Looking For Footprints - A Birthday Fic For Shug By Smellyia

[smellyia]

This is my Birthday AND Thank You Gift for my new friend Shug.

Meeting you has truly been a pleasure and this has been the most rewarding little bit to write since I knew it was for someone who deserves a decent freaking out from me ;) which I did in writing this. Ask Ginny.

So besides Happy Bday -- this is the THANK YOU you so deserve for bailing me and TLYDF out of a tight spot.

Two things were utilized to write this: 1. Shug's prompt "The Cullens take Bella camping" and 2. The song "Waking Life" by Schuyler Fisk (also the source for the title). Twilight Fanfiction. AU-Human, probably OOC.

Another special THANKS and CURTSIES and HUGS to the beta's I SO VERY BADLY NEEDED -- ginny_weasley31 and emibella. I less than three you. Also, Thanks for inviting me to join in the celebration that is Shug!

Disclaimer: Don't own Twilight.

So, yeah -- here goes...



Looking For Footprints by Smellyia

The little girl stood on the doorstep of an imposing structure just as she had many times before except with a rucksack for an overnight or just with a hand in her mother’s waiting on the familiar occupants to allow them in. On her previous visits, there were no purple circles encasing her eyes, her cardigan would have been buttoned up and her jeans would not have hung down so loosely -- but that was before.

She knew this doorstep; the way the wind blew across it a little more strongly than when she was standing on the driveway, the way the smell of lavender traveled on the wind from the blooms, the way she would shudder and inhale at the same time. But that was before. On this particular day, the air was still and the blooms were not in season.

With a ratty purple polka-dot suitcase to her left and a small army-issue carry-on in her hand, she reached for the door knocker. She had never been the actual person to knock before, but as the last few weeks had shown her, there would be many unwelcomed firsts in the near future.

Reaching to grab the knocker, she noticed how her face reflected in the gleaming brass of the lion’s head, waiting with it’s mouth wide open to catch anything in it’s jaws. It reminded her of A Christmas Carol. She half-expected the knocker to turn into the ghost of Jacob Marley as she stood there. With her parents occupying the status of the ethereal right then, she decided she didn’t like ghost stories.

She stilled her hand on the brass, refraining from dropping it with a hollow force. Instead, she laid it back in its resting place with gentleness and a reverence befitting the dead and haunting. She pressed the inconspicuous button to the left and a chime issued forth, echoing inside.

The sharp clicks and clacks of what was assuredly her Aunt Esme’s Italian heels could be heard through the heavy oak door. With purpose and elegant precision, the door opened with barely a whoosh. Arms engulfed her without words and the suffocation set in. Warmth surrounded her, but did not infuse. Tears stained and excuses were made.

“No apologies darling. We’re family and it’s going to be okay. I promise,” said her aunt.

The door was shut behind her and a new chapter was to begin. One devoid of her mother’s favorite red cashmere sweater, her father’s oval spectacles, or curling up in her favorite chair to read Judy Blume. The bits of her home had been chopped up and dispersed to Good Will, salvage stores, and consignment shops. She only had a few select mementos stuffed in her ratty suitcase sitting to her left.

I stared down at the mucky pool before me. It couldn’t have been more than an inch deep and maybe a foot in diameter. The torrents of rain, stinging and unrelenting, would change that soon. My tears would add to the water, giving no real contribution to the puddle, but there nonetheless. I fell to my knees, letting the mud cover my clothing and splatter onto my skin. Later, the mud would cake and dry and I would pick because it would itch.

All that was visible through the sheets of water was mud where grass once grew and trees in the small valley in which I found myself in. In the back of my head, I knew I should get up and move from such a precarious spot. A flash flood would be just the thing to end my weekend in the woods, wouldn’t it?

“Oy!”

I turned around at the sound, but it could have just been the wind answering a plea for help I’d never really sent out. In the distance, there was naught but a glimmer of a light. It could have easily been just a figment of my imagination. I had a lot of those, specters and wraiths were my nightmares.

The tiny speck of light started to grow, turning more into an amber glow. It was higher off the ground than I’d first noticed.

