A/N: Sorry for the ridiculous delay. Unfortunately, I was dealing with a computer crash. This chapter has not been beta-ed, so please don't blame anyone else for the mistakes. I figured you'd rather see it rough than not at all . . .

Dedicated to cjasone45, who is just awesome. Please be on the look-out for a possible Twilight-related collaboration between the two of us in the near(?) future. No spoilers, except to say Jasper will not be the focus this time.

CHAPTER 14: RECONCILIATION

At some point, I must have walked to class.

There was even a fair chance that the students in the hall had been swapping gossip that pertained to Edward or myself. But if I had passed anyone—if I had moved at all—I couldn't account for it. One moment I was in the hall, and the next I was sitting at my desk in Physics. The only distinction I could make between that moment and the one before it was the strange, dull ringing against the back of my ears.

As the swirling colors began to solidify into something recognizable, I realized I had been staring at my reflection in the window nearest to my desk for what felt like ages. It seemed odd, with that hateful sensation still stinging my lips, that my mouth looked normal. As irrational as it was, I could not help but expect to see them blacken or blister around the edges.

A part of me wanted to see my face marred in some way. I wanted to wear my punishment as the Puritans used to, never mind that I had never actually been very "pure."

The fact that my body remained as unalterable as ever only dragged me deeper into the void tearing its way through my chest. I felt myself drown in the feeling, utterly unconcerned with curbing the emotion or tainting the rest of the classroom. For the moment, it seemed too immense to spread—too immense for the mortal psyche to even begin to process.

It had to be. How would a human possibly register an emotion that I myself could not begin to define?

All but forgetting my surroundings, I slumped against my chair and squeezed my eyes shut. Alice's face—her eyes wide with shock and her lips slightly parted in a ragged frown—was etched inside my lids, and I quickly jerked myself upright.

I could not face her, even in the security of my own imagination.

I tried to move my attention to preparing for class, but my mind was still wrapped in the same awful, incomprehensible fog. What had I been thinking . . . ? Had I been thinking at all? Each question seemed to make the ringing in my ears grow more intense. I should have left her alone, I realized. I should have pretended everything was fine.

Now I had no idea how to make things better.

I instinctively clawed at my knees, my eyes darting around the classroom to make sure the few students who has dwindled in behind me had their attention elsewhere. Safe for the moment, I attempted to grab hold of some semblance of self-control without much success. My chest felt too tight, as if my stone organs had suddenly grown too big for my skin.

I forced the grimace off my face as Rosalie strolled into the room with Emmett close behind, casually pressing one hand hard against my stomach in a last desperate effort to hold myself together.

I saw Rosalie glance in my direction, make a swift gesture to Emmett, and casually sink into the desk a row ahead of mine. Without a word to either of us, she busied herself with her textbook, casually stretching her long legs into the aisle and effectively barring any approach to my desk from the left side of the room.

Emmett made himself comfortable directly on my right side, leaning over as though to speak to me with an uncomfortable aura lurking beneath his friendly grin. With Rosalie's haughtiness on one side and Emmett's brawn on the other, the rest of the class could only inquire about my health from a hesitant distance, and my lack of response soon put an end to even those sparse efforts.

"You all right, brother?" Emmett asked, staring hard at my face.

I kept myself composed, unable to discern from emotion alone whether they had already spoken to Alice. If so, things would certainly end badly. I was not confident I could handle that conversation—I could hardly manage to keep tab of my own emotions, let alone anyone else's. The void within me was mercilessly destroying everything that had once been comprehensible.

"Am I ruining the mood?" I asked softly, avoiding his gaze and concentrating on keeping my face composed.

If Emmett heard the bitter edge in my voice, he ignored it. He simply continued to study me, frowning slightly, "No, you seem to have yourself under control, I guess. Rose and I just got a little concerned when Alice raced after you like that. We thought maybe she had a vision of you in a . . . bind."

"Is that what she told you?" I asked, knowing full and well that she had not predicted my outburst. It had certainly not been a conscious decision to let my negativity reach her. I had simply acted out of pure, hideous instinct, and finally succumbed to the poisonous desire to allow the monster within free from his chains.

My brother shook his head slowly. "She just up and left without a word. We didn't have a clue what was going on."

"I see. . ."

Alice had gone straight to class then. I was not sure how I felt about her decision to keep our fight between just the two of us. In a way, it seemed to emphasize just how horribly I had treated her.

Emmett caught me wince and stiffened slightly. "Did something happen?"

"It's . . . nothing," I managed, nearly failing to get the lie from my mouth. It was everything, and I knew it.

