Eternally Yours, An Eleven-Year-Old

by Boggy

Renesmee is a creature born of two worlds—half-human, half-vampire—sharing distinct behaviors and characteristics of both. She is not the "forbidden child" once believed, and is universally loved and accepted by all. But what if the Cullens were faced with the responsibility of caring and providing for a "real" vampire child? Post-BD.

Author's Notes: I've had this story on the backburner for, I don't know, years, so I am BEYOND thrilled to have finally typed and uploaded the damn thing to FFNet. I'd actually worked on it off and on for months, and resolved myself a few weeks back to simply get it done. I'm surprisingly pleased with the results. Hopefully, Twilight fans will find something in it to enjoy as well.

I guess I should start by saying I'm only a Twilight fan in the "conceptual" sense. I like the idea of it, the "general gist," the lore and "mythology" of the world Stephenie envisioned more so than the story/series itself. I appreciated the foundation she'd laid in the first three books, the "law" of the fantasy she'd created. And so it came as a rather unpleasant shock when Breaking Dawn took everything Stephenie had established through Eclipse (which in my humble opinion, should have ended the series, followed by an epilogue of Edward and Bella's wedding with the reader left to form their own conclusions), and essentially crapped it out the back of her pants. I did NOT like the direction she took, her creation of a "vampire hybrid," nor the drastic shift in characterization of the main cast. BD had undermined everything we'd come to understand and accept about the world of Twilight, and in about the worst way humanly and/or superhumanly possible.

This fic is my response.

Clearly, there are many who did enjoy BD and the direction Stephenie took and that's fine. (Neither my review section nor my email inbox is the place to discuss it.) And clearly what happened is what happened because Stephenie is the author and frankly, she can do whatever the hell she wants. This fic is simply my take on what could be a more realistic continuation of the events following BD.

Yes, this story picks up two years after the events of BD. No, none of the characters are changed and/or killed off. Everything since the conclusion of Twilight is intact. The only "modification" to the story has been my inclusion of an OC, a vampire newborn I've created as a response to the character of Renesmee from BD.

...Now, before you go scrambling for the back button, I assure you my OC is not the "focal," per se, of this installment, nor is she some over-the-top superfabulous Mary Sue who outwits/outshines every character in the book (that role is sufficiently filled by Bella). I wrote her as a realistic representation of what, I feel, is a believable "vampire child." I took pieces of inspiration for my OC from the character of Darlene Conner from the 80's sitcom, Roseanne. NOT the goth, high school Darlene from the later seasons but the young, funny Darlene from Seasons 1 and 2 (the inspiration is personality ONLY; aside from their small statures, Darlene and my OC look nothing alike).

The character focal of the fic is Jasper. Because while every character in BD is dumped on, Jasper is probably dumped on ten times harder than everyone else, and is probably the only character competent enough to actually handle a real newborn. He's also my favorite character in the book.

Keep in mind the Jasper in this fic is the Jasper of the novel series, NOT the film series. The movies are simply an adaptation of the book series and thus, ARE NOT CANON. So no, Jasper and Maria were not romantically involved, he did not "die" during the events of BD, and he does not, according to the books and interviews with Stephenie Meyer, look much of anything like Jackson Rathbone. Don't get me wrong, Jackson Rathbone (I LURVE HIM) is a super hot cutie patootie, but not a good match physically for the character of Jasper. Jasper is tall, very muscular and lean, with honey blond hair (Stephenie compared him to British-American model Trent Ford, though even that to me seems an ill fit), which Stephenie has described as more messy and wild than what you see on-screen (which makes sense given he's "wilder" than the Cullens). Of course, you can picture him any way you want, but I think it helps to "see" the character if you can envision him more the way I describe.

If it seems I'm "harsh" with my portrayals of certain characters, bear in mind I'm using information taken from the novels, The Official Illustrated Guide, the draft of Midnight Sun, and The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner. I'm also using information taken directly from interviews with Stephenie Meyer. I've compiled all this data into what I hope are accurate representations of the characters. (And if it seems like so-and-so's an ass, it's probably because the character in the book is just that—an ass.) Ergo, it's in your best interest to be well-versed in the Twilight universe before tackling my fic. Just a warning.

I'm sure there's paragraphs more stuff I could say, but I hate when my AN runs on longer than the actual fic, so I'll call it quits here and let the story speak for itself. I do hope you'll enjoy my OC, the story, and the direction I've taken. And as always, you're free to leave comments and questions in a review. Please enjoy.

Disclaimer: Twilight and all associated content is property of Stephenie Meyer.

Eternally Yours, An Eleven-Year-Old

By Boggy

Jasper had never been fond of change.

In his experience, change was rarely, if ever, for the better. It was always a change from something you "liked" into something you "didn't like," and any change you did like came at a cost. Alice had come with a cost. Forsaking humanity, switching diets—they were sacrifices he'd made, both unwillingly and willingly, for fleeting moments of happiness and love.

It was no secret to anyone that Bella's introduction to the family had been an unwelcome change. He'd made that crystal clear when he'd resolved to kill her. It had never been a personal vendetta against Bella herself—nor by extension, Edward. Jasper had never held humans in very high regard, not even for a "reformed" vampire and certainly not to the degree of the Cullens, whose lifestyle was driven by compassion for mankind. But Bella's knowledge of their existence had been a threat to the entire coven—and more importantly, Alice—and Jasper had felt it both necessary and practical to dispose of her, for the coven's sake.

Of course, none of that had come to pass and Bella was allowed access to their miserable world. Eventually, she was changed, and in a matter of days attuned herself to the "vegetarian" lifestyle, becoming what many of the vampires called, "the most powerful newborn of the age." Edward had his mate, the family had the baby they'd so desperately wanted, and everyone looked at life as being finally and absolutely complete.

Everyone except Jasper.

Jasper did not view these changes in quite the same positive, irreverent light. Like any "good" change, there was a cost. And in his eyes, the "good" was insufficient compensation for what the Cullens had the potential to lose. Already their home had been opened to shape-shifting wolves with a bullseye painted on their backs by the Volturi. And in the process of assimilating Bella into their lifestyle, the entire coven—and most importantly, Alice—had been put in harm's way.

But his concerns had been shot down, from the very beginning. He hadn't expected any different, of course. Anything pertaining to Edward superseded the wishes, worries, or desires of everyone else in the house. It didn't matter to Esme or Carlisle that they were putting their mates and the mates of their "children" at risk because it was all for the sake of their "beloved son." Edward had always held the "true" love and favor of Esme and Carlisle, whereas the others were viewed only as "pleasant substitutes" for the children they could never have.

It was of no-nevermind to Jasper how they felt—and Jasper knew precisely how they felt—because Jasper had come to the Cullens out of loyalty to Alice. Esme and Carlisle were not his "parents"—in truth, the very idea was ridiculous to Jasper—and he only entertained the notion of "family" to keep up appearances and appease Alice. It was not that he was unfond of the Cullens; he simply understood, far better and more practically than the others, his place. He knew that if sacrificing him meant the safety and well-being of Edward and Bella, he might as well swallow the matchstick himself. It was for that reason he kept one eye open at all times, for himself and for his mate, knowing that the day might come when the niceties would end, and Esme and Carlisle would have to own up to the fact that Alice, Emmett, Rosalie and himself were simply not as valuable as Edward and Bella. And if he ever did die at the hands of the Volturi, he could at least die with the satisfaction that he was right, and that the family had perished under the weight of Edward's selfish whim.

Truly, it was the selfishness that bittered the old soldier. If Esme and Carlisle wanted to erect a statue in their "son's" honor, then it was certainly their right to do so. He was in no position to criticize the parental decision-making of anyone. Alice's love had been all that he'd required in living with the Cullens and he had it. And Edward had always been self-involved and unconcerned with the feelings of others. Jasper supposed it came from being an only child as a human, and being overly-spoiled and doted upon as an immortal. And where Rosalie burned with jealousy and bitterness at Esme and Carlisle's second-place love, Jasper saw only the dysfunctional bonds their poorly concealed favoritism wrought.

For someone who'd spent the better part of both his human and vampire life in service to someone else, it appalled him that one creature could make so many self-serving decisions. Jasper had certainly made his fair share of mistakes, but they were mistakes made largely out of vampiric instinct and ignorance. They had not been carried out with the knowledge that he would consciously hurt the Cullens. For such a "family-oriented" group, the "family" was often the last consideration, which was only a problem for Jasper as it pertained to Alice.

But in truth, Alice was as much to blame as Edward. Her fascination with the human and desire to see Edward happy was all the nudging Esme and Carlisle needed to accept Bella as one of their own. Not that it would have taken Alice for Edward to have his way, but if Edward was "Number One," then Alice was unquestionably "Number Two." Emmett came in at a pretty solid "Number Three," and Rosalie and Jasper were generally neck-and-neck at positions "Four" and "Five." Though Rosalie's desperation to be loved and accepted usually bumped her up a notch to a fairly consistent "Number Four." Jasper just didn't give a damn, so he usually rounded the "children" out last at "Number Five"—really "Six," with the inclusion of Bella—and that was just how Jasper liked it. "Number Five" meant no one paid you just a whole hell of a lot of attention, so you could come and go as you pleased, no questions asked. There were many an evening when he'd snuck out the bedroom window to run, to think, to punch a rock. Every now and again Alice would come along and they'd have a nice little romp in the woods. Lately though, Jasper had spent most outings perched at the top of a tree or the side of a cliff, matches in one hand and a smoke in the other.

He'd taken to smoking a few years back. Vampire lungs did not degrade or catch disease, so smoking was a harmless pastime for him, so long as he kept a safe enough distance from the flame. His skin was invulnerable to fire, but one little spark near the venom and it was light's out. He smoked them short, just to be on the safe side, but it still drove Alice and Esme nuts. Alice was petrified he'd catch fire, and Esme considered smoking, like tattoos, piercings, and anything else "bad" to be utterly revolting. Jasper knew, with a sort of sick satisfaction, that Esme's disgust was part of the appeal. The two of them had never quite seen eye to eye. And while he never liked upsetting Alice, smoking was one of the few hobbies he had that he could do alone and out of the house. Most of Jasper's anxiety came from being cooped up inside all day and he liked knowing he could grab a light, a cigarette, go outside, and watch the smoke rise.

That, and smoking made him feel strangely human. It felt right, like he would be a smoker or drinker or addict with a debilitating habit were he human. He'd smoke from an early age, all through the military until early retirement as a green beret. It'd be something mental or emotionally related, like PTSD. He'd retire, move into a country-style home in the suburbs where he and Alice would meet over breakfast in some quaint little diner in town. He'd be ten, fifteen years her senior and she'd be in her final year of high school or first year of college with aspirations of becoming a dancer. They'd fall in love, get married, live in their gorgeous country home while he'd work nights at his brother Peter's bar. Over time, Alice would bear him a beautiful and impossibly tiny girl called Tina or Desiree, who'd never marry because she'd only ever have eyes for her doting and overly-obsessive father. And just before his forty-sixth birthday, he'd drive to the doctor's to hear the test results of his latest labs. And when he hears he's cancer-free and the doctors tell him to cease smoking at all costs, he'll rush home to cry over his wife and child, and spend the rest of his life struggling to quit…

Jasper chuckled at his silly thoughts. It was a pastime of his when he felt stressed and alone. He wouldn't allow his thoughts to stray at the house. Privacy and confidentiality were not a luxury he could afford with a mind-reader lurking through every hall. But the idea of living a different life, any kind of different life, was soothing on those days when the thirst consumed him and he felt like ripping the heads off everyone around him.

He took one final puff of his smoke, a puff more than he usually took, and decided it was time to head back. It made the Cullens nervous when he was out too long—not out of concern for Jasper, but out of fear that he might "slip." Wandering around "unattended" was an accident waiting to happen, and the coven was still new to the area. No one wanted to have to pack up and leave after only three months, not when they were just getting settled. Besides, it'd been a few hours since he'd last seen Alice. He missed her.

Jasper put out the cigarette on the heel of his boot and lept through the trees in the direction of home. Like with Forks, Carlisle had selected a very secluded spot to build, one off the main roads and outside town. And like Forks, the Cullens were considered oddball weirdos, so only the random hiker or hobo ever ventured near. They'd left Forks shortly after Renesmee turned three, and settled in northeastern Montana, near the Canadian border. Jacob had been none too pleased with the move, but any longer in Forks and they'd been pushing their luck. They'd only stayed as long as they had for the sake of Charlie; after all, a few thousand miles was nothing for an immortal.

Jasper had no reason to go—Forks was nothing to him—but Bella, Edward, and even Alice liked visiting the "old hunting grounds." Again, it was mostly for Charlie's sake, though with Sue at the house, he wasn't entirely alone. And Bella wanted to keep Renesmee in touch with her "canine family." Jasper didn't see the point. The flea-ridden mongrels were banging the door down every other week, putrefying the house and scarfing down every scrap of food Esme kept in the fridge. Carlisle insisted their relations with the wolves were for the sake of peace, but Jasper knew better. It was just another in a long line of inconveniences for the sake of Edward and Bella.

The smell of gas and oil filled his nostrils as he neared the house. No doubt Rosalie was out working on her car. Jacob had stopped by early to pick up Renesmee, so Edward and Bella had hung around to visit the "folks." They were still in the first few years of their mating, so Esme had made sure to fashion a home for them separate from the main house. Their sexual appetites were right on par with Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper in particular was grateful they had somewhere else to go to "be friendly." But everyone together meant Emmett and Rosalie had to be on "good behavior" as well. Tinkering with her "baby" was the next best thing to sex.

Jasper leapt through the clearing, landing on all fours in the backyard. Sure enough, there was Rosalie, bent over her beloved BMW, in a pair of extremely form-fitted and figure-flattering shorts. As he rounded the corner, he spotted Emmett standing to the side, "admiring" Rosalie's "work." She shook her backend a little while her hands finagled something under the hood. By the mischievous smirk on her face, she could tell Emmett was more interested in her parts than the parts of the car.

Lust had always been a…difficult emotion for Jasper. It was a very uncomfortable and intrusive emotion when it wasn't directed at him. Rather than get him "hot and bothered," it gave him something akin to what humans might call "upset stomach." But then, any overload of strong emotion was nauseating to Jasper.

Despite their insatiable need for sex, Emmett and Rosalie were his favorites in the house. Emmett was good-humored and someone Jasper would have probably been friends with human. And Rosalie, as vapid and insecure as she was, could always be counted on to tell it like it was. She and Jasper had similar spirits, and he sometimes looked at her as the baby sister he had lost after the "change." He couldn't say if she felt the same, but they had always shared a mutual respect.

Engrossed in each other as they were, they didn't notice Jasper right away. But as he approached the car, Emmett turned his attention away from Rosalie's "assets" to the equally lithe figure smirking his way down the drive. He didn't need to see him to know who it was; Jasper's scent gave him away.

"Well, well. If it isn't 'Cool Joe' back from his fix." You could hear the grin in his voice. "Forest still standing, or did you burn the motherfucker to the ground?"

For whatever reason, Jasper's "habit" had amused Emmett since day one. He'd made countless cracks about his "addiction," ever since they'd caught the smell of smoke and ash on his coat. But Jasper didn't mind the jokes. As much as Emmett liked to razz, in truth he thought Jasper's smoking was cool, and if not for the death threats of his mate and the disapproving glares of his "mother," he might have joined in. Besides, if there was one thing Emmett was not, it was mean-spirited.

"Sorry to disappoint, Emmett, but the forest still stands."

Emmett's grin was full and visible now. "Well, there's always next time."

Jasper mirrored Emmett's grin—though it did not possess the same childish quality—and turned his attention over to his "twin." He eyeballed the car.

"How's it coming along?"

"You stink like smoke," was her curt reply.

He should have expected that. If there was ever a downside to smoking, it was the smell. It'd bothered him in the beginning, but over time his nose had adjusted to the stench. Smell, like all vampire senses, was extremely sensitive. Since smoking, he'd made a point to bathe twice as much, as a courtesy to the others. It also helped that he washed and dried his own clothes. Though with Alice in the family, he rarely wore the same thing twice.

"Sorry about that. I was just on my way up to shower."

Rosalie's eyes narrowed as she peered out from beneath the hood. "If you blow yourself up out there, we'll have to hear about it from Alice for the rest of our lives."

An outsider might have taken offense to Rosalie's callous remarks, but Jasper knew her well enough to know that it was Rosalie's roundabout way of expressing concern. "You stink like smoke" translated into "I wish you didn't do this." And going the "You'll hurt Alice" route was just another way of saying "Please be careful." But Rosalie wasn't one to gush, and she didn't like coming across as vulnerable or weak. Jasper could respect that.

