Title: Disillusioned

Genre: romance / hurt / comfort

Pairings: alice/jasper, edward/bella, alice/demetri

Warning: i'm in crisis, but it's the adult kind

Jasper looks ashen as they drive back to the Cullen house. Bella sits in the back, almost between them as Alice calls ahead and Jasper drives on. There is a seedy calm about the drive, Jasper with his hand on twelve o'clock so his pale wrist bends upward, the silver of his wristband gleaming in the sparse sunlight.

There is, also, a breadth of negative space between them. A barrier so steep that it cannot be crossed.

Bella remembers a time when Jasper would reach across the console to hold Alice's hand, thumb smoothing over her knuckles, a calming wave of energy.

Now, the calm in the car feels cold, awkward. Alice calls Carlisle, Jasper drives, and Bella sits. There is no inflection, no in-between. Just cold, calm nothinginess like the hole in her chest.

Jasper's eyes flicker to hers in the mirror. It's a brief moment, a barely-there exchange that seems to hold, weighing in her gut and burning into the backs of her eyelids.

Bella doesn't realize she's counting down to D-Day until the time comes for her to tell Charlie she's sleeping over at the Cullen's house.

It's a strange thing. After so many odd affirmations and comments about her plans and what she will do not what she can do, only now does Charlie decide to look at her, over his coffee with skepticism.

She battles back her urge to fold, mainly because she can't and steadies her guard.

She fights back the urge to mention that Charlie will be on a fishing weekend anyway.

She sticks to her story. The one Alice told her to tell.

"Since Emmett's back in town, Carlisle is taking the boys out on another camping trip." She adds, stirring her tea soft and slow. Charlie is still staring at her as if he were trying to puzzle something together. The intensity of his gaze makes the heat on her neck climb, beading sweat against the back of her neck.

She takes a drink of tea. She adds more honey. She drinks again.

"It's supposed to be pretty cold out this weekend." Charlie comments and although it is a totally valid point, Bella is not about to muck up the Cullen's meticulous planning. "I doubt Carlisle will chance it." Which is another valid point and, if they had been human, Bella is sure that Carlisle would not be the kind of parent to get his children stuck in deplorable weather.

However, they are not.

"Dad," she sighs, like a teenager, a real one. She can suddenly feel eighteen years of parental annoyance weighing on her. "I just want to have some girl time. I kinda need it right now."

"You're always over there."

"It's been a hard time." She says, seamlessly.

"Then you can have a sleepover, but not in your ex-boyfriend's house. Bring the girl's here. You guys can slum it for the night." The direct mention of their house, makes her pause. It's like the stuck here comment all over again, but reversed, against her.

Its not a secret that the Cullens have money. Bella has done her math homework while Alice watches the stock market on her laptop, chatting idly about which markets will plummet or not, teaching her the basics of safe investing and acquiring enough wealth to clothe and house several people.

Well, less now, but the sentiment remains.

"Dad, I'm not hiding the house from anyone." She says, feeling a leaden weight sinking in her chest. "Alice is just always the one to ask me to hang out, so we just gravitate to their house. And I still like talking to Esme and Carlisle. They told me I'm always welcome."

"And how does Edward feel about you being in his house all the time?"

Okay, another valid point, but not necessary.

And completely out of left field too. Bella cannot remember a time Charlie ever went up to bat for Edward—except, maybe when he was defending the Cullen family against rumors in the beginning—and he did so without hesitation, without sarcasm. It strikes her dumb for a moment, brain turning to mush as she slides over the words.

How does Edward feel about her being at the house all the time?

Of course, her being there is a necessity. Most of the time. Sometimes Alice just wants to sit in her room and make boxes for local homeless shelters and read Vogue which Bella is more than willing to do so long as Alice tells her what book to read next and stories about the past decades.

Edward has never really factored into that equation.

"He's rarely ever there anyway." She says and hopes that doesn't reveal too much. She really has no idea where Edward spends his new found free time, but she does know that he leaves when she arrives and comes home when she's gone.

What would their breakup have been like if she had not been under threat from the newborns?

"Maybe you can spend this sleepover here." Charlie says as if to fill up the silence, making a final point. "Give the boy some space."

