A/N: Thanks to Twila for her fantastic alpha skills, for listening to me moan and groan, and for her help with an appropriate shopping metaphor. Thanks, also, to blondie, for letting me pick her mind and use a fair number of her words, and to ElleCC for letting me use Firesper's parents' names. And a final thanks to all the awesome twitter and lj peeps who've been so overwhelmingly supportive during my ridiculously long writing rut.

Chapter 20: Forgetting Me, Remember Me

"in time of daffodils (who know
the goal of living is to grow)
forgetting why, remember how

…

and in a mystery to be
(when time from time shall set us free)
forgetting me, remember me"
~e.e. cummings, in time of daffodils (who know

APOV

at a ticket counter
tears in my eyes
bad news
everythings delayed
tuesday is too far away

----------

"You sure you don't want to come tomorrow night?" Jasper asks, frowning as he mashes his remaining Cheerios into his milk with the back of his spoon. "I'm sure we can get another ticket. It's not like the 76ers routinely sell out or anything."

I shove my last spoonful of cereal into my mouth and chew thoroughly, hoping that my attentive mastication at least partially obscures the smirk tugging at my lips. Jasper has grown progressively more restless in the days leading up to Emmett's visit, so I've been expecting some variation of this backhanded invitation for a while now. But just as I knew that he'd eventually ask me to go with him, I've always known that my answer has to be no. Whether or not he's entirely comfortable with it, Jasper needs this time alone with his friend, so apart from the requisite best-friend-meets-girlfriend dinner tonight, my plan is to make myself scarce until Emmett leaves on Saturday.

"I'll be fine," I say lightly, picking up both of our empty bowls and carrying them over to the sink. "I was thinking of checking out this mall one of my coworkers mentioned to me the other day. I think it was called the Gallery or something? Anyway, I still have some money left on those gift cards you gave me, and I'm gonna need new clothes now that it's starting to warmer."

Jasper sighs and comes to stand next to me, taking the dishes from my hands as I finish rinsing them and placing them on the drying rack. "The Gallery's pretty far away. You can't walk there—at least not at night."

"Couldn't you guys drop me off on the way to the game? And then pick me up when it's over?"

"What, and just leave you there?" he asks skeptically. "What the hell're you gonna do in a mall for four hours?"

I turn off the water and turn to look up at him, shrugging. "Shop?"

Jasper stares at me blankly for a few seconds before shaking his head, his expression dissolving into amusement. "If you say so. I just don't want you to be bored. I feel kinda bad for leaving you alone."

"I'll be fine," I repeat, relieved that his concern is more the result of irrational overprotectiveness than anxiety over seeing Emmett again. The former worry, at least, is within my power to alleviate.

"What time are you picking him up from the airport?" I ask, wiping my hands on a dishtowel before handing it over to Jasper.

"His flight gets in around three, so we should be back here in time to pick you up after work. You still okay for dinner tonight?"

I nod. "Sure, as long as you're okay with me paying."

Jasper rolls his eyes and hangs the towel back on the refrigerator handle. "Don't be ridiculous, Alice. He's my friend. I'll—"

"Exactly. Isn't there some sort of 'best friend test' I'm supposed to be trying to pass here? You know—making sure he likes me so that he doesn't try'n convince you to get rid of me?"

In a gesture he's only recently become comfortable with, Jasper takes my face between both of his hands and leans down to kiss my forehead. "Emmett may be an idiot sometimes, but he's not blind. You don't have anything to worry about, Alice. He's gonna like you—I promise."

I close my eyes, relaxing as the complete and unexpected warmth of his touch floods my cheeks. Truth be told, I am a little nervous about meeting Emmett. At my insistence, Jasper did, finally, tell his family that he and I are more than just roommates, so at least Emmett is somewhat prepared for the situation he's walking into. But apart from alluding to the fact that we met in the hospital, Jasper has refused to relate any information about my past—or lack thereof—instead telling his family in no uncertain terms that details about my life are mine alone to divulge. On the one hand, I'm grateful for his respect of my privacy. But on the other hand…

Yeah, I still have no idea what I'm gonna say if Emmett decides to take Jasper at his word and asks me about myself while he's here. I don't really want to lie to Emmett, but at the same time, fabricating a past seems a whole heck of a lot easier than trying to explain why I can't even answer questions about my own life. Jasper, of course, has said that he'll back me up on whatever I decide to say (or not say). But after all that's happened between Jasper and his family, I don't really feel comfortable asking him to participate in a lie. Conversely, telling the truth about everything that's happened since my accident makes me sound like a pathetic freeloader. And, as if options one and two aren't bad enough, option three—saying nothing at all—is worse, still. As far as I'm concerned, pretty much anything I do will end up reflecting badly on either Jasper or myself, so the best I can hope for is that Emmett isn't the kind of person who feels the need to pry. Fortunately, given that Jasper's told me Emmett's never once asked him about the fire, I stand a pretty good chance of coming out of this weekend unscathed.

Still, a little bribery never hurt anyone.

"Thanks, Jazz," I say, turning my head slightly to press my lips to the palm of his left hand. "All the same, I'd like to make a good first impression. So, dinner's on me, okay?"

"Fine," he huffs, dropping his hands down to my shoulders. "But I fully intend to make it up to you once Emmett leaves."

