FIC: Straddling the Line

[nilchance]

Title: Straddling the Line
Author: nilchance
Rating: R
a/n: Serendipity-verse. Jeff has to fish or cut bait.



It's been less than a year, but Jeff is already learning not to reach for Sarah when he wakes.

It hadn't occurred to him. Not until he woke up with the scent of breakfast downstairs, Zach's voice, Ever's laugh. Sarah was the missing piece; there would be no jokes about getting a room. None of Sarah teasing Ever about bedhead, or Sarah and Zach conspiring to pitch Jeff into the ocean.

It's easier to pretend that he had never met her. That his time with Sarah was some sort of extended dream, a vacation from reality. He'd packaged Ever and Zach up with that part of his life and buried it.

David had warned him that they'd come back in a few months. That they'd give him a chance to have a pack around him, now that he wasn't so raw with grief that he couldn't stand it. Nobody had mentioned the two boys. Nobody had said what they'd do if Jeff snapped again.

He can still smell Jensen on his sheets, stronger than Sarah's ghost.

His morning rhythm is disturbed. He sits on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, staring at his shoes. There's not much chatter downstairs. Zach and Ever have been together long enough to move in sync, and he can't take it this morning.

He slips downstairs barefoot, pausing to check in on the boys. They're sacked out, dead asleep in a tangle of limbs. Jared has one arm slung protectively over Jensen. Jeff can smell the ocean and wet fur. He probably doesn't want to know why.

Zach and Ever have to hear him coming down the steps, but nobody stops him as he heads out the door.

Bisou has spent most of the last six months on the mainland, because Jeff doesn't trust his temper. But it still feels strange not to have a running partner. He starts out slow, pacing himself, feeling the impact of each step on the sand. There are footprints waiting for him to fill, the stride slightly shorter than his own. Ever, maybe. After a few minutes, Jeff outstretches them and pours himself into the run.

The wolf is there in the white noise inside his head, the burn of his muscles, the rhythm of his breath. It's there and it's restless. He's let it slip the leash every morning, let the run become a declaration of his territory. He can't let it go now, not with two unturned boys on the island, not with Ever here. With Zach.

The wolf remembers the sound bone made when Jeff hit Zach, when Zach hit the ground. It remembers the moment that Sarah stopped being mate and became meat.

Jeff pushes the wolf down and slows his strides. It shoves against him, pulling at the seams. As his pulse quiets, it seems like he can hold the world: the shine of the sun off the water, the heat of the sand, the taste of salt, the green smell of Sarah's herb garden... and deeper, Ever's scent: powdery and feral. She still smells like the deserts of Nevada, where they met.

Without turning, Jeff says, "I'll be inside in a few minutes."

Ever touches him, her hand skimming under his shirt to rest on his back. The wolf shivers, Jeff shivers, and he hates that he can't tell the difference anymore.

Then Ever kicks the back of his knee and takes him down. Jeff hits hard on his raised hands, sand stinging in his face. He rolls and Ever lands on him, her ass on his stomach. Jeff grunts, tries to double up, and Ever's punch clips him on the jaw. It won't hurt in five minutes, not with their healing, but he tastes blood and sees lights.

"C'mon," Ever snarls, and slaps him soundly upside the head. "Come on!"

Another sharp crack, and Jeff slips. He moves without thinking, tossing her to the sand and lunging for her. His hands slide in suntan lotion as she squirms away, all sharp elbows and knees, until he grabs her by the waistband and hauls her under him. It's all a tussle then, bruising close strikes, Ever growling, her nails on his skin.

It feels free. It feels good.

Jeff lets her pitch him over, her thighs around his hips, her hair in his face. He smacks at her, stinging, taunting, and she bites his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. He doesn't think, grabs her hair, pulls her head aside to bare her throat. She makes a harsh sound, defiant, and wrenches against his hand harder than he'd ever yank. He hesitates, she cracks her knee into his ribs.

He's stronger. He rolls her over again, pins her beneath him, bites and bullies his face into the curve of her throat. He bites, and she stiffens, her heels skidding in the sand. Her hand latches in his hair, digging her nails in, and he huffs against her skin. Laughs.

"Fuck," Ever mutters, and relaxes under his mouth. She tangles her fingers up in his hair, stroking now. "I missed you."

The wolf grumbles and subsides. Dizzy with it, Jeff loosens his jaw and kisses the angry-looking bite.

Ever inhales, like she does before a rant, then seems to deflate all at once. Pushing Jeff back so she can look him straight in the eye, she asks, "Can you do this?"

And that's it, right on the table, no bullshit. Can he do this? Can he tolerate having them here? Can he trust himself not to hurt someone? Can he help the boys, or should they go back to David?

Jeff takes in a breath to say something smart, to stall, and it chokes him. His eyes hurt. Ever nudges her head against his and doesn't try to say anything comforting. She's just there.

"I'm trying," he says, when he can say anything. "What about Zach?"

"Zach," Ever scoffs, but she won't quite look at him. She was the one who pulled Zach out of the house before Jeff could kill him. She was the one David had to keep from going for Jeff's throat. "You know he forgives you."

"No. I don't know that."

"He already told you. He's here. I'm here," and Ever grimaces to show her opinion of over-protective males. She rests her hand on his nape. "Jensen's sick. Like Sarah."

Something lurches hard in Jeff's belly. He tenses, but Ever doesn't pull away. She meets his eyes, dead serious. Swallowing, Jeff rasps, "You think he can make the shift?"

"I'm not sure."

"Can't David--?"

"David's getting old, Jeff." Ever glances away at the sky. She almost doesn't sound like she's talking about her uncle. "He's getting weaker. One of these days, he won't be able to hold the pack he's got."

Jeff realizes what she's not saying; Ever's power has outpaced David's. She was trying to top Jeff, trying to be alpha so she could hold the pack together through sheer will. She can't go back to the house in Nevada, not to stay. If she leaves, she's taking the boys with her to create a new pack. She probably can't heal the boys, not by herself.

Turning his face against her shoulder, Jeff breathes her in. Her scent tangles up with Sarah's in his head. He can follow either. Sarah would be easier.

The back door creaks. Jeff glances up and sees Zach's shadow against the screen. Waiting to see which way he'll go, watching them fight. Jeff broke his jaw, nearly snapped his neck, all because Zach threw himself in harm's way. Zach isn't alpha, he knew that Jeff would hurt him, but it was Zach's ass or Ever's. If Ever and Jeff went at it, one of them would end up dead. Damned fool knew what he was doing.

Last night's visit, Jensen's closed-down wariness, Jared's smile. Zach and Ever. It all came down to this.

"We can save them," Jeff murmurs. "Jared and Jensen. If we try."

"Maybe." Ever sounds wary, but her pulse picks up. "Maybe not. Why, you offering to try?"

"Yeah." Jeff sighs, rubbing his cheek on her. "Yeah, I'm offering."

"Damn right." Ever gives him a little push and gets up, looking around like somebody saw her snuggling Jeff. "There's pancakes."

"Cold now, aren't they?"

"Hell, I didn't make them. That's what Zach's for." Giving Jeff a hand up, Ever says, "I have plans for the boys. I'll tell you over breakfast."

"Maybe you should let them heal up first," Jeff said mildly.

Ever frowns, then rubs the back of her head. "Yeah. Maybe."

From the screen door, Zach flashes Jeff a quick thumbs-up and disappears before Jeff can do anything more than blink. They'll be making up later, then. In so much as Jeff could apologize for breaking Zach's face.

His pack. His responsibility.

He'd missed this.