"Maybe," She finds herself saying, too preoccupied by her thoughts.

There is a heavy air hanging around the Cullen house when Bella stops by after work.

It seems the inclusion of the Volturi guards—specific ones—have made the already tense air unbearable. Esme even seems caught up in the mood of the house, staring off into space in the main living room, deep in thought. Bella watches her a moment, transfixed by the unmoving beauty of her, the warm and joyous woman she knew so deep in her thoughts that she forgot to move.

Rosalie appears from nowhere, her goldenrod eyes flashing in the brightness of the house. "Is Alice here?"

"Not yet," Rosalie's attention flickers to Esme a moment, but doesn't stick, as if this were normal. "Edward's gone too."

Bella deflates at this.

Her conversation with Charlie still fresh in her brain. She had wanted to ask.

"I'm going to teach you how to do an oil change." Is all Rosalie says before she turns on her heel to presumably disappear into the garage.

Bonding time with Rosalie: begin.

The temperature-controlled room is fitted with blue lights and a wall of tools, most of which look brand-new. Bella's gaze fixes on the Royce Rosalie has taken to driving around town, making all the boys and men drool for more reason than one.

"Emmett and I went vintage car shopping for our anniversary." Rosalie says by way of explanation. In truth, Bella never put much thought to where Rosalie and Emmett have been the last few months before the vision and everything changed. "I've always wanted one of these, but owning one can be a bit tricky. Only so few made, all paperwork pointing to little ole me. I decided to risk it."

Bella contemplates her words then, and is surprised by them. She never really thought about the things that the Cullens couldn't do, always so caught up in what they could. But, she supposes, the list is indeed very long. Like, no sunlight, no crowds, no afternoons outside, no tea, no food, no insanely rare cars.

Her mouth feels dry as she takes a seat on one of the spinning stools. "You could scramble the paperwork. Make it lost in history."

"That's the plan." Rosalie hums, but it's noncommittal. As a vampire, her hearing is impeccable, but her attention is elsewhere.

Rosalie rolls up the sleeves of her jumpsuit, an actual mechanic's jumpsuit, and turns her back on her. Her long, lovely hair spilling down her shoulders. "I suppose you've heard of the latest developments." It's not a question.

"Demetri." Bella says and it feels so odd to say his name.

Months after her time in Volterra and she has yet to breathe the name herself, as if saying it might summon him. Rosalie half-turns to her, mouth tucking into her cheek.

"Yes. Him."

She says it with just enough infamy that she thinks Rosalie might be relaying off some past experience, some deep-seated blood feud that existed between the two of them. She decides to chance it, "Do you know him?"

"Of him," Rosalie corrects and gives her back again. "He tried to guilt Alice out of getting married." Rosalie pops the hood of her forbidden, lovely car and begins to do an oil check. "The first one, at least. Alice sent letters to Aro for years after she left, but after her and Jasper married, she stopped."

"Did anything," Bella pinches her brows together. "Happen?"

Rosalie keeps her eyes trained on the engine. "He sent flowers to the house. Peach roses, funeral flowers." The corner of Rosalie's mouth quirks and then settles. "The house reeked with them. Alice wouldn't speak. I hated him instantly."

That seems not as extreme as Bella is expecting. Perhaps, grand, but not extreme.

Still, she tries to see it as Rosalie did. The house—lovely and in the fashion of the century—overfilled with peach roses, the kind that had a scent that permeated the air, filled up funeral homes and graves. Those roses, she had those roses before, when her grandmother died. A huge bouquet of them was handed to her when her grandma was lowered into the ground, each person taking a turn to toss a handful of dirt in.

Bella had thrown the whole bouquet—which she wasn't supposed to do—but mid-ceremony, she realized there was a tiny gray spider nesting in the petals, and she couldn't help it.

She images Alice, as she is, but younger, on the cusp of her new life full of dreams and visions of a brighter future, coming home each day to find peach roses on her doorstep.

Alice's eminent happiness coming in at the cost of her former mate's broken heart.

"Alice never really talked about him much." Rosalie continues, "Anyone will tell you the same. The people who probably know the most are either Alice, Jasper, or Edward—"

Bella bristles, suddenly defensive. "Well, I don't want to pry—"

"Then, why do you want to know?" Rosalie's eyes snap to hers. That beautiful, cold stare that could bring a grown man to his knees or split stone. "Why are you so hung up on it?"