I narrow my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. "Jasper, haven't you taken me out enough times that you can just let me do this without—"

My words are cut off by the sudden pressure of his lips against mine. "Ew," I mumble into his mouth, half-laughing and half-kissing him back. "Gross… Jasper, you taste like Cheerios."

Jasper smiles and tilts his head so that his lips brush against the hollow just below my ear. "Silly girl," he whispers, "there's more than one way to repay a debt."

----------

long brown hair
hes proposing tomorrow
best friend
james
i promised id be there

----------

The day passes so slowly that it almost feels as though time is moving backward. Of course, the fact that I look at the clock roughly three times a minute doesn't exactly help matters. Nor does the fact that, no matter how hard I try to focus on my work, I can't help but imagine the two most likely scenarios for how Jasper and Emmett will react to seeing each other for the first time in over a year. The first is colored by anger, bitterness, possible bloodshed, and an impressive string of profanity and name-calling that ends with Emmett getting on the next flight back to Texas. Probable, certainly, though not exactly desirable. The second, however…

Well, I guess the second scenario is what happens when, five minutes and twenty-three seconds before the end of my shift, I look up to see Jasper walk through the revolving doors at the front of the lobby, followed closely by perhaps the most intimidating man I've ever seen.

I recognize Emmett immediately from the picture I'd found pressed between the pages of Jasper's book all those months ago. Honestly though, that picture probably should've been inscribed with a disclaimer similar to those etched on car mirrors—something along the lines of, Objects in photograph are bigger, taller, stronger, and a heck of a lot more frightening than they appear. And, as if his disturbing size weren't enough, he even carries himself with this rigid, almost arrogant self-assurance that commands the attention and respect of everyone in the immediate vicinity. Every man unfortunate enough to be within a ten-foot radius of him looks cartoonishly small and weak in comparison.

That is, every man except for Jasper.

Yes, Emmett has a good three inches on Jasper, and yes, Emmett is probably twice Jasper's size. But you'd never know either of these things from the way the two of them interact. Instead of Jasper having to crane his neck upward to be heard over the noise of the lobby, Emmett leans down to listen, momentarily creating the illusion that Jasper is the taller of the two. Likewise, Emmett always stays just a half a step behind Jasper, gracefully matching his friend's deliberate, uneven pace. The intrinsic respect that everyone in the lobby shows Emmett, he in turn shows Jasper—the consequence of which is that, despite the disparity between their relative sizes, the two of them appear as equals.

I am in love with Emmett in this moment. I haven't met him yet; I have no idea if he's a nice person, or if he'll like me, or if the two of us will get along. But still, I am in love with him. Because instead of making Jasper look small—which would've been so easy given the events of the past year—Emmett's made him seem huge. It doesn't escape my attention that this is the first time Jasper's come inside to pick me up from work. Nor am I blind to the fact that, for once, Jasper actually looks comfortable with someone other than me. I can only imagine how difficult it was for Jasper to see Emmett again after all this time, just as I can only imagine the courage it took for Emmett to get on that plane this morning, knowing—as he surely must've known—that the person meeting him at the airport would not be the same person he'd befriended all those years ago. But I love him for his courage. I love him for giving Jasper this moment of peace, even though neither of them seems aware of its significance. Honestly, I love him just for being here.

I clock out, grab my coat and purse from behind the desk, and then walk around to meet the boys in the lobby. Emmett hangs back and pretends not to watch as Jasper drapes his arm around my shoulder and pulls me into a very loose hug. But just for a moment, I see Emmett's eyebrows furrow into something like confusion—almost as though he didn't believe I existed until Jasper touched me. The strange expression is gone as quickly as it appeared though, and by the time Jasper drops his arm, Emmett is looking between the two of us expectantly, his arms folded across his chest.

Jasper rolls his eyes and inclines his head toward me. "Emmett—Alice. Alice…" He pauses and shrugs almost apologetically, "this is Emmett."

I turn to Emmett and stand up as straight as possible as I extend my hand to him, grateful for the shoe choice I made this morning: three-inch heels that make up a small bit of the height difference between us. Emmett takes my hand with surprising gentleness, even as his eyes narrow mischievously.

"So you're the one who turned my room into an art studio."

"Study," Jasper and I both correct at the same time, causing Emmett to laugh as he releases my hand.

"Dude," he says, turning to Jasper, "the whole room is covered in pencils and drawings and paint. There's even an easel for god's sake. Call it what you want, but what it is, is an art studio."

Again, Jasper rolls his eyes. "Whatever," he mutters, taking my purse from me so that I can slip into my coat. "You're just pissed that you have to sleep on the couch."

"You can sleep with Jasper if you want," I suggest, smiling innocently up at Emmett as I finish with the last button and reclaim my purse.

For a moment, both boys stare at me wide-eyed, obviously having missed the teasing edge to my voice. But then the corners of Emmett's mouth lift into an amused smirk, causing dimples to appear in his cheeks, and making him seem more like an enormous child than the intimidating man that walked into the hotel not five minutes ago.

"Thanks, but no thanks," he says, elbowing Jasper in his side. "I'd rather sleep standing up than listen to this guy grind his fuckin' teeth all night."

Jasper punches Emmett's shoulder lightly and shakes his head, laughing. "Like you're one to talk, with your goddamn snoring. I never got any sleep first year unless I had a pillow over my head and earplugs jammed in my ears."