He gave her a small nod. "Duly noted."

She sighed and returned to her work, muttering an "idiot" beneath her breath. "Idiot" was about as tender an endearment as you could get from Rosalie, and he found himself oddly moved by the sentiment. Emmett's grin grew wider, if possible, probably tempted to make an "awww" or cooing noise in jest, but knew better. Instead, he made a peace sign at his lips and pretended to smoke.

"You know," Emmett paused dramatically to take an imaginary puff, "you don't leave the house nowadays without your smokes." Another dramatic puff. "Should I send Esme for some gum or would you prefer the patch?"

"Har, har." You could practically hear Rosalie roll her eyes.

Jasper chuckled. "Come now, Emmett. You know vampires don't suffer the habits and afflictions of humans."

It was true. It wasn't possible for a vampire to become "addicted" to smoking any more than it was possible for a vampire to get cancer. Their bodies did not process nicotine or tobacco or smoke. Like pollutants in the air, they entered the lungs and became nothing, pulverised by the venom and the unnatural chemistry of their bodies. Still, Jasper could see the appeal. The act of smoking was a relaxing one, even if it had no physical effect on his body.

"I just hope our new school has a breezeway." He folded his arms in thought. "Though I think technically students aren't allowed to smoke."

Jasper stood expectantly for the smart-alec remark he knew was waiting in the wings, but to his great surprise, none came. In fact, both Emmett and Rosalie had become oddly…still. Emmett turned his attention to some wildly fascinating thing off in the trees, and Rosalie ducked deeper inside the car. What's more, there was a strange emotional shift, both from Rosalie and Emmett, and the bodies inside the house. Clearly, something he'd said had struck a chord.

Never one to mince words, Jasper cut right to the chase. He paused just long enough to fold his hands behind his back. "So. What's the verdict?"

And there it was again. That pinching emotional surge.

Emmett did a mouth-shrug. "What do you mean?"

His feigned ignorance was annoying, but Jasper kept his voice calm. "I mean, what is it that's caused all this collective guilt?"

Emmett locked eyes with Rosalie, whose face looked like she was contemplating crawling inside the car. She gave what to a human would have been an imperceptible shake of her head, then turned her attention back to the jumble of greasy parts beneath the hood.

"I think," Emmett's voice threatened to crack, "it's better you speak with Carlisle."

"Emmett!" Rosalie hissed.

Jasper opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when Alice appeared beside him. She touched his arm and smiled, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Her countenance and their fifty-plus years of marriage said it all. He didn't need empathy to know she was pissed.

"I missed you, Jazz." She stroked his forearm with her tiny fingers. "I was wondering when you'd roll in. Your decisions were very clouded."

Ah, Alice. Always keeping watch.

"I thought we could take a walk together…alone."

Her tone was suggestive, but he could tell by her emotions that what she really wanted was to talk. There was also an underlying layer of concern, like she was worried what might happen if she didn't lure him away. This made Jasper all the more curious.

Alice tugged at his arm, trying to coax him from the house. But Jasper didn't budge. Her emotions shifted then to mild annoyance, knowing she was no match for him physically, and that sexual persuasion, on her mate, was pretty much lost. So Jasper ignored Alice's feeble insistences and focused his attention on Emmett, knowing he'd be easiest to crack.

"Emmett." It was only a name, but in it was a dozen questions and demands and from his tone, they were not a request. He stood purposeful and erect, watching as Emmett's shoulders shrunk under the weight of his gaze.

"Well…"

Rosalie cut him off with a hiss. She shook her head, more forcefully this time and Emmett, feeling tense under the weight of the pressure, let out a "humph" and slouched into the garden chair by the garage door. He shot both of them an annoyed look.

"I don't see what the big damn deal is. He'll find out sooner or later anyway. And besides, Edward has a point."

Jasper's brow shot up at the mention of Edward. Now he was very curious. Any suggestion by Edward was a suggestion made to benefit Edward, and judging by Alice's testy mood, it was clearly a suggestion that threw Jasper under the bus.

Alice dropped Jasper's arm as her temper spiked. "A point, nothing! He has no right to make that kind of a decision, not for Jasper or anyone else. If it was any of the rest of you, you'd be irate!"

"The rest of us don't need that kind of consideration."

Edward's silken voice wafted through the walls of the house, clear as day even from the backyard. And if Alice was testy before, she was full-blown furious now. Whatever discussion they'd had, it'd clearly revolved around one thing—his control.

Jasper filtered out the cacophony of emotions best he could—Alice's anger, Edward's resolve, and the uncertainty of everyone else—and turned his efforts to Rosalie. He knew if anyone could be counted on to lay it on the table, it was her.

"Rosalie."

Silence.

Alice stepped out in front of him before anything further was said. "Come on, Jasper. Let's go. We can talk about it away from here, just you and me." Her eyes and voice were pleading.

"If there's something here that concerns me," he ignored Alice's pleas and directed his words at Rosalie, "then I have a right to know."

Rosalie lifted her head from inside the hood. She rolled her eyes and smacked the side of the car, knowing he'd never look at her the same if she didn't spill. There was a tinge of annoyance in her eyes, but most of what he saw there was guilt.

"I told them you'd be pissed." She raised her hands to the air in defeat. "I told them to wait."

"Rosalie," he repeated.

She let out a loud sigh. "Carlisle thinks that maybe you should sit this next semester out."

Alice's head whipped around. Her glare was vicious and accusatory as she stared Rosalie down. Rosalie sneered back in retaliation, but softened at the expression of surprise on Jasper's face. She brought her hands up as if to say something, but quickly dropped them to her sides. She'd never been good at twinkle-toeing around an issue.

"You were out. And Carlisle started in on the upcoming school year and what to expect and all the same yada-yada we go through every year. Then he brought up you and Edward said that with the size of our family now, it wasn't safe to take any unnecessary risks." There was a pause. "Carlisle agreed with him."

She averted her gaze at the last part, and he knew from the sincerity in her words and the sincerity of her emotions that what she said was true. But he also knew, from the guilt rolling off of her in droves, that she agreed with Edward too. They all did, save Alice, and he realized with an almost morbid satisfaction that he had not only been thrown under the bus, but ran over and kicked to the curb.

He was officially roadkill.

Alice's face and emotions were sympathetic as she raised a hand to stroke his arm. "Jazz, honey…"

Both her hand and words fell on air as Jasper dashed through the trees in a single jump. Alice cried after him, but it fell on deaf ears. He lept like lightning and disappeared in a flash of speed, leaving Alice, the Cullens, and their wretched emotions to the dust.

---

Jasper hadn't run long.

Dashing through trees, he couldn't be sure how far he'd traveled or where he'd ended up, but he knew he was still in the United States. He'd traveled south, that much he knew. To the west was Forks, to the east, New England. North was a straight shoot into Canada, home to the Denali. Forks was mongrel-ridden, and the Denalis? He was of even less value to them then the Cullens.

He spat at the thought of Carlisle and the others. I mean, how dare they? He knew his control wasn't where it should be, but it's not like he was failing on purpose. He wasn't going out of his way to be inconvenient. Besides, it wasn't just his own poor performance to contend with. That was bad enough, but the constant comparisons were a disgrace. Edward's superior, holier-than-thou attitude had always irked him. But it'd gotten worse ever since Bella's "change," after she'd proven herself this miraculously controlled and super-amazing vampire that could physically and emotionally do no wrong. Since her change, Edward had been obnoxiously proud of Bella's transition and her natural ease into the vampire world. Jasper supposed he deserved it after betting with Emmett the number of humans she'd kill her first year. But that smugness Edward felt every time Bella passed a human or walked into a busy crowd stung. It hurt his pride, his ego, and worse, it'd shattered everything he'd come to rely on as a vampire himself.

It wasn't that he'd wanted Bella to struggle—at least, not to the degree he did. But did she have to make it look so effortless? He'd been wrestling with what they were for almost two centuries and with "vegetarianism" for decades. As a human, Bella had barely functioned, but as a vampire she'd become an unstoppable force. Why was it that she and the Cullens took ten steps forward, while the "pitiable soldier" fell twenty steps back? Was it so much to ask that he improve, even a little?

…But it wasn't Bella's fault, he knew. And as irritating as he was, Edward wasn't to blame either. The only person at fault was him. He had poor control. He had poor resolve. The bloodlust was his weakness and there was no one to blame but himself. As hurtful as it was, the failure was he. Cursing the Cullens wouldn't change that.

Darkness had fallen. Moving at night was always easier and safer than moving by day. The sun was a real nuisance for vampires and Jasper had never grown entirely accustomed to the light. He preferred the night, the blackness. It suited what they were.

His eyes surveyed the land. The area was wooded, but the trees were growing more and more sparse, and off in the distance he saw what looked to be field after field of human crops.

Jasper scrunched his nose. The plains were inadequate territory for vampires. It was too open, too sunny. And there were literally stretches of nothing for miles. Even the hunting grounds were poor. Horses and cattle made up the largest percentage of game, most of which were raised on ranches and farms. Hunting near humans was a no-no, and animals raised in controlled settings, like farms, had a weaker taste than animals born in the wild. Besides, hunting a penned creature took all the fun out of the feed.

A strange vibrating in his lower-left pocket broke his thoughts, and it took him a second to realize it was his cell. He hated the damn thing, even when he wasn't pissed, and couldn't understand for the life of him how Alice had learned to work one so fast. Half the time he hit a button he wasn't supposed to and had busted more than he could count. He'd even dialed 9-1-1 once, just by tossing the phone into his bookbag. (Jasper still couldn't fathom how that had happened.)

After the fifth "ring," Jasper ripped the phone from his trench and hurled it into a nearby tree. The fragile device shattered on impact, leaving a small indentation in the bark. He knew it was Alice calling to check up on him, but he didn't care. He didn't want to see or speak to anyone, not even his mate.

Without road signs or a map, there was no way to pinpoint where he was. Going too far south was unwise. The likelihood of running into Maria was slim, but newborns were more numerous the further south you went and he wanted to avoid "altercations" if at all possible. Alice would rip him a new one for getting into a fight. And he didn't want to find himself in a situation where he was outnumbered. So with quick decision-making he changed course and headed east. The farther east, the later into evening it would get and the darker the cover of night. Jasper wasn't sure just where he was headed, but anywhere was better than being "home."

The nice thing about traveling the plains was that it was easy to do so undetected. Human settlements were often miles apart and their highways sparsely lit. He could maintain a pleasant, vampire-paced speed and not attract any unwanted attention. Anything that crossed his path he'd notice first, and could adjust his speed and visibility accordingly.

Jasper moved in that fashion for several hundred miles. What took humans days to traverse, vampires could cover in a matter of minutes. When he grew bored of his quickened pace, he walked, and when he bored of that, he quickened again. It was nice coming and going as he pleased. The air was fresh and crisp and his feet felt good against the raw earth. And the only signs of life were the occasional car off in the distance, paying no-nevermind to him. He cleared his mind of his problems and upsets and worries and just breathed. How wonderful it was to breathe and not panic about the smell of humans. Or better yet, the emotions. Jasper couldn't remember when it was last that he had felt so free.

Things carried on that way for quite some time. So numbed to his surroundings that it wasn't until the landscape changed that he realized he was still aimlessly wandering east. The new terrain was more like that of Forks, very wooded and lush. And hilly. The ground was full of dips and curves.

Jasper blinked and tilted his head back to the sky. It was blotted out by the canopy of an enormous tree. He recognized it as a Pin Oak, a tree common to the Appalachians and Ohio Valley, which by the rural look of things and the basic geography of the United States, was likely where he'd ended up. It was probably Kentucky or Tennessee, maybe even northern Mississippi. Either way, it was a perfect spot for cooling his heels and "catching his breath."

He plopped down on a branch of the Pin Oak and peered out into the woods. With his legs crossed, he rested his head against the bark and sniffed the air. It smelled muggy and wet, like the rains had recently moved through. To a human, it would have probably felt sticky or humid, but Jasper had no sense or understanding of the changes in temperatures. His sense of touch was purely textile, dependent on shape and size and texture. And with his empathic abilities, Jasper was even less dependent on physical properties and sensations than most vampires. Everything was processed through Jasper's emotions first—assuming there was an emotional climate to be felt—so the physicality of things always took a backseat. Even sex, a largely physical act, was an overwhelmingly emotional experience. With a second person, the emotional capacity doubled, creating an atmosphere of lust and passion that was borderline unbearable. But sex wasn't something he needed to "feel" love. Likewise, Alice was able to "feel" Jasper's love as he communicated it to her through his gift. So sex had never been a priority in their relationship—or ever, in Jasper's case—and was something Jasper provided for Alice's "needs" more so than his own.

Smell, on the other hand, was a vampire's most treasured sense. A vampire's touch and sight were disposable in lieu of their sense of smell. No smell, and a vampire was handicapped. It alerted them to things that their eyes, hands, and even their ears could not detect. It was what made holding their breath so uncomfortable—that separation from their sense of smell.

He sniffed again, deeper this time, isolating each individual smell. There was the earth, the urine of a passing animal, smells you would expect to find under the cover of trees. But there was something else as well, a smell familiar, but foreign. It was a smell he knew he knew, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what. The aroma was sweet, like blood, but dulled and old, like a dead animal left to dry in the sun. The conflicting scents both intrigued and confused him. He was both drawn to and repulsed by the fragrance. What in the world could excrete such a contradiction of smells?

Jasper shot off in the direction of the scent. It wasn't far, just a few thousand yards. There was a strong emotion accompanying the smell; it swirled and pulsed with the same chaos and confusion as the scent he trailed, and all at once he knew. That combobulated mesh of smells and frantic emotional state was a combination unique to only one thing.

His body moved through the trees, their branches like stepping stones as he sniffed the air. When the smell and emotional chaos peaked, Jasper crouched low and crawled like a cat to the thinnest point the branch could support. It bent and creaked under his weight, but did not break. His eyes darkened at the lingering smell of human blood, but was not tempted to attack. The blood was no longer the blood of prey, but of predator, encased in a far more sinister shell.

Directly beneath him, he spotted its owner. Even at a distance, he could tell by the smell and contours of the body it was female. Cautiously he lept, landing silently on all fours beside her. She was covered in brush and debris, with mud caked into her fingernails and clothes. If she knew he was there, she did not show it. Her body lay there unmoving and her eyes stared blankly into the green nothingness.

Jasper took to his feet, but kept his eyes fixed on the dangerous creature before him. From his full height, he studied her more thoroughly, sizing her up from feet to forehead. As he reached her face, he noticed something—something peculiar—that he hadn't before.

She was a child.

She wasn't a little, little child, nothing that would be considered forbidden. But she was young, no question. Even with his limited knowledge of human growth, Jasper put her at a solid eleven, maybe twelve. She was a small girl, perhaps even a bit underdeveloped for her age. She looked to be a few inches shorter than Alice—though it was hard to tell lying down—and almost as thin. In fact, there was something about her, something in her face that was almost…sickly. Then again, it could have been the debilitating pain of the change. Jasper couldn't be sure; creating the newborns had been Maria's job. He'd only been responsible for training them.

It was the change that immobilized her. There was no way to be sure, but he wagered she was two, two and a half days into the transformation. There was nothing to be done for her now. If he'd stumbled upon her sooner, he could have taken her to Carlisle to save—assuming he didn't drain her dry first—but her skin had hardened and her innards liquidized. There was no reversing this process; the venom had spread from the puncture site to the bloodstream and rendered her circulatory system defunct. Another few hours, half day at most, and she'd be a full-fledged vampire.

Jasper sniffed the air once more. Where was her creator? It wasn't like a vampire to bite and run. Humans were preyed upon for two reasons—food or companionship. In certain territories, like the south, they were hunted for war. A vampire hunting blood would never leave a kill mid-feed, and a lonely vampire would never abandon his charge. And this puny thing was of no value for battle. But the only scent on her person was days old, from whomever had hunted her. There were one or two other smells in the area, but they too were from days back. There had clearly been a hunting party here, but they were long since gone.

Jasper had the sneaking suspicion it was the work of a newborn. Every once in a while, a creator would lose authority of its newborn and the newborn would go "rogue." It happened every so often in the south when "armies" grew to numbers their leaders couldn't control. If a newborn fled, it was the responsibility of the creator to track them down and repossess them, or kill them, whichever the creator deemed most necessary. Maria had called it "damage control," so as not to attract the attention of the Volturi.

