The Fire of the Sun -- Epilogue
Title: The Fire of the Sun
Author: audreyii_fic
Fandom: Twilight (Team Jacob)
Rating: T
Characters: Full cast (Jacob/Bella, Sam/Emily)
Genre: Romance/Angst/Wolfpack!Humor
Warnings: Language, violence, and references to adult behavior. See here for more details.
banner courtesy of untilwebleedoz
Summary:
Sequel to The Movement of the Earth. Bella finds the cost of joining the supernatural world may be higher than she can pay. ( Click here to start from the beginning.)
Epilogue:
it's ashes to ashes, but always the ocean / but the ocean can't come to this town / this town is a song about you
Dar Williams, "The Ocean"
Epilogue -- Life
(Bella)
Waves crashing into the shore sounded different in Florida than it did in Washington. Maybe it was the sand being fine instead of rocky; maybe it was the temperature difference of the water. All things considered, the reason didn't matter all that much-even after five days, I had yet to adjust to the alteration. And the noise of the ocean wasn't the only distinction between the two locales; I leaned back and tilted my face upward to catch as much of the Jacksonville sunshine as I could. Here, on my mother's deck, late November rivaled Forks in high summer.
I reveled in the warmth.
My cell phone rang a cheery tune; I dug into my sarong's pocket, which hung over the back of my lawn chair, then angled the screen into shadow so I could read the display. Emily Young. "Hello?"
"I can't reach the back burner of the stove," Emily said peevishly. "Help."
I limited myself to a smile; a snicker would lead to unpleasant consequences when I returned. "I'll be back soon," I reminded her.
"I'm going to the hospital and demanding a c-section."
"You only have two weeks left. You can make it."
"No, I can't."
"Yes, you can."
"Bah." And she hung up on me with a click.
I set the phone down on the glass side table, unoffended by her rudeness. My roommate was enormous these days and had every right to be in a bad mood. In spite of the ultrasounds clearly showing only one healthy little boy, the Pack still had a pool running on whether it would turn out to be twins; at first Emily had found it amusing, but now anyone who made even the slightest joke about pregnancy was whacked mercilessly with a wooden spoon.
At least, in spite of her complaining, I didn't have to worry about Emily being all right. She'd gotten better at leaving the house. The more the community saw her, the more used to her face the people became, so they didn't stare as much, which in turn led to her not being as self-conscious about going out. And the combined impact of Sam's death, plus Leah's reconciling with her, had almost erased Emily's pariah status.
The thing that had driven Leah and Emily apart brought them back together; their love of Sam, and their grief over his loss. There were many times I'd come home from my classes at Peninsula to find them together in the kitchen, eating muffins and crying-though Emily insisted it was hormones and Leah claimed allergies.
Then Leah would glare in my direction and leave. She still referred to me as the 'leech-lover', though she seemed to have mellowed out overall now that she was Beta of the Pack-and, it was suspected though not confirmed, in some sort of bickering-yet-mutually beneficial relationship with Paul, who still avoided me but was by all reports doing an excellent job as Alpha. Nor did Rebecca care for my presence in La Push, in that nothing would convince her that I hadn't seduced her baby brother and led him down a path of educational neglect and general debauchery. Old Quil, in addition, was still known to grumble under his breath about bloodlines whenever we passed each other in the street.
I was simply not destined to be friends with everyone.
But Emily and I got along well-so well, in fact, that I'd decided keep staying with her for the time being. She still needed a lot of support, both emotionally and financially. My rent was helping to pay the bills. She'd tried to refuse the money, but I had insisted; I could afford it, after selling Charlie's house. The couple who had bought it had paid easily ten thousand under value, but I didn't care. I could never live there again. And while it wasn't a fortune, my savings account would give me enough independence to finish college free and clear, and even start my life with a small cushion if I was careful.
And there were other reasons to stay with Emily. I was looking forward to meeting the baby. I hoped he would look like Sam.
There was a light scraping noise as the glass doors slid open behind me. A moment later Renée asked, "Bella? Do you want mesclun, or should I steam some spinach?"
I did my best to keep from grimacing-health food was all well and good, but Renée was out of control even by my standards. "Either one's fine, Mom."