Emmett's grin widens as he retorts with a comment about the inherent femininity of earplugs, to which Jasper responds by reminding Emmett that they had both invested in the devices after being kept awake one night by their hallmate and his girlfriend (none other than Peter and Charlotte), who were apparently fond of being quite vocal during… well… let's just leave it at 'quite vocal.' It's just silly banter, really. To anyone who might be watching, I'm sure it seems meaningless, juvenile. But it's precisely the normalcy of the exchange that makes it seem so extraordinary to me. In all the time that I've known him, Jasper has never willingly allowed himself to touch or be touched by anyone except for me. Even the few times I've seen Charlotte hug him, he's always had this uncomfortable, almost pained expression on his face, and has never once raised his arms to hug her back.

But Emmett touched him and he laughed. He laughed, and then reached across a space measured not in distance, but in a year and a half's worth of silence and anger and guilt, and just… touched him back. Like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like it was nothing.

It was everything.

Even if I'm the only person who saw it—the only person who gets it—it was everything.

"Alice?"

Startled by the sound of my name, I look up to see both Jasper and Emmett staring down at me, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Um, sorry… what?" I mumble, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Jasper smiles. "I asked if you were ready to grab some dinner. It's been a whole half hour since Em last ate, and the lack of food's turning him into a whiny bi—"

"Sure," I say, cutting Jasper off before another puerile battle of wits can begin. "I'm ready whenever you guys are."

I turn to Emmett, more determined than ever to make a good impression on him now that I've seen the effect he has on Jasper. "Do you have any restaurant preferences?"

Jasper groans next to me, making me instantly regret our decision to put our dinner options in Emmett's hands. But before I can correct what Jasper obviously considers to be a mistake, Emmett claps his hand lightly on his friend's back and beams effervescently at both of us.

"As a matter of fact, I do."

----------

yes he will help me
six o'clock tomorrow morning
penn station
train to philadelphia
hurry

----------

According to Emmett, Mikey's is the only place to be on a Thursday night in Philadelphia. Perhaps if I were a man who enjoyed sports, greasy food, and an all-female (and well-endowed) waitstaff, I'd be inclined to agree with him. To Emmett's credit, he spends the majority of the meal dividing his attention between Jasper and the five flat-screen TVs littered about the cramped dining space, only appearing to notice our barely competent waitress when she (finally) comes to take our order. I've never met Rosalie, but something tells me she'd approve of her husband's total obliviousness when it comes to other women.

As for Jasper, he takes my hand as soon as we enter the restaurant and only lets go when our food arrives. The gesture is as predictable as it is unnecessary; I don't really need the constant, physical contact to feel secure in our connection. But I can't deny that his touch provides a welcome calm amid the chaos of the bar, and so when he slips his fingers from mine so that he can eat, I inch closer to him and place my free hand on his thigh, causing the corner of his mouth to twitch upward into a smile.

Despite the aura of tranquility surrounding us however, the whole dining experience feels… rather odd. I find it difficult to place my growing sense of unease until the very end of the meal, when, as promised, Jasper lets me pick up the tab. It's only when Emmett thanks me that I realize that, up until now, he hasn't said a single word to me all evening. What's more: for the brief moment that he does actually acknowledge me, his eyes are clouded with the same—confusion? annoyance?—that darkened them earlier when he'd watched Jasper hug me. I don't understand it. How can he be so engaging with Jasper and at the same time so utterly determined to ignore me?

As we walk the three blocks back to our building, I make the decision to chalk Emmett's apparent contradictory behavior up to my own misreading of the situation. After all—Jasper doesn't seem to notice anything awry with our interaction, so the most logical solution is that I've made the entire 'problem' up in my head. In fact, to prove to myself how ridiculous I'm being, I decide to engage Emmett in conversation as soon as we get back to the apartment. In theory, it's a nice plan. Unfortunately, the whole operation is foiled when, just as we walk through the door, Emmett's cell phone rings. He takes one look at the screen and then quickly excuses himself into the study, leaving Jasper and me alone in the living room.

"It's my sister," Jasper explains when Emmett closes the door behind him.

"How do you know?"

He shrugs. "I've been expecting her to call ever since he landed. This wouldn't be a true reconnaissance mission if he didn't have to relay information every few hours."

For the first time all day, Jasper sounds tired. When I raise my eyebrow in concern at the abrupt shift in his voice, he half smiles, and then kicks off his shoes and sinks down wearily onto the couch.

"You okay?" I ask quietly, tucking myself against his side and wrapping my arms around his middle.

He nods and lays his cheek on the top of my head. "Yeah. It's been a long day, is all."

"I'm sorry, Jazz."

"Don't be," he says, turning his face to kiss my hair. "Emmett's a good guy, and, truth be told, he's being much nicer to me than I deserve. But it's exhausting, you know—all that pent-up emotion? And on top of that, having to worry about what he's telling my sister and my parents? It's just… exhausting."

Resisting the urge to offer sympathy in the form of apology again, I simply tighten my grip around his waist, hoping that my touch provides him with the same feeling of peace as his does me. For a few moments, we sit in silence, inhaling with every breath the murky scent of greasy food and stale beer that clings like perfume to our clothes and hair and skin. Eventually, I begin to feel the tension relaxing from his body by degrees, and after another minute or so, he takes a deep breath and sighs a quiet "thank you" into my hair. I turn my head and plant a quick kiss on his chin before disentangling myself from his arms, happy that the moment of stillness has served its purpose.

