(no subject)
Title: My Hand Searches for Your Hand in a Dark Room
Pairing: Sam/Leah
Rating: PG-13
Summary: After tragedy strikes, Leah has to find a way to deal with the situation and her new role in Sam's life. - Rated T for themes.
Leah is not there out of sympathy; she’s there out of obligation, the sense of duty-not to him, to the pack. It’s about doing what’s right and what’s she’s been told to do. It’s not that she doesn’t have a choice - she does, for once. She just chooses the easier road, for once.
The house could not be more crowded and yet there’s a deadly silence hanging heavy in the air, filling every single space between the bodies that occupy the small living room. Leah finds a place for her to stand by the window, between the entrance and Paul’s large body. She’s surprised he is there and not on the back room, with Sam. She always thought Paul and Sam connected in a twisted way she’d never understand.
Paul is the opposite of Sam. Paul is reckless, impulsive, borderline aggressive, has no sense of personal space and will say whatever is on his mind. Sam is calm, collected, considerate (she always snorts at that); the definition of a leader. And yet, the two men get along strangely well. Even before the pack existed, and Sam was Leah’s Sam, Paul was his guy. Leah lost count of how many times she had to mouth-off with Paul so she could have her date with Sam without him tagging along.
And now Paul is standing with the rest of them in the living room.
Leah quickly scans the room and notices no one’s missing. They are all there. The pack, Billy, her mom and even Charlie Swan. He’s on his cell phone, whispering and talking something about dinner and a broken lock and she tunes him off.
Seth scoots closer to her and sighs unnecessarily loud to break their private silence.
“He doesn’t wanna see anybody.” He delivers the information without her having to ask for it. Sometimes, she thinks, it’s like they expand their gift of mind-communication to when they’re in their human forms and it’s not just with her younger brother.
Leah sniffs and crosses both arms over her chest. She didn’t ask so she doesn’t care. Except she does. Deep down, she does. The puffy eyes and the small laments she’s heard during the last couple of days didn’t include her and it wouldn’t include her now. She’s not one for public display of her own emotions.
Leah Clearwater doesn’t do emotions.
“Did you hear me?” He presses, “He’s in there all by himself with-”
“I heard you the first time.” She cuts him with a bark. The tone is acid and it gathers attention from some. She really does hate having her actions watched by other people. She really does hate when people tell her how to feel or what to do, like her brother was about to before she stopped him.
Walking into the kitchen she quickly spots the back door and is about to go for the doorknob when she feels her mother’s hand on her shoulder. She turns around and meets the woman’s kind eyes.
Her father had worried, watchful eyes. Sue Clearwater’s eyes are always kind, gentle and easy to get lost into.
“You should talk to him.”
She gasps at the sudden suggestion. It’s not an affirmation or an opinion being stated, it’s a suggestion and she knows it. The air slowly comes back to her and she’s back to being her usual casual self. She leans back against the sink and rests one hand over the cool stone.
“I don’t think that’s the best of the ideas right now, mom.”
Sue places one hand over her daughter’s arm. Leah almost flinches. She was once one to respond the gesture with the same amount of affection. Sue misses her daughter’s old ways, but she can’t stop herself from loving this version of the girl just as much.
Retracting her hand, she sighs. “Everybody else already tried, he won’t see anybody.”
“So what makes you think I-”
“Leah” her mother interferes with a smile, “Please.”
Well, she can’t say no to that. It’s much harder to deny something to someone when the person is being nice and asking please. Especially if that person is your own mother.
. . .
She doesn’t knock.
The door is already unlocked and slightly open so all she does is give it a little push and walk inside the bedroom with careful steps. The lights are off but the window’s open, letting the little light that brightens the room enter.
Sam is sitting by the edge of the bed, both elbows leaning on both knees and his head hung between his large hands. Leah sort of dances around the nightstand and stops by the big window. He doesn’t seem to notice her presence, which is virtually impossible with his wolf senses. So she clears her throat awkwardly in the way they do it in the movies to announce their arrival upon the unsuspected other.
