A/N: I don't own anything except Sage and the plot. The rest belongs to Stephenie Meyer. I appreciate reviews, so please be generous and leave some love. Be aware that this is a Jasper/OC story, but it will take time (I have a whole plot building here), so don't expect them to jump in right away. You'll need to bear with me and hopefully, you'll enjoy the ride.

Remember this story is rated M for a reason. 18+ only, please.

FYI, I am using Jackson Rathbone as my model for Jasper, like it or hate it, he oozes sex appeal to me, so there you go.

Heap big thanks go out to RemyKilday for not only pre-reading but giving me the confidence to post it… and for giving the best damn ego-stroke a gal could ask for.

I worship at the altar of HammerHips' ass… and yes, she really is the only one who understands that.

Chapter 1: I'll Be There For You

No one could ever know me, no one could ever see me

Since you're the only one who knows what it's like to be me

Someone to face the day with, make it through all the rest with

Someone I'll always laugh with

Even at my worst, I'm best with you, yeah.

-"I'll Be There for You" by The Rembrandts

Sage POV

For all intents and purposes, my father was dead. That's what Emmett always said and I guess I never really felt the need to challenge him on it, no matter how untrue it was. Our mom died of Ovarian Cancer by the time I was six. Dad "died" when I was ten.

My brother Emmett and I are like night and day, almost literally. He's boisterous and a big teddy bear when he wants to be. He has our dad's dark curly hair, but he keeps it cropped short. He has dad's aqua blue eyes. He has dad's broad shoulders, muscular arms, sharp features, and dimples. Point of fact, if it weren't for Emmett, I probably wouldn't remember what my dad looked like.

I, on the other hand, have blond hair and green eyes, like our mom. I'm short, slight, and quiet… most of the time. In truth, most days it's just not worth gnawing through the straps. I mean that figuratively, of course. Emmett's always had it in his mind that he knows what's best for me, and I know he always has the best intentions, but there are days where I could really just scream! But I don't.

Not because it's too much work, but because it doesn't actually get me anywhere, since Emmett's so bullheaded. Once his mind's made up, so sorry, pal, not happening. Really and truly, some days it's just not worth it to expend the effort arguing with the obnoxious prig.

We moved in with my Uncle Charlie and cousin Bella after dad "died". By moving, I mean we moved from the San Francisco Bay area to the rainiest place in the country: Forks, Washington.

It wasn't so bad, actually. Uncle Charlie was fairly laid back and I got along with my cousin Bella reasonably well. She was only a year older, so we had a few things in common and we enjoyed going down to the La Push Reservation to hang out with some of the kids down there. Summers were difficult though, since she spent them in Arizona with her mother. Uncle Charlie made it a point to take me down to the Reservation, hoping I'd make friends with kids like Jake Black, Seth Clearwater, and Embry Call. It did take—we liked each other well enough—but we didn't see each other during the week, so it was difficult to get too close.

A couple years later, Uncle Charlie got a phone call from one of my mom's old high school friends, Amelia Aro (née Davis, formerly Whitlock, formerly Hale). She wanted us all to come for a visit. She wanted to meet Emmett and I, since she hadn't seen us since I was a baby, and then only briefly.

So that's what we did. We flew down to Galveston and met with her and her kids. Her husband, she lamented, was away on business.

That was the first time we ever set eyes on Jasper and Rosalie. Half-siblings and roughly two years apart, Rosalie's dad had died when Amelia was only a few weeks into the pregnancy. She'd ended up remarrying one of her best friends who stuck by her, John Whitlock, and they eventually had Jasper together. John died in a car accident when Jasper was only four, which brought Amelia to her current husband: David Aro.

Even as a child, Rosalie was gorgeous: long blond hair, bright blue eyes, legs for days, skinny, but with curves in all the right places. Well OK, the curves didn't come until later, but still… She was nice, but distant with me. We didn't have much in common, and we still don't. She's the same age as Emmett and they always got along famously.

Jasper is three years older than I am. He has the same honey blond hair as Rosalie, but he has his mom's green eyes. He's always been tall, muscular but lean, with dimples and an often mischievous glint in his eyes. I've always felt comfortable with Jasper, more than I ever did with Emmett; Jasper's quiet confidence always set me at ease, and he always seemed to know exactly how I was feeling.

That trip changed all our lives; Emmett and Rosalie were off to the movies, the mall, the fair, wherever they wanted, Jasper and I were never invited, so we spent our days plucking out songs on our guitars and singing together, laughing at ourselves, and at each other. We took walks down to the park and sat and read in silence. It was comfortable, even for a twelve year old who should have nothing in common with a fifteen year old—he hadn't wanted me to feel left out.