Jasper grabs the remote and flips on the TV, and I take this opportunity to head into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water—hoping to rinse the lingering taste of soggy French fries from my mouth. Between the combined noise of the faucet and the television, I don't realize that Emmett's emerged from the back room until I turn off the tap and almost collide with him as we try to enter the living room at the same time. For an instant so brief I almost miss it, he stares down at me with the same severe expression he's worn twice already this evening. But before I can call him on it, he quickly takes a deep breath, composes his face, and turns to Jasper.

"Hey J—Rosalie wants to talk to you."

"Can't you just tell her I'll call her tomorrow?" he groans.

Emmett rolls his eyes and tosses the phone to Jasper who catches it easily, obviously having anticipated this response. "Tell her yourself."

Jasper frowns and shoots me a quick look, silently asking if I'll be okay alone with Emmett for a few minutes. I force myself to smile and nod, even though, after the re-emergence of The Look, I'm feeling somewhat less than confident in my ability to make easy conversation. My response seems to placate Jasper however, 'cause he takes a deep breath and heaves himself up off the couch.

"I'll be right back," he mutters, throwing a quick, stern glace at Emmett before making his way to his room and shutting the door.

"What was that about?" I ask, attempting to sound casual as I take my place back on the couch.

Emmett shrugs and picks the remote up off the coffee table before flopping down on the recliner. "Dunno. Twin stuff, I guess."

He scrolls through the channels so quickly that I'm amazed he even has time to register what's on the screen before deciding it's not worth watching. I can only feign interest for so long before the rapidly changing pictures start to give me a headache, so after about a minute of his indecisiveness, I pull an old magazine off of the coffee table and begin to thumb through it idly. I'm roughly halfway through an outdated article about fall fashion when the dissonant noise from the television is abruptly, unexpectedly muted. Looking up, I find that I have an audience.

"So, um… Jasper hasn't told me much about you," Emmett begins, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably.

His implied question, when coupled with his lowered voice and fleeting, nervous glance toward Jasper's bedroom door, finally clues me in to the reason behind his odd behavior throughout the evening: Jasper'd been right when he told me that Emmett's visit was, in large part, a reconnaissance mission. But now I realize that Jasper isn't the only person Emmett's meant to be observing.

"You didn't have to fake a phone call to ask me questions, you know," I say with affected nonchalance, tossing my magazine onto the table and taking a sip of my water.

Emmett grins and seems to relax a bit, like he's just realized we're privy to the same inside joke.

"Actually, I did. That boy watches you like you're made of glass, and I'm some sort of bully with a big-ass stone in my hands. He's told me a thousand times that I'm not supposed to bother you, but look—" he says, pausing to flip his hands so that they're palm-up on the recliner. "Empty. I'm not trying to hurt you, or make you uncomfortable or anything like that. I'm just trying to figure you out."

I don't know whether to smile or frown at Emmett's blunt delivery. On one hand, his no-nonsense attitude when asking difficult questions is fairly refreshing, given what I'm used to with Jasper. On the other hand, Emmett is clearly more perceptive than Jasper gives him credit for. Evasions, lies, half-truths—those obviously aren't going to cut it with him. And so, the three options I'd had this morning for responding to Emmett's questioning are now down to two: answer truthfully, or don't answer at all.

I sit up straighter on the couch and square my shoulders toward him, once again consciously trying to make myself appear taller than I am. "What do you want to know?"

Emmett chuckles and leans back against the chair. "Well, Alice… Brandon, was it?"

I nod.

"Well, Alice Brandon, what I really wanna know is how a sweet girl like you got all mixed up in the mess that is Jasper Whitlock."

Even in teasing, calling Jasper a 'mess' crosses a boundary with me, immediately kicking my defensive instincts into overdrive. Without pausing to think about the possible consequences of what I'm about to do, I purse my lips into a snide smile, and reach up and deliberately rub my fingers over the bridge of my nose.

"Well, Emmett Hale… we're all a little messy, aren't we?"

For a terrifying instant, he just sits there—eyes narrowed, mouth slightly agape—staring at me. But then, without warning, he tilts his head back and begins laughing in great, booming peals that are almost loud enough to make me clap my hands over my ears.

"Fair enough, Pix" he says, grinning as he crossing his arms over his chest. "Round one to you."

I scrunch up my nose in mock disgust. "Pix?"

He shrugs his shoulders and opens his mouth to say something, but a loud rustling from Jasper's bedroom cuts him off before he can speak. Emmett's head immediately snaps up toward the noise, and for a few seconds, he watches the door anxiously, waiting to see if it'll open. But Jasper never does come out, and when Emmett finally looks back down at me, the hardened expression on his face lets me know that the 'easy banter' portion of our conversation is, decidedly, over.

"Jasper said you two met in the hospital," he prompts, casting a quick glance down at my right wrist. "Were you in a—I mean… did what happened to him happen to you, too?"

I drop my eyes and fold my arms across my stomach self-consciously. "No. We were neighbors."

"And what—he just started talking to you one day?"

