Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns the Twilight series, but Jasper still owns me.


"Faith in your photographic abilities is the willingness to venture into darkness without a flash."

– Cliff Hollenbeck

I feel him as he enters the darkroom. The quiet shuffling of his boots rises above the sound of trickling water in the wash station, filling my ears in the otherwise silent room. His approach heightens my senses as always. As he gets closer, my heart beats faster, and a familiar surge of energy tickles my spine. I smile because my reaction is constant as ever. Every nerve, every inch of my skin is restless as I wait for him: his nearness, his voice, his touch.

His hands slide comfortably around my waist, pulling me to him until his chest presses into my back and his chin rests on my shoulder. My smile widens when he tilts his head to touch his lips to my neck, and I tilt mine in response.

"Well hello to you, too," I laugh.

"Just giving my girl a proper greeting," he murmurs.

"You better take advantage while you can," I tease. "If you greet me this way in front of my dad, we might have a problem."

"What would he think about this?" he asks as he trails a single finger tantalizingly up my ribs and around the curve of my breast. I inhale sharply and feel him holding in his laughter behind me. "I think he might like that as much as you do."

"Um, I think not."

"How about this?"

He uses the same finger to guide my chin, turning my face toward his. He leaves three tender kisses along my jaw before his lips find mine. They move together with slow purpose; there is no rush or desperation, but my body responds to the ever-present intensity nonetheless. My stomach leaps when his free hand edges up beneath my shirt. Our kiss deepens, leaving me breathless and lightheaded. He pulls away leisurely, and I can feel the smirk on his lips before we part.

"If you kiss me like that in front of Charlie, I'm going to kill you," I mutter breathlessly, trying to sound stern. I elbow him in the ribs to emphasize my threat. "That's before he takes you out back and shoots you. You know, he told me to let you know that he'll be armed while he's down here."

He has the sense to look slightly alarmed before shaking it off.

"Don't worry, I'll be on my best behavior," he promises, smiling.

He backs away slowly, returning to his station. I miss his touch and the feel of his arms around me, but we need to focus on the assignment we have to print.

For the last week we've been experimenting with double exposures. Mr. Berty had us underexpose an entire roll of film, rewind to the beginning, and shoot through once more. Images layer over each other, different parts of each scene merging with the other. The results are varied and sometimes unsuccessful, but with the right pairing, you end up with something unique and almost ethereal. I opted to shoot landscapes on the first set of exposures and people on the second. My subjects are slightly transparent, seemingly ghosting through the scenes they've been transposed to.

We move easily around each other, weaving in and out between the different stations with practiced comfort. We work in quiet tandem, helping without needing instruction and moving before it's required. I wonder briefly when we reached the point where awkward missteps and mumbled apologies became an effortless choreography. We both slide prints into the developer, standing across from each other and exchanging heated glances. As we progress down the row of chemicals, Jasper's face tightens, and his brow furrows. His voice eventually breaks the silence.

"So… your dad," he says, and I try to keep a straight face despite his obvious discomfort.

"What about him?"

"I just – I want to make a good first impression. I've never done the dad thing, you know? I don't know what to do to make him like me."

"I don't think you need to worry about making him like you. He loves me and he's going to love you, too. He seems to be excited about getting to know you. You're very charismatic, you know. Just relax."

"I think I need a strategy," he argues, seriously. "What does he like to talk about? What should I avoid? I don't want to go into this blindly."

"He likes football, food, and history, just like you. He adores his daughter and his job. He demands respect, always. Just remember that and you'll be fine."

"What if it's too much for him?" he mutters. "You guys are really close, and I come with a lot of baggage. I'm sure that's not – I'm not – what he had in mind for you."

I suddenly recognize the depth of his concern. This isn't just basic "meet the over-protective father" nervousness. This goes to the root of his insecurity and hesitation, and back to the boy who never felt he was good enough to be really loved. I walk slowly around the edge of the counter until I'm standing beside him. He turns to face me, and I reach up to hold his face in my hands. When his eyes finally meet mine, I speak.

