But apparently I'd finally gotten to Sam, because his face was hard and all signs of amusement or tolerance were gone. "Jacob will be at the beach this morning." He glared at me, and I nearly shrank away. "You will be there too, and you will ask him the questions you want answered. Then I'll give him the afternoon to get his head screwed on straight, but he has to be back on patrol this evening. This is his last chance to do it himself. Tell him that."
I stared at him. I'd never known I was capable of feeling this level of hate, and it burned with an insane heat. My anger was the only part of me that felt warm. "You can't tell me what to do," I spat.
Sam struggled for a response for a moment, seeming to fight for his temper, then finally exhaled. "That's true. But if you care about Jacob, you'll listen to me."
"If I care about Jacob?"
"I have to go," he said, ignoring my outrage. "Thank you for coming out in the middle of the night. It saved me some time." His tone was both ironic and grudging.
I kept my mouth shut sullenly.
"I'm sorry about your hand," he added. "Just so you know, you actually throw a pretty good punch. Once it's healed I'll teach you some better techniques."
This was too much. "Do you always offer self-defense lessons to girls you've injured?" I muttered.
To my surprise, Sam flinched visibly at my words. For a moment he looked much younger -- but the hard and bitter mask returned in an instant. "I will see you soon, Bella Swan," he said quietly, before turning and running off into the woods across the road.
I blinked and looked around. I hadn't realized until now that Sam hadn't brought a car with him. Had he walked?
This made no sense.
Exhaustion, dizziness, and nausea flooded my body, and I staggered, nearly falling to my knees in the wet grass. I must have been running on pure adrenaline. I was suddenly aware of the thick, woolen feeling in my brain that told me I'd had too little sleep and food, and the throbbing in my right hand came back with a vengeance.
Great.
I turned around and padded quietly back into the house, opening the door with my left hand. The stairs squeaked when I crept back to my room, but Charlie didn't wake.
I closed the door behind me silently, then stripped off my hoodie, wincing as the sleeve pulled over my broken hand. I'd eat dirt before I let Sam teach me anything, but maybe Charlie could show me some ways to hit a person that actually caused damage. In spite of Sam's compliment, I obviously threw a pathetic punch. Sam hadn't even flinched.
Cradling my arm to my chest, I laid down in bed, and tried to think. It was hard. I was confused, tired, hurting, and not a little strung out.
How could it be that Sam wanted me to know what was going on, and Jacob didn't? Since when did Jacob not trust me? I had thought it was the cult that was keeping him away, but if it wasn't... what had I done? It isn't like that at all, Jacob had said when I'd assumed his rejection was because he didn't care, or because I'd hurt him too badly with my rebuffing of his more-than-friendly feelings; but if it wasn't that, what could it possibly be?
The bones in my useless right hand throbbed, keeping me from focusing properly. What I wanted more than anything else in the world was to sleep, but there wasn't time for that. If I was going to go see Jacob in the morning -- and one way or another, I was -- I would have to do something about my stupid injury first.
A moment or two of planning, and I had a plan I thought would probably work. I took a deep breath, then deliberately rolled out of bed, grabbing my nightstand with my good arm and knocking it over in the process. The furniture toppled, and the lamp shattered on the floor with a clatter. Unfortunately, the scream I loosed as I hit the floor didn't have to be faked -- I'd accidentally landed on my broken hand for real, the weight of my body crushing it against the hardwood planks. "OW!"
Charlie burst through my bedroom door in an instant, his hair sticking up every direction. "Bella? Bella, are you okay?" He took in the broken lamp and knelt at my side, searching me frantically. "What happened?"
"Bad dream," I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut and trying not to throw up. I'd done something bad to my bones in the fall. If they were only fractured before, they were definitely broken now. "I fell out of bed. My hand hurts."
He pulled my right arm away from chest as I sat up, then made a face. "I think it's broken, Bells."
"Yeah, I think so too." I held back a sigh as I realized this surely meant yet another hospital trip.
