amfiguree | while they're throwing the rice

[Het] [Twilight] [Bella/Jacob] [PG]

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. What have I done?

Beta-ed and made ready for consumption only because of the very lovely

lenariel. Dedicated also to

gracelessheart, WHO TALKED ME INTO THINKING THIS WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA IN THE FIRST PLACE. ILU, NIT, you crazy, crazy enabler!

while they're throwing the rice

Even in retrospect, Bella's not surprised she didn't see it coming.

It's a Sunday when she wakes up blanketed in sunlight and too-cold sheets (anything under a hundred and nine is too cold these days). She lies there for a second and contemplates going back to sleep. Once upon a time she would have, back when bright days meant staying indoors, under the covers. She gets up instead, slips on the sweatshirt she finds hanging over Jake's side of the bed.

She finds him in the garage, working on the Rabbit. Again. She wishes that wasn't as endearing as it is. "You know, if you wanted, you could move her into the bedroom, and I could sleep out here."

Jacob jerks from the knees down, and Bella winces as something clatters.

He swears, but doesn't surface from under the car. There's a little tinkle of sound, metal on metal, and then he says, "Bella, could you?"

"Uh," she says, because that's a pretty huge hunk of metal, and - surprise, surprise - she's kind of into self-preservation these days.

"It's right there, come on, I'm almost done here."

"Crap," she mutters, but she does it, drops on all fours and presses her ear to the ground till she sees a glitterflash in the dark, and closes her palm around it. "Got it--Jake!"

She shrieks as he pounces her, knocks her sideways and onto the ground. He winds up on top (of course), already laughing, one palm cupped gently behind her head. His face is streaked with grease, black lines smudged like war paint, and her chest tightens as she remembers, for a second, a time the fighting was necessary. "Bells," he says, and she blinks herself awake, shakes off the memory. It gets easier every day.

He traces two fingers up her arm, swallows her closed fingers in his own, mouth half-curved in a smile that doesn't quite sit right. "Are you jealous of my car?"

She rolls her eyes, listens to his sharp intake of breath as she raises a hip and flips him over (thank god for those judo lessons she'd been forced into, forced to get good at, before -- before), sits squarely on the base of his stomach. "Have you seen the Rabbit lately?" she deadpans, nudging him in the side. "I'm jealous of you."

"Sure, sure," Jacob laughs again, his face soft and open, like always (always, even when it's hard, even when it's impossible), and her breath catches for a whole new reason.

"Pity, though," he adds, then, in a low murmur. She feels his fingers uncurl in hers, feels the heat trapped between their palms, heat and--

"I was kind of hoping I'd run out of competition."

Then he's holding up a ring.

"Jake," she breathes.

She used to think that she wasn't built for normal, that good intentions always led to doing the right thing, that being protected was the same thing as being loved and Romeo & Juliet was more romance than tragedy.

She used to think being in love was the be all and end all, that it left you with no choice.

She knows better now.

Jacob fidgets when she stays silent. He's awkward, unsure for the first time in a long time. "It's not a make or break deal, Bells," he says, finally. "I--you can say no, you know that right? I'm not going anywhere. I mean it."

He hasn't always been able to give her that option - too young, too rash, too desperate. (And yet, she thinks, half guiltily, Edward was none of those things, and still--) But Jacob's tried, he's always tried.

That, all of that, that's why she says, "yes."

(yes, oh my god, Jake, yes.)

On his face, fear melts into disbelief dissolves into relief and utter joy as he surges up to kiss her, claims her promise with the ring.

It's a long, long while before they leave the garage.

They plan most of it together (or she plans, and he nods his agreement as he dutifully licks stamps for the invites), and they agree it's going to be small, and intimate, just family and the pack at La Push, simple décor, no theme, and a good home-cooked meal.

Perfect.

Then Jake talks her into the big, white, ridiculous dress.

Or--not so much talks as turns his brightest smile on her while she's working on a first draft of their cake, keeps smiling through twenty minutes of, "no," and, "no," and, "Jake, I'm serious, I'm going to look like an idiot."

Eventually she caves, throws her hands up and snaps, "Fine! But when I trip over my heels and--oh no!"

She'd forgotten about the flour, and now it's on the floor and in her hair, everywhere but where it should be: on the counter, going into the cake.