"All right. I'm thinking spinach, it'll go best with the yams." She hesitated, then added tentatively, "I heard your phone. Was it Jacob?"
"No," I answered.
"Ah. Well... that's fine then." The worry in my mother's voice was clear and obvious. "Just so you know-if you want to talk, baby, I'm here."
"Sure, sure." The doors scraped shut again; I leaned back again and closed my eyes with a sigh. Renée wouldn't understand. Phil called her to let her know when he was on his way home from the grocery store. I didn't think I'd seen more than three hours pass without them contacting each other.
I couldn't explain to her that I wasn't having a fight with my boyfriend; rather, I was conducting an experiment.
There was a rattling buzz as my cell vibrated against the table. I picked it up; Jessica's message read: OMG TEXTS. So much DRAMA.
It seemed less than prudent to mention that Jessica was the queen of texts, so I just replied: Problems?
E&M again. NO TIME FOR THIS BS. I have PAPERS.
They should wait until after finals to profess their love.
IKR?!?!?!!!
I set the phone aside again, and smiled. It was wrong, but I couldn't help it; I kind of enjoyed the fact that someone else's love life was the difficult one.
Things had indeed turned out complicated for Jessica. She and Mike, of course, had their on-again, off-again history-but apparently sometime during my kidnapping, Embry had entered the equation. Nothing had come of it aside from friendship, however, until Billy's revelation that he was Embry's father.
Personally, I was still undecided as to whether or not Billy had made the right choice; Emily's words from very long ago still echoed in my head: Sometimes, when you love someone, you don't tell them everything. But Embry had been in pieces following the deaths of Quil and Sam, not knowing whether or not he had just lost a literal brother in addition to metaphorical ones, and after several weeks Billy had finally told him the truth-to the shock of Embry, the dismay of Ms. Call, and the pained fury of the Black children.
Bridges were mended as the months went by-recent events had made everyone disinclined to give up their families over mistakes of the past-but Jessica, having never had contact with her own father, emerged as Embry's primary support. As she had chattered to me during our girls' nights, I'd wondered whether everyone had seen the same thing between Jacob and I back when we'd been doing nothing more than repairing motorcycles. But Jessica's attraction to Embry didn't seem to lessen her one to Mike-who had, after all, shoved Tyler Crowley into a punch bowl.
And now-thanks to the miracle of Skype-it didn't matter that Jessica lived in New York; the love triangle was not at all weakened by distance. No one seemed to be in a state of emotional collapse, though, so I could watch in voyeuristic fascination without feeling guilty about it.
"Dinner's ready, baby," Renée announced, walking out to the deck again. I opened my eyes and glanced over at her; she was looking down at the phone eagerly. "Was that Jacob?"
"No."
Her face fell. "Oh. Well... are you ready to eat? If you're not, I can just keep the tofurky warm in the oven-"
"That's all right," I said. "I'll just be another minute." To be honest, vegan food was not my idea of a Thanksgiving meal. When I was younger, Renée had roasted real turkeys. Things had been different, back then...
...and things were different today, too.
Renée sat down on the deck chair next to me and sighed heavily. "Are you missing Charlie?"
I swallowed against the lump that had suddenly developed in my throat. "I keep trying to remember last Thanksgiving," I admitted, "but I can't." The previous holiday had been during the time I'd been lost in a fog after Edward's departure; four whole months with my father of which I had no recollection.
The thought made me want to cry all over again.
After several moments of silence, Renée reached over and took my hand, squeezing my fingers gently. "You know," she said, "that first Thanksgiving after you were born, he tried to feed you pumpkin pie. You were only ten weeks old, but you gummed the whole slice down anyway. He was so proud."
The ocean swam in my vision as I blinked back my tears. "And that was the only one he got with us as a family," I mumbled.
Renée sighed. "Bella-"
"Mom, why did you leave him?" I burst out. The question had been growing in my mind for the entire visit, turning my pain into resentment-then a pang of worry struck me, and I checked over my shoulder, just in case my step-father had made a sudden appearance in the yard. He hadn't. "I mean, I like Phil and everything," I added, "but he's not Dad."
Charlie was gone, and even six months later, I couldn't imagine anyone willingly giving him up.
