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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

Thank you to Snarkymuch for beta'ing this for me and to IamTheAlleyCat for her help.

Intruder: Simaril Style

Stephenie Meyer - New Moon: That's when I heard the noise that must have wakened me in the first place. Something sharp scraped along the length of my window with a high-pitched squeal, like fingernails against the glass.

My eyes flew wide open with fright. I was still a little drunk from the bedtime beer bong, so I was not quite positive whether I was awake or asleep.

Something scratched against my window again, with the same thin, high-pitched sound. It was a little like fingernails on a chalkboard, and it was doing nothing to help my developing hangover.

Confused and clumsy with sleep, I rolled out of my bed, catching myself a good one on the bedside cabinet.

That's gonna leave a mark, I thought, annoyed.

I stumbled over to the window, tripping twice on the way. I had developed a reputation for being clumsy, only Renee knew it was from my constant state of intoxication, and that was how I wanted to keep it. I did not want to be sent to rehab again.

'They tried to make me go to rehab, I said, 'fuck off no'," I sang under my breath.

A huge, dark shape wobbled erratically on the other side of the glass, lurching toward me like it was going to smash right through. I staggered back, terrified, my throat closing around a scream.

Freddy Krueger, he had come for me! I was dead.

I'm too young to die! Not to mention pretty.

I took a deep breath, ready to scream my ass off, maybe Charlie would come in to investigate and Freddy would kill him instead.

And then a familiar, high pitched voice called from the dark shape.

"Bella!" it squeaked. "Ouch! Damn it, open the window! OUCH! I'm getting splinters!"

Jacob!

If he was here for a booty call, he was going to be very disappointed. Last time was a one off; I was needy… and drunk.

I needed five minutes and a couple of slugs from my hip flask to shake off the horror before I could move again. Then I hurried to the window and unlocked it. The clouds were dimly lit from behind, enough for me to make sense of the shapes.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I gasped.

He was clinging precariously to the top of the spruce that grew in the middle of Charlie's little front yard. His weight had bowed the tree toward the house – fat ass – and he now swung, legs dangling beneath him, twenty feet above the ground. His position, coupled with his primate-esque face and abundance of body hair, made him look remarkably like a monkey swinging there.

His feet were bare, and his french tip toenails scraped the window again, creating a horrible squealing sound.

"I'm trying to keep my promise!" he huffed, shifting his weight as the treetop bounced him.

I blinked my tired, blurry eyes, and I enjoyed the sensation so much, I did it again a few more times.

"When did you ever promise to kill yourself falling out of Charlie's tree? Not that I'm averse to the idea, of course, just curious."

He snorted, unamused, swinging his legs to improve his balance. "Get out of the way," he ordered.

"Get stuffed!"

He swung his legs again, backwards and forwards, increasing his momentum. I realized what he was trying to do.

"No, Jake! I know where Charlie keeps his gun, you come in here you're leaving with a bullet in the ass!"

But I ducked to the side because it was too late. With a grunt and a fart, he launched himself toward my open window.

Anticipation built in my chest as I waited for him to fall to his death—or at least maim himself against the wooden siding. But to my immense disappointment, he swung agilely into my room, landing on the bed post with a cry of pain; he had squashed his balls.

We both looked to the door automatically, holding our breath, waiting to see if the noise had woken Charlie. A short moment of silence passed, and then we heard the muffled sound of Charlie's snore. It seemed his own bedtime beer bong had rendered him unconscious. A wide grin spread slowly across Jacob's face. He seemed extremely pleased with himself.

What else is new?

"Get the fuck out!" I hissed, putting as much venom into the whisper as I could.

He blinked, his face going blank with surprise.

"No," he protested. "I came to apologize."

"I don't accept! Besides, you're violating the restraining order I took out against you."

I tried to shove him back out the window, hoping it would be second time lucky and he'd at least end up in traction. It was useless though, I didn't budge him an inch.

