#WOW ABBEY GETS SICK AND FINALLY DOES A PROMPT CHALLENGE

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Also, bike ride + colour change + Bella and Jake if you want to <3

my dear sasha, you sent me this prompt a year ago (a year ago, so embarrassing) and for whatever reason, i decided that right now, with a fever and a dozen mugs of tea littered around me, was the time to fill it. luckily, it's autumn once again, so i hope you enjoy it.

click here if you prefer to read on ao3.

The conversation about bikes had broken something in Jacob's brain, clearly, because we'd just been sitting there in the shed-turned-garage—me, flopped on the couch, as usual; Jake, hunched over a project, as usual. And we'd been talking in that perfectly comfortable way we had, where we could be saying absolutely nothing of value and neither one of us would care, because we were just like that. As usual. 

And then. 

"You're kidding me," he was saying—repeating, actually, for about the fifth time. "You seriously don't know how to ride a bike."

It was hard not to feel defensive in the face of such obvious, gaping awe. Crossing my arms over my chest, I shook my head, letting my hair fall over my face—anything to hide the blush crawling up my neck and coloring my cheeks. I was probably redder than the maple leaves that littered the roof of the shed.

"You're kidding me," he said, again.

"You're acting like it's this crazy—like, thing, when it's not! It just... never really occurred to me," I insisted weakly, "and Renee wasn't exactly a hands-on kind of parent, so… I just never learned." Shrugging, I kicked at the tire of the repair job bicycle that had inspired my off-handed comment—"You know, I should probably learn how to ride one, one of these days..."—and completely failed to avoid his slack-jawed gaze.

Which, to my chagrin, spread into a sunshiny smile. One of those wide-cheek-white-teeth Jacob smiles that was so bright, astronauts could probably see it from the International Space Station. 

One of those smiles I was completely powerless against.

"You know what this means, right?" he asked, sounding so damn pleased with himself. He bounced on the balls of his feet like a kid in a candy store.

Unfortunately, I knew exactly what it meant.

☼

The autumn wind whipped my hair into my face, trapping it between my chapped lips, and I tried to blow it out—shake it off—to no avail, finally having to push it out of my face with both hands. 

Which, of course, meant nobody was holding the bike.

"Shit, Bells," Jacob muttered, steadying the handlebars while I attempted—attempted being the operative word—to straddle the thick-wheeled bicycle and pull my hair back at the same time.

Jacob said it was for off-roading or something. A mountain bike. Though why anyone would want to take a bike up a freaking mountain was beyond me. 

"No wonder you had such a bad time with the motorcycles."

I flashed up a hand as if warding off the memory. "Don't remind me," I groaned. 

The Motorcycle Incident of 2006 was decidedly one of the most embarrassing days of my life: the day I braked too hard and flung myself off of one of Jacob's newly-repaired bikes—two fixer-upper summer jobs—ultimately bashing my head and putting my wrist in a splint. 

It was the event which had firmly put an end to our daredevil antics. For a while, at least.

It had also been just generally humiliating from start to finish. After I passed out in his arms, Jacob was apparently so worried for me that he'd nearly driven my truck into a ditch on the way to the hospital, and he'd gotten pulled over by a cop. A cop who, predictably, knew Charlie.

Who predictably freaked out and grounded me for an eternity.

And to top it all off, later that night, I—hopped up on a dosage of painkillers that could've knocked out an elephant—had allegedly told Jacob he was "sorta beautiful."

Which was pretty much objectively true. But still mortifying.

Jacob chuckled and put up his hands in momentary surrender before my wobbling forced him to grasp the handlebars again. It seemed that he really was the only thing holding it upright—kickstand and my own two legs be damned.

"So, it's a pretty basic concept. The hardest part, really, is just keeping your balance."

"Great," I snarked. "That's definitely one of my more developed skills."

"But the other part is the pedaling," he went on, rolling his eyes at my griping. "I've already got it in the right gear for you, so you just need to get used to the motion. It'll probably take a few tries, but you'll get the hang of it." 

When he gave me one of his bright, encouraging smiles, I could almost believe him.

"And the brakes—"

But I stopped him with a squeeze of the brake lever, shaking my head to stifle a laugh. "I think I've got that part down."

"Right." 

He wrinkled his nose at me, and I could only hope this didn't end in another trip to the hospital—because goodness only knew what I'd say about him under the influence now.

☼

Three days later, the forest whizzed by me on both sides, bright against the overcast sky. 

The colors were still in the midst of changing—sunset gold and rusty red leaves spotted the treeline, like gems tucked in among the evergreens, but I was moving so quickly I could barely grasp more than just the impressions of beauty, of brightness, before I sailed by.

It had taken me the better part of the past three days to keep the bike from totally falling over beneath me, and even that had been mostly a wash.

Which was why I'd been so surprised when I showed up at Jacob's house this morning and saw a shiny, cherry red bike sitting out front.

With a helmet. Two helmets, in fact. 

And these weird, sticky-outy things on the back tires that Jacob referred to as "pegs." It was apparently a hand-me-down from somebody or other, but it looked as clean and sleek as if he'd bought it himself.

It had me instantly on guard.

"Throwing in the towel, Instructor?"

"No," he answered, too quickly for me not to grin. "You'll still technically be riding a bike. You'll just be standing up, and holding on to me." He paused. "And I'll be doing all the work."

Since standing up on a bike seemed to be a feat reserved for circus performers and free-spirited teenagers in movies, I think my suspicion was warranted. But Jacob—eternally persuasive, and the most reliable person in my life these days—had given me those big, deep brown puppy dog eyes and sworn on his life—on the Rabbit—on anything I liked that he wouldn't let me fall.

And maybe it was down to some fundamental lack of common sense, but—for better or worse, I believed him.

Because that was the thing about Jacob: he'd never let me down yet, not in all this time together. Our summer of misbehavior had faded into fall, but Jacob's place in my life was evergreen. I couldn't imagine not needing him anymore, or going back to how things used to be before we'd stumbled back into each other's lives.

My head was full of these thoughts as the landscape smeared on either side of me, my arms slung around Jacob's shoulders. 

A sudden dip in the dirt road jarred the bike, and I gave an undignified squeal as the prospect of tipping over raced through me, the adrenaline singing a familiar song in my veins. Jacob just laughed, big and booming and drifting back to me over his broad shoulder. Apparently, the bumps didn't seem quite so dramatic to the one on the bike seat.

My hands gripped fistfuls of his shirt, and I scrabbled to hold on even tighter. "Jerk!" I cried breathlessly.

"Admit it, Bells," he called over the sound of the wind and my panicked breathing, "you love this."

I turned my head up to the sky, gray and heavy with clouds. Soon, the rain would come and soak the brightly-littered forests into brown mush. All the shades of red and gold would start to moulder and fade, and we'd be led into yet another dreary Forks winter.

But for the moment, with Jacob sitting flush in front of me—warm like the sun itself inhabiting human form—and the freedom and cold air all around, I knew he was right. 

I'd been so alone for so many years of my life, feeling like the world would always be intent on passing me by, that there was no place for me in it.

But there was a place: there was here. There was us, together, however ridiculous a pair we made.

I dipped my head and tried not to knock out helmets together, just long enough to kiss the wind-burnt skin of his cheek. "Fine, I admit it," I told him. "But don't you dare drop me, Jacob Black." 

I felt his fierce smile against my cheek, and he began to pedal harder, and there we went—tearing off in some new direction, down a road best taken together.