The Twilight series is the property of Stephenie Meyer - No copyright infringement is intended.

This entire fic is dedicated to JAustenlover.


Last Exit

~ * ~

Jasper Whitlock

I relish the little moments here and there that I have with Bella. They are constantly being interrupted, and it's expected given the situation, so I just try to enjoy the small blocks of time we spend alone. It always starts out awkwardly, although I wonder if it's just awkward for me because of my attraction to her and the guilt I feel for it. I wonder why I feel guilty - it's not as if it's something I can control, not as if I get off on the circumstances - but I do. Maybe because I wish I could rise above the attraction and not keep thinking about her the way I am.

Regardless, once we get to talking it usually becomes surprisingly comfortable and familiar. She relaxes and when she starts talking I get to see glimpses of the girl that she probably is when she's not buried under the weight of grief. I start to realize that it's really not just physical attraction, and though it worries me a bit, when we're talking, I try to just enjoy her company and keep her at ease. The more I talk to her, the more I want to know about her, but we rarely ever get into any personal stuff. I have lots of questions but she generally keeps the conversation casual, so I try to follow her lead.

When Peter and Waylon get home from their morbid errands, they are wiped, emotionally and physically. We have a quiet dinner and then Waylon takes his bags and leaves to meet his wife and kids at the motel where they are staying, a few minutes away. Peter, Bella and I talk and watch TV for a while after dinner but both of them are so tired they end up heading to bed pretty early. I sit up and read for a few hours, unable to sleep thanks to the jumble of thoughts turning over in my head.

A lot of them are about Bella, but not all. I am not looking forward to tomorrow. The wake will be incredibly difficult for Bella and Peter, not to mention the rest of the family and friends, and I will likely be the only one there with no direct connection to Charlie. I have begun to feel a little more comfortable in the house, maybe even useful at times, but when more family arrives, I figure I'll probably revert back to feeling like some sort of interloper.

I close my book when I start to feel tired, and remind myself one last time that my presence here is all about Peter. I am here to support him and to help, and whether or not I feel uncomfortable while doing it doesn't matter. My attraction to his sister is just something I need to push aside, because it's the wrong time and the wrong place, and my disappointment at the realization of that is also something I just have to deal with. None of this is about me.

The next day begins early and is busy with preparations for the wake and funeral. When I get downstairs, Bella and Peter are already up, making calls and plans. I help with whatever they task me with and by late morning, it's clear that the planning is already weighing on Bella. She's wearing what you might call a game face, but even to me it's clear that there are heavy emotions being pushed back. Peter picks up on this immediately and tries to dial back her involvement without making it too obvious. In the afternoon, Peter takes Charlie's car to meet his Uncle Waylon, and the two of them head to the ferry to pick up two families coming in from out of town. While they are gone, Bella's friend Angela stops by to visit, shortly after Bella's aunt, Mary Beth, leaves to get lunch for her kids, who are still at the motel.

While Bella was waiting for Angela to arrive, she told me that Angela's father was a minister at the local Lutheran church, the church Bella and Peter attended as kids with their father. They've been friends since elementary school and Reverend Weber will be doing the funeral service at his church. Once again, I figured that it would be yet another emotional visit for Bella.

When Angela arrives, the girls head directly upstairs. I go upstairs shortly after them and grab a book I'm reading for Emerging Issues in Sports Business and my laptop from my bag and then head back down to sit at the kitchen table. I have a paper due Monday for the class, so I figure I should take whatever opportunity I can to work on it. I manage to get a couple pages typed before Bella and Angela come back downstairs. They walk into the kitchen and I notice Angela is very much the picture of a small town minister's daughter. She's tall, thin, and plainly dressed, but she has a warm and friendly smile. I glance at Bella, who looks as though she's been crying.

"Jasper, this is my friend Angela," she says. "Ange, this is Jasper, Peter's friend from school."