It was possible this girl was the victim of a rogue newborn, who was ripped from her throat and destroyed before it could finish the job. It was known to happen. Carlisle had been born of a similar fate. And if such was the case, then this child was on her own. And with no teacher to guide her, she'd become a wild and ravenous plague on every human settlement in her path. That kind of unrestrained killing was bound to attract the attention of the Italians. Vampires were vengeful by nature; it wasn't likely they'd forgotten their defeat at the hands of Bella and the Cullens. Jasper felt safer knowing the Volturi were on another continent. He didn't fancy them "stopping by" on account of some human girl's rotten luck.

It was better to nip it in the bud now. She was abandoned and of no value. There was no logical or strategic reason to keep her. From a combative sense, she was worthless, and there was no way of knowing if she would or even could obey the law. And if that was the case, he'd be forced to destroy her anyway. The death of a child would devastate Esme and Carlisle and the whole thing would be pinned on him for saving her. It was all far more trouble than she was worth. A second and it'd be done, quick and easy. No one's hurt and life goes on as normal.

The decision was for the good of everyone.

---

Why did he have to break his bloody phone?

Alice had been keeping an "eye" on Jasper from the second he'd ran off. She'd seen every decision from the backyard of their home to the wild woods of the east. She'd seen him running to the south, the southeast; she'd even seen a brief decision to drain the life of a human out of spite. She saw when he'd shattered his phone and when he'd stopped in the woods to rest. She'd even seen his decision to follow something—it was hard to tell what from her visions—into the trees.

It was in that decision that she appeared.

It was a child, a vampire child, sitting alone at the kitchen table. She had a book in front of her, with paper and pens. What she was reading was unclear. But whatever it was, the child struggled. She had a defeated look about her, with her head in her hands and eyes staring blankly at an open page. Suddenly, Jasper appears behind her from the living room. He pulls up a chair beside her and picks up a pen. He speaks to her, though Alice can't hear the words. There is no sound in her sight. But from the look of his face, the words are soft and encouraging. The child picks up her pen again, motioning at the book in disgust. Jasper smiles a gentle smile and tilts the book towards them both. He reads aloud, turning the page with one hand and instructing with the other. The child's face is stern and focused as she scribbles furiously with the pen. As she works, Jasper turns to look at her with an expression of what Alice can only describe as "warmth."

Alice blinked away her disorientation. With the vision fresh in her mind, she replayed the image of Jasper with the vampire child over and over. It was strange seeing Jasper that way, so unguarded and involved. She couldn't recall Jasper ever sitting at the table with Nessie, playing with Nessie, smiling warmly at Nessie. Nessie had been what most everyone in the house had been to Jasper during his fifty-plus stay with the Cullens—an acquaintance. He cared for her the same as he cared for them all, but there was no deep emotional bond that connected them. It was purely out of love for Alice that Jasper stayed, and no one saw or understood that better than Alice.

She sometimes felt guilty keeping him there, knowing that he was only truly happy with her. But she didn't think it wrong or selfish to want a family, especially when she wanted that same love and family for her mate. Bringing him to the Cullens had been as much for Jasper as herself, and she'd hoped over time he'd grow to love them as real siblings and real parents. But he never had, not in all the decades they'd lived together and the last few years especially, Jasper had become more and more withdrawn.

Bella's strength and control hurt him, she knew. He'd spent years building up his resolve. Bella not only matched that resolve, but surpassed it tenfold. Why oh why did her husband have to suffer so? He worked three times harder than anyone else. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter what decision she made, Jasper ended up hurt.

Since Bella's transformation, Jasper's morale had been on a steady decline. At first, he'd seemed to enjoy her positive emotional climate, but it wasn't long before he started to resent the perfectness she emanated from her every step. The little "get-together" they'd had that afternoon hadn't helped, and she swore to God she'd make every one of them grovel at his feet for ganging up on him.

The last few years, Alice had wondered if leaving, even for a little while, might be in Jasper's best interest. But she knew he'd only blame himself if they left. Because she knew there would be no way to hide her disappointment in leaving the Cullens behind. It was impossible to hide your feelings from Jasper, no shield to block his gift. He always knew. Alice wondered if his empathy wasn't to blame for his isolation from the others. There was no faking love with Jasper, and they'd only ever really bonded with her.

That was what made her vision so puzzling. She'd never seen that level of tenderness from Jasper with anyone besides herself and Peter. The way he'd looked at that child; she'd seen it before when Esme looked at Edward. How long had it been since Jasper really felt something for someone, besides her? How long had it been since he looked…happy?

Alice wasn't sure why or how, but this child was important. She'd seen more life from Jasper in a ninety-second vision than she had the last four years. She'd get this kid in the house if she had to drag her back from the sticks with her left pinky.

…But wait.

Alice felt the onslaught of another vision. The future was the same as before—the same kitchen, the same kitchen table, and the same Jasper. Except the child was missing, and Jasper sat at the table alone. He was reading a book, as he often did, but his expression was stern, guarded. The life she'd seen there before, extinguished. Jasper, the atmosphere, even the colors of the vision were dark. Alice watched the events unfold and felt…suffocated.

The images dissolved as quickly as they came and the abruptness caught in Alice's chest. She breathed heavily, placing a hand to her heart. Frantically, she searched her mind's eye for Jasper and in a split second, saw the outcome of his new decision.

"No, Jasper! Don't!" Alice's hands flew to her mouth in horror.

Suddenly, the family appeared around her. They'd dispersed to various corners of the house after Jasper's ceremonious exit and once they'd realized Alice had no intention of speaking to anyone until he returned. She'd pulled a stool to the front of the house and parked herself by the front door, her back facing the family. Edward had tried talking to her, but after a few mental—and colorful—expletives, he'd thrown his hands in the air and walked off.

But even the other end of the house was not enough to cloak Alice's visions from his gift. He'd been watching Alice's mind with great interest. Her outburst had drawn the rest of the family in. Any vision involving Jasper was a concern. He was the most unpredictable of the coven.

"Alice!" Esme's voice was worried. "What is it? What's wrong? Is it a human?"

Alice's face turned from horrified to murderous. "You would think that, wouldn't you?" she spat.

Esme recoiled in shame. Instinctively, Carlisle stepped in, shooting Alice a disapproving glare. He placed a hand on his wife's shoulder, who leaned pitifully into his embrace.

"Let's everyone keep calm, please." He threw another pointed look to Alice. "We're all worried about Jasper."

Concerned with the family's shaky emotional state—dangerous without Jasper there to control—Edward saw his chance to intervene. "It's nothing to do with his control. He's happened upon a newborn in the woods. …Well, an almost newborn."

"Almost newborn?" Bella's voice was puzzled.

"A newborn caught mid-change." Rosalie's annoyance was clear as she fought the "duh" that threatened to surface.

Edward shot daggers at Rosalie and her impatient tone, but Rosalie just shrugged. Rosalie had gained a lot of respect for Bella since the birth of Renesmee, but they'd never achieved the same closeness that Bella shared with Alice.

"Why not bring them here?" Carlisle asked quickly, steering the conversation back on-topic. "We're more than equipped to handle a single newborn."

Edward placed a hand on his chin. "They're a bit on the young side."

"All the more reason to bring them here." Right on cue, Esme's mothering instincts kicked in.

"I'm not so sure Jasper sees it that way…" Edward's voice trailed off.

Esme's eyes widened at the realization of her son's words. "He wouldn't. He couldn't—!" Her voice cracked with desperation as she sunk her head into Carlisle's chest.

The conversation continued amongst them, but Alice ignored them all. She was too focused on Jasper's future to concern herself with Carlisle's questions or Esme's hysterics. There had to be a way to contact Jasper. Alice knew if he destroyed that newborn, it would be to his own detriment. Her visions were infallible proof. There was no use in running after him. It would take mere seconds for Jasper to shred the body and burn the remains, not nearly enough time to travel from Montana to the eastern half of the United States. Not even vampires were that fast.

"Please Jasper," Alice pleaded with her mind's eye. "Just bring her back. Search your feelings. Bring her here."

Why oh why did he have to shatter the damn phone?

---

Seconds. That's all he'd need. Just a few seconds and it'd be done. Even when he hadn't smoked, Jasper had always carried matches. And in the middle of nowhere, it'd be easy to dispose of the remains. He couldn't have planned a more convenient execution.

Jasper leaned forward and extended his left arm to her neck. One forceful snap was all it'd take…

Just as his hand flexed to grasp the neck, the girl's head tilted slowly towards him. The pain had made her oblivious to her surroundings, but now, as her soon-to-be vampire eyes locked onto him, she was more than aware of his presence. Fear radiated from her; whether it was from his scars or just the general circumstances, he couldn't tell. Pain was evident in her eyes; there were few things more excruciating than the change. But there was also something else.

Helplessness.

The child was helpless. There was nothing she could do, no way to fight back. Her fate had been decided for her, first by the vampire that bit her, and now by the resolve that drove his hand. But it wasn't out of callousness that he moved to kill her. It was sympathy. Sympathy for a creature that shouldn't be. She was better off dead. They'd all been better off dead. Leaving her alive was the real cruelty.

His hand froze, unmoving just inches from her neck. The child swallowed, and he realized that the burning sensation of hunger was beginning to set in. If he ended this now, then she'd never have to feed. There'd be no loss of life, save her own, and she was dead already. But he'd never killed one so young before. He'd never seen one so young before, except for Jane. But she was no child. There was nothing innocent about her. She was a monster.

Then again, so was he. His motives might have been less viscous, but there was very little difference between himself and Jane. There was little difference between himself and any of the Volturi. This child would be of no more value to them then she was to him. She was worthless.

Just like him.

Jasper kept telling himself to keep it quick. To break the neck and be done with it. But it was hard to focus with her eyes staring up at him. They were red; all traces of her human eyes were gone. He wondered, briefly, what color they'd been. Had they been brown, blue, hazel green? He shook the thought from his head. It didn't matter. She was dead, just as soon as he grabbed hold of the neck…

But she'd already had one life taken from her. Did he really have the right to take another one? Didn't she have rights to any decision? Wouldn't he have wanted a choice? He knew what he'd say if he had the choice, the choice to go back in time. He'd choose death, no question, the sweet release of an endless sleep. No immortality, no struggling, no blood.

No Alice.

He shook his head. All vampire life would bring her was pain. The pain of weakness, the pain of death, the pain of loneliness, the pain of suffering. What good had become of his life as a vampire?

Alice.

What would she say of his actions? She wouldn't view it as strength, as compassion, but as ruthlessness. How many times had she told him killing wasn't the answer? It was what she'd always hoped to teach him living with the Cullens—sympathy for the weak and appreciation for life. But as empathic as he'd always been, it'd never been in his nature to show mercy. Not because he didn't care, but because mercy got you dead. Ruthlessness kept him alive. Ruthlessness kept you strong.

Internally he growled Why was this so hard? He'd killed countless newborns without so much as a flutter. All creatures were disposable; life was and had always been survival of the elite. His control may have lacked, but his instinct to endure was strong. It was what had sustained him for nearly two hundred years. Vampires were cosmically designed to destroy the inferior. It was how Maria had raised him. It was what he had always lived by.

Maria would call him weak. She would scoff at his hesitation. She would tell him what he already knew—the child was trouble. It would burden him, soften him, create leverage to use against him. Whole covens had perished protecting their vampire children. And while the child wasn't "forbidden" per se, there was no way of knowing if she could be trusted to uphold vampire law. And if she couldn't, what lengths would he go to to protect her? He had a mate to consider. A mate always came first.

He was decided. He would kill her and that would be the end of it. He would deal with Alice's disappointment, he would suffer the judgment and criticisms of the Cullens. They may have been willing to turn everyone's lives on end, but Jasper was not so selfish. He took responsibility for his actions. He owned the consequences of his decisions.

The child swallowed, harder than before, her eyes flinching from the pain. Jasper tried avoiding her gaze, but fell into her line of sight as he moved in for the kill. Her eyes were big and innocent as she stared up at him, motionless…

Holy mother of Mary in a manger.

Cursing, Jasper lunged forward and lifted the child from the ground, cradling her in his arms. With vampiric speed, he soared through the trees and back through the edge of the woods, his movements invisible to the human eye. The child's tiny frame felt weightless as he moved over the fields and through the plains. It wasn't as late in the west as it was in the east, so there was still the hint of sunlight in the sky. With his phone in pieces, there was no way of knowing the exact time, but Jasper reckoned it was somewhere around eight or nine o'clock. Very little time had passed since he'd left the Cullens and almost no time at all since he'd found the child. She'd hardly moved and showed no signs of vampiric coherency, but she was close. Every "change" was unique, and no changeling ran three days to the dot. He wondered how much time he had.

Although he wasn't worried about what the Cullens would say, bringing a newborn into their house was a big deal. He was glad now that they'd screwed up so royally before; Rosalie and Edward would be less likely to explode. Not that he was afraid of either, but Rosalie could be tempestuous in a fit, and everyone's opinions were meaningless next to Edward's. The family's screw-up gave him an extra bit of leverage. Still, he'd be damned if he made this decision on his own. If they wanted to condemn the child, so be it. But they wouldn't have the satisfaction of laying it all at his feet. Everyone would have accountability this time. He'd make sure of it.

When he arrived, Alice was waiting for him, the front door wide open. Both her face and emotions were that of relief, and in that relief was the assurance that perhaps this once, he'd made the right choice. Killing the newborn might have been the more practical route, but it was worth the possible heartache and gruesome death to watch the pride swell in Alice's eyes.

Jasper landed gracefully at her feet, the child braced against his chest. Not a word passed between them, only an understanding glance. If Alice noticed the child, she did not show it. Her wide, doll-like eyes were only for Jasper, the corners of her mouth curving upwards into a soft, suggestive smile. The sudden flux in her emotions made him nervous. Alice was the less reserved, and less predictable, when it came to sex, and he worried she might try to jump him. Thankfully, she did not. Instead, she winked and beckoned him inside, standing on tip-toe to get a better look at the child.

"Take her up to my room," were Alice's only words as she closed the door behind him.

Jasper wasn't so sure that was wise. It was always safer to have open space for dealing with a potentially violent or aggressive newborn. Vampires were not fond of close quarters, whatever their age. And the less space to work with, the higher the risk for damaging whatever occupied said space. Though the more he thought about it, the more he warmed to the idea of the Cullen household crashing to the ground.

Besides, who the hell was he to know how she'd react? Everything he'd come to believe and trust about newborns was wrong. For all he knew, she'd wake up transformed and fly. If Bella could master decades of control day one, then this little girl should be farting rainbows, singing "Moon River," and riding magical unicorns by first light.

Jasper felt a strong twinge of annoyance. It was Edward's, no doubt, meddling in on his private thoughts. Jasper didn't give a damn. He was still in a miserable mood from before. Edward could go fornicate himself with an iron stick.

Gliding into the main room, Jasper saw the Cullens waiting for him by the staircase to the second floor. Only Carlisle and Edward met his gaze; the others were transfixed on the newborn in his arms. Of all the emotions in the room, curiosity stood out the most. It seemed everyone was eager to meet the "stray" he had brought home.

"Alice filled us in on the details." Carlisle's voice was predictably soft. "We felt it best to follow your lead."

Jasper was tempted to roll his eyes, but didn't. Instead, he held his tongue and his head high and climbed the staircase to the second floor. Alice's room was the third door on the right. The rest of the Cullens shared bedrooms with their respective mates, but neither Jasper or Alice saw the need. They didn't sleep, and Jasper steadfastly refused having "relations" in the house. Alice cared more for "stuff" than he did anyway, and all he really wanted or needed was a place to store his books.

Normally, the door to Alice's room was closed. She was far less guarded than Jasper, but there were still things Alice liked keeping private. She'd no doubt propped it open in preparation for their "guest," so Jasper helped himself inside. The Cullens were right on his heels, all clamoring to get an up close look at the child. They'd huddled around one side of the bed, while Jasper walked around to the other. No need to have everyone breathing down his neck.

"So where's she from?" As always, Emmett dove right in.

"What Alice told you is all I know."

"Poor thing." Esme folded her hands as she looked sympathetically to the girl. "Can you imagine how frightened she must have been? How frightened her parents must be looking for her?"

"If they even know she's gone."

Good ol' Rosalie. The pin to every balloon.

"Now, now." Carlisle motioned for everyone to remain calm. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. First things first; we need to decide what to do about the girl."

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Esme's stance on the issue was clear.