Even though we only spent a week with them, it wasn't long before I discovered that Emmett and Rosalie were trading e-mails and phone calls. Ironically, Jasper and I were trading letters, opting for a more traditional medium that could be re-read anywhere.

I don't know much about Emmett and Rosalie's relationship or when it started, but I knew that Emmett dated no one all through his senior year, and when the time came, he flew down to Galveston to go to Rosalie's prom with her. Neither was interested in college, but Emmett had been determined to move back to the Bay Area, so they both took jobs as mechanics and rented an apartment in San Francisco.

That was probably the most liberating experience of my life. Not that I didn't love Emmett and it certainly wasn't because I didn't miss him, but it was positively freeing. Most big brothers will protect their baby sister from the bullies on the playground, but I wasn't allowed on the playground. Emmett wanted to shield me from everything, and I just wanted space.

I wanted to be able to go out on a date without fear of Emmett scaring some poor, unsuspecting boy off. Right. Because they were really going to ask out Sage McCarty, beloved baby sister of football legend Emmett McCarty. Not likely, not when Emmett came home at least once a month and made sure he was seen.

I wanted to be able to sit and think and do things my way. Uncle Charlie seemed to understand that need from me, because he never pushed, never hovered. Dutiful Police Chief that he was, he just let me be.

Jasper and I continued to write to each other, trading pictures and stories. We wrote about our music, since we both played the guitar, and I eventually took up the piano as well; we wrote about school and life, and how Emmett had decided he wanted me to go to UC Berkeley and become a lawyer. Jasper thought that was hilarious. I wasn't interested in the law or anything close to it.

'I can just imagine you, of all people, in a courtroom. You'd make a squeak and run.' He'd written; he wasn't far from the truth. I never liked being the center of attention.

That was one reason I joined the yearbook staff when I got to high school: It was harder to get caught on camera if you were behind the camera.

Amelia died when Jasper was seventeen, and we wrote about that too. Charlie hadn't had the money for us all to go to the funeral, but we'd sent a very nice flower arrangement. Emmett said that Rosalie was taking their mom's death fairly well; I wanted to call bullshit on that one, but I thought it best to keep my mouth shut. I had a fairly sneaking suspicion that Rosalie was anything but OK with the untimely demise of her mother. No one bothered to actually tell me what had happened and I hadn't the guts to ask.

From what I could glean from Jasper's letters, he wasn't dealing well at all. He kept telling me not to worry, that he was fine, but the tone and overall feel of his letters changed drastically: before he would send me chords to try and lyrics to critique, and now he sent darker poetry. Where there had once been humor, there just seemed to be a lost boy.

I always made sure to tell him how much his friendship meant to me and that I was always only a phone call or a letter away if he wanted to talk. By the spring, he seemed to be doing much better.

We wrote about Jasper's intent to enlist in the Army, which he eventually did when he turned eighteen. It wasn't so bad, a three-year enlistment and then he intended to use his GI Bill for college.

'Anything to get away from David' He'd said.

I wrote to him all through Basic Training, never expecting a reply because I knew he'd be busy. Surprisingly, he tried to write as much as he could, and I was touched when he asked if I would be able to make it to his graduation at Fort Benning.

I begged and pleaded with Emmett for three weeks to take me, and when he finally caved, I was ecstatic, but had no time to write Jasper to tell him we'd be there.

It felt good to see him again, though I hated the fact that he'd traded his chin-length waves for a crew cut. I hugged him as soon as the ceremony was over and we took him out to dinner. We talked for hours that night, Emmett spacing out or texting Rosalie, and it was as if we'd spent every day of the past three years together.

He got stationed at Fort Belvoir, having decided to go into Intelligence, so it was nearly impossible to keep contact beyond our requisite letters. It was one year into his enlistment when I received the letter that made my stomach drop, and no matter how many times I read it, I always had the same response.

Jasper was being deployed to Iraq. Granted, he was Intelligence, not Infantry, and I knew the likelihood of him seeing combat was slim. Still, I couldn't help but worry because while I had Bella to talk to and occasionally Emmett (if I was desperate for someone to tell me what to do), Jasper was my best friend. There were no judgments, no criticisms. We fell together like two pieces of the same puzzle and we were comfortable with that friendship.

He promised to write me as soon as he arrived in the Green Zone and I, in turn, promised to write every week, whether he could write back or not. That first letter from him had my stomach churning, but he'd written it while he was on the transport to Baghdad, so there was little to report other than the crappy dinner served on the plane. Still, I had the APO address I'd need, and the following week, I made my way down to a non-profit organization that "adopted" soldiers as Pen Pals.