Angela smiles brightly, but now I notice her eyes behind her glasses and they look a little red and puffy as well. I stand from the table and extend my hand. "Hey, it's nice to meet you."

"You, too, Jasper. It was nice of you to drive Peter up here." She turns to Bella and they exchange a look that I can't decipher.

"C'mon, Ange, I'll walk you out."

Angela smiles at me again. "It was nice to meet you, Jasper. I guess I'll see you this evening."

The girls turn and walk arm-in-arm into the hall, and a moment later I hear the front door open and close. I sit back down at the kitchen table to continue working on my paper and a couple minutes later, I hear the door open and close again. I expect Bella to come back into the kitchen, but instead I hear footsteps on the stairs and then a few minutes later I hear music. I can't make it out but it sounds vaguely familiar. I stand up and walk into the hall and then I can make out the sound of crunchy guitars. I wonder if maybe she's upset and that's why she didn't come back into the kitchen.

I take two steps up the stairs and then I recognize that it's "Corduroy" by Pearl Jam. I feel like she's calling to me, but she can't be. She can't know they are my favorite band. I keep walking toward the music as if it's some sort of beacon.

Her bedroom door is ajar enough that I can see her sitting on the floor, her back against the bed. Her head is tilted back and her eyes are closed. I'm at her door and before I can knock, she lowers her chin and opens her eyes.

"Come in," she says, straightening up a bit.

I hesitate, suddenly unsure of what I am doing here, but when she looks at me expectantly, I enter. I stand in the middle of the room awkwardly for a moment before I nod toward the stereo.

"I love this song. This band."

She shifts and brings her knees to her chest. "Yeah? Me, too."

We watch each other for a moment. "You can sit, if you want." She nods to the bed, and then the floor, giving me options.

I sit on the bed first and then realize that it's ridiculous for me to be so much higher than she is, and I lower to the floor. My legs stretch out in front of me and I feel huge next to the balled up girl next to me.

"I hope Peter is okay, he's been doing so much here. Taking care of everything, practically."

"He seems to be holding up all right. He can keep it together when he needs to," I say, hoping it provides a bit of reassurance. "Sometimes having that stuff to take care of, it's almost like a distraction."

She nods and stares at the lock of hair she's twirling around her finger. "That's kind of what I'm afraid of. I think it's actually going to get worse than this. Later, when it all sinks in. I can't imagine that."

"Nothingman" comes on and I'm tempted to get up and change it. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She drops her legs so that she's sitting Indian-style and leans forward.

"I just think…What if we never get over this? Or what if Peter does and I don't?"

I take a deep breath and try to plan my words so they sound comforting and not pessimistic. "I'm not sure it's about getting over it, so much as moving on. It'll get easier, you'll feel better, even if it's not quite the same."

She shakes her head and I'm not sure if she realizes it, but she leans toward me a little.

"I don't want to feel different. I don't want to feel like this. I don't want this to be real."

I turn my body so that it's facing her just a bit. "I know it's hard to believe right now, but you won't feel like this forever. You just…you won't. That doesn't mean you'll love him any less, either."

She nods and we sit and listen to the music for a while. When I look down again, I realize we are closer. Her knees are pulled up again and she puts her head on them.

"Sometimes I think I don't have a tear left in me, and then sometimes I think I might never stop crying." Her eyes are wet but she doesn't look like she is going to cry. She turns her head to me and lifts it a little bit, like she's waiting for me to tell her what happens next.

I decide to take a chance. It feels unnatural to sit here and listen to her speak honestly about her grief and not physically comfort her. I wonder if I wasn't attracted to her, would I really be so hesitant to touch her? It starts to feel like maybe keeping my distance is the more unnatural reaction, so I raise my arm and push my hand into her hair and wrap it gently around the back of her slender neck, gently rubbing the soft skin with my thumb. I don't know if we know each other well enough for me to do it, but I do anyway because it seems like a nice gesture, and she seems like she needs it, and maybe just a little because I've really been wanting to touch that spot.

