A/N: Okay, I couldn't wait. I had to post this early. I wanted to post it pretty much the second after I put up chapter one, but Chicklette stopped me. I whined. She gave in and let me post today, but from now on, I'm only allowed to update on Sundays. *sigh* So, now y'all know.

Pre-read by Chick, beta'd by Riri. *hugs to her girls* Thank you.

Enjoy!


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Jasper

I shook the water from my hair the way a dog would his fur. The spray had unfortunately done wonders for shocking me into some sort of pseudo-sober state, but my brain was still muddled with confusion as it tried to process what I'd just seen.

Bella stepping outside of her sanctuary.

Bella normally never ventured out of her home, unless it was absolutely necessary. The only time I'd see her leave was to take out the garbage, or to sign for the boxes of groceries from the fancy ass, organic, free range, free trade, granola, hippie-fuck-fresh food store that would deliver her sustenance every week. And even then, that was only the front porch.

I'd heard around town bits and pieces of information about Bella--it's how I'd found out her name in the first place. Not that I was deliberately sniffin' for it, or anything. Her father being the police chief unfortunately meant that his oddball daughter's personal life was ripe pickins for public speculation. I didn't condone the gossip, I just happened to overhear it.

Apparently, she was a grad student on sabbatical. She was supposed to be using her stipend to go soak up the haughtiness of Europe, but instead, used the measly amount of monthly cash to fund her hermit-like existence. I didn't even think grad students could be granted a sabbatical, but again, it was just a rumor. She could be doing an independent study, or living off of grants. Maybe her father supported her?

I shook my head again and fell back onto the wet grass, emotionally exhausted. Why the hell was I trying to figure out the eccentricities of my neighbor with more than a half a bottle of Jack in my stomach? Oh, right, she'd sprayed me with the hose, like I was some stray growling at her garden gnomes, of which she had three...all given to her by the chief.

I turned my head to focus on the one closest to me, and it fucking glared at me as if it were offended. Or maybe I was just being paranoid? That posed another bitch of a problem. If I was sober enough to be paranoid then I was too sober. Period.

Shoving myself off the ground, I stomped over towards the gnome, which still somehow managed to glare up at me even though I had about five feet on the fucker, and its pupils were supposed to be fixed into the plaster. I had already lost my tempter once this evening, and yet, I had an irrational urge to kick the gnome in the face. Violence, however, never appealed to me as a way of venting frustrations, and kicking a plaster lawn ornament with bare feet probably would just harsh my non-buzz further by giving me a stubbed toe. So, I did the next best thing: I slopped up the few, short steps of Bella's porch and knocked on the door.

No answer.

I knocked again.

Still, no answer.

That's when it finally hit me that I probably wasn't too sober, or sober at all, because I started talking at Bella through the door like a rude coon dog.

"I understand the hose usage, I just wanted to say that I'm not a fan, but I understand. That, and your gnome is giving me the stink eye..." I scratched the back of my head as I spoke to her blue front door. Why the hell was I talking about the gnome? Why was I talking in the first place? And why was I being so damn loud? Dropping my voice and lowering my head with an exasperated sigh, I confessed. "I'm sorry Bella."

Having decided that I sufficiently used up my nonexistent amount of welcome for the evening, I turned around and attempted to head back to my own home to fall into a dehydrated stupor on the couch. That plan, however, did not involve me tripping up on my wet pant legs, and falling backward before hitting something very hard and blunt. No, I dare say that was not my plan.

. . .

Someone named Terry Gross was speaking to me. I grimaced at the sound and turned away from her rudely, hoping she'd stop. Her voice wasn't grating, but it didn't do much for my headache either. Turning over, however, caused an obscene amount of light to filter into my closed eyelids and I rolled back, deciding Terry was the lesser of two evils.

It was then that I realized I was lying down on something that was not my couch and most definitely not my bed. Petrified that Rose somehow found a way to get me into her hellmouth of a home, I shot straight up, like a persistent boner on a hot day, and scanned my surroundings.

I was still on Bella's porch. Shit, I was still on her porch?

I felt a breeze drift by, interrupting my confusion, and looked down, only to realize that I was nude, save my boxers. Thankfully I had remembered to wear underwear yesterday, which was a rare occurrence considering laundry wasn't high on my list of priorities. My legs were tangled up in a heavy sheet, and my bed for the night had apparently been an air mattress. The woman named Terry, who I thought was talking to me earlier wasn't actually conversing with me, but giving me the morning news on the radio, and the light that had managed to almost burn my retinas from behind my eyelids wasn't an over zealous bedside lamp, but the sun, blazing low above the ocean. It was early, the sun had probably risen only an hour ago, and I was awake to witness it. Fuck.

A small coughing sound caught my attention and I turned my head in the direction of the noise. Bella was perched on the edge of an old porch swing hanging on the other side of the porch. I was surprised by her presence and felt foolish for not noticing her sooner. There was a cup of something steaming in her hand, and her eyes were large with alarm. She looked like a scared little mouse. I would have asked her what was wrong if I didn't have to bolt to the railing and double over the side to purge my stomach of its contents.

Oh, I'm nothing but a class act today, I thought. My grandparents would have boiled over their sweet tea at my lack of decorum, considering all they'd done to teach me manners and how to be a gentleman. Gram would have whooped me good if she could see me, and I wouldn't blame her in the slightest.

Slumping my wasted body over the railing, I dared a look back at Bella, still perched, small as ever on the swing with her steaming mug and large brown, worried eyes. I wanted to smile and shrug my shoulders as if to say, "ain't mondays a bitch?" but my stomach flipped and my smirk turned into a Linda Blair face faster than I could blink.