"Actually, it was the other way around," I say, blushing as I remember my silly, relentless, desperate tapping on our shared wall. "I needed someone to talk to and he… listened."

"You needed someone to talk to and he listened," Emmett repeats tonelessly, his words imbuing the air around us with an almost palpable tension. I shift uncomfortably on the couch, watching him clench and unclench his jaw as he stares down at the floor, wondering what exactly I've done to elicit this sort of reaction from him. And then, without warning, his eyes flicker up to mine, his suddenly frigid gaze momentarily freezing the air in my lungs.

"Do you know where I was when Rosalie went into labor?"

I shake my head slowly from side to side—not because I don't know, but because the sudden antagonism in his voice has already provided me with the answer to his question. I do know where he was, but no… I don't want to hear it.

"I was here, in Philly," he continues relentlessly, coldly. "I was in the lobby of your hospital, trying to bribe a nurse into letting me see my brother-in-law. My son was born while I was flying somewhere over Kentucky on the world's slowest goddamn airplane. And when I was supposed to be holding him for the first time, I was holding my wife instead—watching her cry because she thought she'd lost her brother for good. So let's not talk about need, 'kay? I'm pretty sure his family's got that particular market cornered."

"Emmett…" I begin. But the words die in my throat before I can say anything else. Because really—what can I say? No words of mine will give Emmett those moments back. Nothing I can say could ever restore all the things that he's lost.

"Sometimes I hate him," he whispers, momentarily glancing away from me toward Jasper's door. "But sometimes…"

His eyes flit back to me, his hardened gaze now wide, pleading as he rambles through his confession.

"Dave and Helen told us what he looked like when he woke up in the hospital—how they couldn't even touch him—how they didn't even recognize him. Their own son! Christ… I can't even imagine what it would be like to not know my own—"

Emmett chokes on the last word, his eyelids shutting tightly against whatever gruesome image is flashing in his mind. "I love my wife, and I love my child," he continues, his voice cracking through his whispered tone. "More than anything. But sometimes, I look at them and all I can feel is guilt, because if I didn't have them, then Jasper would still be… I mean—he wouldn't have all those… he never would've been in those woods."

He winces, opening his eyes to stare down at his lap. Following his gaze, I look on helplessly as his right hand clenches tightly around his left, his fingers furiously kneading at his skin, as though he's trying to rub right through it to the bone.

"Sorry," he says eventually, dropping his chin down to his chest. "J was right—I shoulda kept my goddamn mouth shut."

I watch him in stunned silence as he continues to rub his skin raw, far too shocked by this sudden change in his attitude to say anything productive. Not ten minutes ago, Emmett had been joking with Jasper—laughing and throwing his arm around his shoulders as though nothing had ever happened between them. So where did all this anger come from? This guilt? This shame?

The answer, I finally decide, is simple: they've been there all along. Only Emmett, as it turns out, is a very good actor. I guess he'd have to be, considering what he's just told me about the things that happened after the fire. With everyone breaking down around him, I suppose he felt as though he had to be the proverbial rock his family could ground themselves upon. I know he's played that role for Jasper—not just today, but for the past few months as Jasper's struggled to reconnect with his family via phone. I couldn't be more grateful to him for his patience over those months, or for the strength I know it took for him to come here today.

But I've seen first hand what donning a mask of bravery for the sake of those you love does to a person. Sooner or later the façade crumbles, and everything that's been churning inside of you for weeks or months or years comes crashing to the surface, threatening to drown you in the force of its wake. It's neither pretty nor easy to watch, but fortunately for both Emmett and me, I've had a bit of practice in picking up the pieces. After all, I've heard variant forms of Emmett's self-deprecation many, many times before.

"You're so like Jasper," I say quietly, letting a hint of a smile slip into my voice. Emmett doesn't look up at me, but after a few seconds his hands cease their movements, letting me know that he's listening.

"You asked me why we started talking while we were in the hospital. You'll have to ask Jasper that question if you want his side of the story, but I think, maybe, he needed to tell someone what he'd been through—what he was going through—just like you. And, just like you, he couldn't tell his family because they were too close to the situation; they were the situation. I happened to be the stranger on the other side of his wall, so he turned to me. And now here we are, having virtually the same conversation, only with the added benefit of being able to see each other. That helps, I think."

Apparently not amused by my attempted humor, Emmett begins to work his fingers against his skin again, leaving angry red streaks across the back of his left hand. For a moment, I debate whether I should get off the couch and forcibly stop him before he can do any real damage, but I quickly decide against it, knowing that my strength is no match for his. Instead, I just sigh and straighten back up on the couch, hoping that he's still listening.

"If you told me what you did because you want me to blame you, Emmett, then you're gonna be disappointed. It's not my place to pass judgment because I wasn't there. But I think I can tell you something that no one else can—or at least, something that you probably wouldn't believe if it came from Rosalie or Jasper or your in-laws, or anyone else who was there for all the things I wasn't."

Emmett snorts and shakes his head. "Oh yeah?" he mutters sardonically, finally looking up to meet my gaze. "What's that?"

I look into his dark, tired eyes and smile gently.

"He's okay."

It's not much, but I can tell from the way that Emmett's hands stop wringing that it's what he needed to hear.

"He's okay," I repeat softly, causing his tense shoulders to slump as he drops his chin back down to his chest. "And even if things aren't exactly the way they were before, they will be okay, too. Trust me."

