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This chapter takes place two years before the previous one, on the campaign trail leading up to the election.
Enjoy!
/FmD/
Jasper hates Wisconsin.
Or, more accurately, hates Wisconsin in winter.
The wind gusts, biting through the thin fabric of his dress shirt and blowing snow into the doorway where he is trying desperately to light a cigarette with frozen, fumbling hands.
The parking lot is filled with beaten pick-up trucks, rust and chipped paint and hay bales in the back. There is even a tractor, hulking in the far corner of the lot-whether driven here out of necessity because of the snow or poverty unclear. Above his head, the red, white, and blue banner snaps in the wind, welcoming Edward Cullen, presidential candidate.
It is quintessential small-town America, and if it weren't so fucking cold, it would almost remind him of home.
More snow is falling, thick white flakes that are visible beneath the reddish-orange glow of the single street lamp. It's barely mid-October, but the snow has already been blown into banks as high as his shoulder. The snow has come early this year, and it's looking like it will be a long, bitter winter for the folks of the American mid-west.
Jasper sighs, flicking his zippo absently, unsurprised when the wind howls and blows it out immediately.
He has just about given up on his cigarette when Emmett appears in the doorway, snickering as Jasper shivers, but cupping his hands around the lighter all the same. He's still wearing his blazer, a deep charcoal offset by the navy tie that has come ever-so-slightly loose at the collar from his constant fidgeting. The pin demonstrating his support for the Cullen campaign glints, the gold rim catching the half light.
Jasper inhales deeply, pulling the blue-grey smoke into his lungs and exhaling a stream of calm and nicotine before Emmett speaks.
"He's just wrapping up in there. Got them eating out of his palm. This one's in the bag."
Jasper grins, turning his slate blue eyes and tousled curls on Emmett,
"Didja really expect anythin' different? Welcome to the American mid-west, my friend."
Jasper winces at his accent, knowing that he should really make more of an effort to lessen it whenever he's speaking, not just when he addresses a crowd. Emmett shrugs, lighting his own cigarette off the cherry of Jasper's with an easy grin. He wraps one arm around his middle, hugging himself in a feeble attempt to stay warm (though how he can be cold with his hulking size is a mystery to Jasper). He kicks as the snow that has congealed next to the sidewalk, unable to stay still for even the few moments it will take to smoke these cigarettes, sending it flying into the air in a powdered sugar shower.
"Fucking cold, man. Glad this is our last stop."
Jasper nods his agreement, taking a last, deep drag and holding the smoke in his lungs before stomping out the tiny flame beneath his shoe. It's been six weeks of the same small, shitty towns in the middle of corn fields and endless stretches of highway. Jasper misses Washington, misses quality coffee and sleeping in a bed where he can't hear Emmett snoring through the wall.
"I'm gonna go in. Shake some hands and all that. You comin'?"
Emmett nods, holding up his half-finished cigarette, glowing cherry red in the semi-darkness. Jasper doesn't know why they always step outside to smoke-they could just as easily do it inside, where it's warm, but somehow this has become their tradition-even if they are unlikely friends, Emmett's child-like enthusiasm and inability to keep still a juxtaposition to his own quiet strength and calm. Some nights they talk, about Edward, about the campaign, about the town they are visiting, but mostly they simply stand in amicable silence.
"Yeah, yeah. In a sec. I'll see you in there."
/FmD/
"...and that, ladies and gentlemen, is why a vote for me is a vote for a better life in America."
It is the same too-small, stuffy hall they've been in over a hundred times, down to the dishwater coffee and stale cookies on a table in the back that looks as if it may collapse at any moment, but Edward shines as he grins down at the crowd. They are stuffed in and over-crowded, men with cracked knuckles and grease stained hands, tired women with children bouncing on their knees. They are overworked, underpaid, restless and exhausted, the least likely people to be involved in politics that haven't been handed down by their families for generations, and yet here they are. Crowded into this hall despite the weather, and entranced by Edward.
In fairness, Jasper is entranced by him too.
He is radiant.
His smile is wide and genuine, and despite the fact that this is their last stop after six weeks on the road, despite the fact that Edward gives nearly the same speech every night, his eyes glitter with energy and sincerity, and the crowd eats it up.
"Thank you so much for coming out, ladies and gentlemen. I'd be happy to answer any questions you might have, but first let me introduce you to my attorney general, Jasper Whitlock."