Emmett's response was interrupted by Fowler's noisy entrance to the classroom, his dark mumblings about the broken coffee machine in the teacher's lounge going mostly ignored by the rest of the class. He stopped fidgeting with the large black stain on his tie long enough for my presence to draw his attention. "Ah, Jasper. It's good to see you back. I trust you took the appropriate medication this morning?"

I nodded and he babbled on, still playing with his ruined tie.

I was struck again by the futility of our family's little act. Even the humans seemed to be stuck in some sort of trivial drama. Mr. Fowler was as unconcerned with my health as I was with his existence. It was all a game of pretend. And none of it mattered.

Not at all.

Mr. Fowler continued on for a few more minutes before informing the class that we would be watching a film for the remainder of the period. I spent the rest of class staring blankly at the screen as a narrator droned on about the importance of physics in building skyscrapers, and carefully avoided Emmett's frequent glances in my direction.

It all just seemed so meaningless. . .

When the bell rang, I remained in my seat for a second longer than it took Emmett and Rosalie to rush out of the room. For a long moment, I honestly could not understand why everyone was in such a hurry. Even when it finally occurred to me that I needed to leave, I could not make sense of where to go.

With my eyes to the floor, I slowly turned down the hall leading to Psychology and fought the wild impulse to seek Alice out, to escort to class, to apologize to her, and to pretend I had never opened my mouth to begin with. . .

"Um . . . Jasper?"

I knew the voice did not belong to Alice, but that did not stop the sharp pain of disappointment from stabbing through my chest when Cassie took advantage of my slight pause to catch up to me.

"I tried to hand them to you before class, but you seemed . . . busy. And after class . . . well, here," she awkwardly thrust a stapled packet of papers into my hands. "We got an A. Thanks a lot."

I was surprised to hear genuine gratitude in her voice. "You were the one who gave the report," I said dully, glancing at the grade and stuffing it into my backpack. I briefly recalled that it would be ruined by the glittery mess inside, and just as quickly decided that I didn't particularly care. "I apologize for forcing you to handle the presentation on your own."

She shook her head, seeming to understand that I had nothing more to say but incapable of drawing our short dialogue to an appropriate close. I was so distant from my hunger that I almost didn't notice the strong, rapid drum of her heart against her chest or the embarrassed flush that flooded her cheeks.

Almost.

"There's just one more thing . . ."

We reached the door to my next class and I struggled against the urge to simply continue forward and abandon her in the hallway. There were enough immortals consorting with humans as it was, and I was tired of pretending my civility had meaning anymore.

Still, I had been cruel enough for a lifetime already, and a few more minutes of my time was not likely to jeopardize my control. I paused and met her gaze, careful to stay at least an arm's length away from her. "What is it?"

"I just wanted to say I . . . I'm really sorry that things ended up so weird between us. Over this and the note and everything, I mean. I know you would probably have preferred to work with your brother or sister. . ."

"It's nothing."

"It's not," Cassie insisted, her heart rate increasing, "because I wasn't very nice about things. And I was hoping that maybe . . . if I apologized properly . . . we could be friends or . . . something."

I carefully shook my head and placed my hand on the doorknob, effectively drawing our conversation to a close. "I appreciate your interest and your apology, but I'm not really very good at making friends. I'm sorry to disappoint you."

There was a short pause, and, for a moment, I was certain that Cassie was growing to cry.

But she simply took a deep, staggering breath and gave a short, unsteady laugh. "Well, it was worth a shot. Sorry to bother you, Jasper. I'll . . . I'll see you around, okay?"

"Good bye," I said quietly, walking into class with my mind still puzzling over the peculiarity of humans, and hoping in vain that my confusion might distract me from the awful sensation of my heart twisting into itself.

I murmured something like an apology in response to Mr. Walden's annoyed grumblings and slipped easily into my seat. The look on my face must have been colder than usual, and the energy swirling around the room was uncomfortable enough for me to take momentary notice before sliding deeper into my own mind. It was almost gratifying to see that I was not the only one in the room being punished.

The class bled by without my taking much notice. It was simply a continuation of the agony that I had subjected myself to and nothing more. There was no craving for blood. I did not even wish for the class to come to an end. Every heartbeat, every shuffling of papers, and even the constant hum of the lights overhead was somehow linked to Alice. I merely . . . endured.

Yet, even with guilt and self-loathing ripping me to shreds, I knew I could not apologize to her. Everything I had said was sincere, even if I had gone about it in an unacceptable way. How could I tell her that it hurt me to hurt her—that I could not bear her pain—when my own frozen heart still burned with betrayal? The answer was that I could not.

And I would not.

When class was eventually dismissed, I made my way to the parking lot to find Rosalie's convertible surrounded by an admiring crowd. I glanced at the empty spot the Volvo had previously occupied and could not suppress the bitter sneer that pulled against my lips.

They were together again. And yet I . . . and Alice . . .