Emmett brings his hand up to his forehead, rubbing his temples between his fingers. "How can you know that?"

"Because I know what you expected to see when you walked off the plane today," I say, remembering the way Emmett had winced when he'd talked about Jasper's parents seeing him in the hospital. "Whatever worst-case scenario you possibly could've imagined—I've seen it. But I also saw the way he was with you today, and Emmett… that's something I've never seen before. I don't think you really realize how important it is that you're here."

Slowly, he raises his head out of his hand, letting his scrutinizing gaze fall on me. For a seemingly unending moment, his face looks tired, defeated, and old far beyond his twenty-one years. But then, finally, he takes a deep breath, and as he expels the air in his lungs, his expression softens into that same boyish, faintly mischievous grin that I'd first seen in the hotel.

"You know," he says, his eyes shining with real emotion despite the teasing edge to his voice, "it's a good thing I'm married, Alice, or I think I'd be in serious danger of falling in love with you."

I smile at him hugely, both in relief that my words seem to have hit their intended mark, and in silent acknowledgement of the fact that I'd been thinking almost the exact same thing earlier in the afternoon.

"I don't know about marriage," I say, relaxing back against the couch, "but I hope this at least means you're going to start talking to me now."

Emmett chuckles and runs his hands over his face, wiping any lingering traces of worry from his features. "You'll have to ask J about that one. I'll be lucky if he lets me within ten feet of you after that stunt Rose and I just pulled."

As if on cue, Jasper's doorknob turns as soon as his name is mentioned. He emerges from his bedroom looking more than a little pissed off.

"Here," he says, chucking the phone at Emmett with unnecessary force, "you talk to her. She's actually trying to make me decide what we should get our parents for their anniversary."

"So?" Emmett asks, winking at me slyly before standing up and sauntering toward the back room with affected indifference.

"So, their anniversary is in fucking July!"

Even with his back to us, I can hear Emmett snickering as he walks down the hall. Jasper glares after him until the study door closes, and rolls his eyes and sinks down next to me on the couch.

"Everything okay?" I ask, genuinely concerned.

Jasper frowns and eyes me warily. "You know that was a setup, right?"

"Yeah," I say, laughing a little as I lay my head on his shoulder. "I kinda figured it out."

"He better not've made an ass of himself. I told him not to bother you."

"He didn't," I affirm, shaking my head against his sweatshirt. "You don't need to worry so much, Jazz. I really like Emmett. I'm glad he's here."

His muscles relax beneath me, and after a minute of silence, he sighs and wraps his arm around my shoulders. "Yeah," he says quietly, an audible smile on his lips as they brush against my hair. "I'm glad he's here, too."

----------

already running
cab
train
bus
plane
im going home

----------

"Shotgun!"

Emmett's thunderous voice echoes off the cement walls of the underground parking garage, startling more than one unlucky bystander. Jasper shoots me a quick, tense glance before composing himself and unlocking his car remotely with his keys.

"Don't be a dick, Em. Alice is getting out first—let her have the front seat."

Out of the corner of my eye I see Emmett glowering down at me as we make our way around to the passenger side of the car, so I shrug and point to myself as I smile up at him, trying to keep my tone light.

"Made of glass, remember?"

"Bullshit," he grumbles.

Thankfully though, when I open the door, he just narrows his eyes, dips his head in a quasi-bow, and then crawls into the back seat without any further argument. Admittedly, I feel awful for him when I see how he has to practically fold himself in two in order to fit into the miniscule space of Jasper's car, but as much as I wish it weren't the case, I know that there's no way I could ride back there without completely losing it. After months of hard work, I'm finally comfortable riding in the front seat—mostly because of all its open space and its easy access to both a door and a window. But the back seat is an entirely different kind of beast.

My face flushing with self-consciousness, I slip into the car and push my seat forward as far as it'll go.

Fortunately, Emmett seems to forget my flagrant disregard for the rules of Shotgun as soon as we're on the road. He leans forward in his seat, meticulously reciting team statistics in an attempt to explain exactly why the 76ers are going to "beat the crap out of" the Bobcats. Jasper speaks up every now and then, obviously playing devil's advocate just to get Emmett riled up. It works: every time Jasper interjects, Emmett becomes impossibly louder and more animated, so that by the time we finally pull into the parking lot of the shopping mall where I'll be spending my evening, Emmett's yelling so loudly that I swear the windows are trembling, and Jasper is nearly doubled over in his seat, shaking with laughter.

Idiots.

"I'll be right back," Jasper says over his shoulder, still chortling to himself as he throws the car into park and opens his door.

I say goodbye to Emmett, and then join Jasper in front of the car, where he takes my hand and begins steering us toward the mall entrance.

"Are you sure you don't wanna come to the game?" he asks when we're about ten feet from the doors. "I know we could still get tickets."

I roll my eyes and lean into him, smiling. "Are you sure you don't wanna ditch the game and come shopping with me? You could really use some new clothes you know. I saw these really cute shirts online at Old Navy that I think would really look good on—"

"All right, all right, I get it," Jasper groans, holding our joined hands up in surrender. "We'll pick you up around ten, okay? Do you have your phone?"

