Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Kay people, a lot of blood, sweat and tears (and maybe some hair from the constant pulling) went into writing this chapter. I scrambled to post it tonight so I didn't have to keep you waiting.
Hope it was worth the pain. :)
Peter stood in the yard, Charlotte beside him, staring in awe at the house in front of him. He hadn't seen the completed project, having been ordered away by Jasper earlier in its inception and had to admit he was impressed. And unnerved. It looked exactly like the photograph Bella had handed to him 19 years earlier. Looking at it now and knowing that she had once lived in a house exactly like it was just...
Which reminded him why he was here.
My maker has finally snapped.
He wasn't all that surprised really. It had definitely been a long time coming.
Heaving a sigh he exchanged a wary glance with Charlotte, before curling his hand in hers and walking up the stone pathway. Jasper didn't even wait for him to knock, throwing open the door with a wild look in his eyes and hair that had clearly been mussed by roaming hands.
"Did you know about this?" He barked the second Peter had crossed the threshold.
"Hey, you know it doesn't work that way." Or any way lately, he thought. Not since that day. He considered it an adequate punishment for what he'd done. "You don't even know if it's her."
"Really?" Drawing a piece of fabric out of his back pocket, he thrust it under Peter's nose. "Smell that."
Okay, that was definitely going in the top five list of weirdest things he'd ever been asked.
Rolling his eyes, he decided to indulge his fanatic maker, by taking a cursory sniff. He smelled leather, which was to be expected since it looked like it had been ripped off a jacket, and underneath that was the scent of...
He snatched the material out of Jasper's hand and brought it close enough for it to be practically shoved up his nostrils. Strawberries and Freesia, he realized, stunned. He had only come across that particular combination once in his long life.
Wordlessly, he passed the swatch to Charlotte, watching her eyes widen after she came to the same conclusion he had.
"Bella," she whispered.
Jasper smirked. "Still think I'm crazy?"
"This doesn't prove anything," Peter argued helplessly.
"I saw her, Peter. It was my Bella."
Whatever confusion he felt immediately turned to rage. "Oh, so now she's 'your Bella'?"
"Peter," Charlotte begged, tugging at his arm.
"No," he replied, shrugging her off and advancing towards Jasper. "How did she react when she saw you?"
"She was nervous..." Jasper reluctantly admitted. "Scared."
"Did she recognize you?"
"I don't... no."
A cruel smirk stretched Peter's lips. "How wonderfully fitting. Tell me Jasper, how does it feel to be forgotten? Hmm?"
"But I felt the mating pull and I know she must have too."
"So? You think I'm going to let you do anything about it?"
A dark look settled on Jasper's face. "Excuse me?
"I won't let her get hurt again."
"I won't hurt her this time."
"How do you know that?"
"You can't keep me away from my mate," Jasper warned.
Peter scoffed. "You've already lost her twice. Don't you think this is fates way of telling you that you don't deserve her?"
"If it really thought that, it wouldn't have brought her to me again."
-oo-
Charlotte ran in front of him, forcing Peter to grind to a halt.
Back at the house, he had been seconds away from attacking Jasper. She could tell by the way the muscles in his back clenched, his hands curling and uncurling into claws. Jasper had snarled, taking a defensive position and Peter had regarded him for a few long, silent moments. Finally he sneered, "you're not even worth it," and turned swiftly on his heels, cracking the door as he left the house.
"Where are you going exactly?" She demanded.
"She has to be here somewhere. I have to find her," Peter replied desperately.
"Is that the best idea, Peter?"
"How can you ask that? You know what he's done to her."
"I do," she agreed softly. "I also know why he made the choices he did."
Peter snorted. "Please, you're going to let him place the blame solely on that seer bitch?"
"But he didn't. He realized the mistakes he made. What his choices cost him. You saw him that day, Peter, you've seen what it's done to him."
"He doesn't deserve her," Peter stubbornly argued.
"I don't know, Peter. The fact that she's alive, that she's here, that she's met Jasper... it must mean something."
"But he'll hurt her," he whimpered.
"Maybe, maybe not. I don't think that's up to us to decide. Yes, we could protect her from something terrible, or we could be keeping her from something wonderful."
"You can't expect me to just-"
"I don't, Peter," Charlotte replied, cutting him off. "But I think, for now at least, we need to be observers."
"Her venom stained my fingers, Char. I watched her burn."
"I was there, Peter." She snapped. "Do not think for one second that you suffered that alone. I mourned her too." Her tone softened. "But I think," she searched for the right words, "I think this may be bigger than us."
Falling to his knees, Peter replayed a memory that was as fresh as it was 19 years ago. He was certain that if he slept, he would see it in his nightmares.
"Fine," he breathed, looking away from Charlotte. "I won't look for her. Not yet at least. But we're staying." He stood, brushing the dirt from his pants and met Charlotte's gaze determinedly. "And when he hurts her," he stressed, "I hope you'll be ready to pick up the pieces again."
"It won't come to that." Charlotte hoped she sounded more confident then she felt.
Nodding firmly, Peter beckoned her towards him and they took off for the outskirts of town, to find a 'no questions' motel to hole up in for the time being. She threw one last pleading glance over her shoulder, in the direction they had come from.
Please, Jasper, don't let it come to that.
-oo-
Jasper ran shaky hands through his hair as he stared blankly at the doorway. He noted absently that, in his haste to leave, Peter had cracked the frame. He was thankful for the imperfection. It gave him something to fix. He had run out a long time ago, and with nothing more to occupy his hands or his mind, his thoughts would wander to...