I silently shoved my way through the crowd and leapt into the backseat, silently pushing the door open for the rest of the family. A large part of the crowd trailed away in the wake of the less than pleasant expression on my face, though some of the more persistent car enthusiasts lingered, loudly offering their opinion on its price and horsepower in hopes that I might warm enough to confirm one rumor over another.

They were disappointed.

At Rosalie's arrival—and more particularly the withering glare she had saved for the children too absorbed in the car to notice her approach—even the stragglers disappeared. Their fear and admiration seemed to appease her to some extent, and she smiled as she slid behind the wheel and Emmett naturally took his place in the passenger seat.

Alice subtly slid in behind him, taking her customary place beside me without a word.

There was no pretense of normalcy. We did not speak, did not touch, and did not look at each other. Her emotions seemed to wrap her in a delicate, unapproachable bubble, and I had the powerful sensation that if I dared to attempt entry or meddled with it at all, she would vanish altogether.

The only indication that Emmett and Rosalie noticed the newfound strain on our relation was an occasional furtive glance at us through the rearview mirror. They kept their own conversation relatively light, at least until Emmett excitedly informed us all of Edward's brighter, though admittedly still bizarre, new attitude. It seemed any discomfort he had with Edward's behavior had been quickly and easily forgotten.

At Edward's mention, no one else spoke a word. What Edward had done was not the sort of thing that could be casually talked about. At least not as far as the rest of us were concerned.

At least not as far as I was concerned.

I was on my way to my study before Rosalie finished pulling her car into the garage, eager for any reprieve from the exhaustive atmosphere. Still, I found myself incapable of moving away from the closed door until I heard Alice's lilting step disappear into our—into her—room.

Realizing that I had no motivation to do schoolwork or anything else, I sat at my desk and quietly sifted through the first book I laid my hands on. It was an old, yellowed copy of Plato's Republic I'd picked up the first time I'd attended college, and I eagerly immersed myself in the text, nodding vaguely at the notes I had scribbled in the margins. It was the sort of thing Alice would have teased me about, had she caught me. She always accused me of burying myself in intellectual inquiry whenever anyone's emotions became too much for me to bear. As always, she was right. Even with my gift—perhaps especially with my gift—rational arguments were always easier to analyze than emotions.

With an agitated sigh, I closed my book and leaned back in my chair. The house was quiet with the exception of the soft buzz of the television in the living room. It was as if we were all frozen in time, waiting for something . . . or someone.

After about fifteen minutes of strained silence, I caught Esme's soft tread down the stairs. She paused at the foot of the steps, as if she finally taking note of the awkward atmosphere.

"Is something the matter?" she asked, her voice hushed with concern.

"Uh, well . . ." Emmett murmured awkwardly, as reluctant as the rest of us to upset Esme without just cause. "It's not exactly that something's wrong. I think it's more, with everything going on with Edward and all, that no one feels like they know exactly what's going on. That's all."

"Really, Emmett? Because I'm sure Bella knows everything that's going on," Rosalie sneered, her voice coated in pure acid.

"Has something else happened concerning Bella? Is she not feeling well?" I fought back the unnecessary anger at the welling of concern in Carlisle's voice as he stepped in from the garage.

Rosalie did not seem to very think much of his compassion, either. "Oh, I'm sure she's just fine. Precious little Isabella is everyone's top priority now, after all."

"Come on, Rose," Emmett said quietly. "Don't take it out on Carlisle."

Whatever furious response Rosalie had prepared in reply was immediately halted by the soft click of Edward coming through the front door. I could hear the rest of the family immediately step toward him, waiting to hear the explanation for his human's newfound familiarity with vampire secrets. I slowly stood up and made my own way down the steps, careful to keep my tread even and unhurried. As irrational as it was, taking my time seemed like some small way of undercutting his influence on the rest of the family.

By the time I was downstairs, Rosalie already had him cornered. "All right, Edward. It's about time you started filling in the rest of us on just what the hell you're telling your little human friend."

Edward's mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "Your murderous thoughts this afternoon seemed to indicate that you already know what I've been telling her, Rosalie."

"Did something happen at school?" Esme asked, her energy softly anxious.

"Not at school. In Port Angeles," I said quietly, feeling the rest of the family's attention without ever tearing my eyes from Edward's face. "Bella knows what we are."

"You told her?" Carlisle asked, his emotions strangely indecipherable.

Edward shook his head, his motions strangely weary. "She figured it out on her own. Apparently, the younger Quileutes don't take the old legends very seriously."

Carlisle's lips were a thin, grave line.

Esme was faring little better. "Oh my . . . Of all the people Bella could have asked. . ."

"Are you certain you're all right with this, Edward?"

