keptherwaiting | (no subject)

(no subject)

Any other drive along the Hoko Ozette road to head out of Forks would be calming to Jasper.

He loves taking these winding roads and turns on the Ducati, with the old growth forest all around and the Hoko River snaking its way through it all; Alice and he have taken this drive many times before, to talk and to be, just them. Little moments of normality, a guy with his girl.

Today, Jasper speeds through it (and God help the poor soul who tries to pull him over). And he’s decidedly not talking to Alice over the quiet roar of the engine.

Every time he's tried to talk to her these past few days, she's danced away from him, out of reach, always busy, leaving the worry in his heart to simmer to anger. Even as he's had to feel her from afar: uneasy, anxious, distressed.

It's excruciating.

And then she runs off with Edward. Again.

He eventually reaches a destination.

Not that he had a particular one in mind.

He simply turns off when he feels the need to, onto one of the pull offs that lead to a stretch of beach somewhere around Shipwreck Point.

The surf is violent, lightening streaking across the sky.

A crack of thunder breaks the silence after he kills the engine and waits for her to say something.

Anything.

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She does not deserve him.

She knows this isn’t what he wants to do, never wanted to do. But he won’t let her face it, unprepared and alone. They’ve play-fought before, for years, her visions telling her exactly when to sidestep his swipes, winning most tussles before they begin.

But this isn’t that. A playful fight that ends in kisses. Not now.

Alice nods, swallowing hard and reaching for his hand. A harbinger, but not the weapon, if it becomes too much. If she loses herself to it, Jasper will bring her back.

“Je ne peux pas vivre sans toi,” she whispers, her hand still trembling as she takes his hand. “I don’t deserve you.”

Jasper huffs a sigh.

Does she? Doesn't she?

He's not sure how to respond to that right now.

He's still feeling a lot of things, even if he's managed to blanket them in a calm.

He glances away, watching the violent surf instead, blinking back the rain.

"So we have a plan? And you're going to talk to me instead of avoiding? And you're not going to decide anything on your own, without me, anymore?"

He cheeks twitches.

"And you're not going to slap me again."

“Yes.” She ducks her head in a single nod, turning to look out at the waves as well. She’ll try, to do the things he’s asking of her.

No. She will.

At the mention of the slap, she pushes her fingers against her eyes before sliding them up into her hair, twisting the strands around the digits, tugging hard. “‘M sorry.”

"Just, don't - do it again," he says, jaw tight.

It reminds him too much of another. Of scars that run too deep.

It takes another moment before he reaches out, to pull her fingers out of her hair with care. To kiss her fingertips, to whisper against them: "I love you."

“I love you, too.”

She won’t look at him, her gaze fixed on the rolling black clouds over the sea, the rain in her eyes. Her fingers curl against his lips, and she shivers. “I love you, too.”

Repeating. Desperate.

"Alice," Jasper pleads, hearing the desperation in her voice. "Please. I love you."

It might not be the I forgive you that she needs or wants. Love is all he's certain of, right now.

He sighs against her fingers, closing his eyes. He wants to knock down a mountain still, bury himself in a landslide. He wants to curl up in his wife's lap, her fingers in his hair.

He wants.
And wants.

Alice looks at him, finally dragging her gaze to him, eyes closed with her fingers against his lips. She traces the bow of his upper lip, taking in every part of his face.

“I know,” she whispers, her fingers curling under his chin. “I love you.”

She wants to hide. To bury herself in visions of the future, something that feels productive. She wants to lay in bed with her husband, listen to the rain, just exist in his arms.

Jasper kisses her at the first touch of her fingers at his chin.

Kisses her on the lips. On the tip of her nose. Her forehead.

He breathes her in, face pressed into the wet strands of her hair.

" - Do you want to wait out the storm or head home?"

Alice sighs into him.

She does not deserve him. “Home,” she whispers, lips brushing against his cheek. “I want a towel.”

Jasper scoops her up, into his arms, as he stands.

It's practiced. Not the first time they've had to pick each other up off the ground after a fight.

"Home, and a towel," he agrees, pressing another kiss to her forehead as he whisks her off to where they'd left the bike.

The road home does not seem nearly as long as the one going, even with the care of taking turns on the slick pavement, and wanting just those few more moments of Alice, pressed close against his back, alive.

It's stopped raining by the time he's easing the bike into the garage.

Alice stumbles off of the motorcycle, a repeat of her graceless move earlier. She's tired, cold, wet. Pieces unmended, mind upended.

She wraps her arms around herself and stares down at the small puddle around her feet she's creating. Hesitation, again, then, softly, knowing she will hear her: "Mama, can you start a bath?"

It's early. Too early, when the engine of the Ducati is winding toward the house through the rain, for any of them to be. A glance at the clock says it's still more than an hour from the end of school and she wonders if the crowd was too much for Jasper today.

It's hearing Alice's whisper that makes her heart clutch.

Makes her appear less than a second later to take in the bedraggled state of both of her children, shoulders heavy and expression exhausted. Alice staring at the ground and the puddle growing around her. It's going around, this, isn't it? Rippling outward even as everything settles back in.

She wants to ask, but she's not sure she doesn't already know.

