The reaction to last chapter was pure win. I hope you all realize how much I rely on your words of encouragement; and the love you express to me, for these boys. I love them too.

I don't own Twilight. I do own a healthy, unrelenting knowledge of what I must do to be faithful to my characters. And for this, I ask your forgiveness.

-o-

Jasper

Wednesday and Thursday I spend in a haze, a dopey half-grin adorning my face constantly. Edward's gift of the photographs touched me, so deeply. The color manipulation on the photo of me, and the absence of color on his photo – I understand the symbolism. And it makes me feel like I could fly. He hasn't said he loves me, but the gesture says so much. I spend Wednesday and Thursday evening at my place, and most of the time I spend just gazing at the photos. Well, Edward's photo, really. His delicate features, exquisite in the simplicity of black and white...if I thought I'd memorized them before, now they are seared indelibly into my brain.

Friday, though, the haze has cleared. The night I've been both dreading and anxiously awaiting, is finally here. Tonight is my dinner date with Edward. I've been so nervous the entire day that I've barely been able to eat anything. At home as I'm getting ready, my throat feels fucking parched, and I down at least three glasses of water before I leave the apartment.

I remain anxious until, seated in the restaurant, I see Edward striding confidently toward me, led to the table by a server. His beautiful smile breaks like dawn across his face, and the rays reach to where I am, warming my heart and my spirit. The server discreetly smiles and averts his eyes while Edward and I share a chaste kiss. And then my angel sits down across from me at our table overlooking Elliott Bay. He holds my hand, grinning and rolling his eyes as he relates some silly story about his day. It's such a relief to look at him, to laugh and smile with him, and just be in his presence. I have come to depend on that presence in my life so quickly.

"Kas? Hello?" he says, grinning at me as he lifts one eyebrow. "Hey - where did you go?"

"Sorry," I mutter sheepishly, coloring a bit. "I was just…reflecting, I guess."

The waiter interrupts then to deliver our drinks, and asks if we're ready to order. We haven't even opened our menus; and Edward apologizes, asking him to come back in a few minutes. The waiter smiles graciously and leaves.

As we look over the menus, Edward asks, "So – dare I ask what you were reflecting upon?"

I think for a moment or two before I answer. He is giving me an opening, a point at which I can segue into what I want to talk to him about. How best to approach it?

"Honesty," I finally answer, playing with the stem of my wine glass.

"Okay," he says slowly, hesitantly. It's clear he's not sure what to make of this answer.

"I've been thinking about honesty this week," I continue. "You know – generally speaking, I'm a pretty open person. I'm open about my sexuality, my emotions…"

Here he smiles and nods. "So I've noticed."

I'm about to continue when I realize, as poorly timed as it is, I need to visit the men's room. The copious amounts of water I had at home, combined with the relief I'm feeling now that I'm actually here with him – well, my bladder feels like it's about to burst.

"I'm so sorry, will you excuse me for a moment?" I whisper sheepishly.

"Now?" he asks, surprised.

"Sorry, I promise I'll be right back. If the server comes back, would you please order me the Mahi Mahi?"

"Uh...yeah, of course," he replies, but he still looks a bit dubious.

I apologize again and head for the men's room, passing the front door, where the maitre d' is greeting guests arriving at the restaurant. I make my visit to the men's room and wash my hands. I start back into the hallway that will lead me into the dining room, and, in my haste to return to Edward, I almost run into a tall, older gentleman as I leave the restroom. Not really looking at him, I excuse myself and attempt to step past him, when he reaches out to put a hand on my shoulder.

"Jasper!" he exclaims. I turn to look at the man, and am met with the eyes of Carlisle Cullen.

"Dr…C-Carlisle," I stutter, surprised. Shocked. Horrified.

"What a nice surprise," he smiles; the same warm, genuine smile he gave me at our meeting on Monday.

"It is a surprise," I manage to gasp.

"Are you dining with friends?" he asks.

"Erm...well…" How to answer? I'm here with the guy I'm dating – maybe you've heard of him – he's your son.