Rosalie curled her lips at Carlisle's gentle question, her disgust evident even without being privy to her thoughts.

Edward rolled his eyes, briefly held my gaze, and gave a single, pointed nod. "Things are . . . better this way. It's too easy to let things slip when I'm with her. If the Quileutes hadn't told her, I would have eventually."

I think it's time you starting telling us what happened, I thought, embarrassingly incapable of keeping my mind as reserved as my expression.

Edward cocked his head slightly in my direction. "There's really not very much to say that you don't already know, Jasper. After Bella ran into that —" He cut himself off with a vicious growl, his lips pulled back from teeth and his entire body trembling with rage. With a deep, shuddering breath he choked back the sound and began again. "After I picked her up and regained some semblance of composure, I took her to dinner. I did not trust myself to leave them alive if left alone, and I needed to be sure she was psychologically stable." He managed a bitter, disbelieving smile. "That much, at least, is still debatable.

"At any rate, during dinner and our return to Forks she allowed me a glimpse of her particularly perceptive observations, my ability to read minds among them, and her theory concerning the Quileutes' 'cold ones.'"

"And you actually confirmed all this?" Rosalie demanded, almost too aghast to maintain her rage.

"I didn't see the point in trying to lie to her anymore. She has already proven herself exceptionally trustworthy, particularly by human standards." He smiled dryly, "Besides, keeping anything from Bella is nearly as difficult as keeping her alive."

But why would you tell her more? Why would you want her to see you in the sunlight?

"I want her to know everything," he said, his voice unusually gentle.

I was not sure if it was his recklessness or his tone that finally sent my temper flaring. Did you ever, for even one second, think about what you were doing?

"It's all I think about," he replied.

"Bella is all you think about," I snarled aloud.

I felt a sudden, spectacular flash of anger as Edward's eyes locked onto mine. "What I am putting Bella through is much, much worse than anything I have done to our family. The worst that might happen to us is being forced to leave Forks. Bella puts her life in danger every day, simply by sitting next to me. Do you think I don't understand that, Jasper? Do you think I planned to fall for her? To put her through this?"

"Please," Rosalie snorted. "It's a phase, Edward. You're destroying us over a phase. And as soon as the novelty of not being able to read her mind wears off, you'll realize that the human isn't worth it."

"I have felt more for this woman than I have ever felt for anyone," Edward responded coldly, his eyes blazing. "Anyone, Rosalie."

I felt a deep, hot blanket of shame and anger slam against Rosalie and force her into silent, indignant submission.

Esme seemed torn between joy and anxiety. "But Alice—"

"That vision is outdated," he said sharply. "I will not change Bella. I will never hurt her!"

But aren't you hurting her now, Edward? Think for a moment. What will you do when she begins to age? How will you reconcile things if she decides she wants children? What if she decides to move back to Arizona? Will you stay with her then?

"I will give her up the moment she wishes for it. Maybe before she wishes it, if I can't protect her or she no longer needs me."

Rosalie hissed with distaste, and Edward grimaced back.

"I'm curious, Rosalie. Are you upset because I kept something from you, or because you can't bring yourself to hurt my Aston Martin?" he asked coolly.

She looked positively livid. "Neither you nor the car is worth the trouble."

"That's enough," Carlisle said, his soft tone leaving no room for argument. Both Rosalie and Edward quieted immediately.

"Do youreally think you are strong enough to make yourself so vulnerable, my dear?" Esme asked, her voice all tenderness.

"Yes. For Bella, I will be."

The warm glow of adoration encompassing Edward made the black hole in my chest tear its way through me with sudden, profound force, and I gripped the doorway to keep from collapsing to the floor. Again, I could not quite distinguish what I was feeling. The enormity of the emotion wiped out all else, before I could even begin to understand it.

How could something that made him feel so glorious make me so . . . bitter?

"Jasper?" Carlisle asked gently. "Are you all right?"

I was capable of escaping the raging pain just long enough to notice that my entire family had focused their attention on me. Even Emmett, who had been more concerned with the television than our discussion was studying me with something between confusion and concern.

Only Alice was not worried. Alice—who knew me better than I ever would or could—had not left her room at all.

With a quick, rough shake of my head, I shrugged myself away from the doorframe and straightened. "I'm fine. Just a little . . . overwhelmed." Before they could question me further, I made way up the steps and returned to my study.

Away from any witnesses, I pulled off my shirt, fell into my chair, and blindly raked my nails from my temples to my chest. This pain made no sense. My body was stronger than stone. It was impossible for a stone heart to break, wasn't it . . . ? But the way my chest heaved whenever I thought of Alice or Edward or Bella—the deep pain that pierced through me with disregard to both reason and anger—made it clear that something was very, very wrong.

Without my pillar of support—without my other half—I was even weaker than I thought.

