Disclaimer: Lalala. Still not mine.

Author's Note: Weeee need more Leah/Nahuel on this site. Even if this is a tad belated for Thanksgiving... shh. ;) Enjoy, and reviews would be lovely!

Nahuel looks mystified. I can't say that I blame him.

"A holiday," he puzzles, "for… eating bird carcasses?"

"I know you'd prefer them blood-slathered," I say, because after months and months I can finally make light of the whole my-imprint-drinks-blood thing, "but most people just give their thanks."

"…Why, Leah-dear?"

"Hell if I know. I'm Quileute, okay? We don't get into all this."

His hand smoothes through my still-too-short hair; it makes me smile without meaning to. That happens a lot with him, actually. "But shouldn't the truly thankful give their thanks all year round? Not just one day?"

It would take penalty of death-by-leech to make me classify the sound I make as a giggle, but that's definitely what it seems like. "God, you never let anything go until you run it into the ground, do you?"

His fingertips come to rest on my temple, apologetic. "I'm sorry. Am I being bothersome?"

I sigh, turning my face so that he holds my cheek in his palm. "No… I just don't know how to explain a holiday everybody already celebrates. I don't like not knowing how to do things."

Damn it. I bite my tongue before I can say any more, wondering what it is about this man that puts me on an honesty jag. Nahuel circles the bow of my mouth with his thumb. I open my lips without thinking as he says, "It's okay to not know things sometimes."

Ugh. He's so annoyingly… right.

"Why are you so sweet all the time?" I ask, nestling my face into his neck right by his pulse point, where his scent in the strongest. Mmm. "It makes me look bad."

If this were anybody else, I'm sure that the next comment out of their mouth would be along the invariable lines of, 'Hey, you always look bad.' But Nahuel just chuckles, and pressed against him like this I can feel the vibrations down to my toes.

Hybrid-vamp or not, it is very, very nice.

"Leah-dear?"

So much better than Lee-lee. "Yeah?"

"If Thanksgiving is for giving thanks—"

"—that was kinda redundant," I point out. He smiles briefly, which I can see only because I'm craning my neck up to look into his face.

"If Thanksgiving is for giving thanks," he repeats, touching our foreheads for a moment, "then Leah-dear, what are you thankful for?"

I blink. Wow.

That's a loaded question if there ever was one.

Thoughtlessly, I run my fingers through his hair, undone from their braids. How many years has it taken for me to actually find something to be thankful for?

Worth the wait, I think immediately, the steel cables that Jacob describes as imprinting lost to me. There is no force here— imprinting did not bind me irrevocably; it only pulled open my eyes, made me take notice of someone I would normally have scorned as a freak of nature. I, personally, prefer Embry's description of my imprinting:

And suddenly her heart grew three sizes too big! Hallelujah, praise God, Leah's not a complete bitch-tastic harpy anymore!

Kid's a little hyperactive, but he does mean well.

"I guess," I finally say, rocking back on my heels and glancing into Nahuel's eyes, somehow so much warmer than mine are despite the similar color, "I guess I'm thankful for… I'm thankful for…"

His grin breaks at the same time mines does.

"I'm thankful for mashed potatoes! Come on, I know you actually like those, you human-food-hating-weirdo. Let's go eat!"

I tug his hand, stumbling from my bedroom and happy when he follows me. I don't feel the need to spell out in black and white exactly what I thank God for. Mostly, it's because I'm sure he already knows.