"I understand how you feel, my love. But we have to think this through. This child has a life elsewhere. Who's to say she won't go running back when she wakes? What if she tries to contact her family?" Carlisle placed a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder. "You know that's forbidden."

Alice popped out from behind Emmett and took her place beside Jasper. Once again, she stood on tiptoe and peered into the face of the "almost newborn" girl. She sniffed—a very animalistic gesture—before tilting her head to address her mate.

"She smells good."

No, she smelled like him. Pressed against his chest, the perfume of his body had seeped into the girl's. She now carried traces of his scent—on the surface anyway.

"Jasper should decide."

All eyes turned to Edward. Both his face and voice were calm as he stood, very regal-like, at the back of the group. All the surrounding bodies seemed to part, as if giving his words room to speak. He folded his arms, staring matter-of-factly at Jasper and the girl.

"He brought her here. It's his decision to make."

"Jasper brought her here to decide as a family." Alice's voice was cross.

Edward shook his head. "You know I love you, Alice. And I love Jasper too. But the priorities of the family have never been high on Jasper's list of concerns. The decisions he makes are for your best interest or his own, not the family. So I don't think we should have any part of this." He stared hard at Jasper, driving his point. "It's just his attempt to make someone else look like the bad guy."

Alice and Rosalie's faces turned hideous and emotions went off like a bomb. Carlisle steered Esme to the side and Emmett's mouth hung three inches past his chin. Bella's face was both shocked and horrified, perhaps at the realization that her husband was very likely to be killed.

Jasper saw the imminent danger in the situation and calmed everyone's emotions to a point of false peace. His own emotions were conflicted. Though Edward's words angered him, he spoke only the truth. Jasper had always moved on behalf of what was most beneficial to himself and his mate. What pissed him off was that Edward was no better. He moved on behalf of his and Bella's best interests as well, except he didn't catch any flak. No matter what decision he made, Jasper was always painted the monster.

Insults or no insults, Jasper wouldn't budge. He wasn't taking flak for this one, not on his own. Whether it was to live or die, if would be done with the "family's" consent.

Thanks to Jasper's "calm," the room remained silent and still. Taking advantage of the momentary lull, he plopped the child on the bed, her body bouncing lightly from the force. He faced Carlisle and the others, his expression deadpan and his voice stern.

"Whatever you decide, for better or worse, I'll take care of it."

And with that, he turned and walked out.

---

Jasper took a long, relaxing drag of his smoke and sighed. He'd spent half his life these days in hiding from everyone around him. Not that he'd ever been "center of attention man," but his isolation from the others had increased in the past few years, so much that he wondered how much longer he could keep it up. How many times had he contemplated yanking Alice out of that house and moving to Fiji or Timbuktu?

Oh well. There was nothing to be done about it at present. God only knew what was going on in that house. Alice and Rosalie's emotions had been off the charts. Alice's he'd understood; it was natural and instinctive to defend one's mate. But Rosalie's reaction was unexpected. There was no reason for her to feel upset for him. Edward was her "real" brother. Jasper was the polite substitution. Granted, Rosalie had never needed much reason or provocation to attack Edward, but he'd never known her to do so on his account.

Though looking back, there'd never really been the need. The Cullens had always made a point to avoid confrontation with Jasper—or Jasper had made a point to avoid confrontation with the Cullens—preferably out of fear that he might leave. That is, that Jasper would leave and take Alice with him. He supposed it was a point of resentment with the Cullens that he and Alice came as a set. It would be of no-nevermind if he left, but losing Alice would be an unbearable blow. Jasper wondered all what had been "let go" over the years out of fear that they might leave. It was strangely empowering.

He sighed again, louder this time, wishing for the moment he hadn't smashed his phone. It would have been nice, in his present condition, to check the time. It hadn't been long since he'd walked out—maybe ten, fifteen minutes at the most. But the radio silence put him on edge. He'd left the Cullens in a fairly tumultuous emotional state, and his powers would have worn off the second they were outside his area of influence. Annoyed as he was with them, he didn't like the thought of anyone getting hurt. Of course, with Edward's mind-reading abilities, he would be able to anticipate any potential attacks. But it wasn't just the situation with the Cullens. Jasper kept thinking about the newborn girl. She was close, close enough that the pain would be ever-so-slowly easing up to the point she would regain full consciousness. When that happened, it would be no holds barred. Jasper had the nagging feeling that he should be there to help, but kept brushing it off. If he was too much of a nuisance to attend school, then he had nothing to contribute to wrangling a newborn.

Still, the not knowing was driving him nuts. He'd finished his smoke and was just about to head back when he felt the waves of a familiar emotional climate closing in.

Alice.

She popped through the trees, landing hurriedly but gracefully on the ground beside him. Her emotions were frazzled as she looked up at him with an adorably annoyed scrunch of her nose.

"Well?"

Were she in a better emotional state, Jasper would have found it cute, tapping her little foot and resting her dainty hands at her hips.

"Well...?" Jasper had clearly done something wrong. And he was usually pretty good about knowing what, but in this particular instance, he was in the dark.

"Well?" Alice repeated the word again. "Well? That's it? That's all you have to say?"

Jasper imagined the look on his face was pretty dumb.

"What are you doing out here? The newborn's back there," Alice pointed behind her, "remember?"

Jasper shrugged. "She's in perfectly capable hands."

"Jasper!" The exasperation was evident in her voice. "I know today has been a crappy day." The word "crappy" was emphatic. "But right now is not the time to initiate 'pity-party mode.'"

"'Pity-party!'" Jasper near-shrieked. "That's what you think this is? Me feeling sorry for myself? I'm trying to make a decision that doesn't involve me ripping the head off an innocent kid!" He huffed and paced in his spot. "I thought you'd be happy! You were nothing but smiles and pride when I walked in!"

Alice folded her arms and sighed. "I was. Am. But you've turned bringing this child home into a pissing contest with the Cullens."

"Edward's the one who brought it up!" Jasper motioned dramatically with his hands.

"Yes. And as much of a jerk as he is right now, he's right."

Jasper opened his mouth to speak, but Alice cut him off.

"You ran off earlier upset. And you had every right. Then you found that kid and the first thing that went through your head was death. I know. I saw the vision.

Jasper frowned. Stupid visions.

"Then you felt that inkling of compassion. Which is the part I'm proud of." She paused to lay a hand on his arm. "But then it became this whole," her voice turned sing-song and obnoxious, "I'll bring her home and let the Cullens decide so when I have their say-so they can be just as bad and monstrous as me...and then I'm the winner."

Jasper's stare was wild. She was pushing buttons now, and it took several deep breaths and memories of their meeting, wedding, and honeymoon to cool his head.

"I've been dumped on all day." His voice was dangerously low. "Every decision I've ever made has been for you, and to accommodate our lifestyle. I'm the one who works. I'm the one who fights. I'm the one who struggles and at the end of the day I'm the one who looks like an idiot living with people and standards and expectations that I can't possibly live up to." Jasper turned his back to her to gain composure. It was so easy for him to get overworked.

"Jazz." Her voice was still annoyed, but softer. "The only person's expectations you can't live up to are your own."

When he didn't turn around, she kept going.

"I know it hurts you that you can't quite," she paused thinking how delicately to put it, "keep up. But every time you fail, every time you slip, you get right back in there and fight. Even when you have no hope of winning, you'll rip and snarl and claw your way through if you have to drag twelve people and the cat down with you." She paused, smiling fondly at him. "It's one of your best qualities."

"Great," Jasper snorted with contempt. "Being pathetic is my best quality."

"Pathetic? Jasper, do you know the volumes that speaks to your character...?"

"Can the 'character' speech, Alice," he interrupted. "I've heard it before and it doesn't change a thing."

Alice's temper flared. She had planned on being nice and cooing him back to the Cullens, but now she was just pissed. He was never more impossible than when he was petulant and self-deprecating. God, he could be so miserable!

"Fine." She brushed a spiked bang from her eye and rolled up an imaginary sleeve. "You want to know what your problem is, Jasper? It's not your damn control."

Jasper turned his nose to the air, unfazed by her irritated tone.

"Your problem is you. That's right. Jasper is Jasper's own worst enemy. You think you have to be perfect at everything," she made a wide sweeping motion with her arms, "and the second you hit that one thing you can't do, then suddenly you're the most useless and disposable person who ever lived. All the dozens of things you're good at just fall by the wayside because the one thing," she held up her pointer for emphasis, "defines your entire being. It doesn't matter that you're perfect at everything else"—her voice was getting louder every sentence—"that you're three times the man of Carlisle, Edward, and Emmett combined, that you are a devoted and loving if not foolishly overprotective mate who right now I want to kill"—she watched as his head turned in recognition—"because it all comes down to your crap control."

Jasper felt his body turn slowly at her, once again, emphatic "crap." Her eyes were angry and wild and her body held firm in a defensive, argumentative stance. Looking at her, he almost wished he hadn't shot down her earlier support.

Alice's demeanor softened at Jasper's cow-eyed expression. It hadn't been her intent to lay into him, but sometimes it was all that worked with Jasper, like slapping a hysterical child. She rubbed her temples, easing an imaginary headache and sighed.

"Baby, I know nothing in these last few years has seemed fair, but this right here," her arms gestured to the wooded isolation around them, "is not the fix."

His head sank as he wrapped his arms around his upper body. Was he really as bad as she said? Jasper knew the answer without thinking. Of course he was. Where Alice was the sunshine, the light, Jasper was the shadow, the dark. He saw only the negative in everything—including himself. But he didn't do it to feel pitiful. If he'd been as blindingly positive as his mate, he would have perished long ago. Suspicion, fear, strength; they'd all been necessary to survive. And it had all come so naturally to him, the war, the violence, the death. But that wasn't his life now. His life was simpler, safer, but somehow, as "easy" as his new circumstances should have been, he struggled. He'd never struggled with anything, ever. Even human, life was easy and natural. Whatever challenge presented itself, Jasper had fought and mastered, accepting no less than first place.

But he wasn't first place, not with this. His control got the better of him, time and time again, and no matter how hard he tried, how adamant Alice's reassurances were, his thirst would always take first place. He had so many strengths, so many gifts, just as Alice had said. Why couldn't he see that? Why did his control hurt so?

Alice saw the shame and exhaustion in Jasper's face and wanted desperately to kiss them away, but there was no time to pamper or repair.

"Come on," Alice coaxed gently. "There's a newborn in that house that no one can handle but you."

Jasper raised his head at her words. "Me? There's six people in that house." His tone was incredulous. "What will I do that they can't?"

"You think all newborns are like Bella?" she challenged. "Bella's circumstances were very unique, and dare I say, ideal."

"Ideal?" Jasper balked. "She nearly died!"

Alice shrugged. "She's alive now. And besides, she knew what to expect, had time to prepare. This kid's not gonna know what she is, where she is, what to do..."

"And you think I'm the one to teach her." His eyebrow raised in doubt.

"Why not? You are the only one with the ability to emotionally control an entire room. How bad can a single newborn be?"

Sighing, Jasper rubbed the back of his neck, massaging a non-existent kink.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to check in. You can never be too careful or prepared with newborns."

"That's the spirit!" Alice clapped her hands, her arms swinging side to side. "Now, we just need to run as fast as we can back to the house before anyone loses a limb."

Jasper froze. "Come again?"

"Oh? I forgot to mention, yeah? Your newborn. She's up."

---

"Everything kind of happened at once."

They jumped in unison through the trees, as Alice brought Jasper up to speed.

"One minute we were yelling and arguing and talking over each other—boy, you should have heard the nasty name Rosalie called Edward—and then 'zing,'" Alice flared her hands in an exploding gesture, "this little blonde mass just shoots off the bed, launching herself to the opposite end of the room. Carlisle tried talking to her, but all he got were hisses and snarls. You should have seen her eyes"—her first fingers pointed directly at her own—"like lasers ready to melt our faces."

Jasper mentally kicked himself. It was all his fault. He should have stayed to subdue her instead of running off to mope. Still, they should have known better—particularly Carlisle—then to fight and carry on in front of a newborn. It was always best to maintain an atmosphere of peace. They were wild and worked up on their own, but chaos and hostility only fueled their unstable conditions.

"Carlisle tried inching towards her, you know to talk," Alice carried on, not drawing a breath, "but with every step, she just backed herself further and further into the corner. That's when I left to find you."

That was all he needed to hear. Jasper launched himself through the trees and out ahead of Alice. With his long legs and superior speed, he was out of the woods and at the Cullen property seconds before his mate. But he didn't bother to wait. Jasper burst through the front door, just as the little girl came racing down the main steps. She was making a break for the exit, but was too busy watching her back to notice Jasper blocking the path. Her body buckled under a paralyzing wave of calm and Jasper, focusing his gift, lept forward to catch her fall.

With a firm grip, he clutched her to his body, her back pressed against his chest and her head leaned back against the nape of his neck. Her movements and emotions were still, but he could sense the suppressed turmoil bubbling beneath the surface.

With one hand on her arm and the other around her waist, Jasper craned his neck to look into the girl's face. Her expression, like her body, was calm, but her eyes stared off into nothingness. They were filled with fear and uncertainty, even as her body betrayed her. It was the helplessness all over again.

Jasper was overcome with the urge to comfort and for once, the emotion was his own. He switched hands, looping his right arm around her waist to free up his left, and placed it against the side of her temple, brushing a few stray bangs from her face.

"Shh," he cooed. "It's alright. It's alright." He stroked the sides of her head lightly with his fingertips, his actions guided by a tenderness he did not recognize. It was odd, but not uncomfortably so, like picking up a skill gone rusty from years of disuse.

Flakes of dirt fell from his fingers as he smoothed her hair. All at once he realized she was covered in filth—dirt from the forest floor in her fingernails and smudges of mud against her cheeks and neck. He'd noticed her disheveledness before, but that was before, when he'd resolved to end her life. It hadn't mattered then.

With his "calm" in full force, he twisted the child in his arms so they faced each other, chest to chest. Hoisting her up in one arm, he walked to the living room and seated himself on the couch, brushing aside a stray pillow with his free hand. He plopped the child on his lap, her feet dangling over the sides of his legs.

Slowly, he released his hold, returning a small fragment of her free will. Instantly, her emotions swirled—fear, confusion, rage—but he retained enough control to keep her restrained. Her head, which had rolled back in her sedated state, jerked forward, while her eyes darted back and forth in anxious uncertainty. It was several seconds before she could orient herself to acknowledge Jasper. Between the unconsciousness and the change and the bouncing emotional shifts, she was completely overwhelmed and confused.

When she finally did raise her eyes to meet him, a funny thing happened; she did not recoil. Every vampire that looked upon Jasper for the first time felt fear at the sight of his scars. They grew defensive, suspicious, believed him nothing but a monstrous beast. Even Bella, knowing what he was, had startled at the sight of him.

But the tiny girl in his arm only blinked. Then she blinked again, harder. She stared at him with a feeling of...recognition? Ah, that's what it was. The girl had seen his scars once already, in the woods. She'd had enough coherence to recall his face and so the visage of him was nothing new.

Though he found it strange she would blink. Newborn vampires did not blink. There was no practical need for it. Blinking was something taught and practiced amongst "vegetarians" to better assimilate human life. In fact, Carlisle's may have been the only coven Jasper knew of that blinked at all. So why then would this little girl?

...Oh. Suddenly it dawned on him. He was blinking. He'd grown so accustomed to the act that he did so without thought. The muscles in his eyes moved, opening and closing the lids as they widened, peered, or shifted views. Like most children, she mimicked what she saw.

So enthralled he was with the little girl that it wasn't till he caught movement in his peripheral that he realized he wasn't alone. Alice, Carlisle and the others had filed in, though they kept a safe and considerable distance between them and the couch. Emotions were here, there, and everywhere and Jasper took the newborn's momentary complacency to sort them out.

Esme and Carlisle were relieved, no doubt that the girl vampire was under control. Rosalie was, as usual, a jumble of emotions, though she too felt twinges of relief, mixed with the trademark agitation he'd come to expect. Edward's feelings were full of concern, but only for Bella. His body stood against hers as a shield. Bella and Emmett's were the most...perplexing. The normally happiest vampires of the group seemed rather perturbed. Whatever had gone on in his absence had clearly upset Bella, and Emmett's hulking frame radiated shame, the look on his face of absolute defeat.