"Listen to me. My dad is a stubborn, over-protective, old-fashioned man. The love of his life was a free-spirit who turned his world upside down. I don't think he has any preconceived notions about what kind of person is right for another anymore. He wants me to be happy, and you make me happy."

His face gradually relaxes as creases of worry melt into laugh lines surrounding his grin.

"I make you happy?"

"Yes, you make me very happy. That's all that matters to me, and that's all that should matter to my dad."

"You make me happy, too," he admits, and his expression leaves nothing to doubt. In this moment, he looks entirely content.

"Then I guess we're even. Now let's pack up and go. We need to pick up Rosalie on our way, and he'll be at my apartment in a couple hours."

"Yes, ma'am," he chuckles, leaning in to kiss me quickly.

The ride to his house is quiet aside from the constant drumming of his fingers on the steering wheel. My hand reaches out to rub his thigh gently, and his nervous movements gradually cease. He takes my hand in his and pulls it to his lips for a kiss. I almost make a joke about him learning chivalry from Garrett so I can watch him squirm, but I only smile instead.

We pull up in front of his house, and he honks for Rosie to come out. She looks excited as she makes her way to the car, offering a cheerful greeting and hug when I jump out to let her slide into the back seat.

"So, Bella, what are the plans for Thursday?"

"Technically, I'm the one crashing your party, so why don't you tell me? What do you guys usually do?" I pause, but receive no response. Jasper's hand grips mine a little tighter, and an uncomfortable silence settles in the air.

"Kate and Garrett usually take us out to dinner, but last year we just went to their house. I don't really remember much from when we were little," she answers quietly.

Jasper takes a deep breath, glancing surreptitiously at Rosie in the rear view mirror. I squeeze his hand, mouthing an apology, and he offers a half-smile in return.

"Rosie, have I ever told you about our last Thanksgiving with Dad?" he asks. She looks up hopefully, shaking her head. "You were too young to remember… I guess about, what, eighteen months old?"

"Yeah, I guess so," she answers.

"It was pretty much one of the most perfect days ever. You were so excited about having turkey for dinner, but you kept calling it 'tur-tey.' Dad thought it was hilarious, so he kept getting you to say it. We were all laughing, and so were you. You loved all the attention."

"Of course I did," she laughs.

"It was a beautiful day, so Mom sent us down to the park to play while she finished dinner. Dad pushed you on the swings for like an hour. You kept begging to go higher and higher. I'd never heard you giggle so much before that day."

"Like Garrett," she whispers.

"Yes, just like Garrett," he answers.

He pauses, checking on Rosie in the mirror again. She has her arms pulled tightly around her chest and her eyes are closed. She looks peaceful, her lips forming the slightest hint of a smile.

"We came home and ate 'tur-tey' and 'pumpiny pie,' and after dinner you fell asleep on Dad's lap while we watched the Cowboys play. I don't know how you stayed asleep that whole time. We were trying so hard not to yell, even though it was a crazy game. The 1994 Thanksgiving game is pretty legendary."

"Oh, I remember that one!" I interrupt. "I'm pretty sure my dad went hoarse from yelling. It looked like it was going to be an ugly game since Aikman was injured. He was my first crush, you know."

"Oh, really?" Jasper laughs, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes, really. He was so dreamy," I tease, sighing dramatically. "I was devastated when he got hurt. Then they send that redhead in, and I was pretty much pouting the whole time. They called it 'Jason Garrett Day,' and my little eight-year-old heart was practically broken."

"Don't like gingers, huh?" he asks.

"I'm actually partial to blondes," I answer, winking.

"Good to know," he says, smiling. Rosie clears her throat loudly, so Jasper continues his story. "Anyway. I took you into our room and put you in your crib. When I came back out, Mom and Dad had turned the television off. Dad turned their song on, and they slow danced. I just stood in the hallway and watched them for the longest time. They played it over and over again. She had her head on his chest and one hand on his shoulder. He was holding the other one against his heart. I remember thinking how lucky I was that they were so in love."

