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

This entire fic is dedicated to JAustenlover.

Just a reminder that Elle is writing Bella's POV and LVP is writing Jasper's.

Blue Skies Bring Tears

~ * ~

Bella Swan

The flight back to school is the worst three hours of my life. I had thought that the flight home after I'd just found out was bad. Trapped, surrounded by people.... All I had wanted to do was cry and see Peter and I couldn't do either.

I realize now that the numbness I felt, the fuzziness around the edges, had been a blessing, because now all I feel is the pain and grief. If I'd thought things would be better after a week, I was wrong. I feel more raw now than I did then, and the worst of it is that I know it's not all because of Dad.

It's been three days and I'm still reeling from the encounter in the office. Encounter... if that's what I can call it. "Quick fuck" seems to better sum it up, but I hesitate to call it just a fuck... although that's what it was.

I think.

I'm not sure.

Since the moment I saw Jasper Whitlock in front of our house, I've felt off. Even more off than I had already felt, which was considerably.

Dad was our rock. He'd been the best possible parent he could have been for Peter and me. He'd never missed a soccer game or a science fair, and he even joined the PTA for a year when we were in junior high. Nothing had been easy for him as a single parent, and even though I'd never heard him bad-mouth Mom, I remember enough to know that there are a lot of reasons why we were probably better off with just Dad.

Peter's phone call had come so early Monday morning that I had thought I was having a nightmare. That was until Kate was kneeling over me, asking me what had happened, why I was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, sobbing.

That phone call had demolished my comfortable existence. I had thought about losing Dad, particularly since a girl at school had unexpectedly lost both of her parents our sophomore year, but I'd never considered it would be – could be – so soon. We're just a few months from graduation. I know how proud Dad had been of us and the fact that we'd be the first Swans to graduate from college, and he'd already had his plane ticket to fly down to L.A. with Peter in May.

When I think about how Dad was proud of us, how that ticket will now go unused, I break down again. I'm stuck between two people because I made my flight reservation on such short notice, and the woman on my left is eyeing me sympathetically. She looks nice and I wave my hand a bit, shaking my head that I'm okay and don't need anything. It's been a week filled with sympathetic and pitying glances, and I can't wait to be in my dorm room, away from all of it.

I had tried to hold it together in the car with Uncle Waylon on the way to Forks because I knew the moment I saw Peter, whatever little bit of control I'd managed to muster since he'd called in the morning was going to shatter around me. I had texted him a couple of times while we were on the road from Seattle and hadn't heard back. With every mile we drove, worry for Peter had compounded my existing anxiety, regardless of how much I tried to force both down.

By the time we reached Forks and pulled up in front of the house, I was done. We had passed the police station on the way to the house, and that alone had increased the tears that had been steadily falling for hours. Before I realized what was happening, and for the second time that day, I found myself on the ground, except it was our uncle and then Peter kneeling over me.

I had expected the sadness and anger I saw on Peter's face. I knew he was going to look tired. I wasn't even surprised that he somehow looked smaller than he did the last time I saw him. But I hadn't anticipated how, sitting in the driveway where Dad had taught us to shoot free throws and make layups, his grief would feed mine, and mine, his.

What was even more surprising than the overwhelming anguish that we fostered in one another was how, for just a second, when I saw the tall blond standing with Uncle Waylon, that anguish had swirled away. It was back a moment later, but I found that every time I looked at Jasper Whitlock over the following days – up until Thursday night – it was as if I was in the eye of a storm: calm and untouched by the maelstrom around me.

As we fly through storm clouds into clear air over California, I wish for that calm, although I know that what happened Thursday after the funeral tainted it. My stomach tightens as I think about how I threw myself at Jasper, basically forced myself on him, and I'm ashamed. I can't decide if it's good or bad that we hadn't talked before he left Friday morning. But I do know that when I think about how I all but ignored him from the moment we walked out of the room – skin sweaty, clothes wrinkled – and recall the look on his face in the hall Thursday night, I can feel more tears stinging my eyes.

On top of that, I am worried about what he'll say to Peter, if he'll tell him, and it all bubbles up again, almost taking me by surprise: sadness, loneliness, apprehension about the future, thoughts about Dad. On the flight back to Forks, I had known Peter was waiting for me on the other end, but now I feel like I'm going back to no one. I love my roommate and friends but it's not the same, they're not family, and I ache, pointlessly wishing Peter and I had chosen the same college.

I spend the rest of the flight trying to find something on my iPod with which to distract myself, but nothing works. The grief is consuming; it feels endless.