It occurred to Jasper that this was the family's first real encounter with a "fresh" newborn—at least, one they intended to train. Esme, Edward, Rosalie, Emmett and even Bella had all been turned in controlled environments. They'd had help, encouragement, either before or during the change. And while most of them had met with unfortunate ends, they'd had several advantages the child had not. For starters, the older and more mature the human, the easier they could process and organize facts. For another, Carlisle had been their creator. It was one thing being bitten by a caring, compassionate man, and another to have the flesh viciously ripped from your throat. The child had been changed and exposed to only chaotic circumstances and reacted as such. And no one had been just real sure how to neutralize the situation.

Guilt consumed him and he would need to make amends, but with the vampire child in his lap and the entire coven following his command, reparations would have to wait.

Both the little girl and the coven focused their full attention on him. The newborn had yet to speak, but kept her eyes glued to his face. Every few seconds she blinked, as if trying to synchronize her actions with his own. He adjusted her in his lap, struck at how easily she molded to his form.

Jasper wasn't one-hundred percent sure how to proceed. His traditional methods for handling newborns wouldn't work and he knew less than nothing about kids. What he did know was he was tired of calling her "the newborn" and "girl." If they had any hopes of breaking in their newest vampire, they'd need to open the lines of communication. And the best way to get information, was to give a little up.

Grabbing her at the underarms, Jasper turned the girl in his lap so she faced the Cullens. He made eye contact to command attention, then stretched his left arm, pointing directly at Carlisle. Obediently, she followed the path of his finger, furrowing her brow at the familiar face.

"Carlisle."

She looked from Carlisle to Jasper, then back to Carlisle. When she contributed nothing—not a "Hi," not a "My name is..."—he kept going.

Moving his finger slowly to the left, he pointed to the caramel-haired beauty at Carlisle's side.

"Esme."

One by one, Jasper introduced each member of the family, by name.

"Emmett. Rosalie. Edward. Bella."

Alice stood off to the side, separate from the main group. He switched arms, so as not to clothesline the child, and pointed to his impossibly tiny mate.

"Alice."

The girl turned her head to study the bouncing, black-haired woman near the door. She stayed there momentarily, before turning back to face her intimidating captor.

Jasper brought a fingernail to his chest and with a firm voice said, "Jasper."

The girl's brow furrowed at the sound of his name and from her emotions he took it that she found it funny. Jasper too thought his name oddest of the family. None of the Cullen names were popular in modern-day America, but Jasper's was particularly old. In all their years at school, as much as the coven had matriculated through the states, not once had Jasper encountered a student who shared his name. Every once in a while you'd meet an Edward or an Emmett, but never a "Jasper." Only "Carlisle" seemed older, which made sense, seeing as Carlisle was oldest in the house.

"I know," he nodded to the girl. "It sounds like a dying frog. Jasperrr. Jaaaaaasspperr," he rasped his name with contempt.

A grin threatened the corners of the girl's mouth. It was the first real sign of interaction she'd shown all day, minus the hisses and snarls. He wondered if it was enough to force her name. Any word at all, even if she didn't give a name, would be nice. At least then he'd have something to work with.

She jostled a bit in his lap, eyeballing the Cullens as she absently placed a hand against Jasper's chest. It was a tad nerve-wracking holding a newborn so close, but he didn't let up his leash on her feelings and introducing the Cullens as people seemed to have softened the edge. He felt in her emotions that she trusted him—if just a little—and so leaned her head in, lifting a tiny finger to point at her child-sized chest.

"Sarah."

There was a spark of surprise from everybody in the room. Even Jasper felt himself gasp at the reveal, but collected himself instantly, fearful she would withdraw again if he responded too boldly.

"Sarah." His voice was barely above a whisper as he repeated the name, his feline-shaped eyes locked onto her larger ones, feeling inside himself the birth of something warm. The name wasn't kooky or crazy like he'd come to expect from the younger generations. It was normal, the kind of name he might have given his own daughter, had he had one.

He repeated the name over and over in his head. As he wracked his brain for where to go next, a thought struck him.

"Sarah." He repeated the name out loud a second time. "Did you know," he paused to reposition her in his lap, "that 'Sarah' is the Hebrew word for 'princess?'"

Sarah's almost-grin morphed into an almost-smile. Though it didn't show in her face, her dulled, suspicious emotions took on a lighter air and he could feel within her a weight lifted. In turn, he felt the lightening of his own emotional load and offered a gentle smile to help carry that feeling throughout the house. On the whole, the color in the room was brighter, the atmosphere hopeful. Maybe he really could make things okay.

Jasper wanted to keep the momentum going, but was worried she'd run again if he cut her loose. Sarah needed to hunt; her franticness and fear had subdued the thirst, but he could tell by her swallows and the antsyness of her movements that the bloodlust was beginning to kick in. He needed something to solidify her trust, a way to keep her calm without the continued use of his gift.

Jasper looked to Alice, hoping somehow, just the sight of her would inspire an idea. Her body stood at the ready, awaiting his command. She radiated nothing but love, tossing him an encouraging smile. But his attentions were torn away from her at the sound of a childlike whine.

Sarah placed a hand at her neck and stared up at him, grimacing from the razor-like burn at the back of her throat. Time was running short and he needed to come up with a plan quickly. His eyes darted here and there as his mental wheels spun, when they fell on an empty cup in the middle of the dining room table.

Of course.

"Rosalie, I need you."

Rosalie's emotions jumped at his request. It wasn't often that Jasper asked her, or anyone, for help.

"I need you to go into the kitchen and grab a couple of those big tumblers from beneath the sink. You know, the ones with lids?"

Rosalie knew which ones he meant. Ever since the wolves started "hanging out" at the house, Esme had bought jumbo-sized cups for water, cokes, and other refreshments to keep on hand for when the pack stopped by. Renesmee liked having the family together—the whole family—and the wolves with their insatiable thirst and insatiable appetites needed a lot of food and drink. Neither Rosalie nor Jasper liked entertaining the wolves in that capacity—or any capacity—and had protested profusely at stocking the cupboards and fridge with "mongrel feed." Needless to say, they'd lost that argument, but at least in this instance, the cups could be put to a practical use.

In a flash Rosalie was at the sink and back, cups and lids in tow. She stood at the doorway—still not daring to venture too closely to the couch—with a cup in each hand. "Is two good?"

Jasper nodded. "Two's fine. Take them into the woods and fill them with the first thing you find. Doesn't need to be fancy; just something nearby and quick."

Jasper was hesitant to use the word "blood." There was no way of knowing how much Sarah comprehended about what they were, and the talk of "blood" might freak her out.

"I know it isn't customary, but you're one of the neatest feeders in the house. You'll have no problem transporting back and forth."

Rosalie's emotions soared and he smiled inwardly at his success. Rosalie was the easiest person in the house to manipulate. Just play to her vanity and she was putty in your hands. It was something Edward had never had the humility to learn and thus why his and Rosalie's relationship suffered. All she needed was a bit of patience and making-over. It was a weakness Jasper exploited as it suited his interests.

"Won't be long."

And in another flash, she was gone.

Jasper felt the wave of a familiar emotional shift as Alice's body froze. Edward could see the images flash in Alice's mind, but Jasper felt them seconds before they appeared. He watched as her eyes glazed over, the future unfolding in the mystery of her gift.

Only Edward knew for sure, but Jasper had a sneaking suspicion that her latest vision was of Rosalie, bleeding her catch.

In the midst of this unvoiced exchange, Sarah looked questioningly from Jasper to Alice. Unaware of their vampiric gifts, she had no idea what Alice "saw," nor that Jasper could "feel" her confused emotional state. All she knew was that her throat burned, and that she grew more agitated by the second.

It wouldn't take Rosalie long to find something suitable to hunt, but Sarah's agitation was making Jasper cross. Some activity would help distract them both. As he stared into her face, caked with soil and grime, one thing was certain. If he didn't wipe the crud off her face soon he'd combust.

"Alice—!"

"I'm already on it." Reading his thoughts, Alice danced into the kitchen with a ballerina's grace, before popping back half a second later, dampened washcloth in hand. She near-floated to the couch, arm and rag outstretched, but the closeness was unwelcomed by Sarah and she latched onto Jasper in fear, her defenses heightened as her arms encircled Jasper's neck.

The emotional atmosphere tensed and Emmett crouched at the ready. But Jasper waved him off, emitting waves of calm throughout the room. Gently, he stroked Sarah's back.

"Alice doesn't mean any harm," he soothed. "She's going to hand me something very quickly and then walk away." His instructions were direct but soft as he cooed reassurances to the girl.

Alice did as she was told, leery of the newborn's strong grip around Jasper's neck, but confident in her mate's confidence. She watched Sarah's fearful but monstrous eyes follow her back to her observation point near the door.

"Come on, now." With her newborn strength, she was exceptionally strong, but her significantly smaller size—and the fact that female vampires never possessed the same physical strength as male vampires, newborn or not—put her and Jasper at near equal strength. He may have even been a little stronger, considering Jasper was the second physically able-bodied vampire they'd ever encountered, next to Emmett.

Jasper worked his fingers under Sarah's tiny ones trying to uncurl them from around the nape of his neck. It wasn't easy, but after several seconds, he managed to pry himself from Sarah's grasp, settling her back down into his lap.

Folding the dampened cloth into a square, Jasper brushed a few stubborn bangs from her eyes and began wiping the grunge from her cheek. Sarah was still at first, but as he worked his way past her cheek, under the chin, and around to the opposite cheek, she started to squirm. Her hand batted at his as he moved a corner of the rag to her nose. He huffed as her head turned side to side, evading his efforts.

"What are you in such a fuss for? It's just water," he grumbled, scrunching his nose as she stretched to lean out of his reach.

Esme and Alice giggled from across the room. Jasper had zero experience with kids, and wasn't what any of the Cullens considered "child-friendly." His habits, like smoking, were in Edward and Bella's words a "bad influence," and most of his interests seemed to go crosswise with everything the Cullens enjoyed. Music, his taste in books—he never seemed to be on quite the same page, which had placed him and Renesmee on opposite sides of the fence. She'd been reared as a Cullen, with all that it entailed, and Jasper had never wholly approved of their methods. Hopefully, his lack of relationship with Renesmee would not hinder his ability to communicate with Sarah.

With some fussing and finagling and a few good passes with the rag, Sarah looked good as new. ...Well, not new, but as good as Jasper reckoned she would short of a bath and some fresh clothes. He tossed the rag on the coffee table—he hoped Esme wouldn't mind—and stared into the newly cleaned face of his little newborn. With the offending rag removed, Sarah had stopped fidgeting and turned her attention to his scars. She poked a pale finger along his jaw, tracing crescent-shaped patterns against his skin.

"Is there anything we can do?" Esme's emotions were humming. Carlisle's hand at her back was probably the only thing that kept her from rushing over and smothering Sarah with hugs and kisses.

"Let's just wait for Rosalie." Jasper kept his voice and body even, so as not to upset Sarah. Though for the moment, she seemed too engrossed in Jasper's scars to notice their exchange. The two scars above his left brow were of particular interest, and he held his head steady as she examined his face. Pressing against them with minimal force, her own brow furrowed.

"Do they hurt?" The question wasn't curious or concerned. It was soft and strangely insightful, as if to ask if his whole life hurt.

"Not anymore," he replied, his voice just as soft.

She lingered there a moment, then turned her body to observe the vampires across the room. Jasper watched as her eyes traveled by twos, first to Carlisle and Esme, then Edward and Bella. She stopped at Emmett, then turned her head in the direction Rosalie left to hunt. She looked to Alice last, by the door, then back at Jasper. As she circled back around, Jasper felt a feeling of sudden understanding pass through her core.

It was in that understanding that Jasper realized she had paired the Cullens into couples. Their behaviors and close proximity to one another must have tipped her off. Her ability to observe and reason was a good sign. The more mature she was, the higher the likelihood she could obey the law. And if she could obey the law, then the less likely he was to kill her. Killing newborns was never pleasant, but destroying one so young was something Jasper hoped to avoid.

Just then, a collective anxiety filled the room. Jasper couldn't be certain the cause, but it was likely out of anticipation for Rosalie's return. Hunting was always priority one with newborns. Things could get ugly when a vampire needed to feed.

But their anxiety was unfounded as Rosalie came sailing through seconds later, tumblers filled to the brim with blood. She walked them to the table, setting them down carefully next to the discarded rag. This time, Sarah did not recoil. Instead, she stared at the containers of blood with a look of intense fixation.

"Thank you, Rosalie."

Rosalie nodded and backed away. She'd done her part. Now it was up to Jasper.

With Sarah tucked firmly in his lap, Jasper leaned forward, retrieving the tumbler on the right. He unscrewed the lid with his free hand and frisbeed the cap onto the tabletop. Cautiously, he brought the container to Sarah's chin. She peered into the glass and instinctively sniffed, jerking back at the offensive smell.

Were it human blood, she would have leapt from the couch and ripped the tumblers from Rosalie's hands, probably taking Rosalie's hands with them. But animal blood held no appeal. There was no temptation in the smell or taste. Feeding from animals was unnatural. Sarah's instincts told her it was wrong.

But animal blood was still blood, repulsive as it was, and would help to soothe the burning sensation in her throat. The sooner she fed, the better she would feel and the quicker they could all move on with their lives.

Jasper brought the tumbler once again to her mouth, but she scrunched her nose—quite comically, in truth—twisting her head to the side and out of reach.

Jasper sighed. There was no force-feeding her; it'd be a mess. He knew that if she got a few good gulps down she'd drain the cups with zeal. But he suspected it wasn't just the smell that deterred her. Jasper was no one to her, just a stranger with weird scars, telling her drink something stinky and red. This was about trust. And just like earning her name, he'd have to earn her trust. If he wanted her to drink, or do anything, he'd have to give up something of himself first.

"It's wretched, I know," he affirmed, bringing the cup to his lips. "But sustaining." "Sustaining" was the least-insulting word he could think of.

Sarah's head curled back around as she eyeballed the container at Jasper's mouth. Awe-stricken, she watched the red, runny liquid disappear between his lips as his head tilted back to accommodate the flow. The amount he drank was minimal—Jasper wanted to save as much as possible for the girl—but was enough to prove that the strange substance was safe for consumption.

He rubbed his lips together to remove the excess blood. Once again, he held the tumbler at Sarah's chin, urging but not forcing her to drink. Both her face and emotions were wary, but after a momentary pause she wrapped her tiny hands around either side of the glass. Jasper kept his hold on the tumbler as well. With Sarah's hands overlapping his, he could ensure she didn't accidentally shatter the cups. It was manmade after all, and newborns had zero concept of their own strength.

Using his hands as a guide, they brought the cup to her lips, tilting in unison for her to sip the blood. There was a second's hesitation and then the taste, which she immediately spit up over Jasper's hand. She sputtered a bit, making a face. Clearly, the taste was unappealing.

Sarah gave him an apologetic, and slightly concerned, look. The Cullens too felt fear, though at what, Jasper was unsure. Did they really think he'd snap over a little spilled blood?

Calmly, Jasper fetched the discarded rag, dabbing the blood on his hand and Sarah's chin. The atmosphere of the room settled as he worked, and with a few wipes they were ready to begin again. He tucked the rag at his side, just in case, and brought the tumbler back to Sarah's lips.

"Again."

With Jasper's hand clasping the cup, Sarah lowered her head to drink. There was no arguing with his tone, and this time, she did not reject the blood. She sipped slowly at first, but as the feeding frenzy kicked in, she swallowed the substance in strong gulps, bleeding the tumbler dry with not a drop to spare.

"Very good!" Jasper praised.

But Sarah paid him little mind, her eyes locked onto the companion tumbler, oozing with blood. She licked her lips, her eyes dilating with thirst.

Jasper switched glasses quickly, with barely enough time to remove the lid before Sarah's hands flew to the cap. She downed the second glass even faster than the first, and he was pleased to see that she did not spill. With a little blood in her system, she would be easier to handle. Though a couple pints of glass-fed blood was a poor substitute for hunting.

"Still thirsty?" It was a stupid question—newborns were always thirsty—but asking questions kept them focused and in control.

Sarah nodded vigorously and he knew now that she wouldn't run. Jasper could provide her with the thing she so desperately craved. It was what for centuries had kept changelings bound to their creators—the promise of blood.

He threw his goodies to the table and picked Sarah up off his lap and onto the floor. She stood, like a statue, as he collected himself, straightening his turtleneck and checking his pants and the couch for stray blood. When it all passed inspection, he turned to face his newborn, hands behind his back and body erect. He opened his mouth to instruct, as was customary with newborns, but as he looked at her wide eyes and tiny frame, it was hard to see her as anything but a child. A vicious killer she was, though it was clear to him now why vampire children were painted as "endearing." It was different with Renesmee. She wasn't a "real" vampire and though Jasper cared for her, she was foreign. She wasn't his kind, not really. To Jasper, this little girl was more of a "vampire child" than Renesmee would ever be. It created an unusually strong ferocity at his core, something violent and protective. He didn't like it.