He trails off slowly, and I can feel the tension and unhappiness creep back in. His hand grips mine tightly, and his arms are stiff. I feel it spread by touch, absorbed into my own skin and deeper. My heart breaks all over again for the sad little boy who lost everything in one night. I turn to see if his sister is faring any better. All traces of her smile are gone; she might pass for sleeping if not for the lone tear trickling down her cheek.

"After he died, holidays were pretty subdued. She didn't make as big a deal out of it for a long time, and then when she tried, it kind of backfired," he explains to me quietly, darting careful glances back at Rosie.

I feel terrible that my attempt at conversation has once again led to such bittersweet memories. I can't regret it, though, because the earlier smile on Rosie's face was worth it. She doesn't remember her father in the same way that I don't remember my mother. No matter how hard it is to know what I've missed out on, the stories my father tells me about her are what help me to fill that void. Through his words, she's alive within me. I hope that through Jasper's, Rosie might feel the same way.

"How about a favorite dish?" I offer in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood. "Rosie? Anything but sweet potatoes. Sweet potatoes and I have a history full of animosity, and you'll be on your own if you choose to eat them."

The tension breaks, Jasper laughs loudly and fingers the sweet potato scar on my hand, and Rosie giggles as she wipes away her tear. Victory.

"I hate sweet potatoes," Rosie laughs, "so no issue there. I love pumpkin pie, and Jasper's favorite is Brussels sprouts."

"Brussels sprouts?" I ask. He looks embarrassed.

"Of course. They're delicious andnutritious," he argues. "They were my dad's favorite, too."

"Luckily enough, Charlie happens to love them, too, so I have a killer recipe."

"That's a relief. If all else fails, we can bond over our love of small cabbages."

"Tiny cabbages, football… I think you have some excellent conversation starters there," I tease, and he rolls his eyes at me.

We arrive at my apartment with about an hour to spare before my dad is expected. Rosie and Jasper settle into the couch while I quickly throw dinner in the oven and toss a salad. The Chief – punctual as ever – arrives at precisely eight o'clock. Jasper jumps up off the couch at the knock on the door, rolling his head from side to side and nodding his head seriously at me, as if he's ready to do battle. I shake my head and grab his hand, leading him to the door. He stands just slightly behind me as I answer it.

Charlie bursts in with an infectious smile on his face, pulling me into a suffocating hug and swinging me off the floor in a circle. I laugh and pound on his chest with my fists until he releases me into a normal hug.

"Hi, Daddy. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, honey. It's good to see you."

"Dad, I'd like you to meet someone. This is Jasper Whitlock," I say, turning to gesture to Jasper, who is waiting with an outreached hand.

Charlie puts on his "dad face" immediately, and I struggle not to show my annoyance. Instead of taking Jasper's proffered hand, he takes his time in removing his coat. He, of course, is wearing his gun on a shoulder holster beneath it. He pulls out his badge next, flashing it "accidentally" before sliding it into his coat pocket. He hangs his coat on the rack next to the front door, then removes his shoulder holster and adds it to the pile. So subtle.

Jasper is still waiting with his hand in the air and a look of raw determination on his face. Charlie finally takes his hand and shakes it firmly, eying him up and down carefully as he does so.

"Jasper," he mumbles gruffly. "Good to finally meet you, son. I've heard an awful lot about you."

"You too, sir. Bella talks about you all the time."

Jasper remains steady and calm, exuding confidence, and I notice the moment Charlie makes up his mind about him. His mustache twitches slightly and one corner of his mouth quirks upward. He lets go of his hand, his eyes twinkling. Jasper seems to notice the shift as well, and he smiles first at my dad and then at me before turning to wave Rosie over.

"Chief Swan, this is my sister, Rosalie."

"Actually, I prefer Rose or Rosie, if you don't mind. Rosalie's way too old-fashioned for me. Some of us," she says, gesturing to Jasper, "aren't lucky enough to have nicknames. Poor Jasper. It's really so tragic."