I open my purse to fish out my cell, knowing that he won't be placated until he actually sees that I have it. Finally locating it, I pull it out and hold it up for Jasper to see, only to find that he is now holding his own phone in his hands, frowning down at it disapprovingly.

"Impatient bastard," he grumbles, flipping it open to read what I assume to be a text from Emmett. He takes one look at the screen and then hands the phone off to me wordlessly, shaking his head.

'maybe u should ask her whos going 2 win 2nite' the message reads. 'at this rate we'll b lucky 2 get there by halftime'

Smiling, I quickly text back, 'she says bobcats by 5' before handing the phone over to Jasper, letting him read what I've sent.

"Atta girl," he says, smirking proudly as he leans down to kiss my temple. "Be good, okay? And gimme a call if you get bored and need us to come sooner. Oh, and wait inside for us to come and pick you up. And—"

"Don't talk to strangers, don't go overboard with the shopping, don't forget to get something to eat… I got it, Jazz—I'll be fine." I brace my hands against his chest and push him gently backward. "Go have fun."

"Ten o'clock," he reminds me, ruffling my hair playfully before turning around and walking back to the car. I smile after him for a minute, and then, cursing myself for my silly, love-struck antics, I quickly drop my phone back into my purse and push through the massive doors of the Gallery, doing my best to run into anyone as I make my way into the Friday night crowd.

Once, left to my own devices in the apartment while Jasper was at the library finishing a paper, I watched a movie on TV wherein the upscale male lead took his lowbrow date to the opera for the first time. Though the scene itself was pretty cliché, the way the man described peoples' reactions to opera has stuck with me ever since, mostly 'cause I believe the sentiment is applicable to any situation—not just the arts. If they love it, he'd declared, they'll always love it. If they don't, they might appreciate it someday, but it will never be a part of their soul.

Shopping, as it turns out, is a part of my soul.

It's silly, and superficial, and a fairly unrealistic hobby for me to indulge considering the limitations of my bank account. But not only is shopping fun, I also firmly believe that it requires a certain amount of innate skill—almost like playing a sport. Or perhaps hunting is a better analogy. Sorting through the racks and shelves and piles of clearance items to find just the right top, or just the right shoes, or just the right accessory before someone else gets to it first… well, laugh if you want, but it takes freaking talent. And, as nice as it is to have Jasper along on these little excursions so that he can offer his input on outfits and ensembles, his appreciation for the artistry of it all is virtually non-existent. So tonight I'm thrilled to be able to hone my skill on my own.

It takes me roughly ninety minutes to use up what's left of the gift cards Jasper got me for Christmas. It takes another half hour for me to spend the money that I've been setting aside for a few weeks now in anticipation of this evening.

Yup… I made a killing.

Laden with nearly more bags than I can carry and admittedly exhausted from all the walking, I finally decide that it's time to practice the little-known but invaluable art of regrouping. I collapse onto an empty bench near the third floor escalators and pull out my paper map of the mall, hoping I'm able to find somewhere decent to grab a bite to eat.

I've just begun to read through the food court options when I hear a familiar, feminine voice calling my name. Looking up, I'm surprised to see Jasper's friend Charlotte standing in front of me, holding almost as many bags in her hands as I've stowed under my bench.

"Alice!" she says again, beaming down at me. "I thought that was you. What're you doing here? Are you with Jasper?"

I try to smile back at her, but I'm almost entirely sure it ends up looking more like a grimace than anything else. Charlotte seems nice enough I suppose, but her uncanny ability to say (or do) the wrong thing at the wrong time makes me more than a little nervous. The same goes for her nearly incessant questioning. Regardless of her intentions, without Jasper here as a buffer, I'd really rather not be interacting with her at all.

"No," I answer cautiously, "Jasper's at the game. I've never been here before, so I thought this would be as good a time as any to check it out. What about you—is Peter here?"

Charlotte laughs and sits down next to me on the bench. "Hell no. Unless it was an emergency, Peter wouldn't be caught dead in a mall. If I'd let him, he'd wear the same three shirts and ratty pair of jeans every day for the rest of his life."

An unwitting smile forms on my lips as I think about the shirts I've just bought Jasper for this exact same reason. Perhaps Charlotte and I have something in common, after all.

"Have you eaten yet?" Charlotte asks, glancing down at the map I still have open on my lap. I shake my head. "Well, don't bother with the food court—everything there is crap. I'm actually about to go grab some sushi from a restaurant down the street, if you wanna come?"

"I dunno, Charlotte…" I hedge warily, not entirely convinced that our mutual affinity for shopping has progressed our friendship to the point where I'm comfortable actually eating with her.

She turns to me with downcast eyes, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. "Listen… I'm actually glad I ran into you tonight. I wanted to apologize for the whole birthday present thing. It was dumb, and I'm sorry if it made things uncomfortable for you or J. I was really just trying to do something nice, and… I guess I kinda screwed it up."

I sigh, raising my hand to run my fingers through my hair. "It was no big deal, Charlotte. You don't have to apologize."

"But I want to," she insists, raising her eyes. "I've felt awful ever since. Let me make it up to you, please?"

I cock my eyebrow at her. "How—by saving me from the nightmare that is the Gallery food court?"

She grins, sensing her imminent victory. "It'd be a start. And I promise—this sushi place is really good. You won't be disappointed."