My mother still smiled, but it had gone a little twisted at the edges. Then she blew out a breath and looked away from me for a long minute; I'd never seen her take so much time to consider her words. "Your father was the best person I ever knew, Bella," she finally said. "The thing is, baby... sometimes the perfect man isn't the right man."
After a long moment of silence, I admitted, "I understand that now."
***
Two days later I was back in Sea-Tac, headed through the labyrinth of terminals towards the security checkout. I'd spent a whole week away from La Push, and hadn't heard from Jacob Black even once.
I suspected he was in the building, though. A tiny vibration in my bones gave away his presence.
He'd promised he would wait at home for me to arrive.
He had broken that promise.
And as I saw his tall frame standing next to the baggage claim, his hands in his jeans pockets, watching as suitcase after suitcase slid slowly down the metal chute, I couldn't think of anything better in the world than broken promises.
I wasn't any closer than fifty feet away when he perked up and turned around; he didn't even have to scan the crowd to find me. A moment later I was swept off the floor into a crushing hug, my ribs nearly cracking under the strength of his embrace, and felt his kisses against my hair. I heard passersby muttering to themselves about public displays of affection; I ignored their comments, and merely hugged Jacob back as hard as I possibly could, completely unchagrined.
When I had enough room to breathe-though no will to step away-I murmured against the fabric of his shirt, "Were you okay?"
"Yeah," he whispered back, nuzzling his face against the top of my head. "Were you cold?"
"No." Not that that meant his heat wasn't the best thing I had felt in seven days. "But I missed you."
"Missed you too," Jacob said as his relieved pleasure soaked into my skin. "You smell good." I laughed, and then he confessed to me, "You might still be my soul mate, though. You think?"
I did. If the imprint had done any good, had proven anything to me, it was that. "It's great that being separated worked," I said, "but... let's not do it again, all right?"
"Definitely not," he agreed.
And we didn't.
the end.
***
Final Sanity Update (Mera Edition): Hooray for happy endings!
Side Note: I'll be posting the link to the Breaking Dawn format-compliant .pdf in a few days for anyone who wants it. Edit: Here!
A/N: There's really no need for an epically long Author's Note because most of my thoughts are in The Movement of the Earth (and also, I am tired). That being said, several years ago I read the book Prime Candidate by Gordon Cotler; it's not actually very good, but I've always liked this one quote:
Poppy Hancock came out of the campaign with her reputation pretty much intact. While she had failed to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, she had, as one pundit observed, at least managed to fashion Herb Turnbull into a pretty fair plastic pocketbook.
If these stories made the plot of the Twilight Saga into a plastic pocketbook, then that's about all I can ask for.
Thanks: The first thanks, of course, has to go to mera_naam_joker, who ghost-wrote the second half of the story. It would not have gotten finished without her, and in spite of the fact that towards the end I was getting more and more tweak-tastic with my original outline and started dismantling all her hard work, she never got mad. I owe her my sanity, except I can't imagine that she'd want to touch it with a ten foot pole, so I'll have to make fudge or something. You're not allergic to nuts, right, sweetheart?
Second thanks goes to gypseian, who podficced along the way and put up with my absurd scheduling. As soon as I get Leah-voice back, that's totally going to be wrapped up and available for download. I owe her some awesome mixing software, if I knew what kind to get or could afford it.
Obviously, though, biggest thanks goes to the folks reading this. You stuck with both The Movement of the Earth and The Fire of the Sun through Meyer-voice, through refusal to write a sequel, through wishy-washy flip-flopping, through a six month hiatus, through an author switch, through character death and a lack of explicit sex, through frustrating flow due to book structure rather than fic structure, and most importantly, through the most melodramatic, childish, egotistical, green-sliming temper tantrums in the history of Twi-fic. I have not been pleasant company throughout this series, and you're all candidates for sainthood for hanging in there until the end. So whether you were reading for the story, the experiment, or both, I give you all mass snorgles.
With regards to Stephenie Meyer... I'll make a deal with her. She can have my thanks just as soon as my fourteen-year-old cousin stops explaining how romantic she (my cousin) finds the canon events of Volterra. I think that's fair.
'Til next time, y'all.
Final Side Note: It's been exactly one year since story karma cut off part of my finger, and it still fucking hurts.