She leans into me more and now my heart is pounding and I think maybe this wasn't such a good idea because I am completely unprepared to be so close to her.

"You will stop. We're built to survive this kind of stuff. You'll be all right," I say, perhaps only to help distract myself from the feel of her skin under my hand.

"You sound so sure," she says, tilting her head and looking up at me. "Is there a reason you're so sure?"

I think for a moment. I am sure, although I don't entirely know why. I suppose it's because a hell of a lot of people have been through exactly this before, and hell of a lot more will go through it after. I don't tell her that though.

"No. It's just the way it is, I guess. I mean you just…you observe people, you know? And you see it." I chuckle at a memory. "My mom always quotes the Bible, 'this too shall pass.' It's almost universally true."

She smiles a little and leans into me and against my hand. I shift a little closer because I'm apparently magnetically drawn to her, and our faces seem to get closer and closer as well. I tilt my head a bit and we're at a perfect angle. It would be nothing to close this small distance between our mouths. My thumb halts its movement on her neck, and possibly my grip tightens just a bit.

Her eyelids flutter and then she drops her heavy-lidded gaze to my mouth for just a moment before they close completely. I am pretty sure she is telling me she wants me to kiss her, and I sure as fuck want to. I'm staring at her perfect pink lips and I can already imagine how sweet she tastes. I want to kiss her more than I've ever wanted anything, I am fairly certain, but the part of me that is decent and reasonable keeps shouting at me. Shouting over the din of, do it. Look at that face, that mouth…do it, she wants you to; it reminds me that she is beside herself with grief – that she is confused and upset and that there is more than a good chance that her judgment right now cannot be trusted. It reminds me that this is more or less the textbook definition of taking advantage. I look at her bottom lip and imagine, one more time, pulling it between my teeth, before I sigh and then clear my throat. Her eyes open again and the spell is broken.

She looks down and I don't miss the flash of embarrassment that crosses her face. I wonder if I am able to do anything right at this point. I slowly move my hand from her neck to her shoulder and squeeze.

"Bella," I start, but she cuts me off.

"Peter's home!" Her voice is off and her brow is furrowed. She hops up and exits the room quickly. "C'mon," she adds. Her tone is overly light and casual, and I'm fairly certain it's fake, but I still allow myself to feel a miniscule amount of relief.

I get up and follow her and, sure enough, as I get to the stairs, Peter is closing the front door behind him.

"Hey, guys," he says. "I dropped everyone at Forks Motel so they could rest and get ready for this evening. Thought maybe we could all use some quiet time before tonight, too." He rubs Bella's back and kisses her head before heading into the kitchen. "What did you guys do this afternoon?"

"Aunt Mary Beth was here, and then Ange came over," Bella answers, grabbing a can of Coke from the fridge and handing it to Peter.

"Oh yeah, how is she?" Peter asks, cracking the can open. Bella grabs another from the fridge and extends it to me, but keeps her eyes on Peter. I stare at her for a moment, hoping she'll look at me and give me some indication of how she's feeling about what happened upstairs, but she doesn't turn to me, so finally I just take the can from her hand.

"She's okay. She was upset. You know...it's Angela. I think I even ended up comforting her for a little bit."

"I stopped by the funeral home after I dropped everyone off. Reverend Weber came by, too, to talk a little bit about tomorrow."

Peter sits at the kitchen table and Bella pulls out a chair next to him. "Peter, you've done so much. I can do stuff too, you know. I want to help."

Pete squeezes her shoulder. "Bells, you've done plenty. Dad wouldn't have wanted you to deal with all this bullshit. I'm okay."

She nods and looks down at her lap. After a minute, Peter pulls his hand back and turns to me. "There's some Premier League on Fox SportsWorld, I think. Want to watch a game before it's time to get ready to go?"

"Yeah, why not?" I answer.