"Oh," he grins, and all I can see in his face is the same impish smile Edward has when he's teasing. "I don't mean to intrude, son. But while you're here, my wife is with me," here he gestures to where a diminutive woman is standing several paces away, "and I was telling her about you, that you went to school at Lake Union with the kids. Esme? Please join us, darling."

And it's all happening before I can even say, I need to get back… I am being introduced to a woman who has the same reddish-brown hair as the man with whom I've fallen in love. Esme Cullen is lovely, soft-spoken and pleasant. She welcomes me back to Seattle, asks how I'm settling in. And they are both so gracious and convivial; even though I'm screaming inside, I manage to summon enough Jazz to maintain my composure.

Finally, after several moments of polite conversation, I'm able to say, "I'm so sorry, but I'm here with someone…"

"Oh, of course, my dear," she smiles. "How rude of us to keep you from your companion."

"Thank you," I reply. "It was lovely to have met you, Mrs. Cullen. Carlisle," I shake his hand, "I guess I'll see you in the salt mines." And finally I turn from them to rush back to Edward; but almost immediately I'm stopped dead in my tracks. By the sight of Edward - standing not ten feet from where I've been talking to his parents, staring at the three of us.

The look on his face is unspeakable. Shock…horror...betrayal…they all play across his delicate features as he stands aghast, his eyes moving from me to his mother and then his father. For a long moment none of us speaks or moves, and though I know the restaurant is abuzz with the Friday evening dinner rush, all I can hear is the pounding of my heart, the blood rushing in my ears.

Finally, I take a step toward him, holding one hand out to him. "Edward…" I say.

My voice seems to break the spell that has fallen over him, and he closes his eyes for a moment, then shakes his head as though trying to clear it. He reopens his eyes, and they focus again on me. He holds my gaze for a long moment, and then gently nods his head. "Of course," he says softly to himself. "Of course." Then, abruptly, he turns and strides back into the restaurant.

I rush after him, entirely heedless of the Cullens standing behind me. He is at our table, but he is retrieving his coat from the back of the chair. As quickly and quietly as I can without drawing unnecessary attention, I follow him to the table. He doesn't make eye contact as he turns again and retreats back toward the front door. I grab my jacket and I'm about to dash after him when I see a box sitting beside my wineglass on the table. It's gift-wrapped, much like the other gift he gave me. I throw a couple of bills on the table to cover our drinks and the server's trouble; then I grab the gift and again bolt after him. He is already out the door. I streak past Carlisle and Esme, who are seemingly rooted to the spot where I left them, looking almost as stunned as Edward. He is halfway down the street before I manage to catch up to him.

"Edward, wait!" I beg. "Please don't make a snap judgment. Just listen to me first – let me explain."

He keeps walking. Not looking at me, not speaking to me. Not acknowledging me at all.

I can't wait for a reply. "I ran into your father tonight at the restaurant, and he introduced me to your mother," I begin. "That's all."

"That's all?" he roars, stopping short and whirling around to face me, his hands clenched tightly into fists at his side. "That's all? How the FUCK do you know my father?"

"He works at Northwest," I reply, my voice trembling.

"That's a lie," he retorts. "My father's been at Swedish since he was a resident."

"He got offered Chief of Surgery at Northwest, and he took it," I contradict him gently. "He's only been there a month."

"Well, that is a hell of a lot of information that didn't fit into 'that's all', isn't it, Jasper?" he snaps. "How long have you known this?"

"I met him on Monday," I reply.

"Monday!" he repeats, and shakes his head. "I don't believe you. You looked very comfortable with him for someone who met him once, a few days ago."

"What are you saying, Edward?" I ask cautiously, not sure I want to know the answer.

"What kind of plan are you and my parents hatching, Jasper?" he asks slowly, deliberately.

"Edward, I swear," I reply, holding out my hand to him, "I spoke to your father one other time before tonight; and I was just being introduced to your mother when you saw us. You have my word on that."

"Yeah, that means a lot, coming from you." He looks at my outstretched hand and sneers, then turns away and strides to his car, opening the doors with the remote.