Author: audreyii_fic
Fandom: Twilight (Team Jacob)
Rating: T
Characters: Full cast (Jacob/Bella, Sam/Emily)
Genre: Romance/Angst/Wolfpack!Humor
Warnings: Language, violence, and references to adult behavior. See here for more details.
banner courtesy of untilwebleedoz
Summary:
Sequel to The Movement of the Earth. Bella finds the cost of joining the supernatural world may be higher than she can pay. ( Click here to start from the beginning.)
Epilogue:
it's ashes to ashes, but always the ocean / but the ocean can't come to this town / this town is a song about you
Dar Williams, "The Ocean"
Epilogue -- Life
(Bella)
Waves crashing into the shore sounded different in Florida than it did in Washington. Maybe it was the sand being fine instead of rocky; maybe it was the temperature difference of the water. All things considered, the reason didn't matter all that much-even after five days, I had yet to adjust to the alteration. And the noise of the ocean wasn't the only distinction between the two locales; I leaned back and tilted my face upward to catch as much of the Jacksonville sunshine as I could. Here, on my mother's deck, late November rivaled Forks in high summer.
I reveled in the warmth.
My cell phone rang a cheery tune; I dug into my sarong's pocket, which hung over the back of my lawn chair, then angled the screen into shadow so I could read the display. Emily Young. "Hello?"
"I can't reach the back burner of the stove," Emily said peevishly. "Help."
I limited myself to a smile; a snicker would lead to unpleasant consequences when I returned. "I'll be back soon," I reminded her.
"I'm going to the hospital and demanding a c-section."
"You only have two weeks left. You can make it."
"No, I can't."
"Yes, you can."
"Bah." And she hung up on me with a click.
I set the phone down on the glass side table, unoffended by her rudeness. My roommate was enormous these days and had every right to be in a bad mood. In spite of the ultrasounds clearly showing only one healthy little boy, the Pack still had a pool running on whether it would turn out to be twins; at first Emily had found it amusing, but now anyone who made even the slightest joke about pregnancy was whacked mercilessly with a wooden spoon.
At least, in spite of her complaining, I didn't have to worry about Emily being all right. She'd gotten better at leaving the house. The more the community saw her, the more used to her face the people became, so they didn't stare as much, which in turn led to her not being as self-conscious about going out. And the combined impact of Sam's death, plus Leah's reconciling with her, had almost erased Emily's pariah status.
The thing that had driven Leah and Emily apart brought them back together; their love of Sam, and their grief over his loss. There were many times I'd come home from my classes at Peninsula to find them together in the kitchen, eating muffins and crying-though Emily insisted it was hormones and Leah claimed allergies.
Then Leah would glare in my direction and leave. She still referred to me as the 'leech-lover', though she seemed to have mellowed out overall now that she was Beta of the Pack-and, it was suspected though not confirmed, in some sort of bickering-yet-mutually beneficial relationship with Paul, who still avoided me but was by all reports doing an excellent job as Alpha. Nor did Rebecca care for my presence in La Push, in that nothing would convince her that I hadn't seduced her baby brother and led him down a path of educational neglect and general debauchery. Old Quil, in addition, was still known to grumble under his breath about bloodlines whenever we passed each other in the street.
I was simply not destined to be friends with everyone.
But Emily and I got along well-so well, in fact, that I'd decided keep staying with her for the time being. She still needed a lot of support, both emotionally and financially. My rent was helping to pay the bills. She'd tried to refuse the money, but I had insisted; I could afford it, after selling Charlie's house. The couple who had bought it had paid easily ten thousand under value, but I didn't care. I could never live there again. And while it wasn't a fortune, my savings account would give me enough independence to finish college free and clear, and even start my life with a small cushion if I was careful.
And there were other reasons to stay with Emily. I was looking forward to meeting the baby. I hoped he would look like Sam.
There was a light scraping noise as the glass doors slid open behind me. A moment later Renée asked, "Bella? Do you want mesclun, or should I steam some spinach?"
I did my best to keep from grimacing-health food was all well and good, but Renée was out of control even by my standards. "Either one's fine, Mom."