Edward gestures to the back of the room, and Jasper matches his easy smile, raising one hand in a half-wave by way of introduction to the crowd. Jasper meets his gaze, and Edward grins and winks at him, all cool confidence and easy-going charm. Jasper's stomach twists uncomfortably beneath the heat of his gaze, but his face reveals nothing as he sends his smile around the room, skimming the faces that remind him of his own parents.
Edward steps down off the stage, shaking hands with a burly man and his scraggly haired daughter, and Jasper can't help but watch him, distracted by his presence. He is passionate, energetic and sincere, but his seriousness for the job is offset by his wild hair, bright, like the copper of a new penny, always looking this side of just fucked (and the thought makes Jasper's stomach drop out every single time), his forest coloured eyes that somehow always hold the tiniest spark of mischief, his cool Chicago drawl and the way he chain smokes in the back of the bus when they travel.
They've known each other since high school.
Boarding school, an all boys finishing school that Edward ended up at after being kicked out of his prep school in Chicago, Jasper because his parents were dead and there was no where else to send him. Two boys from opposite ends of the country, unlikely friends, but perhaps closer for that.
The mischief was there in Edward's eyes then, too, as they lit up behind the fine arts building and blamed it on the stoners and arts students.
Jasper straightens his tie, smiles the movie star smile his older sister taught him, and shakes hands with a nervous looking young woman asking about Edward's stance on abortion, but his thoughts never leave his best friend.
Emmett lumbers in, immediately at ease shaking hands and charming the women in the crowd with his dimpled grin and liquid brown eyes. From the corner of his eye, Jasper can see him high five a little boy in a football jersey, bending down to come face-to-face with the child. The delighted look on his mother's face tells Jasper they've got her vote. Probably her entire family's vote, in fact.
They are charm and wit and class, and by the time the hall finally empties out, it is well after midnight. Edward is manic, grinning as he lights up and devours several of the stale cookies from the plate.
The campaign has been more successful than the political advisers had dared hope, and there is little doubt that he will win the election, causing the biggest upset in recent memory.
Jasper tries not to notice the way his hands shake as he brings the cigarette to his lips.
/FmD/
Edward hasn't always been as energetic, as passionate and perfectly balanced, as he is now.
The streetlights outside are passing in a blur, one after another, and snow is still falling.
Emmett has long retired into the back of the bus, behind the closing door that blocks only the most hushed of conversations.
The cigarette Edward started but didn't finish lies burned to ash beside him, and he has fallen asleep, the half-light catching on the sharp bones of his face, the long eyelashes and deep circles that reveal his exhaustion, even if he swears he isn't tired.
His dress shirt is rumpled, unbuttoned at the top, and the position he is in cannot possibly be comfortable, but Jasper won't wake him. Not when he sleeps so little as it is.
So he simply sits in silence, watching him, lost in memories.
Depression, the doctor had said. Severe depression, brought on by burn-out, by stress.
But Jasper has always wondered.
He'd found Edward behind the art building, smoking with shaking hands and a split lip, blood on his school uniform that was clearly not his own.
It was late, later than it is now, and frost was just beginning to form on the pavement around them, the moonlight cold and unforgiving above them.
Edward had looked up at him, his eyes huge and dark and full of unfathomable loss, and Jasper had moved to comfort him-they had been so close in those days-but for the first time, Edward pulled away.
It's the only time Jasper has ever seen him cry, not even when his older brother was killed overseas.
He never did find out who gave Edward the split lip, but if he had to guess, he'd put his money on Riley, the captain of the lacrosse team.
Riley and Edward had always gotten along, had been close, even, but Riley never spoke to him again.
Edward quit lacrosse soon after that. He'd given up sports altogether, though he still ran, alone, in the early morning, sometimes before the dawn broke.
He took up debate club, student council, found his passion for politics, and dragged Jasper along with him, all the way to Washington.
Took his prozac, in the morning with his orange juice, and after a while, Jasper learned not to long for the edge it took away from him.
They don't talk about it.
Jasper knows that Edward still takes the anti-depressants (though not with orange juice anymore), but he rarely sees the bottle.
Edward holds his cards as close to his chest as Jasper does-maybe even closer-and sometimes, when he catches a hint of that unreadable expression in Edward's eyes, Jasper wonders if they really know each other at all.