I slumped down deeper and stared at the ceiling, listening to the soft murmurs downstairs between Edward and Carlisle, shortly interrupted by Rosalie and Emmett's loud trek up the steps.

I could not will myself to care about what was being said, my continued existence, or anything else. All that seemed to concern me was avoiding emotion. Above all, I did not want to feel.

About forty-five minutes after Edward left the house, I heard a gentle knock at my door.

Knowing Esme's emotional tenor even better than her step, I quickly pulled on my shirt and placed The Republic on my lap. Esme worried enough without me giving her further incentive.

Better to let her think I was reading than allow her to see how disturbed I truly was.

"Come in," I called, focusing my efforts on diffusing her anxiousness in hopes that it would conceal my own frazzled state of mind.

She smiled gently as she entered the room, her eyes curiously searching my face and room around me. "Good afternoon, Jasper. I hope I'm not disturbing you, but you came and went so quickly I didn't have the opportunity to ask how your day was."

I attempted to return her smile, but I could not quite manage to twist my lips into anything other than a grimace. "Not well, I'm afraid. But your presence suggests that you knew that already."

Her worry was faintly tinged with embarrassment and, after a quick glance at me for permission, she dragged my spare chair nearer and made herself comfortable. "Something did seem amiss when you came home this afternoon, but no one seems to know what happened. All Edward would say is there's some tension between you and Alice."

The muscles in my jaw pulled tight as I fought against screaming against Edward's right to say anything about my relationship.

Esme seemed to sense the tension, and hurried into the purpose of her visit. "I hope you don't think I mean to pry, but the idea of you and Alice fighting is . . . impossible. I had thought that yesterday was your—"

"It was," I choked out, gritting my teeth against the throbbing rip in my chest. "But yesterday's significance has been . . . complicated now."

"I don't understand," Esme said, her eyebrows furrowing as she tried to make sense of my strained reaction. "You seemed so happy this morning."

"Of course I was happy," I snapped, feeling my self-control chip away and utterly incapable of stopping it. "Though things had . . . gone awry . . . after saying goodbye to Peter and Charlotte, Alice and I were together. I was celebrating the day I had asked her to be mine—the first day of the rest of my existence—and she . . . she still could not bring herself to share the reason for her joy."

"Jasper. . ."

"She let me think well of Edward when he did not deserve it," I whispered, looking away from her. "Please don't waste words trying to make that right."

I felt the confusion encompassing Esme thicken. "I still don't think I understand. What does your and Alice's arguing have to do with Edward?"

"Everything has to do with Edward," I said bitterly, shoving The Republic to the floor with one violent wave of my hand. "That's all this family is concerned with anymore. Edward and his damned human!"

"That's not true, Jasper, and I think you know that." I felt the soft pressure of her hand on my knee as she moved close enough to lean against my arm rest. "If I didn't know better, I would say there's some jealousy having its way with you."

"Jealousy?" I echoed softly, staring at the broken spine of my crumbled book. While I had not bothered to classify the violent emotion coursing through me before wallowing in my own self-pity, I was well aware that I had the capacity for jealousy. It had simply never seemed important. In fact, it still didn't. Alice had always possessed the heart I lacked—she had always spread her love in a way I never could. Identifying a fraction of the aching emotion coursing its way through me was of no consequence. It certainly didn't make it any easier to contain.

"Of course, I'm jealous. I deserve to be jealous. I'm sick and tired of all the secrets, and I can't take it anymore. Not from Alice. . ."

"You're saying you've never kept anything from Alice?" she asked gently.

"Nothing like this."

I couldn't if I had wanted to. Alice and I had always been one and the same. Lying to myself—even if just through the absence of truth—seemed an inconceivable waste of time.

"Are you absolutely certain, Jasper? You've never done anything you knew would upset her?"

My mind immediately went to Jenks and my tongue was glued itself to the bottom of my mouth. I could not deny my guilt in that respect.

Esme saw me stiffen and gently patted my knee. "It's not as horrible a crime as you want to make it out to be, Jasper. Sometimes even those who only used to be human make mistakes. But don't you think it's wrong to hold someone's capacity for love against him or her? Do you really believe it's right to blame someone for honoring something they feel must be honored?"

"We have never . . . disagreed before, Esme." My voice was humiliatingly weak. "It's not . . . right. It's not right that Edward could do this to us. It's not right that Bella should be her friend before ever knowing her name. And all I want to do is protect her, and in this situation I can't even do that." I covered my eyes with my hand and tried to hold in another pulse of pain. "If I can't protect her, what am I good for . . . ? What right do I possibly have to even be a part of her life?"