"I want to understand," Bella offers and when Rosalie's mouth twists, she adds, "I want to be a better friend to Alice. I just don't want to take for granted everything your family has risked for me."

Rosalie doesn't say anything after that. Just finishes the oil change mechanically and moves on to the next car. After five minutes, she turns to her and says, "Go inside, I can't concentrate with you watching me."

"Rosalie—" Bella is not sure what she will say, or what she even wants to say, but Rosalie's furious expression stops her short.

"Go talk to Alice. She's home now. She has something for you."

Bella rises mechanically from the stool and drifts back to the door.

Bonding time with Rosalie: done.

Alice still has her Volturi cloak.

It is a floor-dusting charcoal color with an inner-coat of red silk with silver stitching on the sleeves and trim. Over a hundred years old, it is well-maintained by virtue of Alice's expert seamstress skills and a very special garment bag.

Bella feels tempted to run her fingers along the silver stitching, or touch one of the embossed brass-buttons, but resists the urge. Her mind is a thousand places at once. First of all being that she finally knows the location of Alice's secret club house.

It is a literal house. Not finished, but homey. A little cottage in the woods.

Second being, that this little cottage has a bed. A bed that Alice has her Volturi cloak laid over.

"You want me to wear this?"

Alice nods an affirmative. "It will keep you warm in the mountains. Warmer than Edward can keep you."

Bella raises her eyebrows in muse and turns her attention back to the diamonds—actual diamonds—that created a sort of tassel from throat to shoulder.

It's such a fine thing, such a fine, fine thing that Bella can scarcely imagine wearing it.

"I have been," Alice sinks into the bed beside it, adjusting the fold of a sleeve, her expression oddly terse for a moment, but it smooths into cool indifference. "I have been keeping it on me for a couple weeks. My scent is pretty well sunk into it."

Bella stares at her.

"Why do I need to wear it?"

That is the proper question.

"I lost sight of the guards earlier this afternoon. I had a thought that maybe when the fighting happens, that they would see the wolves. I know Jacob and Edward will be with you the night before, but when the fighting begins, I can't see anything." Alice does her best to sound nonplussed by this and says, "I think we need to derail the Volturi a little."

"Demetri."

"Yes, Demetri." Alice agrees, folding her hands over her lap. Her smile is wan. "If he catches my scent, he won't be able to resist." She says this with such authority that Bella believes it. It is a simple and single truth because Alice says so.

"And what will he do if he finds me?"

Alice pauses a moment, as if considering, then her frown deepens. "He'll laugh."

It's such an odd comment. Such an odd uncomforting comment that Bella has to sit down too. She sinks in to the plush, unused mattress and lays back, hand brushing the fine velvet of the cloak and staring at the ceiling.

"What is this place?" She asks, tracing the grooved patterns on the ceiling.

"A cottage. Esme was building it . . . I got, I got carried away after Jasper left." Alice sinks back into the mattress beside her, her delicate head resting on a lock of Bella's hair. "When I looked into the future then, it was still you and Edward. I told Esme that when you two were newlyweds you would need a place of your own, so she started building . . ."

Bella feels the hole in her chest stretch and constrict. The hungry, ebbing knot seems to lodge itself in her throat when she speaks. "This was going to be our place?"

"Yeah."

"Well," Bella is not sure what to say to that. She's not sure what to say about a lot of things anymore. "I'm sorry I wasted Esme's efforts."

"Not wasted." Alice says, albeit sadly. "I've been staying here since Jasper's been home. "I want him to have the house and our old room. I'm the one who went and . . . fucked up our marriage."

"Well, I'm glad you like my house." Bella says quietly. Alice doesn't really respond, but she makes a noise. Somewhere between a huff and a sigh. The sound of fabric moving on the bed reminds her of the Volturi cloak between them. "Are you excited to see him?"

That question seems to break Alice. "Oh, Bella I don't know."

Saturday comes, Rosalie and Alice arrive at the Swan house with pillows and overnight bags. Although their good manners prevent them from dropping their bags at the door, they instead make a show of going upstairs, dropping their stuff and kicking off their shoes.