“Oy! You all right there?”

I heard right. A black rain slicker or trench coat swirled around the figure coming toward me with a wide-brimmed hat shielded their face. Man, woman, old, young - I had no idea who they were.

Realizing how dangerous the predicament truly was, I stood up. My water-logged trainers sloshed and added ten pounds to the weight I already carried on my shoulders. If I had to run, it would be slow and I would never make it to the cover of the trees.

As the figure came upon me, I saw it was a man. “I said, are you alright?”

“Yeah. I was just resting,” I answered feebly.

“Are you lost?”

I looked at the man closer, the light from the lantern doing little to highlight his features. His hat covered his hair and his eyes were slightly illuminated. They were hazel, maybe green - I couldn’t be sure. He was definitely not a ghost and not someone I used to know. He wouldn’t read me bedtime stories or ruffle my hair. And even though I couldn’t see him clearly, I could see his eyes and they didn’t make the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The man, who I had decided looked not more than a few years older than my tender twenty years, looked at me quizzically, no doubt thinking me unhinged from the laughter that bubbled up because of my morbid musings. He very well could have been right.

“No, I’m not lost,” I answered.

She sat on a fold-up chair, slightly away from the others. It was the same chair, same spot, claimed by her each time since they had started the annual trips. Her Aunt Esme, Uncle Carlisle, Alice, Emmett and Emmett’s friend, Jasper, made quick work getting out the marshmallows and metal skewers - Esme had no tolerance for sticks, not as her mother would have. As Alice and Emmett bickered over the precise point at which a marshmallow should come into contact with the camp fire, Jasper walked over to where she sat.

Sensing that her solitary pursuit was about to be intruded upon, she bookmarked her place, but said nothing. Jasper unfolded one of the camping chairs and placed it close to her, indicating his company would not be of a short duration. She looked at him blankly.

“What are you reading?” he asked. While it was not the most Jasper Hale had spoken to her in the many years of their acquaintance, it was the most inquisitive he had ever been.

“Sense and Sensibility.”

“Ahhh, Austen. So you’re a romantic then? Tell me, you must dream of being the young Marianne Dashwood, tragically scorned by the man you thought was devoted and then swept up by the incomparable Colonel Brandon.” Jasper smiled a rather dashing smile as he said this.

Taken aback by this teenage boy’s knowledge of Jane, it took her a moment to answer. “You’ve read Austen?”

“My mother is a fan and I was curious.”

“Mine too,” she answered without thought. The tidbit from memories that only appeared in dreams or on haunted nights only made the book sitting in her lap burn.

I pulled the old sweatshirt he gave me over my head, taking in a whiff of a spicy citrus scent. If this was freshly laundered, I would need to find out what kind of detergent he used. It smelled divine. The enormous sweatpants needed to be tied to stay anchored on my hips. After sliding on the wool socks he thoughtfully provided, I grabbed my drenched clothing and exited the bathroom with a quick glance and sigh at my reflection.

I walked back to the living room of the man’s sparsely furnished cabin. A couch, chair with an ottoman, coffee table and a few bookshelves lined with innumerable tomes sat on the unpolished and scuffed wood floor that would cause Esme to run screaming in horror. The red, gold and green threads of the battered area rug had long ago faded.

Using the towel I’d found in the bathroom, I dried my hair as I nosily perused his stacks of books. There was no rhyme or reason to the shelving system: Anne Rice sat next to Kierkegaard, Adams next to Sparks. The diversity of material was just as disconcerting. I had a hard time imagining this man curled up on the couch reading The Notebook.

I bent down, letting the towel trail on the floor, as I spied a volume that never failed to catch my attention. The copy of Sense and Sensibility was worn, the pages curling at the edges and the older edition paperback cover with two women slightly torn. I wondered if all of these books belonged to him or were just left here over the years by various inhabitants or visitors.

I could hear the whistling of the tea kettle piercing the quiet of my creeping coming from the direction where I assumed was the kitchen. Some shuffling and clanging of ceramic perked me up for something to warm me a little more thoroughly. I took the book and pulled the afghan on the back of the couch around me while I waited for a steaming mug of what I could only hope was tea - and not of the Lipton variety. I opened the book and starting flipping through to the part I had been on earlier in the day.