He grabs a bag of chips out of the pantry and then the three of us head into the family room. We get about forty-five minutes into the game before Bella falls asleep on the recliner. Peter is focused on the game but I'm completely preoccupied by thoughts of the almost-kiss in her room, and I can't help but continuously steal glances at her. Her face is peaceful and relaxed, an expression I haven't yet seen on her, and it suits her. My gaze accidentally lingers too long and Peter looks over at her and then at me.

"She's exhausted. I bet she's barely sleeping at night. I wish we didn't have to wake her up soon."

I study his face carefully for any sign that he might be suspicious. I am actually shocked that he doesn't question why I was looking at her, shocked that he hasn't yet noticed just how often I'm looking at her when she's in the room. I consider the possibility that maybe it's all just amplified in my mind, like when you're talking to someone who has something weird on his face, like a giant mole or something, and after you're done you feel like you just stared it at the whole time and can't even really remember the conversation.

"Yeah, I'd imagine she's pretty tired. Plus, sleeping at odd hours like this doesn't help with sleeping at night."

Peter nods and looks back at her one more time before we both return our attention to the game.

~ * ~

At five, we're all dressed and ready to go. Peter and I wear black dress pants and shirts; Peter has a jacket but I forgot to bring one, or rather, I didn't think to since I was unsure I'd even be here for the wake and funeral. He reassures me that we're in Forks and no one will bat an eye.

As soon as we get downstairs, Billy calls to let us know that he'll meet us at the funeral home, instead of at the house. We both stand in the kitchen and lean against the counter to wait for Bella. She walks in a few minutes later, and I can't really bring myself to look at her because I can already feel the beginnings of what will be a completely inappropriate physical reaction. She's wearing a simple black sweater and a black skirt that falls just below her knees, but everything hugs her tightly. It's certainly demure but also sexy as hell. Her hair is down and it looks all soft and shiny and pretty, but I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes from travelling down her body, so instead I just try to divert my attention elsewhere.

"Do I look okay? I didn't want to put on much make-up." She's talking to Peter but I want to butt in and say, "Hell yes, now go upstairs and change into something more frumpy."

She and I both patiently await Pete's assessment of her outfit. I am rather curious to know what a brother's take on it would be.

"Yeah, Bells, you look great," he responds casually, rubbing her arm as he passes her and heads to the front door.

Her eyes flicker quickly to mine and I want to offer my input but refrain because I'm not sure it won't come out too overzealous. I'm still thinking about what happened in her bedroom and as much as I know I did the right thing, I seem to be regretting my decision more and more with each passing hour.

She turns and follows Peter and I turn the lights out in the kitchen and then catch up with them as they're heading out the front door.

"Uncle Waylon will be here any minute. We'll go in his car and he'll go back to pick up Aunt Mary Beth and Meghan and Harry a little later. Tomorrow we have a car picking us up."

We walk down to the end of the driveway to wait since it's not too wet or cold tonight. When Waylon turns onto the street, Bella abruptly turns to face Peter, her expression a mix of panic and horror. "Peter, I'm not ready."

He puts his hand on her shoulder and then moves it to her neck and pulls her close. "I know. We just have to do this okay? We just have to get it over with."

I watch them and it isn't until Waylon gets out of the car and greets us that I realize she and I have been staring at each other. I'm standing just behind Peter and her face is pressed against his shoulder but she's watching me. She always seems to be telling me something with her eyes, but her gaze breaks so quickly, like a frightened animal's, that I'm never able to decipher the message. Maybe I'm imagining things...maybe it's wishful thinking, but I need to know what those looks mean.

Peter nods to Waylon and then helps Bella into the back seat and slides in next to her. I sit up front with Waylon, and as we drive to the funeral home, he tells me a little about the town. Peter and Bella are silent in the back seat. I glance back, pretending to look at the library that Waylon has just pointed out, to see Bella resting her head on Peter's shoulder. They are both looking out her window and now, more than ever, they look like twins.