Sarah hadn't moved in the last several seconds. Like all vampires she was deathly still, and he knew that "Vegetarian 101" would be in order, just as soon as she fed. The look on her face was thirsty and expectant. He kept waiting for her to tug his sleeve and say "Feed me!", but she never did.

"Come on," he finally had the presence of mind to say. "It's hard to think on an empty stomach."

Sarah's emotions bounced at his words. Jasper too felt excited. It seemed right somehow being in charge of such a raw creature.

Jasper started in the direction of the door, but stopped when he noticed he and Sarah moving in perfect rhythm. When he took a step forward, so did she. He walked a little further and she was right at his heels. There was barely an inch between them as she kept her gaze locked on Jasper's stride.

It was a funny thing for a newborn to do, but he reminded himself that children saw things differently. Children learned through imitation—he was almost certain he'd read that in a book—so it made sense that, like blinking, she would mimic his steps.

Something else came to mind as he looked to his little newborn.

"Rosalie?" He switched attention to his "twin." "What exactly was that, in the tumblers?"

"Oh." Rosalie's emotions were shy. "Raccoons."

No wonder it'd tasted awful.

Jasper nodded, resuming his trek to the door. He motioned for Sarah to follow.

"Jasper, just a minute!" Carlisle's silken voice cried out. "Shouldn't one of us go with you?"

The anger he'd suppressed in light of wrangling Sarah resurfaced. Carlisle's was a gesture of concern, but Jasper felt nothing but venom at his words. He couldn't help but wonder if the worry Carlisle felt was for the newborn's control, or his own. The thought made Jasper livid, and with all the day's hurts replaying in his mind, he couldn't help but respond with ire.

"I'm sorry, Carlisle. That kind of decision requires more," he paused to glare icily at Edward, "consideration than I have time for. But feel free to discuss it amongst yourselves." He sneered, his tone nasty and low. "You're good at that."

Carlisle's face looked as sunken as he felt, and Edward's eyes shifted to the wall. Sarah's emotions were confused—she was unaware of the earlier offense—and irrationally annoyed, no doubt the influence of his own irritated state. The anger Jasper felt reflected in the predatory redness of her eyes as she glared menacingly at the Cullens.

"Come, Sarah."

And with that, they left.

---

The sky was black as pitch. Hunting in the evenings was difficult, only because animals, like most living creatures, slept at night. You had your nocturnal variety, of course, but hunting was much more active and exciting during the day.

He hadn't wanted to stray too far from the house. Montana was more mountain than wood, and he didn't fancy wandering outside the cover of trees. They were all wary of hikers and cliffhangers and the last thing he wanted or needed was an "incident" on her first day. Vampires had to be mindful of humans and their moronic hobbies.

But the first hunt was important. It established the basics of the feed. There was no real sense in explaining; Sarah's instincts would do that for her and actions spoke louder than words. With the first of the day's lessons underway, Jasper jumped into the woods and onto a tree, perching himself atop a tall branch. He motioned her "up" with his hands.

Sarah's expression was blank at first, like she either didn't know or couldn't believe what he wanted. But after a few seconds of pause, she lined herself up with the tree and used the newfound strength in her legs to push off the ground and onto the branch...two trees past Jasper.

Depth perception was another common newborn "struggle." Not because they couldn't judge distance, but because they always used more strength than what was necessary. No further up then Jasper was, Sarah would have needed only minimal force to reach him. But vampiric strength took practice and getting used to. It was natural and expected in a vampire's first few weeks to unintentionally demolish everything in its path.

Jasper jumped to a branch three trees over, motioning for her to try again. She nodded, her face determined, but her second jump was too weak and she ended up landing a tree short.

Sarah dropped her hands to her sides and huffed, clearly annoyed. But Jasper shook his head, sending her a wave of reassurance.

"You're doing fine. Try not to think so much. Just feel."

Jasper kept at the exercise, jumping from one tree to the next. By her fifth try—after crashing through a branch and falling to the forest floor—she managed to catch the right one, landing beside Jasper with a smile.

"I did it!"

Jasper laughed at the look of amazement on her face. She was proud of herself and he was proud for her. But her jumps were clumsy and her movements lacked...finesse. They'd develop in time, of course. The important thing for the moment was the hunt.

He jumped again, quickly—he heard a surprised "woah" escape her lips—landing on a branch a few trees over. Sarah followed, once again missing her mark, but this time Jasper was less interested in her leaps and more on finding something suitable to eat. He'd caught the scent of something in the distance, something that would make for a good "starter kill." It was an elk, all by his lonesome. The Cullens swore carnivores tasted most like human, but Jasper didn't think so. Animal was animal. They all tasted like spit.

Sarah's jumping was off, so he moved to the ground floor to make things easier. She followed, landing on the solid earth a bit more dignified than her leaps in the air. They crouched, side by side, their knuckles ground deep in the soil.

"Keep your eyes facing forward."

And with that one simple instruction, he took off, launching himself through the bush with unparalleled grace. He could hear Sarah running behind him, her footsteps light as she sprinted through the foliage with ease. Running was something that required very little, if any, effort. It wasn't in the vampire's nature to be slow. With her enhanced sight and dexterity, traversing the forest topography was like breathing air.

She felt good running—it was the first genuine happiness he'd sensed since they'd met—and her emotions sunk a little when Jasper stopped. But they were closing in on their targeted prey. Now was time for lesson number two.

Jasper brought a finger to his lips, then pointed to the elk chewing the foliage off a low-hanging branch. Sarah looked to the elk, then back at Jasper, then back at the elk. She knew she needed to do something, she just wasn't sure what. Had the elk been human, there would have been no need to instruct. Sarah's instincts would have said pounce, devour. Sarah didn't know to hunt the animal; she wasn't supposed to. She had to be shown.

Jasper motioned for her to stay put, crouching impossibly low to the ground and elongating his body like a cat. He stalked through the underbrush, his eyes and expression feral as he honed in on his oblivious catch. Like the tiger he crawled, first his left side then his right, his nose to the soil as he balanced his weight on the tips of his fingers and toes. His senses were on high alert as he inched closer and closer to his kill, his legs positioning themselves to pounce. The smell of blood grew stronger with each passing second. His pupils dilated and his mouth curled into a snarl, exposing his razor sharp teeth...

And then, in an instant, the elk was down. Jasper had shot from the ground like lightning, tackling the beast with a mere fraction of his strength. But he hadn't caught the beast to feed; he'd caught to demonstrate. The animal hung limply in his left hand, Jasper's long fingers clutching the nape of his neck. He'd broken it on impact to ensure the elk would remain still. A writhing, grunting animal was a distraction, and Jasper wanted quiet.

Sarah peeked out from behind a rock, her emotions a swirl of terror, fascination and awe. Her attention fixed on Jasper's face, as if waiting for the ferocious monster from before to reappear. But Jasper's expression was relaxed and all trace of his "hunting face" was gone. He beckoned her over with his free pointer, holding the lifeless animal at arm's length.

Once again, he wordlessly demonstrated his task. Grabbing the animal at the shoulder with one hand, he used the other to tilt its head for easier access to the neck. He sunk his teeth near the pulse point, but did not drink. With the puncture wound in place, he lowered himself and the animal to the ground. The elk was bigger than Sarah and bulky. It'd be easier for her to feed sitting down.

"See the opening?"

Sarah peered at the crescent-shaped gash at the elk's jugular.

"Drink."

The command was both insane and completely sensible. Sarah, trusting his words and ravenous with thirst, placed her mouth over the mark made by Jasper's teeth. The opening was larger than what she needed, but it served its purpose all the same.

Jasper watched as she drained the animal in a little over two minutes. The taste was horrid, he knew, which made it a tad harder to consume. But he could see the relief in the girl's eyes. There was something indescribably satisfying about the rush of warm liquid at the back of your throat. She wouldn't need near the blood a vampire the size of Emmett might, but he was confident she could down three, four elk easy, especially in the first few weeks.

"Ready for the next one?"

Sarah licked her lips and nodded, bouncing on the balls of her feet at the promise of more blood.

"Good. You can catch one for yourself this time."

Sarah's already large eyes grew to the size of saucers. The prospect of hunting seemed to astound her, as if she didn't think it possible to tackle something the size of an elk.

"Not to worry. Next to us, these animals are embarrassingly low on the food chain." Jasper paused. "Truth be told, everything is inferior where our kind is concerned. Animals laughably so."

He turned his head to the right and sniffed. There were at least three more elk due east. Excellent practice for a first-timer.

"Smell that?"

Sarah tilted her head back, smelling the air. At the first whiff of elk, she scrunched her nose in disgust.

"It's elk, like the one you just drained. Smell is the easiest and most reliable way to hunt. You can track footprints and migratory patterns if you want. But the quickest way to dinner is always through your nose."

Jasper paused then, thinking how "smell" was also the quickest way to human death.

"Conversely, holding your breath is a good way to avoid smelling something you shouldn't." He made a mental note to revisit that point in a later lesson.

"Now come on. It's your turn." He scooted her to the forefront. "Use your nose to track the scent."

Sarah gave him a disconcerted look.

"It's okay," he encouraged. "I'm right behind you."

Sarah's eyes were doubtful, but her posture straightened at his gentle words. She looked to him once to make sure he was close, then took off in the direction of the elk. Her emotions swirled with uncertainty as they ran, though the closer she got to her prey, the more confident her atmosphere became. The smell of blood, even animal blood, fueled her resolve. She was a thirsty newborn on the prowl. All traces of the "little girl" were gone in the frenzy of the feed.

As they approached the second elk, she crouched low, once again imitating her "master's" moves. Jasper stayed at her side, but said nothing. It was important she do this for herself.

Sarah tried stalking the way she'd seen, but like all newborns, lacked the patience and finesse of a more experienced hunter. She did well enough to get the job done—the pitiful elk hadn't stood a chance—but it was pretty uninspired for a kill. She'd jumped too quickly, her pounce was sloppy, and her tackle had cracked the ground and rattled the trees from the force of impact. She wasn't the messiest feeder he'd ever seen, but she wasn't the cleanest either. A fresh trail of blood trickled its way down her chin. She wiped it away with the forefingers of her hand, then rubbed the excess against the front of her pants. Like a typical child, she had no regard for the condition of her clothes. Not that it would have mattered much. Both her jeans and the little jacket she wore were ripped and tethered from the day's ordeals.

"See? I told you it'd be fine."

Sarah peered down at the animal, lifeless against the cold ground. Her emotions perked up at the realization of what she'd done.

"You did very well," he praised.

Her emotions jumped again, and Jasper could tell that his opinion of her skills was important to her.

"Come on. Let's see if we can find a few more before the wildlife officially call it a night. Then we'll head back."

Together, Jasper and Sarah found two more elk wandering the woods. Sarah drained them with ease, but by the fourth elk he could tell she'd had enough. She'd made a face after every kill, and with the last one emptied he wasn't sure she would keep it down.

"It tastes wretched, I know."

"Does the taste ever improve?"

With every kill, Sarah had become more and more vocal. She seemed less traumatized than when he'd first brought her home. It was a good sign.

"Hard to say. Carlisle thinks the carnivores taste better, but I personally can't tell the difference."

At that, silence fell between them. With the feeding done and the hunt winding down, Jasper wasn't entirely sure how to proceed. They'd made a lot of progress the last forty minutes or so, but he'd yet to really explain what had happened or what she was. Telling someone they were a blood-sucking monster was never easy, but he'd never had to explain it to a child. He was worried she might regress or break down, but there was no moving forward until the issue was breached.

"Sarah, come here." Jasper perched himself on a large rock and patted the empty space beside him, motioning for her to sit down. "There's something we need to discuss."

Curiosity swirled within her as Sarah took her seat. She brought her legs to her chest, her attention fixed on Jasper as her tiny arms wrapped themselves around her knees. Her face and eyes were serious as she waited for Jasper to speak.

"Sarah." Jasper paused a moment, wrestling with where to begin. "How old are you?"

The seriousness in her face melted into a sort of confused blankness. Human memories faded quick, probably more so for children than adults. They had fewer memories to latch onto and thus, were easier to lose. Jasper was fortunate she'd been lucid enough to remember her own name.

It took several seconds of sorting, but eventually Sarah's face came to life. She held up ten fingers, then another finger. Eleven. Sarah was eleven.

Jasper nodded, annoyed by the nagging feeling of relief. "Good. Now, I need you to think back. Back before I found you."

You could almost see the wheels turning in Sarah's eyes. "You mean the woods."

Well, she had some recollection at least. "Yes, the woods. Before me. Before the...pain." The transformation was one thing you didn't forget. "What happened to you, Sarah."

For a while, Sarah said nothing. She simply stared at his eyes, his face. She stared at him as if he triggered some long lost memory, as if the last few days were hidden somewhere between the etches of his scars. The silence was so long, Jasper was almost tempted to ask again. But before he could, Sarah spoke up.

"You."

The reply took Jasper off guard. "Me?"

"You happened. ...Well, not you, you, but something like you. Strange creatures. They kind of looked like you, but they kinda didn't. Their eyes were different, and their skin wasn't scarred..."

Sarah reached up once again to finger the imperfections along his jaw. Jasper stilled, giving Sarah freedom to tell her story at her own pace. The less he goaded, the more likely she was to divulge.

"They moved fast," she continued, encircling her knees once again with her arm, "almost too fast for me to see. But I could hear their growls. They growled at each other, and at nothing."

Sarah stopped then, her features hard as her mind worked double time to collect her thoughts. They seemed disorganized, as though she could only recall flashes of her demise.

"I was walking along the road, right at the edge of the woods. I felt something cold grab me and then I was flying...or falling."

Probably both, knowing newborns.

"I hit the ground," Sarah's eyes winced at the memory, "and then something sharp against my neck, like a knife." She met his gaze then, struck with realization. "It was his teeth. He bit me..." Instantly, her fingers flew to the pulse point below her ear.

"You said 'strange creatures.' There was more than one?" Jasper didn't like interrupting, but he needed to know what had become of the other vampires.

Sarah's eyes shut as her head shook. "One of the others pulled him away. There was fighting and growling and the smell of smoke..."

It was as he had suspected. The smell of blood had turned the newborns against each other. And then the creator tracking them had torn their bodies and burnt their remains. Sarah had heard the fighting and smelled the smoke, and the surviving vampire, thinking her drained, had left her to die. It was a pitiable end for a pitiable child.

As if sensing his thoughts, Sarah's face contorted into a look of upset. Her emotions told her to cry, but as she was, she couldn't. Crying was impossible for vampires. There was no relief for the damned.

"I'm like them now." Sarah's voice cracked as she spoke. "I'm one of those things." Her body fought to force the tears, but try as she might, none came.

An unbearable sympathy consumed him. "I'm sorry, Sarah."

"It's not right, is it?" His words were lost to her as she carried on. "These animals. I'm supposed to kill something else?"

Silence was her lone reply.

"Why?" she demanded. "Why was I turned into...this?" Her tone hardened and her arms fell to her sides as her body took a more defensive stance on the rock. "Why did they make me this way?"

"I don't think it was their intention to." Jasper's heart sank at his own words.

Sarah's eyes bore back at him, full of fury and bitter understanding. "I was an...accident?"

Jasper ran a hand through his hair, unsure of what to say.

"And the guy responsible...?"

"Dead."

"And me?" Once again, Sarah's voice broke.

"You are what you are," Jasper explained, matter-of-factly. "You're you. You with enhancements."

"Enhancements?" she screeched.

Her emotions were boiling, but it couldn't be helped.

"Do you understand what you are, Sarah?"

"I'm not stupid!" she screeched even louder, her words a whirlwind of rage.

"I'm sorry, Sarah."

"Stop saying my name!"

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing!"

"Please, listen-"

"WHY CAN'T I CRY?"

Sarah's roar echoed in the trees. The surrounding wildlife rustled in the wood, disturbed, and then...nothing. The forest fell deaf as Sarah, overcome with mental and emotional fatigue, slumped into a heap of helpless misery. Her head collapsed into her hands, her body limp against the solid rock. For nearly twenty minutes she neither spoke nor moved, the day's events heavy on her childlike mind.

Jasper too remained still. There was nothing to be done for her; it was a harsh reality that he couldn't change. All he could do was let her grieve. She deserved her breakdown, if nothing else.