“You are very good at making yourself comfortable,” his voice alerting me to his presence as his footsteps weren’t audible. I heard him a lot more clearly without the sound of wind and rain rushing at me ears and his voice put me directly at ease - like one of those sound machines people spent way too much money on - his baritone could put me to sleep. I looked up at his face from my spot on the couch now completely visible in the light of the cabin.

It would figure his features would be classically beautiful while I was the equivalent to a drenched cat or perhaps rat. Here he was with his patrician nosed, full lips, green - not hazel - eyes and really, fit didn’t even touch him in description. I sighed at my luck or curse, depending on how I wanted to look at it.

I always had snark on my side. “You did supply me with dry clothes. I could only assume you meant for me to take full advantage of your hospitality.”

“Has anyone ever told you that to assume could easily make an ass out of you and me?” he said, eyes twinkling. He handed one of the steaming mugs in his hand.

“Ah, but insinuation could easily lead to assumption and wouldn’t it be a sin if the ass ended up just being me because I believed you,” I said before my filter could kick in.

“You still operate off of presumptions. The main one being me as an honorable person.” He raised an eyebrow as he sat on the neighboring chair, sinking into the cushions.

“Perhaps.” I took a sip of tea, stale but not Lipton. “But you made me tea, albeit stale, so I have decided to classify you as decent in general. “

He chuckled. “I am glad to have met your approval. Oh, by the way, when you were in the bathroom I got a radio that your family has been notified that you were found. At first light, I’ll get you back to them. They’re at one of the lodges.”

“I’m not lost,” I muttered under my breath, my face half hidden in the mug.

“Did you say something?” he asked.

“No, nothing.”

“Whatever you say.” He chuckled again. “What’s that you got there?” He leaned forward, setting the cup of stale tea on the coffee table in front of him.

I held up the book, “Oh, I found it in your shelves. Sense and Sensibility. It’s an Austen novel about two sisters. Elinor and-“

“Marianne Dashwood. Yes, I know it well. A favorite of yours?”

I had to think a moment before I could answer. “I suppose. I read it because, well I like Elinor. I like how she silently suffers and keeps it all in. She is so very dignified.”

He snorted, causing me to shoot him a sharp look. “Seriously? She was a martyr of the most pious sort. Don’t get me wrong, she was loving and sweet, but I think Marianne got a bad rap. A product of the times you could say.”

“Why is that?”

“Here you have this girl: passionate about life, love and family. She just wants to spread her wings and scream out. She’s young and in her mind love is an infallible sort. Her family loves her for this, yet chides her. Why should her public and exuberant declarations be so bad?”

I looked at him a bit confused, “Have you read this whole thing? Weatherby dumped on her and crushed her. Humiliation was her best friend for awhile there.”

“Sadly, yes. But her zest was always there. She lived and loved hard, therefore she fell hard. With any emotion, it’s the falling that gets overlooked, I think. How worthwhile is it to love your family or a significant other if the threat of loss isn’t there? You have to scream sometime and if Elinor had screamed just once, I think she would have been so much more than the sister Marianne should have been. Remember, in the end it was that passion that drew Brandon… and it was her family that was her rock when she needed to be held up.”

I blinked at him a few times. There was nothing wrong with keeping yourself closed. Nothing wrong with a little bit of protection. I let my head fall to the arm of the couch and said nothing, wondering on how much someone could possibly be missing when they stayed at the periphery. Not much, I lied to myself.

The first day of her trip she let Emmett and Alice, the domineering duo, pursuade her to go hiking. She lagged behind. She tripped and skinned her knees. Emmett laughed and chided and Alice rolled her eyes. She’d brushed them off just as they were the dirt and blood on her knees.

The second day came along and despite her pleas to Esme and Carlisle, she fished and caught nothing but a hook in the thumb. She tried to read and manage the rod at the same time, but her book ended up in the river. Emmett, Alice and Jasper had all caught at least one fish, only to throw their trophies back. She would never understand catch and release.