"All right. I'm thinking spinach, it'll go best with the yams." She hesitated, then added tentatively, "I heard your phone. Was it Jacob?"
"No," I answered.
"Ah. Well... that's fine then." The worry in my mother's voice was clear and obvious. "Just so you know-if you want to talk, baby, I'm here."
"Sure, sure." The doors scraped shut again; I leaned back again and closed my eyes with a sigh. Renée wouldn't understand. Phil called her to let her know when he was on his way home from the grocery store. I didn't think I'd seen more than three hours pass without them contacting each other.
I couldn't explain to her that I wasn't having a fight with my boyfriend; rather, I was conducting an experiment.
There was a rattling buzz as my cell vibrated against the table. I picked it up; Jessica's message read: OMG TEXTS. So much DRAMA.
It seemed less than prudent to mention that Jessica was the queen of texts, so I just replied: Problems?
E&M again. NO TIME FOR THIS BS. I have PAPERS.
They should wait until after finals to profess their love.
IKR?!?!?!!!
I set the phone aside again, and smiled. It was wrong, but I couldn't help it; I kind of enjoyed the fact that someone else's love life was the difficult one.
Things had indeed turned out complicated for Jessica. She and Mike, of course, had their on-again, off-again history-but apparently sometime during my kidnapping, Embry had entered the equation. Nothing had come of it aside from friendship, however, until Billy's revelation that he was Embry's father.
Personally, I was still undecided as to whether or not Billy had made the right choice; Emily's words from very long ago still echoed in my head: Sometimes, when you love someone, you don't tell them everything. But Embry had been in pieces following the deaths of Quil and Sam, not knowing whether or not he had just lost a literal brother in addition to metaphorical ones, and after several weeks Billy had finally told him the truth-to the shock of Embry, the dismay of Ms. Call, and the pained fury of the Black children.
Bridges were mended as the months went by-recent events had made everyone disinclined to give up their families over mistakes of the past-but Jessica, having never had contact with her own father, emerged as Embry's primary support. As she had chattered to me during our girls' nights, I'd wondered whether everyone had seen the same thing between Jacob and I back when we'd been doing nothing more than repairing motorcycles. But Jessica's attraction to Embry didn't seem to lessen her one to Mike-who had, after all, shoved Tyler Crowley into a punch bowl.
And now-thanks to the miracle of Skype-it didn't matter that Jessica lived in New York; the love triangle was not at all weakened by distance. No one seemed to be in a state of emotional collapse, though, so I could watch in voyeuristic fascination without feeling guilty about it.
"Dinner's ready, baby," Renée announced, walking out to the deck again. I opened my eyes and glanced over at her; she was looking down at the phone eagerly. "Was that Jacob?"
"No."
Her face fell. "Oh. Well... are you ready to eat? If you're not, I can just keep the tofurky warm in the oven-"
"That's all right," I said. "I'll just be another minute." To be honest, vegan food was not my idea of a Thanksgiving meal. When I was younger, Renée had roasted real turkeys. Things had been different, back then...
...and things were different today, too.
Renée sat down on the deck chair next to me and sighed heavily. "Are you missing Charlie?"
I swallowed against the lump that had suddenly developed in my throat. "I keep trying to remember last Thanksgiving," I admitted, "but I can't." The previous holiday had been during the time I'd been lost in a fog after Edward's departure; four whole months with my father of which I had no recollection.
The thought made me want to cry all over again.
After several moments of silence, Renée reached over and took my hand, squeezing my fingers gently. "You know," she said, "that first Thanksgiving after you were born, he tried to feed you pumpkin pie. You were only ten weeks old, but you gummed the whole slice down anyway. He was so proud."
The ocean swam in my vision as I blinked back my tears. "And that was the only one he got with us as a family," I mumbled.
Renée sighed. "Bella-"
"Mom, why did you leave him?" I burst out. The question had been growing in my mind for the entire visit, turning my pain into resentment-then a pang of worry struck me, and I checked over my shoulder, just in case my step-father had made a sudden appearance in the yard. He hadn't. "I mean, I like Phil and everything," I added, "but he's not Dad."
Charlie was gone, and even six months later, I couldn't imagine anyone willingly giving him up.
