Lady and the Tramp
Seth's POV


A/N: Because I needed to write something with Jacob getting a happy ending after seeing New Moon, and imprinting on demon children is weird, so...Blackwater!

FYI, this is the kind of crap that happens when I sit down and write in one long, unedited stream. So if it seems random, poorly written, and/or riddled with typos, I apologize.

And there is some kind of humor in calling Leah a Lady, but none whatsoever in calling Jacob a Tramp, amirite?


"Why do you insist on eating all of my food? Don't you have a home, little doggie? Go home, boy. Go home."

"I think you should have more respect for your Alpha."

"Fuck you, Black."

So Jake's over. Again. I think he lives for this. Don't get me wrong, tormenting my sister can be really fun, but Jake's been spending way too much time at it since Bella and the Cullens left town. Eventually, Leah's gonna snap and I'm pretty sure Jake'll lose.

"You can't. You'd fall in love with me," I hear Jake reply.

"That's not disgusting at all," Leah quips back, and even though I'm safely in my bedroom, I can practically hear the face she's making. Against my better judgement, I decide to venture out into the living room to observe.

"He who lies down with dogs...," Jake says mysteriously.

"And you totally don't understand the meaning of that saying."

"Sure, I do. I know everything."

"If you knew everything, you'd know to get the fuck out of my house before I kill you."

I sidle up alongside Jake, mostly because I'm not really willing to get any closer to Leah when she's this riled up.

"I'm going for the hands-on-hips-eyebrow-quirked-death-glare," Jake whispers to me. "Right now all I have is the eyebrow. Must try harder."

"You have a death wish," I say knowingly.

Leah's scowl deepens. "He must."

"You couldn't kill me, Leah. I'm stronger than you," Jake says.

"Can I give it a shot, just for the hell of it?" she mock begs.

"No, I wouldn't want to hurt you. Besides, I'm kind of sleepy after eating all that spaghetti that was in the refrigerator," he says.

"And the goddamn garlic bread, yousonofabitch."

Leah does that when she's angry. Many words are combined into one. I know that's when she's really getting to the end of her rope. I escape into the kitchen before she kills Jake and there's blood everywhere.

"Yeah, that too," Jake replies smugly. "It was really good, by the way. But now I think I'll take a nap. Right. Here." I hear him flop onto our poor sofa, and I keep myself busy getting a soda.

Leah says, "Even for a dog, you smell godawful."

"You're a dog, too," he giggles. Yes, giggles. "A bitch, actually."

I can't help but snort at that one because it never gets old, but I quickly stifle it. Because I'm a lot smarter than Jake.

"Oh, ha ha, I've never heard that before. Can't you think of anything new? Aren't Alphas supposed to be at least semi-intelligent?"

"No, I think we're just supposed to be the strongest and manliest and most beastly," Jake replies as I'm pouring my soda.

"Right. I think the wolf-gods messed up on this one," she says with disdain, and I hear her start walking towards the kitchen, and my safe haven suddenly feels much less safe.

Jake leaps off the couch to follow her, most likely because she just seriously emasculated him and that's just not cool.

I think Jake needs a hobby. But he has nothing better to do, apparently. And Leah makes it way too much fun. I think she secretly likes it, too, although I think she'd rather make out with a leech than admit it.

"Don't you have a hobby?" Leah asks, echoing my thoughts.

"This is my hobby," he replies cheerfully.

"Get a new one." She takes my soda out of my hand and starts drinking it while staring Jake down. I ignore her and just start pouring another. It's not worth it, not when Jake's done such a great job of pissing her off.

"But I like this one so much."

"I cannot believe you seriously have made a hobby out of being an obnoxious piece of crap that hangs around my house. Were you really that hung up on Bella that you have to decline into pest-hood just to get some sort of attention?"

"Were you really that hung up on Sam that you had to decline into bitch-hood just to make yourself feel better?" Jake snaps back. I imagine he brings it up because her comment stung a little, but bringing up Sam is a low blow. But she started it. Whatever, I'm not picking sides.

And it doesn't really matter, because Jake gets what he wanted the whole time anyway. Leah's hands fly to her hips, and out shoots the foot to plant itself in it's designated position for attack mode, and yep, there's the eyebrow.

"Yes!" Jake congratulates himself.

"You're a fucking prick. Get out of my house."

"See? We both benefit mutually from this, Leah. You get to express your inner bitch, not that you've ever refrained from it, and I get to be obnoxious. We're sticking to our strengths."

"Douche bag."

Jake shrugs in an "aw, shucks" sort of way, and if it's possible for Leah's eyebrow to go up any higher, it does.

She shakes her head at Jake, like she's so superior it's not even funny, before turning around and opening the top cabinet door. She reaches up at the top shelf on her tip-toes. I wonder what she's doing before I glance at Jake and see he's practically drooling at my sister's butt, and then I'm so grossed out that I don't really care what she's reaching for. I suddenly find myself wishing that Leah's shorts were longer and that she occasionally wore shirts other than tank tops, because Jake shouldn't look at my sister like that. It's sort of disgusting.