Charlie witnesses only enough to say hello and later girls as he prepares for his fishing trip with Billy. Up and at em. Bright and early. Bella feels another odd twist in her gut, somewhere deep inside of her she has known that Charlie might be in danger too, but not until the wolves surrounded him did she realize just how much.

She catches him on his way out and hugs him tight. Tighter than she means too, tighter than strictly necessary.

Charlie, confused by her display, one-arm hugs her. He pats her shoulder and when she still doesn't let go. He murmurs, "You okay, kid?"

She's not. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just," She searches for the correct words, the right thing to say. What can she say without alarming him? That she's so happy she came to stay in Forks? Despite everything? That she's so happy she made him proud when her acceptance letters came in? That she's so thankful for a dad who loves and cares for her?

No.

She can't say any of it.

She'll say it when she goes off to college. When she puts Forks in her rearview mirror and carves a new chapter of her life.

She'll tell him all of it when she survives.

"Just thanks for the advice."

Charlie huffs and gives her another squeeze, still one-armed. "I'm a fountain of wisdom, kid. Ask and you shall receive." And then he's gone, into his police cruiser and down the road. To safety. Hopefully.

Alice rests her cheek on her shoulder, her tiny arms coming around her in an embrace that seems like air. "He'll be okay." She says quietly and gives Bella a tentative squeeze. "I've seen it."

For once, Alice's visions don't make her feel any better.

"You know, this reminds me of camping when we were kids." Jacob says, poking at the small fire they built. Bella locks her jaw, trying to keep her teeth chattering to a minimum. Jacob frowns. "Are you really still cold?"

"N-no," She grits out between clicks of her teeth. "I j-just, I'm so excited to be here. I'm shaking in my boots."

With a deadpan indifference, Jacob unzips his parka and hands it to her and, if Bella did not already have knowledge of the wolves' freakish body temperatures, she would have refused, but she quickly slips the jacket over her other one, snuggly yanking up the zipper.

It's still warm.

She snuggles in, pulling the fur-lined hood down over her face.

"I'm sorry, what was that thing you said about our smell, Eddy?" Jacob calls across the fire to Edward. He gets a disgusted noise in response.

"Don't fight." Bella warns and casts glance over to where Edward stands vigil, away from the fire, just at the tree line of the rocks. His expression is impassive, annoyed. It's been even more awkward since they climbed up here. Edward has kept his distance, knowing his cool body temperatures would only hurt her and that the fire would only hurt him.

Jacob lifts a bag. "Do you want to make marshmallows?"

Everything goes as plan until it doesn't. The sounds of battle rage up the side of the mountain and Edward stands still as stone beside her, listening to the battle and giving her play-by-play. "It's over. Jasper and Emmett are burning the bodies."

Bella releases a long, chilly breath. As Alice said, her Volturi cloak has done enough to keep her warm in the daylight hours. The thick woven material works as a conductor for heat, drawing the rays of the sun onto her in the middle of the day. Still, it feels wrong to wear and she knows she must look ridiculous.

"That's a relief," she says and her eyes flint back to the trees beyond. Where is Jacob when you need him? Honestly.

Edward turns to her, expression pursed. "I have something for you."

Before she can think too hard on it, or at all, she is staring at a velvet box—the velvet box—the one she saw in Edward's bedroom weeks ago, the one that made her turn tale and run.

She wants to run now just at the sight of it.

"It would be best," he says, almost conversationally, "for you to wear it. A detail the Volturi won't miss."

Oh. She thinks, first sadly and then relieved. Oh, thank god.

She takes the box from him, careful to avoid touching, and peers down at the little velvet box. The antique ring inside is nestled in silk, gleaming in the mid-morning sun. She cannot help the quiet awe in her voice.

"It was my mother's." Edward says, again as if this were a fact that doesn't matter. As if this were any other ring. As if this just happened to be the ring he grabbed on the way out the door. Not the ring he meant to give her when they thought they were spending eternity together.

That sends a pang through her all her own. She snaps the box shut and hands it back. Her hand covers the fine textured box. She takes a breath. "I can't wear this."