Charlie's train of thought obviously led him in the same direction, because he shook his head ruefully and said, "Good thing the force has great health insurance."
"Guess so."
***
The trip to the hospital was short and uneventful, all things considered; an x-ray showed that I'd thoroughly broken two bones in my hand, and as a result I would be in a cast for five weeks. The doctor asked some pointed questions about how it had happened -- he clearly doubted the "falling out of bed" story -- until Charlie told him to look at my medical file and see how accident-prone I really was. The doctor let it go after that.
I kept looking up at the double doors, half-expecting to see Carlisle walk through with his inhumanly beautiful smile. He didn't. At least the pain in my chest distracted me from the pain in my arm.
Charlie held my left hand as the right got wrapped in layers of plaster, snapping at the nurse every time I winced.
I swallowed two pills of medication that the doctor handed to me. Moments before I lost consciousness, I overheard the doctor asking Charlie whether my body temperature was always so low. Then I was out.
I didn't dream.
***
When I woke up, I was in my own bed. Sunlight streamed through the windows. I rolled over groggily and blinked at my alarm clock, which sat on my now-righted nightstand.
It read ten forty-seven AM.
Oh, no.
I stumbled out of bed, instinctively reaching up to rub my bleary eyes -- and flinched when I hit myself in the nose with my cast. Fantastic. Because what I really needed right now was to be even clumsier than usual.
It felt like it took forever to get my clothes on as I tried to button my jeans with my left hand. After a few aggravating minutes I gave up on wearing my hoodie, unable to force my cast through the sleeve, and had to settle for a short-sleeved shirt. I hoped the beech wouldn't be too cold. More hypothermia wasn't going to help anything. Once I was finally decent, I raced downstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. I almost ran into Charlie as I skidded into the hallway, headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" he asked, as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
"I have to go see Jacob."
Charlie frowned at me. "I thought the thing with Sam--"
I shook my head. "That doesn't matter. We... um, he called me last night after I went to bed. We're going to talk." I was spending entirely too much time lying these days. "I should have been there hours ago."
"Well, a middle of the night ER visit changes things," Charlie said firmly. "You can meet Jacob later."
"No. I have to go now."
He narrowed his eyes. "I really don't think it's a good idea, Bells. And I'm not sure it's safe down there with this gang business."
"Please, Dad." He was blocking my path to the exit. I considered ducking around him and making a run for it, but I knew I would have to explain that to him later. "Please. I need to talk to him, and I'm not sure I'm going to get another chance."
Charlie paused for a long moment, taking in the expression on my face. Then he sighed resignedly. "Straight there, right? No stops on the way?"
"Of course not, where would I stop?" I was losing valuable time -- Jacob might have already left.
"I don't know," he admitted. "It's just... well, there's been another attack. The wolves again. I was supposed to go out to help with the hunt this morning, but I wasn't going to just leave you to..." He trailed off, uncomfortable. Then he continued gruffly, "The victim was only a dozen yards away from the road when he disappeared, so I don't want you getting out of the truck until you get to La Push. Not for anything, do you understand?"
"Right, of course, no problem," I said as I slipped on my shoes. Thank goodness I had a pair that didn't require lacing.
Charlie nodded, then glanced at my cast. "Are you sure you can drive with that?"
"I'll figure it out."
"All right." He clearly still didn't like the idea, but at least he was letting me go. "But, Bella, if you haven't called me in one hour to let me know that you're at Jacob's and you're safe, I'm coming down to get you. In the police cruiser. With the lights flashing."
I shuddered at the mental image. "Don't worry, I'll call."
"Okay then." Charlie glanced down at my wrist again, then reluctantly stepped out of my path. "Drive safe, it's wet out."
"It's always wet out," I responded, opening the door and ducking out into the mist.
The dampness of the late morning settled onto my skin instantly, making me shiver. I wondered if mildew would grow inside my cast before it came off. If there was anywhere that something like that could happen, it was Forks.
As I touched the door handle of the truck, I heard that glorious, perfect voice in my ear. "No, Bella. Don't go."