I immediately put Jasper's name on the list and signed myself up as his official Pen Pal, smiling as they stamped out a thin aluminum cuff bracelet with Jasper's name, rank, and brigade on it. I wore it religiously. And I wrote religiously. I sent care packages each month and letters once a week, and though he couldn't tell me much of what his job entailed, he wrote about funny happenings, trips to Qatar on leave days, buying ten DVD's for five American dollars in the city, and the fact that their "mess hall" was actually one of the royal palaces. A few months into his deployment, a heavier envelope arrived from him with a spare set of his dog tags and a silver chain he'd purchased in Baghdad.

'You don't have to wear them, but I thought you might like them.' He'd written.

I did wear them. Every day. I was never blatant about it, I kept them tucked in my shirt just like Jasper would have, but I kept them on me to keep him close to my heart.

Jasper POV

I admit that I'd never had any intention of getting to know Emmett and Sage. In truth, Emmett seemed too cocky and Sage immediately struck me as mousy. That went out the window once I became privy to what she thought and didn't say. Then, when she'd passed me on the front porch that first evening of their visit and asked me if that was really a Fender FR-50CE Resonator guitar… well… I was putty in her hands.

She was shy and sweet and I liked the delicate way she hummed out a note as I let her strum my guitar, her eyes closed serenely as though it were a religious experience for her. I liked her. I could get along with her. And after that, I made it a point to get to know her.

I wasn't actually one for writing letters, or even e-mails, but Sage was easy to write to. She had a good ear for music, and I trusted her with the most intimate thoughts that I put down into song. She never judged, never criticized, only played them and sang them to herself and wrote back with her thoughts.

I think those three years before I graduated, we may have spoken on the phone twice. For us, it was just easier, deeper, more sacred to write it all out. Even though that was the case, I knew if we were face-to-face again, it would be as if we'd never been apart.

I was glad when Rosie finally got out of the house. Not that we didn't get along, but I don't think she really took much time to notice me; maybe it was just easier for her if she didn't. But when mom died, she made sure to call home once a week, assuring me that if I needed her, she'd come home.

Not that I didn't need her, but Sage was taking care of my emotional well-being just fine. I could rant or not, work out frustrations or not, it didn't matter to her. Hell, I once wrote an entire letter that consisted of one sentence repeated twenty times: 'My life is hell'.

Her response made me smile. 'Then dammit, do your fucking job and take the devil by the horns and shake him!'

In truth, I was glad that I didn't get any face-to-face interaction with Sage over those years. She was scared and ignored in school and I knew, not just from the time I'd spent with her that one summer, but also from pictures she frequently sent, that she was beautiful and the boys were after her. I'd have been hard pressed to not take a leaf out of Emmett's book and beat a few of them up. But most of the time, she was also upset with Emmett for scaring one off or refusing to let her go her own way on things, so a lot of the time I wanted to punch him too.

If you were to ask Sage, she'd probably give a fairly basic assessment of her looks. It always amazed me that she couldn't see what Emmett and I saw, which was a girl with half the boys chasing after her and the other half circling 'round to head her off.

Her hair is the palest blond, like a sheet of corn silk flowing down to her waist, and her eyes are pale sea foam green. True to the form of living in Washington State, she was altogether pale, but she spent enough time down at the nearby Indian Reservation and the beach there to get a bit of color in her cheeks each summer. She's petite, only standing five feet even (a full one foot, three inches shorter than me), and thin, but healthy. She ran track, played soccer, and had some definition to her that couldn't be missed. Top it all off with a heart-shaped face and full pink lips, and is it any wonder there were days I wanted to go all Dark Side and help Emmett?

But she was my friend, and regardless of how I saw her—how others saw her—it was most important to me that she see herself. With Emmett calling the shots, it wasn't often she had a chance to, and that bothered me.

When I finally broached the topic of enlisting with her, she was supportive. It surprised me because Rosalie had damn-near had a heart attack and had proceeded to scream at me for twenty minutes.

Apparently she thought I'd forgotten we were in the middle of a war overseas. I hadn't. And that's why I trusted Sage more with my emotional well-being: no judgments. That was also why I'd asked Sage to come to my graduation. I knew even if she couldn't, she would've wanted to; Rose would've come simply to yell at me in person.

I hadn't actually expected Sage to keep up writing to me, especially with my rotating shifts; I didn't always have time to pay her letters the kind of attention they deserved. She said she didn't mind, and I believed her. She continued to write and I did my best to respond, albeit with fewer songs.