For the moment, I forgot that I was her elder and let her to mother me. With my mind entangled in a fog of indecision and helplessness, it was an enormous relief to simply let Esme stroke my head and envelope me in the soft glow of her sympathy.

"Jasper, my dear, you make Alice happy each and every day. You make all of us happy. And maybe it's time to focus on Alice's happiness, rather than her safety. Protecting someone lacks a certain something when your loved one is no longer permitted to be herself, don't you agree?"

I was quiet for a moment, my emotions and my reason raging against one another. After a long pause, I forced a nod.

"I . . . I suppose it does. Perhaps I have been letting jealousy get the better of me lately. . ."

Esme smiled. "Being jealous is perfectly normal, Jasper. But so is letting go of that jealousy." With a quick motion to move my bangs from my eyes, she released me, "If you need anything, I will be right downstairs. Feel free to join us whenever you wish."

"Thank you, Esme," I murmured, forcing a smile as she left the room.

I waited until I heard her feet reach the bottom step before I allowed my eyes to leave the door. They seemed to wander naturally to my desk, particularly the drafting pencils that were still laid out from Alice's sketching days before. I imagined sharpening them and carefully putting them away, knowing I would do neither.

I felt no desire to do anything. I felt no desire to think. Giving my feelings a name had done nothing and changed nothing. It certainly hadn't brought me any closer to making amends with Alice. . .

However valid Esme's points might be, how could I even begin to apologize to her when she would know my intentions before the words ever left my lips? Somehow, it made the whole thing seem forced, and I could not bring myself to even begin the framework of a proper reconciliation.

If I was fully honest with myself, I was still not really certain I should be the one apologizing at all.

With a low sigh, I wandered over to my bookshelf to replace my now badly misused copy of The Republic. My eyes fell on the small laptop perched on the shelf above and I slowly picked it up. It had been my Christmas gift from Alice last year, though I rarely used it. Delicately—it was so easy to get careless when it came to technology—I turned it on and opened a search engine.

Forcing away the grim thought that our official anniversary might not be celebrated this year, I quickly looked up the leading jewelry designers and wrote down a few estimates.

No matter what happened between us, it did not change the fact that Alice was my wife, and my wife deserved an anniversary gift.

---

Morning arrived with uncomfortable rapidity.

While I had made significant progress with Alice's gift, I still had no idea how to approach her. Every time I braced myself to speak to her I thought of the morning before and my tongue went numb. Hadn't I promised that I would never take advantage of her? Wasn't that kiss—a kiss that was intended for punishment rather than love—abuse?

Hardly able to reconcile what I had done in my own mind, I could not speak to her. I did not know how to even begin.

I had not realized how much time had gotten away from me until I received another knock at the door barely ten minutes before we generally assembled in the garage.

"Enter," I said quietly, placing my laptop on my desk.

"Yes, sir!" Emmett said with mock seriousness, marching in with an awkward grin. "Morning, brother. I didn't interrupt anything, did I?"

"Would you really care if you had?" I asked with a dry smile.

"Guess not," he admitted. "Though I do have an excuse for once." He gestured to the small stack of clothes he was carrying and unceremoniously piled them into my hands. "Alice asked me to pass them along to you."

I stared at the clothes silently for a long moment, my mind utterly blank of any sort of suitable response. "I . . . see."

But I didn't see. For the first time in our relationship, Alice did not want to see me. She did not want me in our—her—room, and she did not want to enter mine. I placed one hand on the bundle and let the other hang limply to the floor.

I had not realized I had the capacity to feel any worse than I already did, but the hole in my chest sagged open a bit further.

"You, uh, all right there, man?" Emmett asked hesitantly, jerking his hand toward me as though unsure whether to offer me his support or leave me to breakdown in peace.

"I'm fine," I said mechanically. "I will see you in . . . awhile."

"Sure, sure," my brother said quickly, eagerly backing away. "I'll just . . . uh . . . go see, umm . . . Rose."

I managed a rigid nod, gripping the clothes as though they were the only thing anchoring me to the earth. For a moment, I wished they were. Then I could simply let them go and fall away . . .

Perhaps that was the real means of killing a vampire. You simply took away his anchor and watched as he turned to dust. There would be nothing left to burn.

I felt a hand touch my shoulder and started. I was so lost in myself that I had not realized Emmett had not left.

"Look, I just wanted to say that I know it's a first for you and Alice, but Rose and I, we fight all the time, you know?" he asked, awkwardly attempting to boost my spirits. "But no matter how much we might disagree, things always work out and we still love each other. It's just like Carlisle said. Our kind finds soul mates, not lovers. Don't you think so, too?"

"I do," I said softly. "Thank you, Emmett. Really."

I felt a strong wave of relief, and Emmett removed his hand. "Anytime, brother. I'll see you in the car."

