Round two between Carlisle, Jasper, and religion. Carlisle had a difficult day at the hospital.

Being a doctor was a trial. He would never pretend that it wasn't. He wouldn't, couldn't, ever take a life for his own gratification, but that didn't stop the thirst and it didn't stop the burning. But more than that, seeing suffering and pain everyday weighed so very heavily on his heart. He didn't need Jasper's gift to see the fear in his patients, and their families were only worse. Centuries of experience had given him a near perfect bedside manner, and so most of the time, he could reassure everyone who relied on him within the hospital walls with confidence. He'd treat them, he'd cure them, and the fear would be gone. But today, not even all those years of learning had been enough.

She'd only been six years old.

It had been a headache at first, then a migraine, then her vision had gone spotty and she'd been hospitalised. They'd ordered a CAT scan for the very next day, but she hadn't been in the hospital for six hours before the haemorrhage had happened. It had barely even taken minutes for it all to be too late.

He'd been there when they'd put her to bed for the night. She'd asked him to read her a story because she like his voice. Her parents had let him read Goldilocks and the Three Bears. She'd smiled at him and thanked him through a yawn before she curled herself around her favourite stuffed unicorn and fallen asleep.

She was still holding it when he'd had to pronounce her.

The staff had sent him home. Rarely did they get to see him so affected, and he couldn't really explain why it was that little girl – Clara – who had been the one to make him lose his composure.

But she had, and he wasn't allowed back at the hospital for the rest of the week. And he was in no frame of mind to go home yet. Just the thought of Esme's sympathy, Rosalie's conflict, and Edward's pity, was too much.

And so, he just kept driving. In circles, around the same blocks, past the same stores. Just driving, aimless and mindless. Something to keep him occupied.

Or perhaps not so mindless, after all.

Before him through his windshield, he could see the vast structure of the local church. The multicoloured glass flickered with the candles lit within. There was no stream of churchgoers at this hour – it was too late. The night service had ended hours ago, but Carlisle knew the priest there kept the church open all hours of the day. He was a man of God. It was his duty.

Truly, Carlisle could think of nowhere else to go. And he had gone past the point where he wanted to be alone.

Walking through the archway, Carlisle's breath would have been stolen if he'd had any. The candlelight bounced off the dark mahogany of the pews, the carvings, the sharp angles of the stone. The scenes painted onto the glass were ones he'd seen a thousand times in his own mind, every time he read the passages. The colours were so vivid. The sorrow of Mary's face was shown in such stark relief. The old organ, that Carlisle wished still worked, was a behemoth against the wall. The gaping maw of each pipe was frowning down on him, and he could hear the mournful wails and awful howls they used the omit. Such fierce, sorrowful sounds.

But it was all dwarfed by the effigy of Christ on the Cross. It towered over the absent congregation, a terrifying spectre that cowed you to obey whilst his pain drew forth your love. But His face was…resigned, Carlisle thought. Sad, but resigned – set in His duty to die for the sins of man, and for the love of man.

Carlisle dropped onto a pew.

What sins had little Clara committed? What sins had her mother or father committed that were so truly awful that it cost them their child?

He had only just read to her. It felt like moments ago.

Clara had told him about the boy in school – Peter – who got really excited about the chocolate pudding cups their teacher was getting them. But when Clara had asked for a chocolate one too when Miss Thomas was handing them out, she hadn't realised it was the last one, and she felt bad when Peter had been left with only vanilla. Was that enough in this day an age? When goodness and the light of humanity was so shrouded in fear and evil that even the most minor infractions were met with the wrath of God?

Absurd.

And yet. And yet he'd had to watch her parents wail with grief.

She didn't like math either, and always tried to wiggle out of doing her homework. She hid it under pillow, in the laundry basket – she even put in the kitchen sink with the dishes for dinner once and that had gotten her into a lot of trouble. But why should a little girl be punished so severely for not liking equations and subtraction and numbers? Maybe her brain didn't work that way. Maybe it preferred words, or pictures, or sounds, or –

Boots clacked against the floor of the aisle as they stepped towards him. They were soft and deliberate and exact. One perfectly measured footfall after another until they stood at the end of Carlisle's pew and slid in alongside him.

Jasper.

"Alice told me I'd find you here."

Carlisle didn't take his eyes from the face of Christ. He didn't have any answers. He needed answers.

"She told me what happened today…with the little girl."

And even though he didn't need it, Carlisle drew in a stuttering breath anyway. "Clara. Her name was Clara."

Jasper nodded beside him; moved his gaze forward and they looked into the face of God together.

"You know, I hadn't ever thought I'd see you in a Catholic Church. Your daddy was a Protestant, wasn't he?"

Carlisle felt the smooth wood of the pew beneath him. "An Anglican. It's – it wasn't quite the same. And I don't –" he scuffed the smooth stone with his shoes – "I don't hold particularly fast to all the things my father told me."

"Is that right?"