Twenty minutes later, it was Sarah who broke the silence.

"Why can't I cry?" The question was softer, calmer than before, though she did not raise her head to meet him.

"Your body no longer produces tears."

"And what does it 'produce?'" The word "produce" was heavy, like it took everything in her tiny body to spit it out.

"Venom." Even the sound of the word was wretched.

"There's no going back, is there?"

"No." There was no going back in any sense, but Jasper didn't have the heart to say so.

"How long have you been...this way?"

"A long time," he answered dryly. "Nearly two-hundred years."

Sarah's head shot up then, her eyes wide as she stared into his eternally youthful face.

"How old are you—er, were you?" she asked curiously.

Jasper smiled, his eyes far away. "I was nearly twenty when I was changed."

"Huh." Sarah's brow furrowed as she eyeballed his lean, muscular frame and wizened face. "You look older."

"I was older. I was at nineteen what most men are today at thirty. The times...aged you." His tone was slightly bitter.

"Are you the oldest? Like ever?" she probed, her earlier distress replaced with a curiosity-stricken awe.

A peel of laughter escaped his chest. "Heavens no! I'm not even the oldest of my coven!"

"Woah." A look of marvel filled Sarah's face. "Get out. Like how old?"

"Some of us have lived thousands of years. They're my lifetime ten times over."

Sarah took a few moments to process all her newfound information. "So who's older than you in your," she paused, searching for the right terminology, "'coven,' is it?"

"Coven," Jasper nodded. "And only Carlisle is older. Esme's oldest in terms of her physicality, but he's oldest in terms of the number of years."

"And what do we do exactly? I mean, besides run around sucking the life out of animals."

"Well," Jasper sighed, placing either hand on his knees, "that's a little harder. Everyone has their own way. Eternity is a long time, so most of us take up hobbies. Drawing, chess, I like to read..."

The look on Sarah's face was not impressed.

"So, what am I supposed to do?"

"I think," Jasper played it as though she had a choice, "we should head back to the house. We'll figure things out there."

Sarah's emotions said yes, but she took her time in voicing her consent. She didn't want to appear too eager, and Jasper knew she'd be easier to control if it was done with her "permission."

"Okay," Sarah finally agreed. "Let's head back."

---

When they'd finally made it home, most of the Cullens had already dispersed.

Edward and Bella had long since retired. A newborn was of no consequence to them, and in their perpetually sex-crazed state, they'd no doubt retreated to their private cottage for a little "R and R."

Emmett and Rosalie had fled as well. Emmett had been reluctant to leave, considering himself the "enforcer" of the family. It was necessary, in his mind, to stay and protect the others, especially in the presence of a newborn. But Alice had assured and reassured him that "enforcing" wasn't necessary and that he'd only "get in the way." With a little coaxing from Rosalie, she'd ushered him out the door, leaving only herself, Carlisle and Esme to "welcome" Jasper and Sarah's return.

Their absence was for the best anyway. Handling Sarah had already proven far too delicate for the likes of Emmett and Edward, and he was still annoyed with everyone in the house, save Alice.

They'd run the rest of the way back, but now that they were indoors, Jasper felt it pertinent to establish some rules.

"No running in the house."

Sarah looked at him a moment, her expression somewhere between surprise and disbelief, but she could see in his eyes that what he said, went.

"Okay," she agreed.

"Good." Jasper could sense Esme and Carlisle hovering near the door, but Alice was upstairs, running a bath. Clearly, she'd already seen his next decision.

"Now it's time to wash up. Follow me."

They climbed the stairs to the second floor and headed straight for Alice's bedroom. Like Rosalie, Alice had a "private" bath—as "private" as anything was in a house full of vampires—one she used for primping, painting toenails, and trying on clothes. They didn't share rooms, he and Alice, so Jasper had only been inside once or twice. A bathroom was mostly irrelevant to a vampire, save for baths, and Jasper didn't figure any amount of "primping" would improve his looks. Alice called him "sexy" all the time, but to Jasper, beauty was merely a characteristic of what they were. All vampires were beautiful; allure was the trump card of their species.

Inside Alice's room, Sarah's eyes scanned door frame to door frame, mesmerized by the magnificent color. The second they'd moved in, Alice had painted the walls a sunny yellow, and decorated them with drawings, fashion sketches, pictures of the sea, stickers of birds, all the odds and ends that flashed across her mind's eye. On the outer wall were two enormous windows facing the woods. Around the panes were a border of fresh flowers and leaves, strung together with a green cord. Alice changed out the leaves and flowers as they died, but the cords she coordinated with the changing seasons—green for spring and summer, orange for fall, and in winter she cut snowflakes from construction paper and hung them against the glass. The room, like Alice, was bright and hopeful and full of wonder.

...It was also littered with clothes, fabrics, craft supplies, and all other miscellaneous items of interest, reminding Jasper of why it was he avoided Alice's room—the mess.

Alice emerged from the bathroom then, taking notice of Jasper's disapproving cringe. She smirked at his anal-retentive inspection, knowing her clutteredness was one of his unvoiced pet peeves. No one in the family was as tidy as Jasper. No one could possibly live up to his standard of "clean."

She took a small step towards her mate, intending to give him a quick kiss, but as soon as she did, Sarah's face hardened and she shrunk herself behind Jasper's leg. Instinctively, his hand flew to Sarah's head, stroking her hair with a reassuring smile. He turned to face Alice, tossing her a look of apology for the suspicious little newborn clutching his shirt. But she waved it away with a flick of her wrist, muttering an "I'll be back" as she shot past them and out the door.

Carlisle and Esme must have sensed her distrust as well, as they'd too kept their distance when he and Sarah'd returned. "Adapting" to one another was the hardest part of any coven, especially one the size of the Cullens. It was something they'd eventually have to work on, but for the moment, it was of no immediate import.

"This way." He motioned with his hand, stepping into the bathroom with Sarah still attached to the ends of his shirt.

"Everything you need is here—a rag, some soap. Alice already drew the bath. And there's no need to worry about temp." He dipped his hand in the water, gliding his fingers beneath its smooth surface. "We use equal parts hot and cold, but we can't really feel temperature. The sensation of the water is nice though. Very soothing. Most of us like water."

Testing his words, Sarah stuck her pointer finger in the tub. Sure enough, she couldn't tell the temp, but just as he'd said, the feel of the water was great.

"The shampoo's in the shower caddy. Be sure to scrub; you've got a lot of gunk in there." He ran his forefingers through her bangs, loosening a small twig. "Our hair doesn't grow back once it's cut or lost, but don't worry. You can't comb it out. Like everything else on our bodies, it's very tightly...attached."

"So we have to bathe?" she asked as if compiling a list of facts.

"Only when necessary. Our bodies don't produce oils, gasses, or wastes, but they do soil over time. Mostly from exposure to the elements. Rain, dirt, dust, that sort of thing."

"So I wash like I normally would?" She sounded surprised that it was that simple.

"You undress, you bathe, you put your clothes back on; it's pretty basic. No need to brush your teeth or use the bathroom. Though I'd get the sensitives good if I were you. Your body's new, but a thorough once-over's not a bad idea. The change heals all physical imperfections, but there may be surface residue from your...former existence."

Jasper felt a twinge of embarrassment—Sarah's, of course. Just as it was natural for a vampire to drink blood, it was natural for humans to excrete fluids and wastes. Jasper knew that, at one time, his body had done the same. They were gross, humans, but there was no shame in what they were. After all, their unique body compositions had sustained his kind for centuries. They could no more help belching, passing gas, or discharging waste than he could help sparkling in the sun.

"I'll leave you to it, then."

"Wait!" Sarah cried out to him as he turned to leave. "What are you gonna do?"

The question took Jasper off guard. He was only going to the study, but Sarah seemed reluctant to let him leave. Something about this big, strange house frightened her and she didn't want to be left alone. And it seemed Jasper was her only sense of security. It'd been years since Jasper had been so depended upon. It was a strange feeling.

"I'm going to wait for you to finish, right here on the other side of this door. See there?" He pointed to Alice's bed. "If you need anything, that's where I'll be."

Sarah eyeballed the bed, just a few feet from the bathroom door.

"Okay," she finally said.

"I'll be right here," he reiterated with emphasis. "There's no hurry. Take all the time you need."

Once he was certain she was okay, Jasper exited the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him. As he'd promised, he parked himself on Alice's bed, his posture erect and his hands folded as he stared holes into the yellow wall. For some reason, he felt nervous. And it wasn't because of Sarah or anyone else in the house. It was something he felt, the kind of anxiety high schoolers got before a big test. Sarah felt like a test. Hell, his whole life felt like a test. And for the better part of his nearly two-hundred years, he'd failed. But he didn't want to fail anymore. He didn't want to fail Sarah.

Twenty minutes had passed when, to Jasper's surprise, Alice emerged through the bedroom door. She danced over to the bed, hopped into Jasper's lap and kissed him, her arm wrapped around his neck as she pressed her impossibly small body to his chest. When she brought her other arm to wrap around him, Jasper caught glimpse of a shopping bag out of his peripheral vision. The logo on the bag read "Target." She had been to Target.

"I've been wanting to do that forever," she breathed against his lips, planting smaller kisses at the corners of his mouth.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he smiled back at her. "It's been a busy day."

"So I gathered."

"What's in the bag?"

"Well." Alice jumped off his lap and dangled the shopping bag from the ends of her forefinger. "While you were dawdling in the bathtub, I went out and bought Sarah a new pair of pjs."

With a kind of childish glee, Alice dove into the sack and pulled out gray bottoms and a white top with red sleeves, making a "voila" motion with her hands.

"See?" She shook them back and forth in his face. "I picked the pink and purple one first, but I could see that wouldn't go over well." Alice scrunched her nose. "She's in that grungy, tomboy phase."

Alarmed, Jasper made a "shushing" gesture with his hand, motioning for Alice to remain quiet. He hadn't yet explained their "sixth senses" to Sarah, worried it might frighten the girl until she was better settled in. But Alice just shrugged, as unconcerned with Sarah's reaction as she was...pretty much everything else.

Sarah made no inquiries from behind the door, even though Jasper knew she, like the rest of them, could easily hear through walls. He sensed a curiosity emanating from her and wondered if the topic of his and Alice's conversation would come up later. Jasper would explain eventually, of course. He just didn't want or need the hassle of an unnecessary panic.

"You're such a worrywart," Alice whined, rolling her eyes.

Jasper mentally sighed, reminding himself that dealing with Alice was very often like dealing with a child. She couldn't help it, of course. Her perspective of the world made it difficult to assess things "normally," or with proper regard for consequence. Her assuredness in the things she "saw" made her antics and mindsets seem juvenile and ill-conceived and every now and again they were. But like a child, the simplicity of her decisions often reaped favorable results. Adults had the nasty tendency to second-guess and overthink. Both were needed, and between the two of them, they could solve almost anything. It was a good balance.

"Here." Alice shoved the newly bought pjs into Jasper's lap. "Put these by the door. She'll be done soon and I have new shoes to try on."

Jasper sighed, this time out loud for Alice to hear, though it held no malice. "I should have known you'd buy something for yourself."

Alice floated to the door and giggled, clutching the doorframe like a dramatic 1920's starlet. With her back to the wall and leg bent, she eyed Jasper sensuously, her voice taking on a suggestive tone. "I bought something for you too." And with that, she wiggled her brow and spun into the hallway, humming a nameless tune as she left.

Jasper smirked, betting money that his "purchase" was a see-through clump of red dental floss with matching high heels. Though he sometimes wondered why she bothered. Those kind of garments, if they could be called that, never lasted more than seconds anyway.

A splash of movement from the bathroom broke Jasper from his thoughts. Sarah had stepped out of the tub and onto the carpet floor. As Alice had predicted, Sarah would momentarily be needing her new clothes.

"Here you are," Jasper offered, dropping her pjs by the threshold of the door. "They're right here, whenever you're ready."

Two seconds later, the door cracked just enough for Sarah's small hand to snake through the opening. A millisecond after that, both her hand and pjs were gone, the door slamming with a firm thud behind her. And just nine seconds after that, the doorknob turned and a freshly cleaned, newly dressed Sarah emerged, hair damp and feet bare, her toes scrunching experimentally on the carpet.

Jasper took in the sight of her and smiled. She stared at him expectantly, her emotions calm, but uncertain. Jasper stared back, pondering the exchange between them. He'd kept it pretty textbook to that point, instructing basics as you would with any newborn. But Sarah wasn't a soldier of war, she was a little girl. And rushing into "Vegetarian 101" seemed unwise. With all the newness of the day, it was probably best if the child was given time to emotionally unwind. Surely there was some way to keep her settled and still, someway to reassure her she was safe.

A faint tapping to his left broke Jasper's thoughts. It was a tree limb clanking against the bedroom window, shuffling in the breeze. To Jasper's surprise, the outside was dark. Night had fallen quicker than he'd realized, and in that eerie blackness, the simplest and most brilliant of ideas struck him.

"Sarah." His eyes faced the window but his words were directed at her. "If you were home and this was like any other day, what would you be doing right now?"

Sarah followed Jasper's gaze to the window, seeing nothing but a stretch of darkness and trees.

"I don't know," she answered simply. "Looks like it's pretty late though. I'd probably be asleep."

Jasper nodded. "Well, I don't see any reason for that to change now. How about we call it a day?"

"You mean it's time for bed," Sarah sighed, a hint of petulance in her breath.

"Even our kind needs routine." He ushered her to Alice's bed.

Reluctantly, Sarah trudged forward, stopping at Alice's bedside to stroke the silky fabric of the sheets. She poked the mattress and pillowcase—what was it with this kid and poking?—before ducking to her knees and lifting the dust ruffle from off the floor. In the next second, her head disappeared beneath the skirt as her right arm swung to and fro beneath the bed.

Jasper watched, frozen with bewilderment. It was the most curious behavior Jasper had ever seen. He'd dealt with odd behavior over the years, training newborns. After all, even vampires had quirks and vices. But Sarah was acting as though she'd never seen a bed. Surely the child remembered sleeping? Surely she hadn't lived in a box?

Some seconds later, Sarah emerged. She straightened, whirling her body to face Jasper's and tilting her head to accommodate his superior height. The look on her face was vexed, her nose scrunched from the strain of thinking.

"Does the coffin come out of the floorboards or somethin'?"

Jasper blinked at first, trying to understand just what it was she'd asked. Once it dawned on him what she wanted, a small grin formed, then a giggle, and eventually a full-blown laugh. It wasn't the first time the subject of "coffins" had come up, but the sternness in her face and the seriousness of the question struck Jasper as insanely funny.

Sarah was not as amused, glaring Jasper down with a side-pursing of her lips. Not wishing to anger or offend, Jasper raised his left hand in pardon while his right hand, palm facing out, covered his mouth.

Sarah's eyes narrowed as her foot tapped crankily on the bedroom floor. "I take it we don't sleep in coffins."

Forcing a more neutral expression, Jasper placed his right hand against his chest and, not trusting his voice, shook his head.

"Sooooooo, we sleep in beds? Like regular people?"

"Actually." Jasper, now fully composed, brought both hands to rest behind his back. "We don't sleep at all."

Surprise shot off her body like a bullet. "...Say what?"

"Our bodies do not physically tire or wear down, so there is no need for it. Sleep is used to rest the body, alleviate stress, and regenerate cells, and is necessary for optimal emotional and social functioning..."

Jasper trailed off at Sarah's bored expression. It was the same look Emmett gave him whenever he accused Jasper of sounding like "his college history professor."

"Sleep isn't something we have to worry about," he said simply.

"Well if we don't have to worry about it, why do you have beds?"

Jasper leaned forward, pulling the sheet and comforter back. "Our bodies never tire, but our minds and emotions do. And sometimes," he paused to fluff a pillow on the right-hand side, "it helps to give our brains a break."

Not wanting to force or crowd, Jasper stepped back and away to give Sarah room. She eyeballed him first, then the bed, lifting the comforter to peek beneath the sheets, then climbed in knees first, scooching herself to the almost-center of the bed. She wiggled a bit to adjust herself and untangle her pajama bottoms from the bedding. Then she pulled the sheets to her chest, her hands resting on the outside of the comforter.

Like Alice, she looked very small in the queen-sized bed, her features that of a doll. The pillows, the blankets, everything seemed to dwarf her as her tiny frame snuggled in the softness of the sheets. But unlike Alice, she was just a child, and as innocent as Alice had always seemed, Sarah was that and more. Once again, Jasper felt the inkling of something warm. Slowly, so as not to disturb her, he leaned over and placed a hand on the bed, offering an encouraging smile.