"Hey, now. He only just got here, so let's not start Tease Jasper Day already, okay?" Jasper begs.

"Oh, fine. I'm sure there will be plenty of time for that. How long are you here for, Chief?"

He shakes Rosie's hand, laughing heartily at this point.

"I'll call you Rose if you promise to call me Charlie… both of you, if you don't mind. And I'm here all week. No sense torturing the poor boy so soon. We'll give him time to relax and let his guard down and then go with a sneak attack later."

"Bella, I really like your dad."

I turn on the some music and we settle into dinner. Conversation is easy and relaxed, just like the first time I met Rosie. She brightens the room with her teasing smiles and easy rapport, and Charlie takes to her immediately. He watches Jasper carefully, noting the way he holds my hand throughout dinner. His eyes flicker to mine whenever Jasper watches me. He smiles tightly when Jasper reaches out to tuck a loose lock of hair behind my ear. He grills him good-naturedly about school and work, but he's much more laid back than I had anticipated. Jasper seems comfortable and relieved that things are going so well, and I can't help but feel that he's making a great first impression. He sounds smart, respectful, and responsible, and Charlie looks quite impressed.

I notice a shift in Jasper's posture halfway through dessert. His hand tightens almost painfully around mine, and his palm becomes cold and sweaty. His eyes are lost somewhere over his cobbler, and my heart clenches at the sight. I have no idea what has set him off this time. We were joking about how bad Oklahoma was playing this year. Was it football? I remember that he spaced out at the Texas game we went to. Silence settles over the table. Charlie's unanswered question lingers in the air, and Jasper remains lost. Rosie looks panicked.

"Jasper," I whisper, squeezing his hand in both of mine. "Jasper, please come back."

I scoot closer, running one hand up his arm and into the hair at the base of his neck. My fingers scratch soothingly, and I notice his breathing has quickened. I'm certain his heart must be pounding frantically.

"Jasper, please," I beg, more forcefully this time. Strains of a familiar melody echo in the answering silence.

Suddenly, Rosie jumps out of her chair and runs to the stereo, turning it off. I bring Jasper's hand to my lips, kissing it softly, and he slowly drifts back into the present. My eyes burn with unshed tears, and I glance surreptitiously at Charlie. He doesn't look angry, but his brow is furrowed and his lips are tight. His eyes meet mine, and I see his concern plainly in his features. It is merely a shadow of my own.

–*–*–

November 25, 2004 (Jasper is 17, Rosie is 11)

"Jasper? Rosalie?" Mom called. "Garrett's here. Hurry up!"

Her voice was clear and steady, and I laughed as I chased a squealing Rosie down the hallway to the front door, threatening to tickle her. Mom had been having a lot of good days lately. In fact, it had been more than two months since her last bad day: ever since the last anniversary of my dad's death. That day had been the culmination of a really bad year, but as far as I could tell, she hadn't had a single drink since that night. I hoped that she had remembered what I said that night and taken it to heart. I almost regretted the words I'd said, but if they ended up pushing her into a better place, it was definitely worth it.

Lately, instead of coming home from school to Elvis and ice clinking in empty glasses, we came home to find her baking cookies or starting dinner. She went back to packing lunches for Rosie and helping her with her homework. She asked me about my day and actually listened when I answered. I was starting to think that things were turning around.

My eighteenth birthday was eight months away, but for the first time in a long time, I wasn't counting down the days. If things kept going the way had been, we might be okay after all.

She had gotten up early this morning and spent all day in the kitchen making a Thanksgiving feast. We hadn't had a real holiday in so long, and the smell of turkey and stuffing was driving me and Rosie both crazy. Rosie had been bugging her all day, trying to sneak tastes, so Mom called Garrett to kidnap us. He was taking us to a movie and to play basketball at the park until it was time for dinner.

Garrett was standing in the doorway, talking to Mom, and Rosie ran straight for him. She jumped up into his arms, and he hugged her tightly, twirling her in a circle. Mom watched them carefully, and a hint of sadness passed through her eyes. I thought I saw her brush away a tear, but then she was smiling again and I figured I must have been wrong.