I text Peter when we touch down at LAX to let him know I'm on the ground. He gets back to me almost right away and his simple, "Love you. Be safe," message has me dragging my hand across my eyes. I wipe my wet fingers on my leg in frustration. I'm just so fucking sick of crying all of the time. It seems impossible that it's only been six days; I can't remember the last time my eyes didn't feel swollen and my nose didn't burn from the constant tears. Today was the first morning I hadn't woken up with drying streaks across my face, but the remnants of a dream that had tugged at me as I awoke, of blond hair and blue eyes, had been just as painful a reminder of the turmoil that currently shrouds my life.

I'm so lost in my own head that I almost miss Kate in baggage claim. Her hand on my arm snaps me out of it.

"Bella, hey." She takes one look at my face and pulls me into a hug. My tote is crushed awkwardly between us but the physical contact feels good, and I close my eyes and hug her back.

We quietly wait for my bag. I can tell Kate wants to talk and make sure I'm okay, but she stands close and silent. I know she'll ask later if I don't volunteer information, but she's never been one to press me into talking if I'm really not in the mood.

Kate and I didn't talk much during the week. A few texts and emails, just so she'd know I was hanging in there, but that was it. I haven't mentioned anything to her about Jasper, but I know I will. I'm just not sure how to broach the subject. So, my brother brought home his best friend from school, and while all of our family and friends and half the town were downstairs mourning our dad's brutal death, we had sex upstairs. He's a nice guy. You should meet him.

Adding to my existing pile of regrets is the knowledge that Kate would probably actually really like Jasper, even though I barely know him enough to judge, which makes me feel even worse. But Kate's inclination to admire smart, confident guys aside, I'm afraid about how she'll react. When I feel the infernal tears welling up again, I turn my head away. Kate notices, of course, and puts her arm around my shoulder. We stay like that until my blue suitcase appears on the conveyor belt.

Kate grabs it and takes my hand. "Come on, let's get you home."

On the drive to campus, I note that Kate is wearing a red sweater and nicer jewelry than she usually wears, and her blonde hair is twisted in a complicated knot at the base of her neck. The date clicks in my head and I turn to her, embarrassed that I hadn't thought of it before.

"Oh my god, Kate, I didn't even think about Valentine's Day. I'm so sorry. Is Garrett pissed?"

Kate looks at me and rolls her eyes. "Don't be dumb. We just went out to lunch instead of dinner, and I think he was relieved. You know he wanted to go to the game, anyway. But look what he got me!" She holds out her arm to show me a bracelet, and I relax back against the seat, nodding and "mmhmming" while she talks about what I missed while I was gone. I wonder how Peter's doing, if he'll really leave tomorrow like he said he would, or if he'll stay and try to get more done with the house. My mind strays from Peter to Jasper and I wish for the dozenth time that we had met before Monday so I could better interpret what I'm feeling.

Would I still have been as drawn to him? Was it all a product of my grief, of the situation? I doubt I'll ever know.

When we get back to campus, it's quiet. Everyone is either at the game or watching it somewhere, and I'm happy to get to our room without seeing anyone we know.

Kate messes around at her desk while I unpack my small bag. I can feel her watching me as I move around our room and push the dress I wore to the funeral to the far end of the closet.

"Do you need food, Bella?" she asks as I zip my bag and shove it under my bed. Food hasn't crossed my mind since Peter and I sat for a quiet breakfast this morning before he drove me to the airport in Dad's car. Dad's car.... It is amazing the number of things that never occurred to us before last Monday. Peter suddenly not needing to save for a car is just one of them. I don't think I could ever drive Dad's car and be composed enough to be safe on the road, but Peter has always been stronger than I am, and I think he'll be okay.

"No, no real appetite," I tell her.

She nods and moves from her desk chair to my bed. She pulls her legs up cross-legged before patting the mattress next to her.

I crawl next to her and flop down on my side, my head on her leg. She tucks her stuffed panda, Gregor, into my arms and pulls my throw blanket over me before she starts to comb her fingers through my hair.

"Tell me whatever you want," she says quietly. "Or nothing. Whatever you're comfortable with." I close my eyes and bury my face in Gregor. Kate's hand feels good in my hair and I rest for a few minutes, letting the stress of travel plus everything else fade away.

When I finally start to speak, I don't talk so much about what happened during the week as how I felt. I finally get to my worries about Peter and how it was both comforting and devastating to have him so closely mirror my emotions.

"When I mentioned it to Jasper and asked him what would happen if Peter got over it but I never did, he said it isn't so much about getting over it as moving on."