I dash after him, asking, "Wait, what is that supposed to mean?" He ignores me again, getting into the car; and I follow suit. "Edward! What do you mean by that?"

"I mean honesty, Jasper," he spits at me as he starts the car. "You know – what you were so distracted by earlier tonight? I can see why you needed to give it such deep thought – it's obviously a foreign concept to you." He floors the gas and pops the clutch, pulling rashly into traffic, narrowly missing side-swiping a vehicle.

"Jesus, be careful!" I yell, distracted for the moment by his reckless driving – gripping the handle on the door, scared half to death.

The drive back to his apartment is made in grim silence. I tell myself that leaving him alone with his thoughts will give us each a chance to regroup, gather our thoughts and perhaps calm down a bit. I allow myself to carry this delusion all the way to his building, choosing to ignore his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

In his apartment, he tosses his coat on the floor and strides directly to the tall living room windows. He stands in the soft light cast by the one lamp that's on in the room; and he stares out the windows. Still he says nothing to me.

Softly, I tell myself. Speak softly – don't go on the defensive. "Edward," I murmur. He makes no attempt to acknowledge me. "Edward, please – let's talk about this."

For long moments, there is silence. I stand in the middle of the room, watching his shoulders rise and fall with each breath, waiting for him to be ready to talk. His hands are clasped behind his back, his long fingers laced together. What I wouldn't give for those beautiful fingers to stroke my cheek and tell me everything is going to be okay.

At long last, his back still to me, he speaks – so softly at first that I can barely understand him. "You said tonight you were thinking about honesty."

"Yes," I acknowledge softly.

He turns at my voice, and levels at me, a gaze that would stop anyone in dead in their tracks. "And what exactly were you thinking?"

"I was going to ask you about your family; well, about your relationship with your parents," I admit.

"Well, isn't that ironic," he says coldly, his steel gaze cutting into my soul. "So – you were going to ask me to share the truth about my family. Did you plan to tell me that you worked with my father? Or were you hedging your bets, in case this conversation between you and I didn't turn out well?"

"Edward, I didn't know what your relationship was with your parents," I murmur, trying to keep my voice even and calm. "You have never talked about them. I didn't want to pry – I figured you would talk about it when you wanted to. But then I found out Carlisle was on staff at Northwest-"

"Wait," he interrupts. "You've been at Northwest for two weeks. When did you find out my father worked there?"

"Why does that matter?" I stall.

"Answer the question, Jasper," he growls.

"I found out...I found out the second day, when I was reading the department heads information," I concede.

.

His face contorts into a deep scowl. "When I was in Vancouver? So you've had a week and a half to ask me about this, knowing that entire time that you worked with my father. The whole weekend we were together..."

"Until I met him on Monday, I thought you knew he worked there," I defend myself. "I had no idea he'd only been there a month! When I found out he was on staff, I assumed that you knew he was there and that you had just..."

"That I had just what, Jasper? Just pretended the situation didn't exist? Just left you to figure it out for yourself? Why the fuck didn't you ask me? I told you things..." Here he winces, and gasps softly. "I told you things about myself that I've never breathed a word of – to anyone. Ever." His eyes close, and he grimaces. The stabbing guilt I feel is almost more than I can bear.

"I was following your lead, Edward," I try to convince him. The fear that's rising in my chest is making it difficult for me to stay calm; my voice starts to escalate along with the dread. "I didn't want to push. You haven't said one word to me about your parents, ever, in any of the times we've been together. . You've never talked about any family at all. Jesus, look around! Not a single family photo. You're a photographer, for fuck's sake! What kind of person doesn't even have a picture of the people they love?"

His eyes pop open with my last sentence, and I can't tell if he looks livid or devastated. He stares at me for a long moment, then wheels around and strides off to his room. I follow. He is not going to walk away from this conversation.