"Of course," is what she chooses instead. Reaching out to gentle raise her daughter's chin, and ignoring the water altogether. "Are you alright?"

They're lucky she used to it, water getting everywhere in the house, with living in one of the rainest places in the US. She's never cared about a carpet the way she cares about them.

"I'm just tired, Mama." Alice whispers, her fingers closing around Esme's at her chin, clinging to her hand like a lifeline. Brief panic seizes her and she whirls to grab at Jasper's arm with her other hand, desperately clinging onto him too.

You've already chosen them--it stings in her mind, her chest tight. She can't choose. She can't be Alice without all of them. She needs him, needs Esme, needs her brothers and sister and Carlisle--

Her teeth chatter, not from cold, but stress, worry. Her fingers tremble as they cling to her husband and mother. She can't look at either of them, not for long.

Esme pulled Alice in closer, to hug her daughter, starting a list of the things she'll need for the bath, even as Alice's whisper was not the truth. Or the complete truth, in so much as the simplest one to say just then.

Alice grabs for Jasper, like she's terrified he'll vanish, and Esme's is pretty sure she is right, as soon as it happens. As she looks up to him, well over Alice's head. Her other hand coming out to touch his arm, gentle and firm. Contact, but just as respectful of the distance Jasper, too, usually kept. "And you?"

Her question, just as equally, about what he might need as whether he, too, was okay, even though it was obvious he wasn't. Some questions were important ask whether you knew the answer or not.

A soft sigh escapes Jasper when his wife grabs for him, her trembling hand gripping his waterlogged sleeve. He'd been been ready to sneak away, allow Alice the time with her mother, and now -

He meets Esme's gaze. He probably looks as spent as he feels, as done in as Alice; eyes black, dark circle prominent, face drawn and gaunt.

He squeezes Alice's hand.

We're fine, is what he wants to say. I'm fine.

But the words -

He swallows hard, a shake of his head, a shudder.

She always hates to see them hurting. Any of them. But often with their family, sometimes the only way out was through. Waiting for every card to finish knocking every other one. It'd only been days since they all got back here.

Jasper eyes stayed on her and she watched him, in all his stillness, attempt to find those good, polite Southern manners of his. She didn't know if the answers he tried for were a lie, too, or the truth. But what he settles on is volumes louder than any word could have been. And so much more heartbreaking in its silence and simplicity.

Esme slid her hand from the side of his arm, where it rested, respectful but concerned, to around behind his arm, to use that to tug him toward her if he would allow himself to be held by her as well as his wife, too.

This is one of those times when there is no hesitancy and Jasper simply allows himself to be pulled into Esme's embrace.

Welcomes it.

His arm goes around Alice at the same time, holding his wife close too. He wants her to stop worrying. To stop trembling. He's here, and he'll always be here.

He also wants this - a mother's comfort, her arms around him. And he hates what he'd said on the beach, however true it might be, when faced with the reality that is Esme so soon after. Feels the shame of it.

He sniffs against her shoulder, a sharp intake of breath, and then he starts to move away -

"Please take care of her, ma'am."

She whimpers against Esme's embrace at Jasper's words. He makes it sound like he's disappearing forever, like he'll walk through that garage and never be there again. But the future is clear--him, here, her, here.

Her fingers curl around his arm one last moment, lingering until the last possible second before letting him go. She shivers again, teeth clacking, her fingers tight at Esme's shirt.

She knows it won't be long, as her heart swells to be granted the chance at even this much, and so she makes the most of it. Not caring that both of them are soaked to the bone, and the front of her slacks and shirt are, too, now. She doesn't care about those any more than the carpet.

Esme cares about tugging Jasper from that truly unhelpful height of all the men in their family, until he's curled into her, cheek against her shoulder, low enough she raise her hand from his arm, and let it cradle the back of his head, taking the second she has left when she feels him already pulling away, to place a kiss in his hair, and say, "Of course. Always."

To mean it as fiercely about caring about her daughter,
as promising to take care of his wife while he can't yet,
even as she releases him, because that's part of loving Jasper.

To tuck Alice, small and shaking, even closer against her, possessively purposeful, looking between the two, "We'll have you feeling at least a little warm in no time. Come along."

It pains Jasper to leave his wife feeling so, though he knows she's in good hand.

And he needs the time himself.

He gives Esme an appreciative nod and fights the urge to just disappear into her hug once more. As much as he may want to. Afraid he may lose it again, and he can't. Doesn't want to. Not in front of Esme or Alice again.

"I'll be in our room," he murmurs to Alice, planting a kiss on the top of her head. Because he's not going far and he would never leave. Could never leave her. Not with any sort of finality she may currently fear.

He sweeps out of the room before he can be stopped once more. By himself or by them.

Alice watches him go and then buries her nose into Esme’s shirt, wrapped so tightly around her mother, like she’s scared she might disappear.

And, for several thousand terrifying futures, Alice did, and lost it all.

Blinking rapidly, she steps back, enough to let Esme move, even as Alice stays tucked at her side. Her fingers fiddle with Esme’s wet shirt, and it makes her feel even worse.

Another last straw.

“I’m sorry, about the mess.”

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