Maybe it's because Jake's been so anti-social the last few months. I'm fairly certain Leah's the closest thing to a girl he's come into contact with for a while. Eventually, you'll look at anything. Just saying.

Leah finally gets a hold of whatever it was she was reaching for, and it's about goddamn time, too, because I was about to punch my Alpha in the face, and there's no way that would end well.

Jake and I are both entirely distracted when we see what she has.

"How did I not sniff those out?" Jake demands.

She's holding a bag of Twizzlers and I honestly don't care anymore that Jake was checking out my sister's ass, because something much more important has suddenly entered into my field of vision.

"I don't know, but they're mine. You already ate my spaghetti and my garlic bread. I hid these for an occasion such as this," Leah says, and she's excessively pleased with herself, as per usual.

"Aw, come on, Leah, just one?" Jake begs.

"Please?" I add hopefully.

"Hell no. These are mine."

"Sharing is caring," Jake wheedles.

"No."

"I will do anything if you give me a Twizzler right now, Leah," Jake says.

Normally, I would think that was a really stupid thing to say to Leah, but there are little strawberry-flavored pieces of heaven at stake here. Actually, scratch that. It was still a stupid thing to say, because I can already see Leah's mind working on some evil plan for Jake's demise.

"Anything?" she asks with a dare in her eyes, waving the Twizzler's bag in Jake's face tauntingly.

Well, there's no way Jake can back out now. She doesn't think he'll go through with it, which obviously, as a man, means he has to.

Jake squares his shoulders. "Yes."

He's so dead. He just dug his own grave.

A scary as hell smile spreads over Leah's face. She's staring at Jake as she slowly pulls one of the Twizzlers out of the bag. I keep expecting Jake to bolt like a smarter guy would do, but he seems hypnotized by Leah. I really hope that's not a new super power she's acquired.

Leah takes a bite out of the Twizzler and chews it thoughtfully. "Hmm...what should I make you do?" she says, and Jake is still staring at her. Maybe he's petrified.

"Anything," he reiterates, oddly quietly.

And then I have an epiphany. All this bullshit they've been pulling suddenly makes sense. Jake and Leah like each other. They like like each other. And as much as that freaks me out, I kind of wish they'd just get on with it and stop making my house a warzone. Unfortunately, they're both too romantically retarded to do anything about it.

This is unacceptable. I can't live hiding in my room forever.

"I have something," I say suddenly, causing them to both snap their eyes to me and look startled, like they forgot I was there.

"It's my make-Jake-do-anything, get your own," Leah snaps.

"What if I promise you'll like it?" I say.

"Seth, what the hell, side with me, dude," Jake grumbles.

Ignoring him, I go on, "What if we bet on it?"

Leah narrows her eyes at me. She never says no to a bet. "What's the bet?" she asks slowly.

"If you like my suggestion, I get the bag of Twizzlers. If you don't -"

"If I don't, you have to do the grocery shopping for a month," Leah interrupts.

"Two weeks," I barter.

"A month, squid, or it's not happening."

"Fine! A month." I really hope I'm right about this. "Gimme the bag."

She pulls it away from me protectively. "You haven't won yet, asshole."

I roll my eyes at her. "It's part of it, Leah."

After a moment of contemplation, she hands the bag of Twizzlers over to me. "If this is a trick, I will personally see to it that you are never able to reproduce."

Ignoring her, I pull a single Twizzler from the bag and put the rest on the counter. "Jake, put the end of this in your mouth and shut your eyes," I say.

"That's what she said," he snickers, and I snicker too until Leah's glare shuts us both up and Jake does as I said.

"This better be good," Leah warns me.

I try to sound confident as I lean over and whisper in her ear, "You remember when we used to watch Lady and the Tramp, right?"

It takes her a moment, but I can see when she gets it. First she's shocked, then she smirks. Then she slugs my arm really hard.

"Ow!" I hiss, rubbing the spot.

"What's going on?" Jake mumbles around the Twizzler in his mouth, but he keeps his eyes shut.

"Shut the hell up, Black. You might want to get out now, Seth," she says.

I don't need to be told twice. I obviously made a serious miscalculation, and I'm surprised she's letting me go. I scamper to leave the kitchen.

"Hey Seth," Leah says just before I make it out.

I turn back, but stay prepared to run. Instead she tosses me the bag of Twizzlers.

"Thanks," she says, with a small smile.

Staring down at the bag in disbelief for a moment, I say, "No problem." Then I remember she told me to get out, so I make haste.

If I burst into a terribly off-key version of "Bella Notte" as I shove the first Twizzler in my mouth on the way back to my bedroom, Leah's apparently too otherwise occupied to yell at me to shut up.