Why not? I asked the invisible Edward, closing my eyes.
"Jacob is dangerous," Edward responded, and my body vibrated with pleasure at his musical intonation. My brain did such a perfect job of replicating it that I could almost feel him standing beside me. "You could get hurt. You must stay away from the reservation, Bella."
I opened my eyes.
No. I can't. I have to go. It was agony to refuse the angelic tone, but my hand tightened on the door handle, and then I was climbing into the cab of the truck.
"Be sensible, Bella." The voice was more stern now. He was disappointed with me.
My stomach churned with misery; my throat felt swollen as I swallowed against the nausea. I have to help him, I whispered mentally. I'm sorry.
I put the keys in the ignition, got the engine running with a sputter, and pulled out of the driveway to go to La Push.
***
Chapter Three: Red Pill
Sanity Update: Imagine me saying, "Oh, right, this is where there's exposition, and then Bella should be self-centeredly introspective for several paragraphs," at which point I flop face down in bed for half an hour. That's what things look like around here at the moment. Editing for this chapter induced vomiting and a massive migraine. Also, "golden" no longer looks like a real word.
Author: audreyii_fic
Fandom: Twilight (Team Jacob)
Rating: T
Characters: Bella, Jacob, Charlie, and others (J/B)
Genre: Romance/Angst/Wolfpack!Humor
Warnings: Language, violence, and references to adult behavior
banner courtesy of lilabut
Summary: Jacob imprints on Bella. It changes things. A re-write of New Moon, beginning on page 242 in Chapter 10: "The Meadow." ( Link to the beginning.)
Chapter Two:
The Disclaimer Returns: Hey, this chapter lifts from New Moon AND Eclipse AND Midnight Sun -- how about that! But I still don't make any claims to owning it. And I don't give mumbling, incomprehensible interviews to fan sites, so I must not be Stephenie Meyer.
this is a cold war / you better know what you're fighting for
Janelle Monáe, "Cold War"
2. Order
I gaped in shock as the hulking figure of Sam Uley emerged from the darkness.
He was shirtless and in ragged cutoff shorts, as he'd been at Jacob's house. He nodded serenely at me, one hand resting on the hood of my truck. "Hello, Bella," he said, totally calm.
"I-- how-- why--?" I sputtered inelegantly, the soggy grass squishing between my bare toes. "What are you doing here?"
"I'd like to talk to you." He spoke as though he had every right to be standing in front of my home in the middle of the night.
Until now, I'd always thought 'seeing red' was just an expression -- but it actually felt as though a real crimson haze had descended over my vision, blocking my view of the man that was ruining my best friend's life. "Don't touch my truck," I ground out from between clenched teeth, my anger finding focus in the strangest place.
Sam didn't even acknowledge my words. "I'm sorry to have to do things this way, but Jacob's... stubbornness hasn't left me with many options."
"Get. Your. Hand. Off. My. Truck."
"I don't like leaving the others," he continued, "even for a few hours, but really, the only other one who could have come to do this is Jared. That's a bad idea for a lot of reasons." Sam frowned slightly as he spoke, and he absently drummed his fingers along the red metal of the hood.
Something in me reached a breaking point. I took two steps forward, pulled my arm back and then let it snap foward, punching Sam in the mouth with as much power as I could force out of my body.
There was a crunching sound.
"Ow! Ow!" I hissed, trying desperately to keep quiet. I yanked my hand back to my chest and sharp pain shot up my arm. Something was fractured, I could feel it. "Damn it!"
For a moment, it looked like a ripple ran through Sam's body -- but it was gone as fast as it came. And there wasn't even the tiniest mark on his face. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking concerned and more than a little surprised. He reached for my wrist and I jerked backwards.
"Don't touch me," I said, glowering. "Get out of here, or I'll scream."
Sam glanced in the direction of the darkened house. "I'd rather you didn't," he said.
"And I'd rather you stay the hell away from Jacob," I shot back, rubbing my wrist as it started to swell. "Now leave, or I'll wake up my father and he'll shoot you. And when you're dead I'll kick your body."