"Who's Jasper? Your cousin?"

I flinch. His name had come to me without thought, and I don't know if I'm prepared to tell Kate everything yet.

"Um, no, he's a friend of Peter's from school. He drove Peter home and stayed at the house with us for a few days."

"That was nice of him."

"Yeah," I mumble against her leg. I think about Jasper... about Jasper's mouth on mine and Jasper's hands on my body and how, for thirty minutes on one of the hardest days of my life, he had helped me forget about everything bad that was happening.

"What was that for?" Kate asks.

"What?" I tip my head to look up at her and she looks amused.

"That huge sigh." She pokes my shoulder. "Did someone think Jasper was hot?" She's asking with complete innocence, obviously unaware of the thoughts that were just going through my head, but I'm surprised by the question and something she recognizes crosses my face before I can stop it. "Oh!" she says, grinning. "He is hot, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Hot doesn't begin to cover it, I want to say. Gorgeous is closer to the truth; even Angela thought so. I close my eyes and consider telling her; maybe her reaction won't be what I expect.

But Kate's known me for a long time, ever since we shared a lab table in O-Chem sophomore year, and she knows something's going on. Her hand tightens momentarily on my neck and I remember how Jasper had touched me there before almost kissing me in my bedroom.

"What's up, chica?"

I exhale and steel myself, hoping I'll feel better after I've gotten it out. "I kind of had sex with him."

"What?" Her fingers stop moving through my hair but start again quickly.

"You heard me, Kate." I squeeze my eyes more tightly closed as if that will make this conversation easier.

"How did that happen?"

"It kind of just... did."

"When?" Her voice has taken on a funny tone and I'm afraid to look up.

"On Thursday, at the house...."

"But wasn't Thursday...?"

"Yeah," I whisper.

Kate's hand stops again and I can feel her thigh tense under me. I finally sit up so I can see her face. She's frowning, as I had expected. "Oh, Bella."

The disappointment I had been feeling in myself over the past few days, knowing that Dad would surely not be proud of what I'd done with Jasper, comes rushing to the surface, accompanied by tears. I shift away from Kate and have one foot off the bed before she grabs my arm.

"Hey, don't get upset. I'm not judging, you know me. I'm just...." She cocks her head to the side and looks at me for a minute. I settle back onto the bed, but out of arm's reach. "I... I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? What are you sorry for?"

"That your brother would bring home an asshole who would take advantage of you like that."

I'm off the bed in a heartbeat, stalking to the other the other side of the room before I turn back to Kate. My fingernails dig uncomfortably into my palms.

"That's not what happened, Kate. He did not take advantage of me."

"Oh really? You wouldn't call it taking advantage for him to have sex with his friend's sister, who is clearly a grieving mess?"

"No! If anything, I took advantage of him!"

"How'd that work?" She crosses her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow. "What did you do? Climb in his lap and grind on him when he wasn't paying attention?"

I feel my face flush with the irony of how close that is to the truth. I drop my gaze to the ground and bring my hands to my face to rub my eyes before looking back up at her.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Whatever," she scoffs. "Any respectable guy isn't going to let you do something like that, at a time like that, Bella." She holds up a hand when I open my mouth to speak. "I don't care how seductive you were or how horny he was. That's fucked up. I'm sorry."

I want so badly to defend Jasper - and myself - but a little part of me knows that she's right. One of us should have stopped it before it went as far as it did. For Christ's sake, we barely knew each other – know each other, since I'd been too... everything to talk to him before he'd unexpectedly left.

My shoulders droop and I want to crawl into bed and stay there for the rest of the week. I turn to the window and push aside the shade to look out at the campus. With the light in the room on behind me, I can't see much more than my own reflection, and I let the shade fall back into place.

"Hey, come here."

I hesitate before turning back to Kate. She's holding out Gregor, shaking him at me, and looks apologetic. I return to the bed and sit down next to her, my back against the wall.

"I'm sorry," she says. "That was probably out of line."

"No, you're right. Of course. It's just...." She waits, playing with Gregor's ears while I try to figure out how to articulate what I've been thinking. I steal Gregor and hug him to my chest before continuing. "It's just.... I think it was more than that, Katie. I think there was more between us, before it happened. We.... He was easy to talk to... and...." I'm not sure how to say what I feel and I'm doubtful she'll go for it, anyway. I turn to look at her and she looks unconvinced.

"Still, Bella...."

"No, no 'still,'" I say, shaking my head. "It doesn't even matter now. I'll probably never see him again."