Carlisle didn't have to look to know that Jasper was looking at him in disbelief – and maybe worry. Perhaps it was his power showing. "He told me everything happens for a reason. Everything is done in God's will. Even the death of little girls who like chocolate pudding and hate math and hug their teddy bears in their left arm."

Esme would have gasped – an echo of a sob she couldn't truly give anymore. Alice would have rested her head on his shoulder. Emmett would have clapped him on the back. Edward would have cursed, maybe ranted, and exhausted Carlisle's soul even more. Rosalie would have said nothing. A silent, stoic pillar that was simply there for him. Solidarity. But Jasper…

"You know I reckon it's a good thing our daddies never met."

Carlisle wasn't quite up to looking at Jasper yet, but that certainly, finally, broke his fixation on the Christ figure. "I don't – I'm afraid I don't quite understand, Jasper," he said, and he saw that Jasper had his favourite boots on – the ones Alice ordered him from Texas.

"Well see now, my daddy didn't believe in all of that, preordained mess that some reverends tried to feed you. Don't get me wrong he loved God, and spoke to God. He was even going to be a man of God, or so he told me – before he met my momma. He used to tell me that if anyone ever tried to feed me that nonsense, they were just trying to hide the fact that they didn't have the answers. That sometimes, not even God knows why people do the things they do."

Carlisle had a breathy laugh, and even he could hear the sadness. "It's a bitter pill to swallow when there are no answers. There's not even anyone I can blame to feel better, apart from God. And you're taking that way from me, too?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why are you here, Jasper?"

"You aren't angry at Him; and anger doesn't serve you the way it does Miss Rosalie for example, or even Edward. For them, it's cathartic – it gives them an outlet. For you… it clings to you like poison."

Carlisle scrubbed has face with his hands and rested it there. "I don't know how to feel," he mumbled.

The tip of Jasper's boot briefly tapped his toe. "I do."

Carlisle sat up, let himself look at the ceiling to Heaven, but said nothing.

"If I may?"

He nodded.

"There is grief of course. It's thick and it's strong and I know you had a connection to this girl."

"Clara. I read her bedtime stories."

Jasper nodded. "And you feel grief because she's gone." Carlisle's throat felt tight. "And you're not quite angry Carlisle – you're…frustrated and you're anxious." Jasper's voice got a little softer. "And you feel so desperate. But the worst part is, you feel even more hopeless. I haven't ever felt that from you. Ever."

Carlisle whispered back, "I just want to know why."

"Is there any conceivable reason good enough to take a child from the world?"

"No."

"Then stop chasin' something you ain't gonna find, Carlisle."

But that just – today that wasn't good enough for Carlisle. He had always trusted in God's will. But today, that trust was bruised and he needed something more than blind faith. "How did you do it?" he asked.

Jasper turned in his seat. "How did I do what?"

"How did you keep your Faith after everything you saw?"

Carlisle heard Jasper sigh, and he saw him lift a hand to his hair out the corner of his eye. "I don't think that what I had could have been called 'faith', Carlisle. I told you before – I just, couldn't not believe. It wasn't a very comforting thought."

Carlisle think he may have sobbed, dry and tearless.

"You'd be right not to believe your daddy, though. God doesn't control what we do – our fates. Only we're responsible for that, and the people we let into our lives. Sometimes, people show exactly what His love can do. They do great things – touch lives and change the world for the better. Other times, we can break His heart. The things I did down South – do you really think God planned for me to murder so many innocent people? No – I did that. I didn't listen to myself when I tried to help Maria and Nettie and Lucy. I didn't ever tell Maria no. I glutted. I fed. I fought. I killed. That's something I have to live with. God doesn't deserve to have that laid at His door."

"What –"

What I'm saying is, it might hurt not having something to blame for Clara's passing. But at least she is with God now. He'll love her enough for you. Her teddy bear, too, probably."

Carlisle definitely sobbed this time. Again and again, with soft, aching sounds that echoed in the church. And Jasper let him. Carlisle was grateful - he needed this and he'd half expected to feel the soothing influence of Jasper's gift, trying to make him feel better. But instead he let him cry – let him mourn Clara and her soft hair and hazel eyes and Mr. Buttons that kept guard over her at night.

What he hadn't expected was Jasper's large, steady hand wrapping around his own and clutching it tight. Jasper was always reserved. He bestowed physical attention even less than her welcomed it. Truly, he'd only ever seen him gently place a hand on Alice's waist, or let her haul him along by the hand, or gently nudge Emmet with his shoulder, and once, in a rare moment of abandonment, kissed the back of Esme's hand. But here he was, clutching Carlisle like he was a lifeline.

He didn't even let go once Carlisle's sobs had quietened, and the coven leader let himself sag against Jasper's side.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"I – I'm still not ready to talk to God," Jasper said, squeezing Carlisle's hand reassuringly and shooting him a sorry look. "But I think I can say a prayer with you – for Clara."

If Carlisle was impressed with how well Jasper remembered his prayers for someone who hadn't recited them since he was turned, he never said.