"Alright, come kiss me goodbye, you two," she said, smiling.

I gave her a careful hug and a kiss on the cheek. Despite her recent good mood, I still had a hard time being close to her like that. The scars on my back tingled when she hugged me closer, and I held my breath until she let go. She grabbed my face between her hands and looked me dead in the eye. I smiled at how clear they were. She was here. She could see me.

She was my mom.

"Jasper, baby. I love you so much. You know that, right?"

"Sure I do," I mumbled uncomfortably. Her face fell a little, so I added, "I love you, too, Mom."

She kissed me on the cheek and let me go, pulling Rosie into a hug instead.

"My sweet Rosie-bee. You look so beautiful in your new dress, sweetheart. I love you. You be good for Garrett, you hear?"

"Of course I will be. I'm only mean to Garrett when he deserves it. I guess that's most of the time, though," she laughed, punching him in the ribs. He feigned injury, as usual, before laughing and running his hand roughly over her head. I was pretty sure I heard him mumble something about her being a brat. "I love you, too, Mom."

"Have fun at the movie, and take your time. I don't want you back here until seven, okay? I have a lot to do and I don't want grubby fingers in all the food."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Whitlock," Garrett said. "I'll take good care of them, and we won't bug you until you're ready. And thanks again for inviting me to dinner. I really appreciate the invitation."

"Of course. It means a lot to the kids that you're here. You take such good care of them, and I know you always will. They're lucky to have you."

Garrett smiled sheepishly, and for a minute I thought he might blush. Garrett never blushed.

"Thank you, ma'am. Good luck with dinner. We'll see you at seven, sharp."

We all walked out to Garrett's jeep, Rosie holding his hand the whole way, of course. I slid into the front seat and watched my mom as we backed away. She stood on the porch steps, waving sadly until I couldn't see her anymore. My stomach flipped in an almost familiar way as I watched her disappear in my side view mirror.

"So, short stack, what's it gonna be?" Garrett asked. "'The Incredibles' or 'The Polar Express?' I'm kind of feeling incredible today, myself."

"You always think you're incredible, Garrett," she teased. "Not everyone agrees."

"Sticks and stones, my friend. Sticks and stones."

"Whatever, Garrett. You know you like it when I'm mean to you," Rosie laughed. He didn't contradict her. We all knew it was true.

"So, Jasper," Garrett began, "how are things going? Your mom seemed good today."

"Yeah, she's great. She's been busy doing volunteer work and stuff. I think she really likes it. She's not usually so into the holidays. I'm kinda surprised she's making such a big deal out of today. My dad loved Thanksgiving."

"It's hard for some people," he said gently. "Remembering the happy times is sometimes harder than remembering the sad times. It reminds you what you're missing."

"Yeah, I think you're right. She's been really great lately, though. I think it's finally getting easier for her."

"Can we forget about all this sad stuff for awhile?" Rosie pleaded. "It's Turkey Day, and I'm going to beat you both up if you ruin it for me."

We all laughed, and Garrett turned the radio up for the rest of the drive. We ended up seeing 'The Incredibles,' after all, and for a kid's movie, it was pretty funny. Rosie spent the rest of the day calling Garrett "Mr. Incredible."

We headed home to park the car and walk the few blocks down to the park. There was something taped to the front door of our house, but I figured Mom would find it or I'd get it later. Garrett pulled his basketball out of his trunk and we headed out.

Rosie ran straight for the swings, and Garrett followed to push her. The swings were always her favorite, and I didn't think she'd ever outgrow them. She didn't really need the help anymore, but she always let him start out pushing her anyway. It was their little game, and she couldn't get nearly as high on her own. He pushed her higher and higher until she was shrieking with laughter. It was a windy day, and between the swinging and the breeze, her hair was going in about a million different directions.