"No?"

"No. When would I? I'm leaving in three months. It's not like Peter would come here to visit and bring him, or anything. They're getting ready to graduate, too. I don't even know what his plans are for after school, other than that he might go to Seattle with my brother...." I trail off; how very little I know about Jasper Whitlock is probably as clear to Kate as it is to me. It seems like a minor miracle that I even know his last name. The thought that I want to know more about him depresses me because I know it will never happen.

"You didn't even get his email address or anything before you left?"

"No, I did. He gave me his cell number."

"Did you give him yours?" She looks thoughtful when I shake my head. "Are you going to call him?" Her attention is on her perfect fingernails, but it's far from a casual question.

"Um, no. Probably not." I shrug and push back thoughts of how nice it would be to hear his voice, even if it's only through a phone line.

"That's probably good." Kate smiles and rubs my leg. My heart falls when she agrees with me. I realize that I was hoping she would hear that I thought there was more and encourage me to go for it, or at least to call him.... But that's silly and I'm disappointed with myself. Again.

"Did you tell Peter?"

I pull up my knees and bury my face in them. "No."

"Going to?"

"I don't know."

"Think Jasper will?"

I lift my shoulders in uncertainty. I try to put myself in Peter's place and I'm pretty sure he won't be thrilled, regardless of whether it's Jasper or I who tell him. If I had brought home a single Kate with me and the same thing had happened with her and Peter... I would have assumed that Peter had sex with her just to forget what was going on, and I wouldn't have been terribly happy about it.

Even if there was something more with Jasper, there's no way Jasper will believe I did it for any other reason than just to escape. It makes me sad to think that he must assume I used him. And that girl who attacked him... she looked like Bella Swan but she wasn't me, not really. What if she was the one he liked? I consider that maybe his preference is aggressive and dirty-mouthed, even though I feel as if there's a lot more to him than that.

"Hey, enough of this for now." Kate puts her arm around my shoulders and squeezes. "But you can talk to me whenever you want, even about Jasper. I promise I won't go all judgmental again, okay?" She climbs off the bed after I nod.

Kate checks on the game and finds it ended twenty minutes ago, but refuses to leave until I assure her I'm okay. After she goes off to find Garrett, I slowly change into my pajamas. I send my brother a text as I'm brushing my teeth and he responds as I'm climbing under the covers.

I lie in bed but can't stop thinking about Dad and Peter and Jasper, and I'm wide awake when Kate and Garrett return a few hours later. I listen to them whispering and laughing quietly as I face the wall and pretend I'm asleep, hugging Gregor tightly to me.

Even when Garrett's muffled snores start to fill the air, my mind is a chaotic mess. I don't know how long it will be before I can sleep soundly again, but I have to hope it's not too long.

~ * ~

I spend the week trying to readjust to being back to school. I wasn't even gone for a full seven days, yet it feels like it was months, and I can't quite get into a rhythm. I had forgotten about an exam we're having in Genomics but Professor Andress heard from Kate about my dad and allows me to reschedule it for next week.

On Wednesday, Peter sends me a link to an online newspaper article in the Sequim and Port Angeles News Online. Local Police Chief Laid to Rest, the headline reads.

Over three hundred people have left comments about Dad, but it's not the nice words that catch my attention or speed up my breathing. It's the photo that accompanies the article.

It is from the interment at the cemetery. Reverend Weber is standing at the head of the casket, his hands clasped in front of him.

The photographer was somewhere to my left, past the foot of the casket, as I am in the forefront of the photo. My eyes are closed and Peter is partially visible on my far side, his arm around my back, his fingers visibly digging into the arm of my coat.

Billy is standing in front of me in his blue uniform, holding out the triangle-shaped bundle of red, white, and blue fabric for me to take.

I ignore the slump of my posture and the way my arms are curled to my chest as if rejecting the flag will make it all not real. I focus instead on the person standing behind me. The person who is reaching out a hand, almost touching my shoulder.

Jasper's eyes are trained on me. The tips of his fingers are just inches from my back. The day had been windy and his hair is blowing everywhere, but I can see half of his face clearly.

I can't name the expression that lines his strong features, but it's not the grief or sadness evident on the faces around us. It's something else. Something that has pulled down the corner of his mouth and creased his forehead. The image captivates me and I wonder what he was thinking in that moment that he reached out. And did Peter notice Jasper's hand when he looked at the photo?

I bookmark the article so I can come back later to read the comments, and save the photo to my laptop's hard drive. I tell myself it's only because I want to make sure I have it in case the website deletes or moves the article, but I know that's not the case.