When I raised my head a second time, Bella was gone. Only the frantic rocking of the swing remained; proof that she had actually been there in the first place, and that I wasn't losing my mind. With a defeated sigh and a swipe at my mouth with the back of my clammy hand, I collapsed against the porch railing, exhausted. I felt numb and yet my body raged at me for being so alert, so awake and aware. I needed to get home, but I didn't want to leave.

Closing my eyes, I decided to fight my selfish need for a drink and stayed there on her porch, staving off the nausea. It was mind over matter; I knew I could do it. Besides, I didn't think I could stand.

"Here," a small voice whispered above me. I opened one eye, and managed a half smile. She'd come back.

"Thanks," I rasped out, my throat raw, as I took the steaming cup she had handed to me.

"It's ginger tea, with honey. The tea will help your stomach, the honey will help your throat."

Her voice was soft but clipped. Her jaw was set as she spoke, and a wave of guilt overcame me, clouding the nausea.

"Bella," I touched her arm, "I'm sorry," I tried to say but she flinched away from my hand and my guilt deepened. This quiet girl had taken care of me, and what did I do? I puked on her lawn. I might have hit a gnome, too. Shit.

Bella gave me a stiff nod before resuming her perch on the swing, where she took a tentative sip of her tea, as if to show me how it was done. I raised my cup to her in thanks before I lifted it to my own lips and sipped. It was bitter and the smell was pungent, save for the honey, but I held in the grimace.

Several silent and agonizing minutes passed in which Bella stared at me from her perch, looking like fucking Bambi crossed with an owl, while I tried to politely sip my tea. The hole I had dug for myself last night and this morning was deep enough, I didn't want to add to it by not accepting her unexpected hospitality.

Say something Jasper, I told myself.

Something.

Anything...

Anything at all...

Bueller? Bueller?

My silence was beginning to border on pathetic, yet I couldn't think of anything to say that would be appropriate: 'Sorry for that random bout of narcolepsy I displayed last night,' or, 'I didn't mean to pull a Linda Blair on your porch, forgive me?', didn't seem quite like the right kind of sentiment. I wasn't known for my lengthy conversational skills; I preferred to listen and take in, as opposed to running my mouth, however, this was most definitely a time to give something more than just a weak smile. Bella had done a lot for me--things that weren't deserved by any means--and all I had managed to get out was a two word apology that she flinched away from.

If I had had a few drinks in me, this shit would have been easy as pie. I would be smooth and charming, and would probably be able to get away with my projectile vomiting using a series of carefully executed smirks--after the fact, of course. But no, I was sober, shaky from the lack of booze, or ironically enough, shaky from the dehydration the booze caused me, and I needed a fucking Advil... or seven.

Suddenly, edgier than I'd ever fully admit to myself, I shot up, needing to get away from Bella's eager and honest eyes. She was quiet and prying at the same time. How the fuck did she manage that?

"Thank you for the tea," I rasped, my throat still raw. "And the bed," I added, gesturing to the inflatable mattress behind me akwardly. Bella merely nodded in response.

"Really, Bella, I'm sorry for last night. Rose..." I grimaced at the name, shooting my eyes in the direction of the harpy's abode, "...she's operating under a skewed sense of morals."

My throat hurt too much to expand and I turned, not wanting to leave necessarily, but more than anything, wanting to get away from Bella's inquisitive stare.

She didn't say anything as I tried my best not to stumble down her steps, save for a small, "oh" that was barely audible. I might have imagined it, actually.

When I walked past the mess I had made in her garden, I hesitated, realizing that I did in fact manage to coat the leery gnome in vomit. Ugh. I couldn't help but feel slightly vindicated at the sight, but I also noticed the damage I had done elsewhere in her garden and frowned. Shit. I had left quiet a wake.

I turned to apologize once again, only to see Bella standing, diminutive yet firm, with the hose in her hands; the nozzle pointed in my direction. Instinctively, I threw my hands up in the air. Bella's facial expression changed only slightly at my reaction. She gave me the tiniest smirk before she held her finger down and let the hose erupt.

It didn't hit me, it hit the gnome. Thank Christ. I tried my best to hide the smile of satisfaction at seeing the little fucker get watered down.

Realization dawned on me fucking ages after the fact: she was hosing down the mess, not me. Guess all those brain cells I'd been killing every night for the better part of a year were starting to add up since I couldn't even put two simple things together in my head when they were staring me in the puss.

Relieved, despite being disoriented, I sighed and turned while Bella's aim was occupied elsewhere, and retreated back to my house like a coward.

It wasn't until till seven that night, when I turned on Jeopardy for some background noise, did the need for my inebriation hit me. I had slept most of the day, and continued to drink, but only hydrating fluids, not the opposite. That was rather backwards for me, but I knew my limits, and when to let my body rest. Still, as Alex Trebeck introduced the contestants to his live studio audience, I poured.

My body had rested enough.

As I tilted my head back, allowing the smooth sting of the whiskey to coat my destroyed throat, I forced the sight of Bella and her Bambi-like eyes out of my head. They didn't let me enjoy the burn the alcohol brought me, and that was all I wanted right then...to enjoy the slow burn.

With a curse, I put down the lowball and stared at the TV, not really seeing it. The next time I reached for the whiskey, it was to take a swig out of the bottle, not the glass. The sight of it perspiring on my coffee table made me feel guilty, but the heavy feel of the bottleneck in my hand just deadened my senses like it was supposed to. Like I wanted it to.

Like I needed.

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A/N: When I write Bella, I tend to sing Joni Mitchell songs. With Jasper, it's Jack White.

While writing this chapter? Johnny Cash.

What's with all the J's?

Thanks for reading,

~Zigs