keptherwaiting | (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 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.”