Something akin to embarrassment still tightens my chest when I think about what we did, although I can't deny the memories are always accompanied, even preceded, by a cascading heat that starts in my stomach and radiates outward. It's the only photo I may ever have of Jasper, and whether or not I will ever be able to think about what happened without the residual guilt I currently feel doesn't seem to matter; I want the photo, regardless. I'm happy to discover that looking at it brings back a fraction of the calm he had been able to create in me in person. That alone is reason enough to keep it.

~ * ~

The rest of the week is a struggle. I've been talking to Peter daily since I returned, and Jake - with whom I ordinarily talk every couple of weeks - has been calling every couple of days. Talking to them helps somewhat, but it doesn't stop every other thing I see from reminding me of something Dad said or did. Friday afternoon, I'm completely drained from classes and sleeping poorly all week, and I manage to sleep from Friday afternoon to late Saturday morning, although I don't feel particularly rejuvenated when I awake.

Saturday and Sunday crawl like the week did and I've never been so happy for a weekend to end. The downtime I have Sunday isn't the blessing I anticipated. Instead of resting and relaxing, I can't shake the sadness that surrounds me, and I lie in bed, doing everything I can not to grimace at Kate and Garrett when they hold hands while they're studying, or when they snuggle on Kate's bed.

In the early evening, they pack up their books and Kate grabs a bag. "I'm staying at the frat house tonight. Do you need anything before I go?"

I kick off the blanket before stretching and throwing my legs over the side of my bed. Kate looks surprised, probably because it's the first time I've moved in about six hours.

"No. I think I'll go grab some food and then watch Cold Case or something."

She embraces me tightly and says quietly in my ear, "It'll get better, Bella, I promise."

I'm not sure exactly what will get better, but I nod. It doesn't really matter to what she's referring – at this point, I feel like there isn't anything that can get any worse, including my own attitude. I know it's only been a couple of weeks since Dad died, but I'm really tired of feeling like shit.

A sub sandwich and three hours of TV later, plus some studying for my make-up test, and I feel better than I have all week. That is until I'm clicking around my laptop, looking for a study guide I know I put together for one of my classes, and come across the photo I saved from the online newspaper.

I can't stop my hand from rising up and tracing Jasper's image with my fingertip. He looks so... well, whatever it is, it's not happy. I think back to the week at home and realize I can only come up with a handful of instances when I remember him smiling. That makes me sad because what I did see of his smile made me feel lighter and freer, as did just being in his presence, and not just in the context of what happened after the funeral.

Before I know it, I have my cell phone in my hand and I'm scrolling through my contact list. Garrett... Gretchen... Jake... Jasper. I had saved his number in my phone after he left it for me, even though I hadn't been sure I'd ever use it.

The "call" button taunts me for a minute before I close the phone and put it down. Ten seconds later, I pick it up again and pull up Jasper's number, which has an area code I don't know.

What could it hurt, calling him? It's fair to want to make sure he got back to school safely. I also want to thank him for everything he did for us while he was in Forks. He'd missed an entire week of classes to attend a funeral for someone he didn't even know. It's admirable that he stayed with us for so long and helped with as much as he did.

I try not to think about the keen embarrassment I still feel or how Jasper might be upset with me for refusing to speak to him Thursday night.

He doesn't know that by the time I'd convinced myself to talk to him – that he wouldn't make me feel ashamed for what had happened – and I had run out the front door after him, that his car had been nothing but fading tail lights in the drizzling morning fog.

Maybe I can explain this to him and he won't be angry.

I press the green button before I can think better of it and quickly hold the phone to my ear.

Panic sets in before the end of the first ring. I get up to pace the room as all of the rational thoughts I had flee. What had I planned to say to him? During the interminable pause between the second and third rings, I consider hanging up. It crosses my mind just before I close the phone that he might see his call log sometime when Peter is around and wonder aloud about the number. That alone keeps me from snapping the phone shut. I'm torn between hoping he answers and praying he doesn't, when the fourth ring is cut off by a voice.

"Yeah?" He sounds sleepy and the clock next to my bed comes into focus as I realize it's after midnight on a Sunday; he probably has class in the morning.

My heart trips and my fingers tighten around the phone, but when I open my mouth to speak, nothing comes out.

There's a pause and a, "Hello?" and then a longer pause before he speaks for a third time, sounding more alert.

"Bella?"

Legna betaed it all. The next chapter will be up on Wednesday (1/20).