I dropped my hands quickly and stepped away from him. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and although the air blowing in the window was cold enough to make me shiver, it made me uncomfortable to have my hands on his bare chest. I grabbed a hot pink tank top from the laundry basket.

"If you aren't leaving, you can at least cover your beer belly," I said bitterly.

He pulled it on and admired himself in the mirror, sucking in his belly and pushing out his man boobs.

It was more than I could handle. My alcohol addled brain and the night spent on the bathroom floor were crashing down on me en masse. I was so brutally tired that I thought I might collapse right there on the floor. I swayed unsteadily, struggling to keep my eyes open.

"Bella?" Jacob whispered anxiously. "Does this shirt make me look camp?"

"No, but your lipstick does," I said. It was a nice shade though. I needed to raid his purse and swipe that one for myself.

He caught my elbow as I swayed again and steered me back to the bed. My legs gave out when I reached the edge, and I plopped into a limp heap on the mattress.

"Hey, are you okay?" Jacob asked, worry creasing his forehead.

I looked up at him. "Why in the world would I be okay, Jacob? I have replaced all fluid in my body with alcohol, and I have a banging hangover."

Vague innocence replaced some of the bitterness in his face. "You know alcohol is very bad for you," he lectured. "It leads to impaired judgment, slurring of the speech, a tendency for violent behavior and loss of short-term memory.

"Fuck off, Jacob," I slurred, raising my fists ready to slug him. "Hey, when did you get here?"

"See!" he said, vindicated.

"See what? I can barely focus on you as it is!"

"Crap. Well… I—I'm so sorry, Bella." The apology was sincere, no doubt about it, though there was still an angry twist to his features.

"Why did you come here? I don't want apologies from you, Jake."

"I know," he whispered. "But I couldn't leave things the way I did this afternoon. That was horrible. I'm sorry."

I shook my head experimentally, trying to focus. There were three Jacobs standing in front of me, and one was more than enough. "I don't understand anything."

"I know. I want to explain—" He broke off suddenly, his mouth open, almost like something had cut off his air. Then he sucked in a deep breath. "But I can't explain, I am a little simple you know!" he said.

I let my head fall into my hands. My question came out muffled by my arm. "Why are you here, what possessed you to come into my room?"

"Well, actually this is my second attempt. I ended up in Charlie's room first. Did you know he sleeps naked?"

"No, but at least he's not wearing the silk chemise anymore," I said gratefully. There was nothing more disturbing than seeing your father in a too short chemise with rollers in his hair.

He was quiet for a moment. I twisted my head to the side - too tired to hold it up - to see his expression. It surprised me. His eyes were squinted, his teeth clenched, his forehead wrinkled in effort.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He exhaled heavily, and I realized he'd been holding his breath too. "I forgot again," he muttered, frustrated.

"Forgot what?"

"How to breathe."

Dipshit.

"Jacob, have you always been this stupid, or is it a puberty thing?"

He ignored my question. "Look, Bella, haven't you ever had a secret that you couldn't tell anyone?"

"Ummm, no," I said nervously. I only had a few secrets, like the rehab thing, the time Alice taught me to french kiss, and there was that time I caught Carlisle trying on one of Esme's dresses.

He looked at me with knowing eyes, and I schooled my expression into one of innocent denial.

"Something you felt like you had to keep from Charlie, from your mom…?" he pressed. "Something you won't even talk about with me? Not even now?"

If I had my way, I wouldn't talk about anything with Jacob without a court appointed attorney present.

"Can you understand that I might have the same kind of… situation?" He was struggling again, seeming to fight for the right words.

Inspiration struck. "Jacob, are you a cross dresser?"

He blanched. "How did you guess?"

"Your thong is peeking out from your skirt," I explained.

He clapped a hand to his face. "Oops." He hiked up his skirt a little to cover the slip of lace. "But that's not the secret I was talking about anyway."

Oh for the love of all that is alcoholic… He was seriously testing my patience.

"I don't know why you came here, Jacob, if you were just going to give me riddles instead of answers."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, readjusting his thong again. "This is so uncomfortable."