Careful to keep myself under better control, I watched him leave the room and slowly got dressed. With my head still lost in thoughts of Alice and my failings, I moved to the garage and joined the rest of the family in Rosalie's convertible.

For a second time, it appeared that Edward would not be joining us.

Again, Alice and I did not speak. I could not feel anything at all from her, not even anger or disgust.

When we reached our school I moved to walk her to class but she casually moved ahead of me, almost as if completely by accident.

Her dismissal destroyed what little hope I had for reconciliation, and I silently turned away from her. It did not seem possible that I could move or even speak, and yet I must have. It did not seem possible that I could continue existing this way without seeking Alice out and violently demanding to know her feelings, and yet, despite the agony of her continued silence at lunch and after class, I did.

Two days since my last hunt, and it still hurt far too much to even feel thirst.

When we returned home, I only entered the house long enough to find a book—what did it matter which one?—and then disappeared into the woods. I did not want to feed. A frightened part of me feared if I was fully satiated, it would just leave more room in my mind for Alice.

Instead I read, allowing the words to fill one part of my mind and my hunger another, leaving as little room as possible for the pain lurking like a vicious shadow around everything that surrounded the reason for my existence.

My self-mandated solitude remained uninterrupted until Edward's return.

At first, I did not think his presence would have any impact at all. I ignored the crunch of gravel as the Volvo moved down the driveway, and soft swing of the car door being I opened. It wasn't until I heard the gentle padding of footsteps heading in my direction that I realized I would not be allowed to ignore him for long.

With a defeated sigh, I looked up from my book and turned my head toward the intruding sound.

It's unusual for you to come searching for me. What do you want? My thoughts were grudging, and, even with the knowledge that he would "hear" my reluctance to allow him entry into my mind, I did my best to mask my anger with thoughts of feeding.

Edward chose not to comment on my obvious lack of hospitality, and began the conversation as if it was simply a continuation of one we had been having before. "Do you recall when we met in the woods and you asked me about my self-control?"

I raised an eyebrow, momentarily baffled into silence. For some reason, I was certain he had determined to erase the encounter from both our memories. I do. I thought, a part of me growing vaguely wary.

He smiled slightly. "You asked about Bella. It was very unlike you."

I was not sure if he expected a response, and he did not seem particularly concerned when he didn't receive one. He simply continued on, vaguely playing with something hidden in his pocket.

"Lately, I've felt as though the insecurities I told you about—my own issues with her shallow little group of admirers—have become increasingly . . . complicated. In fact, I've grown so afraid of myself that no one else seems to matter at all. . ."

Edward paused, his eyes never leaving my face. "I am scared, Jasper. Allowing her to see me in the sunlight—being alone with her without any secrets—is both the last and the only thing I want for her. I can't seem to decide whether I'm her guardian angel or just another monster leading her to an early grave. . ." His muscles tightened and he looked away from me, his body pulsing with a violent mixture of embarrassment and shame. "I would sacrifice my mindreading ability without hesitation for the knowledge that I could truly . . . trust myself with her. . ."

I waited until I was certain that he had finished speaking before meeting his hard gaze. I don't understand. Why are you telling me all this?

"It simply seemed fair," he said quietly.

"Fair. . ." I hoped voicing part of my thoughts would drown out the biting sarcasm roaring in my mind. "Are you leaving to see her again tonight?"

"Yes," he said gravely, as though admitting an enormous weakness. "And you? Are you planning on avoiding Alice again tonight?"

The roaring spark of anger that raged in my chest quickly dampened into sadness. "I . . . don't want to."

"You've done things that Alice hasn't approved of before without allowing things to disintegrate to this level. If you feel so awful, I don't understand why you haven't apologized to her."

Because not all of me is sorry, I admitted. I despise hurting Alice, but . . .

"But you don't want to share her with me," Edward said quietly. His gaze lost some of its intensity as he lost himself in his own thoughts. "I can understand the sentiment."

"You . . . what?"

"Of course, I do. No matter how certain I am that Bella doesn't want any of the human males that force themselves on her, it's all I can do to try and tolerate it. The confidences she has with them are enough to drive me mad. I want all of her. But. . ." He sighed. "But I also want her happiness. And, unfortunately, they seem to play a part in it."

I know, I thought, more than aware that Edward's confessions had a motive. I know I am not being fair to her. I know I am being selfish.

"Alice didn't keep anything from you because she wanted to, Jasper. She may have kept Bella's newfound knowledge of our kind to herself for my sake, but you are always who she considers first. I hope you realize that."

I do, I admitted.

"And you still can't reconcile things? Even with that knowledge?"

I could not articulate my response, even in my own mind. How could I even begin to put into words the horrible, throbbing ache in my chest as a result of being both bully and sufferer? Unable and unwilling to make Edward understand, I tried to lock the feeling away from him and once again bury my thoughts in my growing hunger.