When I found out I was being deployed to the Middle East, things got hairy. I told Rosalie first because I felt she had a right to know before anyone else. She screamed at me for an hour that night and it took another hour of me begging and pleading for her not to tell Emmett. I knew if she told Emmett, he would turn right around and tell Sage, and I felt she needed to hear it from me.

She was supportive again, always supportive. But she told me she was scared for me, and made me promise a million ways from Sunday that I would come back. I wrote her on the plane over, put the APO address on it, and dropped it in the mail almost as soon as I hit the Green Zone. Two weeks later, I had my first care package full of socks, chap stick, razors, pictures, and Double Stuf Oreos, along with a letter and an inventory list (because apparently Sage wasn't about to trust any mail system with my Double Stuf Oreos).

Even though it took about two weeks to get each letter and my responses were always two weeks behind her current activities, we kept a steady stream. Every Friday, come hell or high water, I had a letter. On the third Friday of every month, I had a letter and a care package with an inventory and a reminder to tell her what I needed that I couldn't get myself.

I tried to write to her about stupid shit, innocuous things that wouldn't worry her, but I knew she knew there was more going on than I was telling. There was no way in hell I'd tell her that we had RPG attacks almost every night: the sirens would start blaring, and we'd all have to hunker down in the shelters, waiting for it to end. And that was tame compared to some of the shit I'd seen and been through. Still, she sent letters and packages and by my second month in the sandbox, my entire brigade, including the officers, were jealous because Corporal Whitlock had a girl back home so utterly dedicated that he got mail every week.

I'm not ashamed to say I let them think that Sage was my girl. It felt good to be thought of by someone back home and it boosted my ego a bit that even some of the officer's wives weren't as dedicated to Pen Palling and care packages as Sage was.

When I was in maintown Baghdad one afternoon with a few friends, I found a delicate silver chain that I knew would look great around her neck. A lot of the guys gave their girls a spare set of their tags to wear, though they were always on the standard issue aluminum chain.

Sage wasn't my girl, but she was the one helping me get through my time overseas, and I wanted her to know how much that meant to me. I bought the chain and mailed it to her the next day with my spare set of tags, telling her that she didn't have to wear them, but that I figured she'd like to have them. The responding letter was full of thanks and I'd dare say a touch of embarrassment.

The current care package contained a Fall Out Boy CD she'd made reference to and a DVD video of her down at First Beach with a few of the guys from the Reservation. It was dated 3/15.

I sifted through the contents of my latest box, and smiled as I pulled out a bottle of Texas Pete Hot Sauce. A note on it read, 'For Peter, because you say he always complains there's not enough Texas heat in the food'.

"Hey, Pete!" I called across the barracks and I tossed my friend the bottle as he turned to me. "From Sage. In case you wanna add something to your food."

Peter grinned at me, his dark eyes glinting maliciously. "And what did the ever-loving, beautiful, virginal—"

"Pete…" I warned. Peter was the only person I'd been honest about Sage with. He'd howled with laughter at first, then admitted he understood, before deciding it was his new mission in life to meet Sage and see just how sweet and innocent she truly was… and then corrupt it all right out of her.

"Fine. What'd she send you this time? More love notes?" I held up the letter, in its own envelope, and he rolled his eyes. "Anything else?"

"Got some Beanie Babies for the kids in town."

He grinned. "I wanna know where she came up with that idea."

"She said she saw it on some deployment forum. They fit in the leg pockets nicely." I patted the leg of my desert BDU's… Coffee Stains.

"Isn't that sweet." It was laced with sarcasm, but I could tell he appreciated her thought. Peter was Infantry, which meant he was often wandering through Baghdad, armed, and the kids were always scared when they saw the brigade coming. "What else?"

"New CD. Video."

"Ooh! I wanna see the video! I wanna know how she sounds so I can—"

"PETE!" I all but shouted.

He rolled his eyes. "One day, Fucker. You're gonna fuckin' wanna know too." He smirked and reached in for my Double Stuf's but I smacked his hand away. "Ow! Damn man, share much? That's fuckin' pre-school shit."

"Stay away from my goddamn Oreos. I only get one pack a month."

"As opposed to those of us who get none."

"If you asked Charlotte, I'm sure she'd send you some."

"Well why doesn't Sage just send you three or four packs?"

I rolled my eyes. "You do get that she spends fifty dollars a month to send one package, right? And that she also has to pay postage for every letter she sends? She's in fuckin' high school and her uncle is a police officer. They're not exactly rolling in dough. 'Sides, it's easier for you to steal my fuckin' Oreos if I've got more to keep track of." I growled, narrowing my eyes as his hand twitched toward the blue package again.