On the third day, she finally said fuck it and made herself comfortable in her little chair and stayed there until the sun went down. Then Emmett started waving around a flashlight like he worked at the movie theatre.

“Hurry up!” Emmett hollered, “Come on. We want to tell ghost stories.”

After all these years, she still hated ghost stories.

Jasper took up residence next to her and nudged her arm. Again, her convictions failed and she moved her seat closer to the fire and became one with the circle.

Emmett turned his flashlight on and angled it up to his face, causing shadows to add to the effect, but the glow of the fire made it not so harsh. He told a story of a young girl who wandered the forest and came upon a man. He promised to help her, but only led her away - never to be seen again except on certain moonless nights by the odd stray camper.

She imagined herself walking, leaving. If she had come upon such a man, would he have the dusting of grey at his temples as her father did?

Alice took hold of the flashlight and told the story of a man whose wife had been murdered. The man looked upon her body and described the carnage. In the end, the blood on the cleaver he held was dry. After he cleaned her up, he went to bed only to wake up next to his wife’s corpse.

Shifting in her seat, she thought of the moment she came awake in the twisted metal of her parents’ car. She only had snippets: red blotches, half-lidded eyes that saw nothing, sounds of a scream, her throat burning after.

It was Jasper’s turn and he looked at her before beginning. Her face was pale and her eyes shone with tears. He didn’t understand what was wrong and didn’t ask - no one else seemed to notice. He took the flashlight from Alice and started to speak. He spoke of a lost little girl who couldn’t find her home. She looked and looked until finally, she came upon the cottage where she was born. Inside the cottage, she saw her parents. She tugged at her mother’s skirts over and over, but to no avail. Eventually her father walked in and the little girl ran through the kitchen, before she stopped dead at the sight in front of her. In his arms was a bundle whose cries pierced the cottage. They had forgotten about her, she knew, and she swore to stay put until they remembered.

It was her turn next but she had no stomach for it. When the flashlight was proffered to her, she stared, grabbing it was almost like a commitment of telling a tale - someone’s sad tale about death and loss and pain. It could be her’s or someone else’s. Did it really matter whose it was? She decided not and excused herself. She stood up and went to the camper, wishing to go into the woods to see if maybe someone was looking for her. But no one would be.

I turned my head upwards just a bit, enough to notice the picture frames dotting the various places. One picture, sitting on the closest bookshelf drew my notice. It wasn’t the unassuming frame or the black and white; it was the family in it.

This was not a contrived photo, just a moment in time captured. I sat up to look closer. It was obviously outdoors, most likely in the same woods we were in now. The parents were laughing and the boy, the son, was bent over in his mirth. His face, just like my host’s was scrunched up in laughter. I could hear the sound of it as I looked at his younger face.

“Me and my parents, a few years ago. Before they died.”

“They’re gone?” I asked. My attention was captured. He reached for the picture and held it in his lap. He stared at it for a minute, his smile small and serene.

“Yeah, a few years ago. It was hard, but I still have this place and although they aren’t here, I’m never lonely.”

I didn’t understand. “How can you not be lonely? You’re out here in the middle of nowhere and well, you’re alone.”

He shook his head and looked at me sadly. “I’m out here because I want to be. This was where we came when they were still around. I have other family that are around and I love having them, but I don’t pretend that just because my parents are gone, I have to be too.” He shrugged and set the picture back in its spot. “This is just where I go to remember them and have a quiet moment. Sometimes my uncles or cousins come with me, but occasionally I like to be here alone, never am I lonely though.”

“These books belonged to your parents didn’t they?” I asked.

“Some of them. I keep most things I have left of theirs up here.”

“How do you stand it? Being around it all. I can barely stand to think about them.” I flushed, horrified at allowing that to slip.

“Them?” he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees.

“Nobody,” I answered, pulling the afghan around me. He didn’t need to know and I didn’t need to share.

My eyes started to get heavy in our silence and I barely heard him stand up and grab the cup of tea in front of me on the coffee table. He paused and let out a deep breath. The last thing I saw before I fell asleep was a man with grey at his temples twirling me in a living room that was no longer mine.