"Bella—" Edward looks ready to argue, to explain, to point out how and why he's right and she should do as he says. Despite her pride.

"No." She says firmly. "I know it's just pretend and I know it's for my safety, but—Edward take it. I can't wear it."

"It doesn't have to mean anything."

"But it does. To you. You should save it and give it to someone who will love it."

"I want you to have it. It's yours."

"Don't ruin the memory of your mother's ring with me. You should save it and give it to someone you can share forever with." The words taste like poison in her mouth. She was supposed to be the one. Now she's not. Simple as that. Painful as breathing fiber glass.

She extends her hand again, her knuckles pressing against his chest. "You shouldn't be giving this to me."

"Why not? It's mine to give."

Frustration bridles her. "You've given up so much for me already. I am not taking your—your last connection to your human life. It's not mine to take." Edward stares at her, impassive, unmoving. "Edward, I cannot take this from you too."

"You've taken nothing from me that I didn't willingly give."

"The why are you never at the house when I'm there?" She asks, direct, fierce, not the time. "Why do you leave as soon as I show up and only come back when I leave. I've noticed."

"I figured you wanted some time—"

"Edward, it's your house! I should have the power to drive you out of your own house. Forget everything else, forget everything we've been through. I do not want to take anything else from you." Bella fixes him with a hopefully incredulous look and sighs. "Edward, I swear I will throw your mother's ring down this cliff. Please."

It may be a mix of things, the lack of time, the desperation in her voice, but Edward finally accepts the ring. His cool hand covering hers and tucking away the precious box into the pocket of his jeans. The relief she feels is immediate and short lived.

Edward is frowning deeply, eye brewing a storm.

"Edward?"

"Yes?"

"I love you," she says quietly, as things like this should be said, so very quietly. She can see the minute changes in his demeanor, the way his eyes find hers and his lips part, but his relief too, is short lived. Bella struggles to keep the line of her mouth from shaking. "But we're not good for each other. Not anymore."

Edward's arms come around her then, a distant echo of that night weeks ago, when he intended to ask her, but his touch is gentler now, less desperate. She does not feel crushed by the presence of him, just held.

"You were my first love." He says, and his voice sounds as though it has been dragged through gravel. Bella can feel the rumble of it against her cheek and screws her eyes shut tighter.

"You were mine too."

Edward's hand strokes a calming breath from her, a smooth trail down her upper-back. It's strangely lulling in the way she knows its not supposed to be. In how easy she feels it would be to just try again, pack up her doubts and bare her teeth, but that feels like defeat. And so much harder than simply going with it.

"If you ever change your mind. I'll be here." And then he leans forward, cool lips skimming across her forehead and in a moment of muscle memory, Bella leans in, eyes lulling closed as the moment sweeps over her.

"I hate to break the mood," A calm, cool voice calls from below. For a moment, Bella cannot see anyone, but the next she is behind Edward, his arm around her middle, and Edward crouching low, angry.

It takes her a moment to peer out around Edward's shoulder to find a man standing at their little campsite. He looks like a cut out from one of Alice's magazines. A tall, imposing figure with wonderful posture and slanted cheekbones.

He is the man she met in Italy.

The one who had been Alice's mate before.

"Demetri," Edward hisses, low and predatory.

Something like a smile curves on Demetri's mouth. His inquisitive red eyes flash. "That cloak," he says, voice melodic, "doesn't belong to you."

hello! i had to get a big girl job to support my big girl lifestyle

not much to say by way of note, but hey, Demetri's finally fuckin' here. ain't that rad, lads? i really wanted to get this done so hopefully i could read comments while i'm slaving away at work. (please give me validation, i am dying here) but otherwise its been a normal month. birthdays and fire-eating, sims 4 and job searches. this story is at the same time so easy to write and so hard to finish, that's why its a challenge. originally, everything tied up in five chapters and demetri showed up in every single one of them.

Originally: alice and jasper get back together, bella and edward never break up, everything proceeds as normal: BD happens (or, doesn't happen, depending on who you ask) and alice meets demetri again (formally) when she crosses no man's land to meet Aro. demetri leaves with alice? or doesn't? you see why i went this way?

please review, they make me so happy

- cafeanna