Peter groaned and flopped down on the cot next to mine. "So you told her when you'll be home?"

"Nah. Figured I'll surprise her. Rose said she and Emmett'll keep their mouths shut."

I would only be in Iraq a few more weeks before heading back home, my stay a rather long and arduous eighteen months. Not only was my time in the Middle East almost up, but after three years, my time in the Army was as well.

Pete wandered back to his bunk, sulking. I rolled my eyes and opened the package of Oreos, tossing him two. Pete was my best friend over here, and I always counted on him having my back. The least I could do was share two damn Oreos with him. I tore open the envelope and pulled the purple stationery out, checking the envelope quickly to make sure nothing was missed, before settling back against the wall and opening the letter.

Jas,

How are things in the sandbox?

You'll never guess what I managed to get my hands on this week. Ready? You'll be jealous. An old Samick SD-10! I found it in Seth Clearwater's attic and his mom said I could have it! I didn't feel right just taking it, but she wouldn't let me give her any money.

Dammit. Lucky. I'd been looking for a Samick SD-10 for years and hadn't managed to get my hands on one. And she knew that too.

And I'm actually going to Prom. I know, I know, shock. Big shock.

It was a big shock. She was hell-bent she was not going alone.

Henry Davidson asked me.

There we go.

I'm just hoping that Emmett doesn't run him off like he did Steve Fowler, Jeff Newton, and Marcus Anton.

Actually, I had it on good authority from Emmett and Rose that those three were douche canoes, so I was, for once, willing to overlook his interference in Sage's personal life. She'd cringe if she knew I'd called Emmett to ream him for that, but we'd actually had a fairly pleasant conversation, all things considered.

Emmett and Rose are headed up here in a couple weeks. Rose actually sounded excited for me. She said she'd help me pick out a dress.

That could either be very bad, or very good, depending on whose interests Rose had at heart.

Is there any word yet on when you'll be home? Your enlistment is almost up. Shouldn't they be sending you home soon?

Shit. I couldn't lie to her. It was absolutely against my nature to lie to one Sage Anne McCarty. If I wrote back and completely ignored it, she'd know something was up… or she'd worry. Sage was good at worrying. She could drive you crazy inside of ten minutes if you really got her going.

Anyhow, here's this month's care package. I put in a few Beanies for the kids, maybe Peter and the guys will be able to hand them out and get some good will. The Oreos are there, as always, and there's some more sunblock.

I sifted through the contents and found the SPF75.

Be sure to give Peter his hot sauce. I had to drive all the way to Port Angeles to get it. There's more razors, shave cream, aftershave, and that soap you like in the shaving bag.

I smiled and ran my fingers over the black canvas bag she was referring to.

There's also a video of some of us down at La Push. You were asking me to describe it for you and I really couldn't find the words, so the guys figured we could just show you. Hope your laptop is sand-free and working again.

I grimaced. It wasn't. I'd have to see if I could borrow Peter's, but that would probably mean he'd want to watch the video with me… and I knew why he wanted to hear what Sage sounded like… so he could try to decide what she'd sound like in the throes of sex. It was an image I didn't need.

Please be safe, Jazz. I know, I know, you always are. It doesn't make me worry less, so stop rolling your eyes at me.

Shit. She knew me too well.

Let me know when they're sending you home. Maybe I can convince Em to let me head out to Virginia for a week or two and we could go biking on those old battlefield trails you were telling me about. Hugs and love, Jazz.

Always,

Sage

I smiled. Her letters were never forced. Sometimes they were pages long, other times they were only a few lines, but they always made me feel better.

Sighing, I pulled the only other piece of mail I'd received out of my cargo pocket. It was a thick yellow parchment envelope bearing an official seal. I turned it over a few times, not sure if I wanted to know what its contents were. I knew it was a yes or a no, I just wasn't sure I wanted to know, in case it was a no, you know? Yes, the WTF of that sentence is not lost on me.

I took a deep breath and slit the envelope, pulled the heavy parchment paper out, and glanced carefully at the official letter in my hand.

I smiled.

I'll be damned.

I got into Berkeley. Looks like Sage won't have to come visit Virginia after all. She'd gotten into Berkeley and was going to appease Emmett for at least one year there before she decided if she wanted to transfer to another school.

For the first time in six years, Sage McCarty and I would be able to spend more than just a few hours talking, playing music, and laughing, not having to rely on pen and paper. It wasn't lost on me that I was more excited than I should've been to see a friend.

End Note: Leave some love and I'll send you a teaser.