“Bella! WAIT!” She could hear her aunt yelling, chasing after her as she stalked off. She didn’t stop. The tears were streaming too fast, too forcefully. “Bella!”

A hand grabbed her, halting her defection. Bella twirled around and wrenched herself free. Her breath was ragged, angry. Esme’s face was filled with concern, the same she had bestowed on her since that first day on her porch when Bella showed up with a ratty purple polka-dot suitcase.

“WHY? Why do you keep forcing this on me, Esme?” Bella screamed. “I can’t be your daughter. You can’t force yourself to be my mother.”

Bella could see the tears pool in Esme’s eyes as she remained calm. “I never asked for that. When are you going to let go? It’s been years. I loved your parents. I love you. You’re all we have left of them.”

My cousins. Their friend. Carlisle. They all came up behind her. Carlisle put a hand on her shoulder. Emmett looked livid. Alice just shook her head and stepped forward. “Stop it, Bella. Just for once, stop. We sit by and let you be alone. You suffer quietly when you should scream. Why don’t you scream?”

Bella stood there, divided from her family as if a stone wall was being erected between them. She opened her mouth to say something back to Alice, to say something to all of them. To apologize. To just scream. To say the names of her long dead parents. No sound came and she turned and ran into the woods, searching and crying. The rain didn’t stop her.

“Bella, wake up,” I heard as someone shook my shoulder. I opened my eyes, Edward Masen’s Washington State Park Services nametag glaring in my face. “It’s morning. Your family is waiting.”

I rubbed my eyes, squinting at the sunlight coming through the windows. “What time is it?”

“Late. We burned a lot of daylight sleeping in this morning, but the service radioed in asking about you. We need to get going.”

I nodded and sat up. “My clothes?”

“I’ve got them folded up, but your shoes are still wet. I’ve got a pair of Crocs you can borrow. You can change if you want.”

“Do you mind if I just go like this?” I asked.

“Not at all. I’m going to go start the jeep if you want to use the restroom or anything.”

I was still sleepy and didn’t say anything as he walked out keys in hand. After tending to my morning business in the bathroom I used the night before, I turned on the faucet, intending to wash my face. I stared into the mirror as I leaned on the countertop above the rushing water.

I looked at myself daily; as I combed my hair, as I brushed my teeth, as I applied a meager amount of makeup. But I never saw myself. I knew I had brown hair, like my father’s side. I knew I had my mother’s pert nose and her mother’s slightly thin lips. My ears stuck out like Emmett’s, but my eyes slanted and were just a bit too narrow. I looked into them sharply, forcing myself to see. I only saw her and them, never me.

I was okay with that on this particular morning.

The water had warmed and I splashed it on my face, effectively rinsing the sleep away and gargled a bit to wash the morning breath into submission. I was tempted to use Edward’s single green toothbrush, but somehow I felt that just because he gave me a helping hand, didn’t mean he wanted me slobbering all over his personal hygiene items.

I was no longer a wet bedraggled cat or rat, but just crazy sleep-haired cat or rat. I wasn’t sure which sat prettier on me. Sighing, I went out to meet Edward.

He was standing, looking out at the trees and valleys. I had no idea his cabin sat so high up and the view of hills and green was breathtaking. Before I could stop and stare, he turned and opened the door to his jeep for me.

I thanked him and got in, pushing aside multiple empty styrofoam coffee cups. He came around the side and hopped into the driver’s seat and after getting situated, started to drive. Old habits of making myself welcome were hard to break, and after making an internal excuse as to such, I started to rifle through his CDs.

“You’re awfully nosey, aren’t you?” he said playfully.

“Not nosey. I guess I’m just used to being in someone else’s domain and finding a niche.” Those were the truest words I had said in a long time.

He nodded knowingly and grabbed a CD. “Put in this one.”

I did as instructed. “You know, you could just get an iPod right? They are damned convenient. You could also use them while you’re out saving girls in flood planes during raging storms.”

“I could, but then how would I hear their pleas for help. Call me old-fashioned, but when I’m out and about I like to hear the world around me.” He flashed me a wicked smile. “I’m guessing you have multiple sets of earbuds.”