Sam blinked at me for a moment, then did the most annoying thing he could possibly do -- he chuckled. "Emily is really going to like you," he said, smiling indulgently, like I was a furious kitten who thought she was a tiger.
I was so mad I could hardly see straight, and the stabbing pains in my hand weren't helping. "Who is Emily? No, wait, I don't care. What are you doing lurking on my lawn in the middle of the night?"
"I wasn't lurking, I was waiting," he corrected. "Like I said, I need to talk to you. I only got here a few minutes ago. I didn't expect that you all went to bed so early."
"It's almost one in the morning."
"That's early for me," Sam said with another smile. "I was going to leave, but then I heard you moving around inside and figured I'd wait for you to come out. Where were you going?"
I rubbed my wrist and glared. "So you want to talk," I snapped, dodging his question. I certainly wasn't going to tell him that I was about to drive to the Blacks' for Rescue Mission Part Two. "Are you going to explain to me what the hell is going on?"
"No," he said flatly. "That's not my place."
"So whose place is it?"
"Jacob's."
My hands clenched into fists involuntarily, sending new spasms through my broken bones. "What have you done to him?"
"Nothing." Sam's entire demeanor was relaxed and controlled. Like we were talking about the weather instead of some horrible mindtrick he'd inflicted on my best friend that had somehow, in a mere two weeks, taken away all of the light that had made him who he was.
If it wasn't for the fact that I'd already broken my hand, I would have thrown another useless punch. "I don't know what your little cult is up to, but you give Jacob back," I demanded, trying to call on some air of authority or intimidation. "You give him back to me right now."
The words coming out of my mouth didn't even made sense.
What was going on?
Sam gave me that speculative, penetrating look again. The one that practically screamed I know something you don't know. "I've never seen this from the outside before," he remarked. "At least, not directly. It's really very interesting."
This was doing nothing for my temper. "Did you just come here to be cryptic?" I said acidly. "Or do you actually have something to say?"
"No, I have something to say."
"Then say it and get the hell out of here."
At that moment the full moon broke through the clouds, and in the sudden relative brightness I saw just how truly enormous Sam Uley was. He was at least six and a half feet tall, and seemed to be made of solid muscle and bone. I had to crane my neck just to glare properly. He looked too big to be possible.
And here I was, threatening him.
I swallowed and hoped my sudden attack of nerves wasn't too obvious.
If my mouthiness bothered Sam, he didn't show it. Instead he said evenly, "You'll go to First Beach tomorrow morning. Jacob is going talk to you. He will answer all of your questions then."
"Huh?" The emotional day and sleepless night was beginning to catch up with me; my hand throbbed miserably. I understood less and less of what Sam was saying as our conversation wore on. "I... I thought you didn't want Jacob to talk to me."
Sam's expression was almost pitying. "No. I've been trying to get him to contact you for over a week."
It took a few moments for what Sam was saying to sink in -- then new pain lanced through my chest. It wasn't Sam that was keeping Jake away... he was avoiding me all on his own. It was my worst fear come true. "What makes you think he'll talk to me now?" I asked hollowly.
"Because this time I ordered him to."
"You..." I looked up at him in shock. "You did what?"
"I ordered him to talk to you," Sam repeated. "So he will."
His arrogant words destroyed the remains of my fragile patience and ignited a fuse inside me, one that threatened to blow me to pieces with fury. "What right do you have," I hissed dangerously, "to tell him what to do? Just who do you think you are?"
As desperate as I was to speak to him, the idea of Jacob being ordered to do anything against his will made me want to set the world on fire.
As I tried to get my breathing under control, Sam narrowed his eyes, studying me again. His probing stare roamed over my face, then my body, seeming to take in each of my features. I felt like a piece of meat; crossing my arms defensively accomplished nothing aside from sending another spasm of pain through my hand, but I refused to back away from him on my own lawn. After a long moment he said abruptly, "Are you Quileute? At all?"