My mother still smiled, but it had gone a little twisted at the edges. Then she blew out a breath and looked away from me for a long minute; I'd never seen her take so much time to consider her words. "Your father was the best person I ever knew, Bella," she finally said. "The thing is, baby... sometimes the perfect man isn't the right man."
After a long moment of silence, I admitted, "I understand that now."
***
Two days later I was back in Sea-Tac, headed through the labyrinth of terminals towards the security checkout. I'd spent a whole week away from La Push, and hadn't heard from Jacob Black even once.
I suspected he was in the building, though. A tiny vibration in my bones gave away his presence.
He'd promised he would wait at home for me to arrive.
He had broken that promise.
And as I saw his tall frame standing next to the baggage claim, his hands in his jeans pockets, watching as suitcase after suitcase slid slowly down the metal chute, I couldn't think of anything better in the world than broken promises.
I wasn't any closer than fifty feet away when he perked up and turned around; he didn't even have to scan the crowd to find me. A moment later I was swept off the floor into a crushing hug, my ribs nearly cracking under the strength of his embrace, and felt his kisses against my hair. I heard passersby muttering to themselves about public displays of affection; I ignored their comments, and merely hugged Jacob back as hard as I possibly could, completely unchagrined.
When I had enough room to breathe-though no will to step away-I murmured against the fabric of his shirt, "Were you okay?"
"Yeah," he whispered back, nuzzling his face against the top of my head. "Were you cold?"
"No." Not that that meant his heat wasn't the best thing I had felt in seven days. "But I missed you."
"Missed you too," Jacob said as his relieved pleasure soaked into my skin. "You smell good." I laughed, and then he confessed to me, "You might still be my soul mate, though. You think?"
I did. If the imprint had done any good, had proven anything to me, it was that. "It's great that being separated worked," I said, "but... let's not do it again, all right?"
"Definitely not," he agreed.
And we didn't.
the end.
***
Final Sanity Update (Mera Edition): Hooray for happy endings!
Side Note: I'll be posting the link to the Breaking Dawn format-compliant .pdf in a few days for anyone who wants it. Edit: Here!
A/N: There's really no need for an epically long Author's Note because most of my thoughts are in The Movement of the Earth (and also, I am tired). That being said, several years ago I read the book Prime Candidate by Gordon Cotler; it's not actually very good, but I've always liked this one quote:
Poppy Hancock came out of the campaign with her reputation pretty much intact. While she had failed to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, she had, as one pundit observed, at least managed to fashion Herb Turnbull into a pretty fair plastic pocketbook.
If these stories made the plot of the Twilight Saga into a plastic pocketbook, then that's about all I can ask for.
Thanks: The first thanks, of course, has to go to mera_naam_joker, who ghost-wrote the second half of the story. It would not have gotten finished without her, and in spite of the fact that towards the end I was getting more and more tweak-tastic with my original outline and started dismantling all her hard work, she never got mad. I owe her my sanity, except I can't imagine that she'd want to touch it with a ten foot pole, so I'll have to make fudge or something. You're not allergic to nuts, right, sweetheart?
Second thanks goes to gypseian, who podficced along the way and put up with my absurd scheduling. As soon as I get Leah-voice back, that's totally going to be wrapped up and available for download. I owe her some awesome mixing software, if I knew what kind to get or could afford it.
Obviously, though, biggest thanks goes to the folks reading this. You stuck with both The Movement of the Earth and The Fire of the Sun through Meyer-voice, through refusal to write a sequel, through wishy-washy flip-flopping, through a six month hiatus, through an author switch, through character death and a lack of explicit sex, through frustrating flow due to book structure rather than fic structure, and most importantly, through the most melodramatic, childish, egotistical, green-sliming temper tantrums in the history of Twi-fic. I have not been pleasant company throughout this series, and you're all candidates for sainthood for hanging in there until the end. So whether you were reading for the story, the experiment, or both, I give you all mass snorgles.
With regards to Stephenie Meyer... I'll make a deal with her. She can have my thanks just as soon as my fourteen-year-old cousin stops explaining how romantic she (my cousin) finds the canon events of Volterra. I think that's fair.
'Til next time, y'all.
Final Side Note: It's been exactly one year since story karma cut off part of my finger, and it still fucking hurts.