"Try not to think. Or feel. Just rest."

Sarah nodded her affirmation, shuffling once more in the bed sheets before letting her head fall tiredly to the side. Pleased with the progress of the day and assured Sarah was settled, Jasper turned to walk away. But just as he did, a surge of fear filled his body, and instantly he shot to Sarah's side.

"Sarah?"

Her head lolled to the side, her eyes stared frightfully past Jasper and into the wall behind him. Turning, he followed her gaze, realizing it was not the wall she stared at, but the blackness of the bedroom window. The trees rustled menacingly in the night breeze, the outlying branches poking and prodding the glass panes.

Alarmed, Jasper walked to the window, peering out into the blackness but seeing only forest and wood. He searched the grounds with his "second eyes," feeling for the foreign emotion that would alert him to an intruder's presence. Still, he felt only the familiar emotions of the house.

Confused by this sudden fear, Jasper looked to Sarah once more, her hands now buried beneath the comforter as she shrunk further and further into the bed. It seemed the outside blackness was the source of her upset, though he could not pinpoint why. All that was there was nothing. Darkened stretches of nothing.

Though as he stared into the nothingness of the night, it occurred to him that the silhouettes of the trees and the sharp blackness of the wood might seem frightening to a child. As a vampire, the colors and shapes of the world around you were more textured, more realized, more "alive" than they ever were with inferior "human" eyes. All this newness, all this clarity gave the forest a rather violent and chaotic "look." Sarah had, after all, met her "end" in the wood, staring at the canopies above her while her body seared with pain.

It only took a split second for Jasper to decide. Gliding towards the bed, he leaned forward, tugging the sheets from Sarah's fingers and motioning her up and out with his hand. Instantly she obeyed, plopping her feet on the floor and placing Jasper between herself and the outside wall. Leaving the sheets and pillows in disarray, he clasped Sarah's hand in his own and guided her out of Alice's bedroom and down the hall.

Sarah said nothing as they walked, though curiosity replaced her earlier fear as Jasper led them several doors down to another unknown room. Opening the door, he guided Sarah inside and shut them in, flipping the switch of a lampshade on a nearby desk.

"This is the study."

Still clutching Jasper's hand, she surveyed the room, the colors slightly darker and more masculine than those of Alice's. The walls were lined with shelves of books, the nearby desk immaculate in its order with papers stacked symmetrically in neat little piles. In front of the desk was a chair, centered perfectly on a clear floor mat with a small waste bin to the side, free of trash. Sarah took in her surroundings, the structured look and feel of the room resembling that of a museum.

"Is this your room?" she asked.

Jasper made a "so-so" motion with his free hand. "More or less. I spend the bulk of my time here, if that's what you mean."

"You don't have a bed?"

"No, but I do have one of those."

Sarah followed Jasper's point to a black leather couch a few feet from the back wall. It was obviously very old, but very well maintained. There were no rips or tears; in truth, it looked to have seen very little use. The back was reclined on one side, with no armrests, creating a weird sort of asymmetry that clashed with the uniformity of the rest of the room. With its leather upholstery and ebonized, wooden feet, it was the shining definition of a psychiatrist's couch.

She cocked a brow, throwing Jasper a questioning look. When he said nothing, she let her hand drop, moving forward to inspect the surrounding decor. There was the couch of course, and behind it, another row of shelves lined with books, and in the corner a Grandfather's Clock. The room was quite spacious, even more so than Alice's, with shelves parallel to the wall in the middle of the room. The floor carpeting was a quiet gray, the furniture and shelving all made of various types of wood. To Sarah, it was reminiscent of a miniature library...minus the weird couch.

With a quick spin in place, Sarah did a three-sixty of the study. She stopped on Jasper who, to her amazement, was holding a blanket in one hand and a pillow in the other. She wondered where they'd come from, as she hadn't noticed them when they'd entered the room. But she reasoned that, with his superior speed, he'd simply borrowed them without her realizing from another part of the house.

"I thought we could give this another try." He motioned to the pillow and blanket in hand. "Alice's room wasn't the right...fit. I think you'll find the study a more relaxing setting."

Sarah nodded in understanding, seating herself on the "psychiatrist's couch." It shook a little from the force, it being not quite as sturdy as the bathroom tub or Alice's bed. Sarah winced, apology in her face, but Jasper waved it away, setting the pillow at the incline of the couch and unfolding the blanket to hold at the ready. This time, following a human instinct, Sarah laid back, adjusting the pillow and allowing Jasper to drape the oversized blanket over her legs and chest.

Once again, Jasper felt that warm feeling. Except this time, it came not just from within himself, but Sarah as well. She looked up at him with an odd longing, as if missing something she didn't quite understand, or even realize was missing. It was like the piece of a puzzle falling into place, only neither of them knew what it was they were trying to put together. It was kind of wonderful, but kind of frightening, and all Jasper could do was nod and smile.

"Well then. I think we're good here." He straightened his turtleneck, and for the millionth time that day, folded his hands behind his back and turned to walk away.

"Jasper."

Suddenly, Jasper felt a "warmth" encircling the forefingers of his left hand. Behind him, Sarah had shifted to her side, head on the pillow and her little arm outstretched to reach him. She tugged, ever so slightly, her emotions radiating childlike need and trust.

Unable to walk away and overwhelmed by illogical devotion, Jasper stooped down, seating himself on the floor beside Sarah's makeshift "bed." Eye to eye with one another, Jasper brought their bonded hands to rest on the edge of the couch, her ring and pinky fingers clasped tightly around his pointer and middle. His other hand he used to brush that same stubborn bang from her brow, his body emanating a soothing calm.

"Rest, child."

Jasper stayed frozen at her side till dawn.

---

The days that followed were, mercifully, incident free. Sarah was "officially" inducted into the coven, and the Cullen household fell back into its regular routine, the arrival of Sarah proving, for a newborn, uneventful. Jasper had explained the ins and outs of "Vegetarian 101," and the family had reached an unvoiced agreement that he was to oversee her training and care. There was no reason to move or uproot—she'd been found on the other half of the country and thus local authorities presented zero concern—and when told she was forbidden contact with her "former life," Sarah simply shrugged.

Only Esme seemed grieved by the idea, convinced that somewhere a mother was in hysterics over her missing child. To that, Sarah had snorted, saying her mother was probably too high to know she was missing, and that if she was "in hysterics" over anything, it was her deadbeat, drug-dealing boyfriend the cops had carried off. Edward, seeing the child's mind, confirmed the rather disturbing and dysfunctional home life her remarks alluded to, and thus the issue was dropped. No one really had a choice in the matter anyhow, and the easy acceptance of her new reality was a weight off everyone's shoulder.

The only real "issue" Jasper saw with Sarah was her complete and utter lack of interest or camaraderie with the rest of the coven. She'd bonded with Jasper overnight, and had taken to following him around the house, the forest, anywhere he went. Jasper couldn't take two steps without Sarah being half a step behind him. From a caretaker perspective, it was a good thing, as it made influencing her emotions and keeping her out of trouble a cinch. But it was also unfamiliar territory for Jasper, having a constant companion at his heels, and he found himself the first few days exhausted by her continued presence. But by the third day, Jasper had adjusted to their unique situation and found her attachment to him endearing. As traumatized as she'd seemed initially, her attitude by the end of the week was remarkably resigned, and Jasper marveled at the similarities he saw between Sarah and himself.

But her "relationship" with the rest of the Cullens was strained at worst, and nonexistent at best. It wasn't that she fought or threatened or acted out; it was as if the Cullens...didn't exist. She'd moved passed snarling, and no longer recoiled or hid in fear if they crossed paths...which was a good thing. But she didn't actively seek them out, and ninety percent of the time seemed indifferent to their presence in the house. Only Alice seemed able to rouse a reaction from the girl, and that was typically one of rage. Vampires were territorial by nature. Once they took hold of something, they weren't likely to let go. Sarah had taken hold of Jasper and considered him to be hers. It didn't matter that Jasper and Alice were mates, or that Sarah's attachment to Jasper was purely platonic. He was property now, her property. And it wasn't in a vampire's nature to share.

He'd dealt with that kind of possessiveness once before, back when he still traveled with Peter and Charlotte. Like all mated pairs, Peter and Charlotte were incredibly close, bonded on the deepest level. Except Peter and Jasper had grown close as well, so much that Peter had come to place Jasper on a pedestal. He'd grown to idolize him as not only a "supersoldier," but as a fierce and protective older brother. Charlotte, on the other hand, viewed Jasper only as Maria's general, as a soldier ordered to kill and destroy. She, like the other newborns, had been little more than a disposable tool. And while she'd appreciated his sparing of their lives, had silently despaired at his traveling with her and her mate. Jasper had been unhappy—well, unhappier—in those days, and Charlotte had wanted Peter for herself. Even now, her loyalty to Jasper was only out of loyalty to her other half.

Their relationship was much improved since the old days, though Jasper sometimes wished Charlotte's love for him was more than obligation to her mate. He'd grown very fond of her over the years, and had promised Peter he would look after her if anything were to happen to Peter. But he didn't hold Charlotte's feelings for him against her. Even before Alice, and the acquisition of his own "better half," he'd felt and understood the love Charlotte felt for Peter. A mate was a special kind of relationship impossible to define with words. He too had harbored despair at having to "share" Alice. But just as Charlotte sacrificed for Peter, he too sacrificed for Alice.

And so Sarah's behavior came as no surprise. He was helpless to change her disposition towards the Cullens, though he'd still demanded her courtesy and respect. He'd already instructed that she was to address her elders with "Yes, sir," "Yes, ma'am," "No, sir," and "No, ma'am." The concept of respect seemed rather foreign to Sarah, but she hadn't argued. She'd sensed that, with Jasper, it wouldn't do her any good.

Still, her lack of fondness for them all, particularly Alice, was apparent, and he'd apologized profusely to his mate, promising that Sarah's possessiveness would ease with time. Alice had laughed and assured him it was fine, saying she owed it to him to understand how he'd felt now that the tables were turned. Jasper had kissed her hand and smiled, but secretly prayed that the three of them got through Sarah's first year without anyone losing a limb.

Esme and Carlisle had been excited for Sarah to meet Renesmee, hoping the two could bond as "cousins." Jasper hadn't been so sure. Sarah had already displayed strong isolation tendencies and a natural antagony to strangers. He'd also worried the "smell" of Renesmee would provoke an instinctual disgust. And Renesmee had grown accustomed to being the "baby" and center of everyone's universe. Jasper had had the sneaking suspicion it wouldn't be quite the "Kumbaya moment" the family was hoping for.

When the two were finally introduced, the meeting went as Jasper had feared, with Renesmee and Sarah exchanging disgusted looks. To Sarah, Renesmee stunk of "dog crap," repulsed by the residual scent of Jacob and the wolves. Renesmee, affronted by the newcomer, pulsed with jealousy and spite, viewing Sarah as unwelcome competition. Sarah wasn't interested in a "playmate," and Renesmee, her vampiric colors shining through, didn't like the idea of sharing her family.

Emmett was probably the most "jazzed" over their new addition, for the simple fact Emmett liked people, was adaptable, and positively thrived on drama. He liked the idea of Sarah "shaking things up," just as he'd enjoyed the chaos from the inclusion of Bella and the Quileute wolves.

And being the social and competitive vampire he was, Emmett was the first to ask, "Is she 'special?'"

By "special" he meant "gifted," of course, which Jasper had covered in "Vegetarian 101." He'd explained their talents, what they meant and how they were used, and why some vampires possessed "extra senses" after the change. Sarah had been both fascinated and impressed with Jasper's gift, though did not share the same enthusiasm for the others'. Even Alice's precognition—arguably the most impressive in the house—sparked little response. Renesmee too had jumped at the opportunity to boast her talents, though the only reaction she got was a bored, dismissive stare.

It was a bit too early to tell if Sarah possessed a quantifiable supernatural talent. If she did, it was something they'd yet to notice, something subtle and perhaps only detectable through the use of Eleazar's gift. It certainly wasn't shooting fireballs from her fingertips—though her personality sometimes suggested she could—or leveling buildings with the power over earth. On the whole, she seemed to be just a regular kid—a kid who could crush titanium between her teeth.

A week later, with introductions out of the way and the basics of what they were spelled out, the Olympic coven regained a sense of "normalcy," the responsibility of Sarah laid purely at Jasper's feet. Her lack of friendliness and constant care had acted as something of a repellent, for which Jasper was grateful, as he still harbored feelings of ire for the family's decision to oust him behind his back. Carlisle had attempted once or twice to make amends, but Sarah's thirst and erratic newborn pattern always seemed to get in the way. Not that Jasper minded much. He was content, even if sadistically so, to watch Carlisle suffer.

But as entertaining as it was watching the coven squirm, Jasper enjoyed peaceful emotional climates, and as the resident empath, felt guilty about their current state of relations. Whenever it was he could snag a free second, he'd sit down with Carlisle and set things right.

For the moment, however, he was keeping an eye on Sarah from Alice's bedroom window. She was just outside, swinging a large stick back and forth like a sword. Every few minutes, she'd stop to jump in and out of a nearby tree, then plop herself on the ground before standing back up to try again. She'd been practicing her leaps and jumps ever since their first hunt. Normally, he'd coach her out in the woods, just the two of them. But today she'd wanted privacy. She'd wanted to work on it by herself.

As he watched, Jasper sensed the approach of a familiar emotional presence. His feelings were confirmed when he felt a pair of paper thin arms wrap themselves around his waist and a chaste kiss against his lower back. He grasped Alice's hand with his left, placing his right overtop as he stroked her granite skin with his thumb.

Alice leaned her forehead against the back of his shirt, breathing in his scent. "You're happy."

"Oh, so you're the empath now?" he teased.

Jasper felt the smile he couldn't see. "Only as it pertains to you."

They fell quiet after that, content with the silence of their company.

"Know what I was thinking?" Alice asked after several minutes.

"What's that?"

"I was thinking how hard you've been working, with Sarah. How responsible you've always been. How wonderful you are..." Alice's voice trailed off.

"Oh?"

"And I was thinking...you need a break."

"What kind of break?" Jasper could feel where the conversation was headed, but played along anyway.

"A grown-up break."

This time, Alice's small hands snaked their way under the hem of his shirt, her fingers trailing the chiseled contours of his deliciously toned abs.

Jasper's abdomen was the primary source of Alice's lust. Though she enjoyed the full scope of Jasper's physique, the tiniest flash of his stomach was all it took to reduce Alice to girlish squeals. His time in the military, coupled with a genetically lean frame and optimal body mass index had lent to an unusually impressive midsection, even for an immortal. It embarrassed him to no end and was one of a million reasons why he steadfastly refused to wander the house without a top. But his embarrassment only served to fuel her giggles, and in private, his shirt was the first to go.

Today though, he didn't mind as much. It'd been...a while. Scratch that. It'd been more than a while. He hadn't really been "in the mood," as of late, and Alice always had plenty of "going-ons" in the house to keep her busy. But today was different. Today was...overdue.

"Ooo!"

Alice must have seen something in her visions she liked.

"Shoe sale I should know about?" Jasper feigned ignorance, grinning ear to ear.

"Jaaasssssspppppppeeeeeeeerrrrrrr!" Alice bounced on her feet, drawing his name out with an impatient whine.

He laughed, pulling her hands out from under his shirt as he whirled around to plant a kiss on her pout-stricken face.

"Yes, ma'am?" His words dripped with southern charm.

Alice's pout melted away into enchanted giggles, her hands finding their way once more under the tails of his top. Only this time they trailed lower, her tiny fingers slipping behind the waistband of his denim jeans...

"Jasper!"

Like lightning, Alice dropped her hands, the look on Jasper's face a mirror of the shock she felt. In their enthrallment with one another, they had forgotten Sarah. In a mass of tousled honey blonde, she came bounding in the room, throat burning and feelings abuzz.

"Jasper, I'm thirsty!" She stood in the doorway, impatient and wide-eyed, like a duckling demanding food of a mother duck.

Alice and Jasper exchanged looks of defeat, the frustration they felt bouncing back and forth between them. She stroked Jasper's back in encouragement, promising him with her eyes there was always next time. Jasper's eyes nodded, though he had a sneaking suspicion that "next time" would be a long time coming. Sensing his thoughts, Alice brought her fingers to her lips, suppressing a giggle.

Jasper stared into the sweet, expectant face of his little newborn and sighed.

Even good change came at a cost.