The non-sequitor threw me for a loop. "No."
"How about Makah?" he persisted, still examining me closely.
I raised an eyebrow and held my good arm out. My whiter-than-white skin all but glowed in the moonlight. It spoke for itself.
Sam frowned. "Right. Still, it's not like you're a blonde or anything... you don't have a single drop of Native blood? Are you sure?"
"I don't think so." As far as I knew no one had done genealogy on my family, but both Renee and Charlie were from the Pacific Northwest... technically, I supposed it was possible that I had a Quileute ancestor, but if so it was so far back as to hardly matter. It certainly didn't show in my singularly Caucasian appearance.
Cold gripped me as the pieces clicked.
"They're all about our land, and tribe pride," Jacob had said.
Was that the problem? Was that why Sam had called Jacob back inside the house this afternoon, why Billy had sent me away? Jacob had become too close to me, and my lack of Native blood was unacceptable?
If my extreme whiteness was indeed the issue, there wasn't much I could do to solve it.
"I..." I swallowed, suddenly feeling awkward, but I was determined to defend myself. "If... if it doesn't bother Jacob, then I don't see what business it is of yours."
A wrinkle appeared on Sam's forehead, then he shook his head with impatience. "No, that would be a family concern, and it doesn't matter now anyway. It's just... a surprise, that's all." He stared off into space, lost in thought. "I'll need to talk to the Council about this," he said absently, like he wasn't speaking to me at all. "The legends have really left a lot out."
"What legends?" I snapped. "This is ridiculous. Give me some straight answers."
Sam's expression cleared, and for a moment I thought he was going to laugh at me again. "No. That's for Jacob to do."
"Right," I said sarcastically. "Because you ordered him to."
"Yes." He was thoroughly unrepentant on this fact.
Furious tears pricked at my eyes. I hated feeling helpless, and I was never anything but helpless. I couldn't keep my best friend out of a cult; I couldn't rescue him from them; I couldn't even throw a punch without breaking my own hand. I was useless. "How can you do this to him?" I said harshly, forgetting to keep my voice down. "Just... order him around, make him so unhappy? Jacob doesn't deserve it! How can you be such an awful person?"
Sam's expression darkened, and that ripple passed through his body a second time.
"Don't push him." I jumped as I heard Edward's velvety voice in my ear, like liquid gold. As always, it filled the wounds in my chest -- well, one of them, anyway -- with delicious pleasure. "Let him calm down."
I waited quietly. I would do anything for that voice.
After a moment, Sam took a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't expect you to understand yet," he said, bitter anger bleeding from his entire being. "I've tried to stay out of it, out of courtesy and because it really is between the two of you, but Jacob is wasting too much of his energy fighting something that can't be fought. I need him focused or someone's going to get hurt, so this has to be resolved, and it has to be resolved today. For the good of the pack."
"The pack," I echoed sarcastically. "Is that what you're calling it?"
But apparently I'd finally gotten to Sam, because his face was hard and all signs of amusement or tolerance were gone. "Jacob will be at the beach this morning." He glared at me, and I nearly shrank away. "You will be there too, and you will ask him the questions you want answered. Then I'll give him the afternoon to get his head screwed on straight, but he has to be back on patrol this evening. This is his last chance to do it himself. Tell him that."
I stared at him. I'd never known I was capable of feeling this level of hate, and it burned with an insane heat. My anger was the only part of me that felt warm. "You can't tell me what to do," I spat.
Sam struggled for a response for a moment, seeming to fight for his temper, then finally exhaled. "That's true. But if you care about Jacob, you'll listen to me."
"If I care about Jacob?"
"I have to go," he said, ignoring my outrage. "Thank you for coming out in the middle of the night. It saved me some time." His tone was both ironic and grudging.
I kept my mouth shut sullenly.
"I'm sorry about your hand," he added. "Just so you know, you actually throw a pretty good punch. Once it's healed I'll teach you some better techniques."
This was too much. "Do you always offer self-defense lessons to girls you've injured?" I muttered.