His head shoots up on one quick motion and she’s reassured his wolf senses are in check. There’s a darkness around his eyes from lack of sleep, crying, stress, you name it. But there’s also something else, something that Leah tries not to see when it’s so obvious, when it’s simply there.
It’s pain. It’s emotional and physical pain. Even as he looks at her, his face twists as if someone’s stabbing him on the back at the same moment. But there’s no one else in the room but them. Except-
“What are you doing here?” His voice sounds like it hasn’t been used in months.
She shrugs, “You’re alone for too long. People wonder.”
His head bows and for a moment she thinks he’ll be back to the same position he was before. He shakes his head a little and there’s a sound coming out of him that is something between a snort and a bitter laugh.
“Don’t you know? I’ll never have to be alone again.”
He’s quoting her mother and Billy. She’s heard that before. She remembers half snorting, half bitter laughing at that as well.
They stay in silence for a little while. Sam keeps staring at the floor and Leah keeps trying not to stare at him for too long. He looks so small and breakable and she has to fight those old primal urges of hers to keep herself in the same spot. There’s nothing she can do, she tells herself. This doesn’t change the way he feels about her, it doesn’t change anything.
Death doesn’t break an imprint bond.
The small, faint cry disturbs their moment. Leah looks up behind the bed but Sam doesn’t even move. She looks back at him, waiting for a response, but he stays still. The cry becomes louder and more powerful and Leah takes one step ahead before pulling herself back. It’s not her place. It’s not even in her nature. It’s not her right.
“For God’s sake, Sam.”
The man slumps his shoulders and raises his eyes to her with a sniff. Then he’s back at concentrating on the floor. The cry seems like it will never stop. It gets louder and wilder. It’s demanding and it’s hurting. Leah has to bite her lips together to keep her eyes from getting watery. She will not crumble now. Not now.
But it’s strong, it’s her blood. She looks at Sam’s apathetic state and glances one last time at the small baby crib across the bedroom.
“Pull your goddamn self together.”
She warns and leaves.
Pairing: Sam/Leah
Rating: PG-13
Summary: After tragedy strikes, Leah has to find a way to deal with the situation and her new role in Sam's life. - Rated T for themes.
Leah is not there out of sympathy; she’s there out of obligation, the sense of duty-not to him, to the pack. It’s about doing what’s right and what’s she’s been told to do. It’s not that she doesn’t have a choice - she does, for once. She just chooses the easier road, for once.
The house could not be more crowded and yet there’s a deadly silence hanging heavy in the air, filling every single space between the bodies that occupy the small living room. Leah finds a place for her to stand by the window, between the entrance and Paul’s large body. She’s surprised he is there and not on the back room, with Sam. She always thought Paul and Sam connected in a twisted way she’d never understand.
Paul is the opposite of Sam. Paul is reckless, impulsive, borderline aggressive, has no sense of personal space and will say whatever is on his mind. Sam is calm, collected, considerate (she always snorts at that); the definition of a leader. And yet, the two men get along strangely well. Even before the pack existed, and Sam was Leah’s Sam, Paul was his guy. Leah lost count of how many times she had to mouth-off with Paul so she could have her date with Sam without him tagging along.
And now Paul is standing with the rest of them in the living room.
Leah quickly scans the room and notices no one’s missing. They are all there. The pack, Billy, her mom and even Charlie Swan. He’s on his cell phone, whispering and talking something about dinner and a broken lock and she tunes him off.
Seth scoots closer to her and sighs unnecessarily loud to break their private silence.
“He doesn’t wanna see anybody.” He delivers the information without her having to ask for it. Sometimes, she thinks, it’s like they expand their gift of mind-communication to when they’re in their human forms and it’s not just with her younger brother.
Leah sniffs and crosses both arms over her chest. She didn’t ask so she doesn’t care. Except she does. Deep down, she does. The puffy eyes and the small laments she’s heard during the last couple of days didn’t include her and it wouldn’t include her now. She’s not one for public display of her own emotions.