I sat on the swing next to hers, watching her have fun. She had been doing so much better since Mom had stopped drinking. She wasn't as nervous when we walked in the front door after school, and she hadn't had as many nightmares as usual in the last couple weeks. Her eyes were brighter without the dark shadows that the bad dreams caused. She smiled and laughed more often.

After she got tired of swinging, she took up her usual spot on the bleachers to watch Garrett and me shoot some hoops. I was almost as tall as he was and our games were much more competitive these days. I wasn't just a kid anymore, and every second or third game I beat him. He was pretty good-natured about it, even when I won. He insisted it was only because he taught me everything I know.

Our game quickly went from easy-going and fun to fast and intense. We pushed and talked trash, and Rosie cheered equally for both of us. Before too long, I noticed a chill in the air. I paused and looked up just as the sky opened up and it started pouring rain on us. Mom was going to be pissed; we still had almost two hours before we were supposed to be home. Rosie screamed and Garrett ran over to grab her, pulling her up onto his back. I grabbed the basketball and we jogged home as fast as we could.

Rosie was laughing and complaining about how cold she was, and Garrett was huffing and puffing at all the extra weight he was carrying.

"You sure you've got her, old man?" I asked. "Maybe you should let me show you how it's done. Wouldn't want you to hurt your back or break a hip or anything."

I couldn't move out of the way fast enough before he landed a pretty good punch to my shoulder.

"I'm just fine, thank you. I can probably bench press more than you weigh, kid," he laughed. I punched him back, but he only laughed harder.

"One of these days, I'm going to punch you hard enough to wipe that smirk off your face," I threatened. "Maybe then you'll stop calling me 'kid.'"

"Whatever you say. I'll stop calling you kid when you stop acting like one."

I scowled as we stopped in front of our house. Garrett let Rosie down and left us to go change his clothes. He told us to change into something dry and then head over to watch a movie so we wouldn't bother our mom.

The paper I had noticed earlier was still stuck to the front door, so I pulled it off. It was addressed to me. I opened it to read, vaguely registering Rosie knocking loudly on the door for Mom to come and open it.

As the words on the page began to sink in, I felt like water was crashing all around me, drowning me. I could hardly breathe, and my heart was thundering painfully in my chest. My hands started shaking. Rosie was calling my name, but I could hardly hear it through the now howling wind and my own racing mind. I folded the paper carefully and slid it into my pocket, turning to face her. She looked as frightened as I felt.

"Rosalie, listen to me," I said, as calmly and forcefully as I could manage. "I want you to go next door and get Garrett. Tell him to call an ambulance. Mom is sick. After he does that, tell him to come help me. I want you to stay over there no matter what, do you hear me?"

"Jasper, what's going on?" Rosie begged, her eyes filling with tears.

"Don't be scared, sweetie, everything's fine. Mom's just not feeling well and I don't want you to get sick. Just listen to me carefully," I explained. I held her shoulders gently and bent over so we were the same height. "You stay over there until I come and get you. Do you understand? Just like the closet. Go hide somewhere and do not come out for anyone but me or Garrett. Promise me."

"I promise."

I kissed her forehead and pushed her gently toward Garrett's house. I could hear her sobbing as she ran. I only had a few minutes before Garrett was with me. I took a deep breath and reached a shaking hand into my pocket for my house key. I unlocked the door and swung it open, steeling myself for whatever I might find inside.

"Mom?"

The silence was deafening.


Who's still with me? Anyone have a theory about what's going on?

Chapters 11 and 12 are a double feature – Double Exposure parts 1 and 2. Part 2 will be up next Wednesday.

Hearts and thank yous to justaskalice and staceygirl aka jackbauer for their beta skills and patience. Love to Lucette21 for pre-reading and commenting. They all help make it better. :)

I put a few examples of double exposures on my livejournal if you're curious. :) daisy3853 (dot) livejournal (dot) com

The final list of nominations for the Indies is up! There are some fantastic stories in there. Please to be reading now, and be ready to vote starting on February 20th!

www (dot) theindietwificawards (dot) com/ValidatedStoriesByCategories (dot) aspx