To my surprise, Sam flinched visibly at my words. For a moment he looked much younger -- but the hard and bitter mask returned in an instant. "I will see you soon, Bella Swan," he said quietly, before turning and running off into the woods across the road.
I blinked and looked around. I hadn't realized until now that Sam hadn't brought a car with him. Had he walked?
This made no sense.
Exhaustion, dizziness, and nausea flooded my body, and I staggered, nearly falling to my knees in the wet grass. I must have been running on pure adrenaline. I was suddenly aware of the thick, woolen feeling in my brain that told me I'd had too little sleep and food, and the throbbing in my right hand came back with a vengeance.
Great.
I turned around and padded quietly back into the house, opening the door with my left hand. The stairs squeaked when I crept back to my room, but Charlie didn't wake.
I closed the door behind me silently, then stripped off my hoodie, wincing as the sleeve pulled over my broken hand. I'd eat dirt before I let Sam teach me anything, but maybe Charlie could show me some ways to hit a person that actually caused damage. In spite of Sam's compliment, I obviously threw a pathetic punch. Sam hadn't even flinched.
Cradling my arm to my chest, I laid down in bed, and tried to think. It was hard. I was confused, tired, hurting, and not a little strung out.
How could it be that Sam wanted me to know what was going on, and Jacob didn't? Since when did Jacob not trust me? I had thought it was the cult that was keeping him away, but if it wasn't... what had I done? It isn't like that at all, Jacob had said when I'd assumed his rejection was because he didn't care, or because I'd hurt him too badly with my rebuffing of his more-than-friendly feelings; but if it wasn't that, what could it possibly be?
The bones in my useless right hand throbbed, keeping me from focusing properly. What I wanted more than anything else in the world was to sleep, but there wasn't time for that. If I was going to go see Jacob in the morning -- and one way or another, I was -- I would have to do something about my stupid injury first.
A moment or two of planning, and I had a plan I thought would probably work. I took a deep breath, then deliberately rolled out of bed, grabbing my nightstand with my good arm and knocking it over in the process. The furniture toppled, and the lamp shattered on the floor with a clatter. Unfortunately, the scream I loosed as I hit the floor didn't have to be faked -- I'd accidentally landed on my broken hand for real, the weight of my body crushing it against the hardwood planks. "OW!"
Charlie burst through my bedroom door in an instant, his hair sticking up every direction. "Bella? Bella, are you okay?" He took in the broken lamp and knelt at my side, searching me frantically. "What happened?"
"Bad dream," I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut and trying not to throw up. I'd done something bad to my bones in the fall. If they were only fractured before, they were definitely broken now. "I fell out of bed. My hand hurts."
He pulled my right arm away from chest as I sat up, then made a face. "I think it's broken, Bells."
"Yeah, I think so too." I held back a sigh as I realized this surely meant yet another hospital trip.
Charlie's train of thought obviously led him in the same direction, because he shook his head ruefully and said, "Good thing the force has great health insurance."
"Guess so."
***
The trip to the hospital was short and uneventful, all things considered; an x-ray showed that I'd thoroughly broken two bones in my hand, and as a result I would be in a cast for five weeks. The doctor asked some pointed questions about how it had happened -- he clearly doubted the "falling out of bed" story -- until Charlie told him to look at my medical file and see how accident-prone I really was. The doctor let it go after that.
I kept looking up at the double doors, half-expecting to see Carlisle walk through with his inhumanly beautiful smile. He didn't. At least the pain in my chest distracted me from the pain in my arm.
Charlie held my left hand as the right got wrapped in layers of plaster, snapping at the nurse every time I winced.
I swallowed two pills of medication that the doctor handed to me. Moments before I lost consciousness, I overheard the doctor asking Charlie whether my body temperature was always so low. Then I was out.
I didn't dream.
***
When I woke up, I was in my own bed. Sunlight streamed through the windows. I rolled over groggily and blinked at my alarm clock, which sat on my now-righted nightstand.
It read ten forty-seven AM.