Edward did not seem particularly thrown off. "Well . . . you have always known Alice better than the rest of us, Jasper. Do whatever you feel is best."

I winced away from the horrible sting in my chest. Edward's words stung like an accusation. It seemed as if I was being condemned . . . as if I was making the wrong choice. Which, of course, I was.

"Must I always be the one to apologize?" I whispered, condemning myself for daring to even voice the question aloud. I accept that I have hurt her, but isn't the betrayal I felt valid at all?"

"If anyone is guilty of betraying you, I am," Edward replied, answering my silent question rather than my spoken one. "I am truly sorry for the way my relationship with Bella has affected you. I hope one day you will be able to accept my apology."

I don't want your apology.

He bowed his head in assent. "As I said, perhaps one day you will."

With the same abruptness with which our conversation began, Edward turned his back to me and disappeared. Giving up on my book, I followed behind him, hoping in vain that I might find something inside to better distract me from my guilt.

I reached the break in trees just soon enough to see Edward pull open the door to reveal Alice, her eyes locked on me even as she exchanged pleasantries with her favorite brother. I stood frozen in place, unsure whether her sudden attention to me made me feel more complete or more terribly empty.

Alice waited until Edward had disappeared into the house before sinking to the bottom porch step and allowing the light rain to mist against her legs. For forty-three seconds we stayed absolutely still and silent, my body still partially hooded by the shadow of the woods and hers as perfectly poised as any one of the magazine models she routinely instructed me to research.

Realizing that I had no intention of breaking our silence first, she allowed herself a small sigh and pointedly wrinkled her nose in my direction. "So you've made the decision to apologize to me twenty-six times now," she said quietly, her voice gently teasing. "And yet, for whatever reason, you never actually have."

I simply continued to look at her for a moment. I could not understand how one presence could drive me into simultaneous joy and agony. It did not seem possible. "Have you already seen my reaction to this conversation?" I asked at last.

She hesitated, recognizing the potential danger that lurked in the subject. "Only to know whether or not my presence would upset you."

"Al—" I stopped, my voice breaking before I could so much as finish her name. I closed my eyes and began again. "You know that I would never fault you for your visions. But imagine, even for a moment, that you were deprived of that gift. If you were in my position, would you still feel so self-assured that your apology would be accepted?"

She was quiet, and we fell into silence again.

"I really am sorry for hurting you, Jasper," Alice whispered, hugging her legs to her chest. "But even if I have seen you forgive me, I have not seen why. Is it genuine? Or do you just feel . . . obligated?"

I softened immediately, unable to tolerate her insecurity. "You are my happiness, Alice. I will always forgive you, and it will always be genuine. But can't you understand how much I. . ." I broke off, unable to admit out loud how much our separation had hurt me.

Alice was at my side immediately. "Jazz, I will always love you best. But there are other people that I deserve to love, and those people exist for you, too. It's been fifty years, my love. Don't you think it's time you opened up your heart a little more?"

I started to shake my head. While Alice's heart was wide open, I had never had enough room for anyone but her. But I hesitated slightly at the immediate rejection, my thoughts swirling around my family's attempts to console me. While I would never feel the same closeness to them that Alice felt, I could not deny that Emmett, Esme, Carlisle, Rosalie and even Edward were bound to me. I owed them. I cared for them. If it had not affected my relationship with Alice as it had—and I had moved past my decision to eliminate Bella—I might even have honored Edward's foolhardy decision.

"I . . . will do my best," I said quietly. "And Alice?"

"Yes?"

"I'm very sorry. For everything. Could you . . . can you forgive me?"

She answered by placing her head against my chest and wrapping her arms around my waist. I held her tightly to me, hungrily burying my face in her short locks. It seemed like ages since I had held her . . . since I immersed herself in her sweet, cleansing scent. I breathed deeply and murmured apology after apology into her ear, more grateful for this single moment than I had been for anything in years.

Yet the hole in my chest still seemed to lurk there like a scar. I could not bring myself to accept her easy acceptance. I could not make sense of the way she avoided me in the morning if she was so willing to forgive me now. And I could not fight the deep, lingering suspicion that she was not telling me everything as I recalled the brief nod she had exchanged with Edward before stretching out on the porch.

And if I could not reconcile her actions, I certainly could not accept that the kiss I had used to punish her could not be changed or forgiven, either.

For the first time since I had accepted the life of a "reformed" vampire, I had committed a sin that no amount of apologizing would ever undo. But, for the moment, I simply focused on the feeling of her body against mine and permitted myself to forget the rest.

"I love you," Alice whispered against me.

It was amazing how much simpler those three words made everything seem.