We arrive at the funeral home just a few minutes later and Peter and Bella emerge from the car slowly. We walk into a reception and lobby area where an attendant comes to take our coats. There's a set of double doors to our right with two giant circular wreaths and a sign that reads "Charles Swan" in fancy script. Waylon heads immediately into the room and I start to follow, but stop and turn to see what Bella and Peter are doing.

She's shaking her head, her hair flying around her shoulders as Peter gently tries to pull her toward the room.

"Bells, please, we have to." His voice is pleading but he sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

I walk the few short steps back to them and Peter turns fully toward the door, taking her hand. I stand next to her, waiting until they are ready to head in and she reaches out and grabs my forearm. Her fingers dig in and I can't tell if she is anchoring herself or asking to be led in. Peter tugs just a little and she takes hesitant steps forward, still gripping my arm. After those first shaky steps, she finally relents and lets us lead her into the room

Even I feel it when we walk in there. The room is empty still, aside from us, because the visitation starts at six. At the very front of the room there is a closed casket with an American flag draped over it. I feel a twinge in my chest at the sight, knowing my father's funeral will someday bear a striking resemblance to this one. The image of the flag-draped coffin haunts most military families, particularly those who have members on active duty. It's a reaction that, after twenty-one years, feels damn near instinctual.

At the head of the coffin is a large photo on an easel of Charles Swan in full uniform. He looks shockingly young. I had seen the photo of him in the hall but Peter and Bella were kids then, and I had just imagined him looking much older. Surprisingly, he doesn't.

The room is lined with couches and armchairs, a few tables, each with at least two boxes of tissues on them. There are flowers everywhere and soft, sad classical music is filtering in from speakers lining the ceiling.

I have about thirty seconds to take all of this in before I feel Bella buckle next to me, her grip on my arm tightening again. I look over and Peter has momentarily dropped her hand. Unsure of what to do, I grab her and pull her to me as she lets out this sound. It's a wail and sob, and it's just high pitched and awful. She sucks in a choking breath while I hold her firmly against my chest. I move one hand to her back and the other to her hair and let her cry against me. I can already feel her tears soaking my shirt, and a wave of nausea passes through me; the grief in the room is palpable, even though no one has yet arrived.

Peter turns to us looking far away and half-stunned, and then slowly a look of recognition creeps back over his face and he tugs Bella away from me. He walks her to the closest armchair and they collapse into it; the sight of them is reminiscent of Monday night in the driveway. Bella is worse this time, though. She's practically choking in between her muffled wails and Peter is trying to hold it together for her, but as expected, he's unable to.

I just stand and watch them and I can still feel her in my arms, the wetness of her tears still spreading through the fabric of my shirt.

The evening continues with much of the same and little relief. When Jake arrives with Billy, Bella breaks down harder than before and Jake picks her up and carries her out to the hallway. After that Bella sobs nearly every time someone new comes to sit with her. Peter rarely leaves her side and though he holds it together a little more successfully than she does, he has several - quieter - breakdowns as well.

They aren't the only ones. Lots of people are crying. Most of them are. Some of them are okay until they talk to Bella or Peter, and then they are all crying. I try to hang back as much as I can, talking to people if they approach me. The whole thing ends up being harder than I imagined, and seeing Bella and Peter so distraught leaves me feeling as though I'm in some surreal state of shock. I've given up worrying about being able to do something or feel useful, and I just hope that both of them find some relief before the end of the night. Tomorrow it starts all over again, except it'll be so much worse, because tomorrow they say goodbye in a much more permanent fashion.


Legna betaed it all. Next chapter will be up on Saturday (1/9). From there we will go to a regular Saturday/Wednesday posting schedule.

Our Twilighted thread: http://tinyurl(dot)com/ykkv5zr. Lots of us who haven't been active on the threads in a while have come out to play :)

Thanks to all who have reviewed thus far - particulary those who have taken the time to leave comments on both our updates - your feedback is greatly appreciated.