I blushed at his correct observation. “I thought we talked about assumptions.”

“You were all for them last night. I figured I’d give it a try. Apparently, I have a knack for it.”

“I won’t confirm or deny.”

He let out a laugh. “You mean you won’t admit it.” He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as the music came on. I grimaced, classic rock never being a favorite of mine. “By the way, I didn’t mean to pry last night.”

It took me a second to realize what he meant, “Oh. Yeah. I don’t really talk about it.”

“I understand.” Edward fell silent for just a moment. “So who am I delivering you to?”

“My aunt, uncle, and cousins.”

“I bet they were concerned about you last night. They had called you into the Park Service before I could even radio.”

I looked out the window, closing my eyes. “I’m not so sure it was so much out of concern as a want to tan my hide.”

“Why would you think that?” he asked never losing a beat while he tapped away.

“I said some awful stuff to them.”

“So what? Families do that, especially when they’re hurting. You’re much more important to them than some ill-planned words.”

“Perhaps,” I replied, but I wondered how important they were to me. Esme’s voice telling me I was all they had left of my parents rang through my ears. It struck me how that could go both ways.

I opened my eyes and just ahead of us was the lodge where my family must have been waiting. We pulled up and I looked at Edward. He put the car in park and looked back at me.

“Thank-“

“Here we-“

We both chuckled a bit at this uncomfortable departure. He stayed silent, giving way to ladies first. “I just wanted to say thanks for finding me.”

His lips quirked. “But I thought you weren’t lost. And you’re welcome.”

I smiled back genuinely and got out of the car. Before I could close his door, he spoke, “Hey, Elinor. Don’t be too hard on them.”

“I think I’m going to consult Marianne on this one and hopefully she’ll have a few pointers for me on that whole living out loud bit you like so much.”

“Take care, Bella.”

“I will. I’m not as lost, so it’s bound to get better right?”

One Year Later

I hiked up the hill in the daytime sun. My trainers were dry and the sweat from my brow made my hair stick to my face. The pack on my back held a few items that didn’t belong to me and I was looking to return them.

I wasn’t sure if the occupant of the cabin would be there, but I had some paper for a note just in case. I couldn’t wait for him to return, my family had already started the campfire and it wouldn’t be long until we made dinner and roasted marshmallows.

I didn’t want to miss that part.

I made it up to the cabin door and saw Edward’s jeep around the back. I hadn’t seen him since our last trip, but after a few emails through the Park’s service website, I didn’t think I’d be unwelcome. Plus, I still had his clothes. I never did figure out what detergent he used.

I knocked without hesitation and the door opened. Edward was still a lovely looking man and his grin confirmed that I was still welcome.

“Bella! I didn’t expect you. What are you doing up here?”

“Family camping. Yearly thing. This time I made sure it wasn’t night or raining to come see you.”

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

I reached over and pulled my pack around. I took out the clothing and Crocs he let me borrow. “I know it’s a little late, but I thought you might want it back.”

He laughed and took the items from me. “Come in. I’d say make yourself at home, but somehow I know you will regardless of what I say.”

“True,” I answered with as much haughty seriousness as I could muster. “But I’ve got to be heading back. I wanted to invite you to come down tonight and hang out with me and my family. Typical camping cliché stuff, ghost stories and marshmallows, but it could be fun.”

“So, everything worked out with them then?”

“You could say that. Marianne was a good tutor this past year. So are you interested in coming around?”

“Sure thing. I’ve got a few things I’ve got to do and then I’ll be ready to go. If you want to wait-”

I waved him off. “I’d love to, but I’m worried if I stay gone too long, Emmett and Alice may stab each other over the appropriate proximity food items should be in with flames. We’re at the camp site two miles south. Take your time and come along whenever you’re ready. My family would love to meet you.”

He frowned a bit. “I wouldn’t want you to get lonely or lost on the walk down.”

“I’ve got my footprints to follow and while I’m alone sometimes, I’m never lonely anymore.” I smiled a smile that touched my eyes and turned to walk away.

The End