We looked at each other for a long moment in the dark room; his expression pained, my face slightly green.

"The part that kills me," he said abruptly, "is that you already know. I already told you everything!"

"What are you talking about?"

He sucked in a startled breath, and then leaned towards me. His face shifted from hopelessness to blazing intensity in a second. He stared fiercely into my eyes, and his voice was fast and eager. He spoke the words right into my face; his breath foul.

"I think I see a way to make this work out—because you know this, Bella! I can't tell you, but if you guessed it! That would let me right off the hook!"

"You want me to guess? Guess what?"

"My secret! You can do it—you know the answer!"

He took in my blank expression, and then his face tensed with effort again. "Hold on, let me see if I give you some help," he said. Whatever he was trying to do, it was so hard he was panting.

"Help?" I asked, trying to keep up.

"Yeah," he said, breathing hard. "Like clues."

He took my face in his enormous, too-warm hands and held it just a few inches from his. I wished he'd stop, his breath combined with the close proximity of his face was making my stomach turn.

"Remember the first day we met—on the beach in La Push?"

"Of course I do."

"Tell me about it."

I took a deep breath and tried to concentrate. "You asked about my bra size …"

He nodded, urging me on.

"We talked about the difficulty in finding good weed in Forks…"

"Keep going."

"You hooked me up with Old Quil and his plantation."

He was nodding, anxious for more. So was I; a joint would take the edge off my hangover and might even make talking to Jacob bearable.

"We made a bong out of an apple…" My voice was nearly soundless. "You got toasted and told me scary stories… Quileute legends."

He closed his eyes and opened them again. "Yes." The word was tense, fervent, like he was on the edge of something vital. He spoke slowly, making each word distinct. "Do you remember what I said?"

"Yes, you said one day you would change and ascend to your birth right. Hey! Are you getting a sex change?"

"No, I still haven't saved enough cash for that, and that wasn't what I was talking about." He groaned in frustration. "Screw it, Sam can bite me. I am going to tell you. Bella, I am a werewolf."

"Okay," I said slowly. I'd heard it was best to humor the insane, so you could lull them into a false sense of security before slipping the strait jacket on them. "You're a werewolf, that's nice. I promise not to tell anyone." Other than his therapist of course, he clearly needed his meds adjusted.

"No really, I am."

"Sure you are," I said, edging towards the door.

"It's pretty cool, we get to stay up late and play fetch. Though Billy is getting pissed at me, I keep chewing the furniture. It's not all fun, we have our enemies."

"Werewolves have enemies?" I asked distractedly,

If I could just get out of the room...

"A few actually, fleas, worms and The Cold Ones."

I could get Charlie, he was good at dealing with the insane. He'd been married to Renee after all.

"I've just got to go to the bathroom, you take a seat. I think there some shoes under the bed you can chew to keep you entertained."

His face lit up with glee. "Awesome."

I made my way into the hall and tapped on Charlie's door. "Charlie, I need you."

I heard a grunt and thudding of footsteps.

"Put on your robe first!" I squeaked.

"Good idea," he replied, and after a few seconds he swung the door open. I covered my eyes, horrified.

"I meant put on a robe and close it too."

"Sorry, you can look now." I opened one eye tentatively, he was covered.

"Jacob is in my bedroom, and he's off his meds again. I think we need to call Billy and get someone to pick him up."

"Not again," he sighed. "You call Billy, and I'll go keep him occupied."

I went to the kitchen and dialed the familiar number. "Hello," came Billy's sleepy voice.

"It's Bella," I said without preamble. "Jacob is here and is batshit crazy. You need to send someone to get him, and maybe call his therapist too."

"Okay, I'll get Sam to come collect him."

I hung up the phone and made my way back to my bedroom.

My mouth dropped open as I peered in the door.

Charlie was zipping himself into my Prom Dress, and Jacob was humping his leg.

Swinging the door shut again, I slid to the floor, my face in my hands.

Fuck my life!