He starts laughing, then, even after she throws a fistful of cake batter at him, scoops her into his (huge, warm) arms and presses his face into her neck. "Bells," he says, laughing (and the sound echoes, vibrates against her, inside of her, makes her smile against her will), "Honey, you said okay to the dress. I think I can compromise on the sneakers."

Charlie pretends to laugh when she tells him, and he chips in with a couple of helpful suggestions on the recipes she's preparing, but then she says, hesitantly, "I - do you think, would you want to maybe walk me down the aisle?"

He hangs up almost right away, but not before she catches the snag in his voice when he says, "Yeah. Yeah, Bella, that'd be nice."

Everything seems on track for the big day--

(except Jacob somehow ends up with four best men, because he can't say no to Paul, Jared, Quil or Embry, and Sam opts to sit out of the fight altogether before it even erupts, like the one that'd come up when Jared said, after she'd left the Cullens, after months of mending burned bridges and maybe-friendship, after they'd decided to try again, "Damn, Jake, you're serious about this? What if you imprint?"

"Never," he'd sworn, that night, his breath burning like an oath in her mouth, on her skin. "Never, Bella. This is a choice. You're mine." She'd folded a hand over his heart, felt it sing under her palm, da-da-dum-da-dum, and made her own choice.

She still believes him.

and no one's raised the issue again. And now they have four best men.)

--and then they get into a fight.

It's not unusual - Jake's hot temper is touch-and-go, and she's not an easy person to get along with, even on her best days - but it is stupid.

He thinks they should invite Edward.

She won't.

They go head to head for about an hour, and finally, exhausted and aggravated, she snaps, "I'm not going to invite him so you can gloat. Grow up, Jacob!"

Jacob snarls at that, slams a fist into the wall. "Because it's not possible I'm trying to be the bigger person here, right? Not next to--"

"Don't," she seethes. "Don't make this about him; it's not."

Jacob's mouth twists. "That's a first," he sneers.

She reels back, stung. "Get out," she manages, when she finds her voice. "Just--go."

"Fine," he snaps, and storms out the door, slams it shut behind him so hard that one of the hinges swings loose.

Bella drops into a chair, presses her face into her shaking hands.

She wakes up to his palm on her cheek, thumb stroking idly over her mouth. "Didn't wait up?" he says, and even in the dark she can hear the half-smile in his voice.

Maybe she would have, before, with Edward. Maybe she would've wondered if she'd driven him away, if she'd hurt him so badly he'd stay gone forever. Maybe she would've sat by the window, fingers clasped, praying he'd come back for her.

"I happen to have work tomorrow," she says, finally. "And I wanted to give you time to get over your temper tantrum."

Jake snorts, and she finds herself leaning into him when he drops his hand. "I was just," he begins, then pauses. Sighs.

"What?" she demands, pushing herself up on one elbow, suddenly awake. "If you were testing me, Jacob, I swear to God--"

She throws a pillow at him when he starts to laugh. "Bells," he says eventually, once he's calm again, "Honey, I know you wanted me at your wedding - your other wedding. I just figured you'd, I don't know, I thought you'd want him here too."

She freezes a little, at that, feels something constrict in her throat. "Jake," she says, quietly, and gropes for his hand, presses her cheek into it when she finds him. "I'm - it's too much. I couldn't ask that. Not anymore."

"You asked me," he says. It's gentle, no hidden accusation in the lilt of his voice, but she flinches anyway, marvels again at the blind self-absorbedness of youth.

"It's not the same thing," she says. It burns, but it's the truth. "Edward isn't - he's never been -- he was a dream. There's no middle ground." When she turns, Jacob's looking right at her, eyes soft and clear, and she exhales as he presses their foreheads together. "I'm awake now, and - you're not just -- you're my best friend, too. I want you around for everything."

Jacob's silent for a second, and her heart seizes. Then he laughs, warm and low, and reaches to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Careful what you wish for, Bells."

She doesn't take the bait. "I know," she says, instead, completely serious. "I am."

He blinks, then, and the smile that breaks out is enough to make her pulse stutter. "Everything, huh?" he says. "I guess we better get this married thing over and done with."

"I guess," she says, feeling the rest of her tension drain as she leans back into him. He drapes an arm around her waist, presses a kiss to her left shoulderblade. "I mean, I have this ring and everything."