In his room, he is standing beside his night table; but his eyes are on me. He's watching me, as though waiting for me to speak. I hold his gaze until, slowly, deliberately, he lifts his hand to the night table and grasps a photo frame – one I know I've never seen there before. Raising the photo, he brings it to the level of his chest, his arms extended towards me so I can see the subject. My heart feels like it's seizing in his chest when I realize what it is.

Jesus Christ. It's a photo of me. He has a photo of me on his night table. Obviously he placed it there at some point since I left on Wednesday, and meant for me to see it tonight when we returned from dinner. Whereas I've just accused him of being some kind of freakish human who has no photographs...and by extension, no loved ones.

Horrified, I meet his gaze. Coldly, wordlessly, he nods, acknowledging my realization. "You asked me to trust you, Jasper. And I did. I trusted you with so much." He laughs bitterly, humorlessly. "What a fool." With those words, he lifts the photo high over his head, and abruptly, he slams it to the floor. The glass shatters, scattering across the floor.

I jump at the violence of the action and the ear-splitting sound. In an instant, amidst the cacophony of shattering glass, my fear and dread are replaced by sheer panic. No no no no no – what have I done? This whole evening has gone so horribly wrong. I had good intentions – noble intentions – for tonight. Silently – unfairly – I curse Carlisle and Esme Cullen. If they had chosen a different restaurant, or even come half an hour later, I would already have told Edward everything. This entire train-wreck would have been only the stuff of unpleasant dreams.

But it is horribly, undeniably real. I can't hold back the tears that accompany my regret and my terror at how this evening will ultimately end. Edward simply glares at me, his face unflinching. Hard, cold...the Edward I met at Spin two weeks ago is back. Every layer of protection I broke down has been rebuilt in a matter of moments. Because of me. I asked him to trust me; and I didn't trust him. He feels completely betrayed by the only person he's let himself believe in, in the last ten years.

Spurred into action by panic, I blurt out, "Edward, I'm sorry. I should have told you about your father working at Northwest – I should have said something as soon as I found out. I shouldn't have kept it from you. I was so afraid to scare you off, and I know I was wrong. I asked you to have faith in me and I didn't give you the same courtesy." He snorts, but I ignore it and continue, creeping closer to him as I do. "I don't know what happened between you and your parents, but it doesn't matter to me. If you believe they shouldn't be in your life, I'll support you in that. I made a mistake – I handled this whole situation so poorly. I tried to do the best I could but I can see I was wrong. Please...please say you'll forgive me. Please, Edward..." I am full-on sobbing now, my voice breaking. "I was going to ask you about your family tonight. That's why I asked you to dinner. I swear I was going to tell you everything."

He looks away, rolling his eyes deeply at my final admission. "Words, Jasper. They're just words. You know that words are cheap. Your actions have told me everything. Even if you and my father don't have some kind of plan concocted--"

"Edward, I promise you, it's not like that. He didn't even know we were together. He asked me where I went to school and I told him Lake Union. He told me you went there, and I said I remembered you. He said you're a photographer now. That was the extent of our conversation about you!" I'm almost close enough now to touch him.

"Well, don't expect any more warm fuzzy conversations with Carlisle now that he knows you're gay," Edward spits the word like an invective. "Having a gay son was entirely too much for him; finding out that you've been dating the gay son will end that blossoming friendship pretty fucking fast."

"He already knew..." I sob.

Edward does a double-take. "He what?" he asks incredulously, furiously.

"He knew. He heard Kathleen talking about me dating a guy, and he told me..." I pause – if Edward believes his father to be a homophobe, what I'm about to say will rend the fabric of his world – but I have to say it. I have to tell him the truth, even if belatedly. "He told me that he's glad I am building a support system here."

Edward stares at me, disbelieving. "You're lying," he murmurs, barely audible.

"I'm not," I sob.

He grabs my shoulders. "You are FUCKING LYING!" he roars. I'm crying too hard to answer him – I can only shake my head. He releases me and storms back out of the bedroom to the living room. Slowly I follow him; I stand in the doorway between the two rooms, watching as he paces around the room, his hands again clasped behind his back, muttering to himself.