I hesitate briefly, weighing my options. Option one: I go to dinner with her and spend the entire rest of my evening dodging uncomfortable questions. Not ideal, but at least I stand a chance of getting on her good side this way. Option two: I decline her offer and risk her holding a grudge against me for the rest of my natural life, which could obviously prove problematic if she and Jasper ever end up truly rekindling their friendship.

Not much of a choice, really.

I stand and pick my bags up off the floor, somehow managing to muster up a sincere smile. "All right—you sold me. Lead the way."

Clearly excited about the opportunity to 'make things right' she quickly escorts me through the crowded space of the mall and out one of the side doors. Her fast stride slows a little once we reach the street, but I'm so used to keeping pace with Jasper, that what's probably an easy walk for her feels more like a jog to me. I'm concentrating so hard on just keeping up with her that I don't even bother to notice my surroundings until we're a few blocks away from the mall. When I finally look down the cold, quiet street on which we're walking, an inexplicable feeling of unease washes over me, causing me to stop in my tracks.

"What's up?" Charlotte asks, clearly confused as she follows my gaze down the road.

I blink dumbly, not really knowing how to explain what I'm feeling. It doesn't even make sense to me.

"It's safe," she says reassuringly, apparently assuming that my silence is based on fear. "I come here all the time."

I should be comforted by her avowal, but I'm not. Something's not right. We shouldn't be here.

We should go back.

I begin walking forward again instead. I'm tired of my every action being governed by fears that I don't understand. Maybe I'll never be able to ride in the back seat of Jasper's car, but I will walk down this stupid street. Charlotte said so herself—it's safe. I'm safe. There's nothing to be afraid of here.

"You know, I hated Maria," Charlotte says after a few minutes of silent walking, apparently ignoring the mini anxiety attack I just had. "That was what was so dumb about that present—I really hated her. But she was always around. She was horrible to everyone—especially Jasper. It was hard, 'cause he's such a nice guy, you know? But every time she was with him, it was like he'd just… disappear. He'd get all quiet and sulky, and she fed off that. She fed off of making him miserable. "

Despite the heavy bags in my hands, I wrap my arms across my chest, trying to block out the sudden, unexpected chill in the air. "Is she still around?" I ask absently, only truly half invested in the conversation at this point. But maybe if I can just keep her talking, I won't have to think about where we are.

Charlotte shakes her head. "No, thank god. Last I heard, she'd moved back down south to teach at a middle school or something. Suits her freaking twisted nature exactly. Did Jasper ever tell you how old he was when they started dating?"

I nod. Or at least, I think I nod. I'm no longer sure. I don't even realize that I've stopped walking until I hear Charlotte's voice a few feet in front of me, asking if I'm okay.

I'm not okay.

I'm looking at a shiny, green, obviously newly-installed trashcan that stands out against the general age and decay of the objects around it.

I'm standing in the slanted light of an oddly-tilted streetlight, looking at a faded stain on the cement.

I'm watching the stoplight over the intersection click greenyellowred, greenyellowred, greenyellowred over and over again, until I can't take it anymore and have to shut my eyes.

And then, behind the darkness of my eyelids, I find myself in another place entirely,

standing at an airport ticket counter, tearfully eyeing the attendant as he delivers the bad news.

"I'm sorry, ma'am—nothing's flying out of here tonight. Have you seen the weather forecast? There's a freak snowstorm coming—everything's delayed. Honestly, you'll be lucky if you make it out of here by Tuesday."

"Tuesday!" I moan, tugging hopelessly at a long lock of hair that's fallen into my face. "But that's three days from now! My brother is proposing to my best friend tomorrow, and I promised I'd be there. I need to be there—I'm part of the surprise. Please…" I glance down at the attendant's name badge and then look him directly in the eye. "Please, James—isn't there anything you can do?"

Surely, hundreds of displaced, disgruntled passengers have already come to him with some variation of this sob story tonight. I don't know why I should be the exception to the airline's official 'hand all passengers a list of nearby hotels and tell them to wait out the storm' policy. And yet, I am. The man in front of me studies my face for a long moment, and then looks down and begins typing rapidly on his keyboard. A minute or so later, he smiles back up at me, obviously encouraged by what his computer has told him.

"Like I said—there's nothing flying out of here any time soon. But there's a flight out of Philadelphia at six o'clock tomorrow morning. I don't think the storm'll make it that far south. If you can get to Penn station within the next forty-five minutes, and if Amtrak is still running, you can take the train down to Philly, and then catch a bus at the station that'll take you directly to the airport. You'd better hurry, though. The trains probably aren't going to be…"

His voice fades behind me because I'm already running. Running out the airport doors to catch a cab, to catch a train, to catch a bus, to catch a flight that will take me home.

I'm going home.

I'm going home.

I'm going home.

And then everything is black.

A few end notes:

Mikey's and The Gallery are both real places, and are up on the TMD map I have linked on my profile.

Philadelphia did, in fact, play Charlotte on the 27th of March, 2009. Charlotte won by five points.

The line Alice quotes about opera is from Pretty Woman.

In lieu of leaving reviews, I'd like to ask y'all to check out www. thefandomgivesback. com. All proceeds donated to the Twilight Fandom's "virtual lemonade stand" will go toward developing new cures and treatments for childhood cancer. If you even have $5.00 to spare, please consider donating it to this worthy cause.