But he can still read every nuance in Edward's body, can still share the silent conversations with him from across the room, and despite the guilt that he forces down for his own secrets, Jasper is comforted by this closeness.
Edward stirs, and Jasper curses himself, wondering if he's made too much noise, willing Edward back to sleep.
But then he smiles, and Jasper is utterly lost in the warmth of his eyes,
"Hey."
And it is these moments, the small, tired smile that is neither perfect nor faked, the edge of weariness that has crept into Edward's gaze, the unguarded look in his eyes, that makes every sleepless night, every motel bed, every shitty cup of coffee worth it.
Edward doesn't move, simply watches Jasper with a gaze so heated that his cheeks burn with the intensity of it.
Eventually, Edward sits up, stretching his arms over his head, his shirt riding up ever-so-slightly to reveal his toned stomach, and Jasper wrenches his eyes away, swallowing too much scotch too fast and trying not to wonder if the lingering burn in the pit of his stomach comes from the alcohol or watching Edward.
Edward simply smirks at him with his unreadable gaze,
"Looking forward to home?"
Jasper shrugs,
"Lookin' forward to good coffee and a decent sleep."
He swirls the last of his scotch in the tumbler, and there is an awkward silence,
"You lookin' forward to seein' Bella?"
Her name tastes bitter in his mouth, so Jasper finishes the scotch, relishing the cleansing burn. She's beautiful, fine, the opposite of him, all dark hair and darker eyes, sharp bones and delicate figure. Jasper doesn't want to like her, but he's so desperately in love with Edward, a love that goes so far beyond lust and lingering desire, that all he wants is for his best friend to be happy, even if it is not with him.
Even if seeing him with Bella twists Jasper's heart like shattered glass.
Edward's eyes darken at the mention of his new fiancee.
He shrugs,
"Sure."
It is non-committal, he doesn't elaborate, doesn't seem to want to talk about Bella at all, and his dark gaze lingers on Jasper in a way that makes him squirm.
There is so much left unsaid that there is nothing left to say aloud, and Jasper plunks the bottle of scotch between them.
Edward pulls the pill bottle from his pocket, pops two into his mouth, and washes them down with a swig of the amber liquor straight from the bottle. He offers the bottle to Jasper before he puts it away, tucked safely into the chest pocket of his jacket, next to his heart and his secrets.
They pass the scotch back and forth until the bottle is nearly empty, and they are both drunk.
Edward is chain smoking again, lighting each fresh cigarette off the cherry of the one that came before it.
They are both slurring, laughing at nothing, euphoric as the stress of the trip slowly fades away-and this is how Jasper would choose to celebrate, every time, just him and Edward, laughing and drunk like they are sixteen again.
It is four am when he leans across the table, with the intention of lighting a cigarette off of Edward's, their faces suddenly far too close, and the laughter fades. Jasper blinks, slowly, feeling as though he is moving underwater, beneath a haze of alcohol and desire, but presses the tip of his cigarette to Edward's anyways.
Edward's hooded gaze lingers on Jasper's mouth, darkening as his full, pouty, almost-too-feminine lips pull the fire into his own cigarette, and for just a single moment, Jasper pretends that everything he is reading into this moment is true. He smirks a little, and Edward seems jolted back to reality, his mouth curling into a wry smile.
There is a pause, and the moment fades.
Reality filters slowly back in, but as Jasper moves to pull away, Edward's hand fastens around his wrist, pulling him closer, pressing his mouth to Jasper's ear as though he can't bear for anyone but them to share in what he is about to say,
"I wish we weren't going home, Jazz. I wish...I don't know."
Jasper tenses, trying to will himself not to shudder at the feeling of Edward's hot breath across his neck, wills himself not to arch into the touch, because they are so, so drunk, and Edward is saying things that make his heart ache.
When he pulls away, after a moment that lingers for far too long, Edward's eyes are unreadable and dark, and Jasper hopes that he is drunk enough that he won't remember this in the morning, because Jasper's entire body is buzzing, and he doesn't think he is ever going to forget.
They play cards after that.
It is easier than talking.
/FmD/
Please review, review, review!
I am wondering if I should include more flashbacks to their high school/university days, or simply keep them as Jasper's memories. Thoughts?