Leah Clearwater doesn’t do emotions.
“Did you hear me?” He presses, “He’s in there all by himself with-”
“I heard you the first time.” She cuts him with a bark. The tone is acid and it gathers attention from some. She really does hate having her actions watched by other people. She really does hate when people tell her how to feel or what to do, like her brother was about to before she stopped him.
Walking into the kitchen she quickly spots the back door and is about to go for the doorknob when she feels her mother’s hand on her shoulder. She turns around and meets the woman’s kind eyes.
Her father had worried, watchful eyes. Sue Clearwater’s eyes are always kind, gentle and easy to get lost into.
“You should talk to him.”
She gasps at the sudden suggestion. It’s not an affirmation or an opinion being stated, it’s a suggestion and she knows it. The air slowly comes back to her and she’s back to being her usual casual self. She leans back against the sink and rests one hand over the cool stone.
“I don’t think that’s the best of the ideas right now, mom.”
Sue places one hand over her daughter’s arm. Leah almost flinches. She was once one to respond the gesture with the same amount of affection. Sue misses her daughter’s old ways, but she can’t stop herself from loving this version of the girl just as much.
Retracting her hand, she sighs. “Everybody else already tried, he won’t see anybody.”
“So what makes you think I-”
“Leah” her mother interferes with a smile, “Please.”
Well, she can’t say no to that. It’s much harder to deny something to someone when the person is being nice and asking please. Especially if that person is your own mother.
. . .
She doesn’t knock.
The door is already unlocked and slightly open so all she does is give it a little push and walk inside the bedroom with careful steps. The lights are off but the window’s open, letting the little light that brightens the room enter.
Sam is sitting by the edge of the bed, both elbows leaning on both knees and his head hung between his large hands. Leah sort of dances around the nightstand and stops by the big window. He doesn’t seem to notice her presence, which is virtually impossible with his wolf senses. So she clears her throat awkwardly in the way they do it in the movies to announce their arrival upon the unsuspected other.
His head shoots up on one quick motion and she’s reassured his wolf senses are in check. There’s a darkness around his eyes from lack of sleep, crying, stress, you name it. But there’s also something else, something that Leah tries not to see when it’s so obvious, when it’s simply there.
It’s pain. It’s emotional and physical pain. Even as he looks at her, his face twists as if someone’s stabbing him on the back at the same moment. But there’s no one else in the room but them. Except-
“What are you doing here?” His voice sounds like it hasn’t been used in months.
She shrugs, “You’re alone for too long. People wonder.”
His head bows and for a moment she thinks he’ll be back to the same position he was before. He shakes his head a little and there’s a sound coming out of him that is something between a snort and a bitter laugh.
“Don’t you know? I’ll never have to be alone again.”
He’s quoting her mother and Billy. She’s heard that before. She remembers half snorting, half bitter laughing at that as well.
They stay in silence for a little while. Sam keeps staring at the floor and Leah keeps trying not to stare at him for too long. He looks so small and breakable and she has to fight those old primal urges of hers to keep herself in the same spot. There’s nothing she can do, she tells herself. This doesn’t change the way he feels about her, it doesn’t change anything.
Death doesn’t break an imprint bond.
The small, faint cry disturbs their moment. Leah looks up behind the bed but Sam doesn’t even move. She looks back at him, waiting for a response, but he stays still. The cry becomes louder and more powerful and Leah takes one step ahead before pulling herself back. It’s not her place. It’s not even in her nature. It’s not her right.
“For God’s sake, Sam.”
The man slumps his shoulders and raises his eyes to her with a sniff. Then he’s back at concentrating on the floor. The cry seems like it will never stop. It gets louder and wilder. It’s demanding and it’s hurting. Leah has to bite her lips together to keep her eyes from getting watery. She will not crumble now. Not now.
But it’s strong, it’s her blood. She looks at Sam’s apathetic state and glances one last time at the small baby crib across the bedroom.
“Pull your goddamn self together.”
She warns and leaves.