"This is too close...it's too close," he murmurs. Again and again he repeats those words – too close. Finally he says, "No!" and skids to a halt. He eyes me standing there watching him; and says, "He knows we've been together. I have worked too hard..." he breaks off and closes his eyes, trying to collect his thoughts. When they reopen, all trace of tenderness, any affection he's held for me – they're all gone. Replaced by an infinite vacancy that tears my heart into a thousand pieces.

"This thing...it's over," he says flatly. "They know we've been together. Thanks to you, they have a lovely little window into my life."

"Edward, no..." I plead. "He didn't know we were together till they saw us tonight. I didn't tell him..."

"But they know now, Jasper," he continues, cold, detached. "And that is insupportable. You'll see him at the hospital, he'll ask you about me...you're too polite to tell him that it's none of his fucking business..." He shakes his head. "No. The window is closed. It was...fine...while it lasted. But it's done now."

My eyes close and I feel myself start to sway. I have to reach out to the door frame to steady myself. Three words repeat in my mind, over and over. Edward...please...no. Edward...please...no.

When I reopen my eyes, he is dialing his phone. "Who are you calling?" I manage to whisper.

"A cab," he answers bluntly.

The room feels like it's spinning as I listen to him speak to the dispatcher; he provides his own address as the pickup address and mine as the destination. This isn't happening...Edward...please...no...this can't be the way it ends...Edward...please...no...

Finally Edward clears his throat. I open my eyes, and he's holding my coat and the box I picked up from the table at the restaurant. "The taxi will be here soon. I'd rather you waited downstairs," he says ungraciously. "Here's your stuff."

"That's not mine," I whisper, indicating the box.

"Well, I don't need it anymore," he replies. "I don't want it in my apartment. Take it with you."

I shrug into my coat, and take the box from his hands. He shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor. It's ending...how can this be the end?

One last time, I implore him. "Please don't do this..."

Finally he meets my gaze, but his eyes are cold and dead. He steps past me to open the door. "I didn't do this," he says coldly. "Goodbye, Jasper."

I will not say goodbye. "I love you." I refuse to believe I'm the only one feeling it.

The door closes behind me, and it's so final, so abrupt. I want to collapse on the floor outside his door. Somehow, though, I know I have to get home first. I stumble my way down the stairs, and the cab is waiting outside the front door.

I get in, and the cab driver asks, "Where to?" I manage to choke out my address, and he turns around to look at me. "Are you okay?" he asks, with kind concern.

"No," I answer truthfully. "Please, just take me home."

He turns again without a word, and we pull away from the curb. I attempt to keep my emotions in check during the ride, with some success. By the time we pull up in front of my apartment and I pay him, I am almost calm. Numb. Slowly, dispassionately, I walk to the elevator of my building. Riding up the elevator, I remember the parcel I'm clutching; and I begin to dissect it; untying the ribbon, carefully peeling back the tape of the wrapping. By the time I unlock the door of my apartment, the box is stripped bare.

Inside the apartment, I carefully fold the paper and place it on my dining room table, draping the ribbon over it. After staring at the box for several minutes, I finally lift off the lid. Inside, in the familiar tissue paper, is another photo frame. It's larger than the others he's given me. The photo is a collage of images – some of him, some of me – and they are manipulated to overlap and intertwine with each other. I peer at the photo for a protracted moment...

...and then, with an anguished wail, I sink to the floor, clutching the frame. I collapse into myself, relinquishing my heart to despondence. The colors that have illuminated my life for the last two weeks – they all smear and run into one hideous, nameless shade of desolate.

I am racked with relentless sobs, lying on the floor of my living room as I watch every dream...every kiss...every happiness – all gone, wrenched away from me – drifting on a sea of despair.

This thing...it's over.

It's all over.

-o-

I know.

I know.

...I know.

Please remember – I love these boys. I love them with my whole heart. Well...my whole, broken heart.

My blog has a couple of companion posts for this chapter. starfish422(dot)blogspot(dot)com

And to expand upon my disclaimer above, I also own half a box of Kleenex. It was a full box when I started writing this chapter.