Oh, no.
I stumbled out of bed, instinctively reaching up to rub my bleary eyes -- and flinched when I hit myself in the nose with my cast. Fantastic. Because what I really needed right now was to be even clumsier than usual.
It felt like it took forever to get my clothes on as I tried to button my jeans with my left hand. After a few aggravating minutes I gave up on wearing my hoodie, unable to force my cast through the sleeve, and had to settle for a short-sleeved shirt. I hoped the beech wouldn't be too cold. More hypothermia wasn't going to help anything. Once I was finally decent, I raced downstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. I almost ran into Charlie as I skidded into the hallway, headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" he asked, as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
"I have to go see Jacob."
Charlie frowned at me. "I thought the thing with Sam--"
I shook my head. "That doesn't matter. We... um, he called me last night after I went to bed. We're going to talk." I was spending entirely too much time lying these days. "I should have been there hours ago."
"Well, a middle of the night ER visit changes things," Charlie said firmly. "You can meet Jacob later."
"No. I have to go now."
He narrowed his eyes. "I really don't think it's a good idea, Bells. And I'm not sure it's safe down there with this gang business."
"Please, Dad." He was blocking my path to the exit. I considered ducking around him and making a run for it, but I knew I would have to explain that to him later. "Please. I need to talk to him, and I'm not sure I'm going to get another chance."
Charlie paused for a long moment, taking in the expression on my face. Then he sighed resignedly. "Straight there, right? No stops on the way?"
"Of course not, where would I stop?" I was losing valuable time -- Jacob might have already left.
"I don't know," he admitted. "It's just... well, there's been another attack. The wolves again. I was supposed to go out to help with the hunt this morning, but I wasn't going to just leave you to..." He trailed off, uncomfortable. Then he continued gruffly, "The victim was only a dozen yards away from the road when he disappeared, so I don't want you getting out of the truck until you get to La Push. Not for anything, do you understand?"
"Right, of course, no problem," I said as I slipped on my shoes. Thank goodness I had a pair that didn't require lacing.
Charlie nodded, then glanced at my cast. "Are you sure you can drive with that?"
"I'll figure it out."
"All right." He clearly still didn't like the idea, but at least he was letting me go. "But, Bella, if you haven't called me in one hour to let me know that you're at Jacob's and you're safe, I'm coming down to get you. In the police cruiser. With the lights flashing."
I shuddered at the mental image. "Don't worry, I'll call."
"Okay then." Charlie glanced down at my wrist again, then reluctantly stepped out of my path. "Drive safe, it's wet out."
"It's always wet out," I responded, opening the door and ducking out into the mist.
The dampness of the late morning settled onto my skin instantly, making me shiver. I wondered if mildew would grow inside my cast before it came off. If there was anywhere that something like that could happen, it was Forks.
As I touched the door handle of the truck, I heard that glorious, perfect voice in my ear. "No, Bella. Don't go."
Why not? I asked the invisible Edward, closing my eyes.
"Jacob is dangerous," Edward responded, and my body vibrated with pleasure at his musical intonation. My brain did such a perfect job of replicating it that I could almost feel him standing beside me. "You could get hurt. You must stay away from the reservation, Bella."
I opened my eyes.
No. I can't. I have to go. It was agony to refuse the angelic tone, but my hand tightened on the door handle, and then I was climbing into the cab of the truck.
"Be sensible, Bella." The voice was more stern now. He was disappointed with me.
My stomach churned with misery; my throat felt swollen as I swallowed against the nausea. I have to help him, I whispered mentally. I'm sorry.
I put the keys in the ignition, got the engine running with a sputter, and pulled out of the driveway to go to La Push.
***
Chapter Three: Red Pill
Sanity Update: Imagine me saying, "Oh, right, this is where there's exposition, and then Bella should be self-centeredly introspective for several paragraphs," at which point I flop face down in bed for half an hour. That's what things look like around here at the moment. Editing for this chapter induced vomiting and a massive migraine. Also, "golden" no longer looks like a real word.