Oh God. I can't believe it's her.
-oo-
He had been in the backyard doing what he did every night, and had been surprised to hear the rumble of a vehicle in the distance. Though there were a few turn offs in the first few miles of road, as you got further back it was one that passed nothing of interest and would eventually loop itself around until you got back to pretty much the exact same place you started.
Now that he thought of it, this would be the first vehicle, a truck he concluded as it drew closer, that passed his place in months. Not that he had ever minded. He wanted the isolation.
He had been stunned when, at the same time he heard the sputtering signalling an engine that was about to stall, his instincts began screaming at him. He gulped in a breath of unnecessary air when the mild twinge he had felt earlier in his chest, turned to a painful tugging sensation, like a rope had been looped around his insides and something on the other end was engaged in a hearty competition of tug-o-war.
Frowning, he followed the direction it was pulling him in and hesitantly turned around the corner of the house. He stumbled when a loud, feminine, exclamation of "Dammit!" split the still night air.
That voice...
It lacked the southern inflection on its words, but he'd swear...
Impossible.
He was forced to squint at the darkened cab. He had been neglecting his feeding habits for years, only bothering to hunt when the thirst became unbearable and then he would punish himself by feeding on only small animals. It was just enough to keep his eyes a darkened gold, barely tiptoeing the line of a thirsty black, and had proved to dull his senses (and his gift) significantly.
The figure hunched over the wheel looked vaguely female, with long, dark hair blocking her features. Despite the desperate urge to use a burst a vampire speed to approach the side of the truck, he crossed the lawn keeping his pace light and sedate. Had his heart beat, it would have been thundering at this point, as a scent, both familiar and yet not, wafted out of the cracked window he was currently tapping on.
"Are you alright, Miss?"
She turned to him wide-eyed and at that moment, he wanted to scream, to cry, to laugh, to fall to his knees and thank the God he had stopped believing in a long time ago.
The changes were subtle. The skin of her face a shade or two darker, and the wide eyes a deep chocolate, rather than the burnished gold that had looked into his eyes 19 years ago. That was the same shade his Isabella had had when she was human.
But no matter the small differences, there was no question at all. It was her.
That shocking realization had caused him to stumble over his next question, stepping back in surprise when instead of answering she motioned him backwards instead.
His breath caught as she popped open the door and slid from her seat. As her eyes ran appreciatively over him, he returned the favor. Disbelieving drinking in every inch that still looked exactly like he remembered her. Even the clothes she was wearing mirrored the outfit she had on that day, minus the boots. He was certain she was nothing more than a figment of his imagination and desperately fought the urge to reach out to caress her face, run his fingers through her hair, hug her, anything to prove that she was real.
Her eyes met his again, the small spark of familiarity causing his heart to flutter. She recognized him. This was it, she'd say his name and everything would be...
"Do I know you?"
The small piece of hope shattered. The tables had been turned and he wanted to weep at the unfairness of it all. He wanted to shake her, he wanted to fall desperately to her feet and beg her to remember him.
He could tell his silence was making her uncomfortable, so he made the attempt at neutral conversation in the offer of help. Anything to make her stay longer, anything to get her into the house. He hoped that stepping onto the property would trigger her memories just like it had his own.
Instead, the closer they got to the house, the more panicked she seemed to get. In his desperation, he reached for her hand and did the worst thing he could have done at that moment. He called her by name.
A brief burst of elation spread through him when he realized it was yet another thing they shared. She was still his Bella. It was a feeling that disappeared as quickly as it came.
He stared down at the ripped leather in his hand, unable to watch as the truck squealed off into the direction it had came. Unable to watch her run away from him.
Stumbling back to the house, his mind whirled as he reached for the phone.
-oo-
He wondered if he made a mistake by letting Peter know. So desperate to prove that he wasn't crazy, that this had happened, he hadn't stopped to consider what his reaction might be.
Was he right? Did she run away because fate decided he didn't deserve her? Did it just throw her in his face merely to taunt him? To show what he gave up?
He had read somewhere once that, 'true love always gets a second chance.' Unfortunately it never said anything about a third one.
He didn't have the slightest idea how to proceed. Considering how she reacted to him tonight, he doubted simply stalking her down (which he desperately wanted to do) would be the best decision.
With the way Peter raced out of his house, he probably didn't have the same stipulations, and unlike Jasper, her last memories of him and Charlotte would be fond, grateful, maybe even loving.
So despite the fact that his mate was alive again, that she was so close and knew of his existence, he did the only thing he really could do in that moment.
He wept.
-oo-
Bella stared down at the phone cradled in her hand as she contemplated whether she should call her mother or not. She hadn't talked to her since before... that night. She was desperate to hear her voice, but afraid that she would pick up on the quiver in her own.
It had been two days since she had ran from that strange man and the myriad of feelings he had invoked in her. The whole way back home to her apartment, she found herself battling with the urge to turn her truck around and... well, she wasn't sure exactly what she wanted to do.
She had always been a bit of a complicated person her entire life. 'I don't get you,' was a phrase she'd heard a lot, even once or twice from her own parents. And to be honest, she didn't get herself sometimes either.
But for a brief, brief moment, when she met that stranger's eyes... she got it.
And that confused the hell out of her.
To feel like you knew someone when you didn't know them at all made her very unsettled. It bothered her that it didn't bother her and rolling that thought around in her head had made her shuffle through emotions quicker than a six year old on a sugar rush.
He said my name, she reminded herself. Why did he say my name? How did he know my name?
That's the part that was bothering her the most... that and what had happened when she finally fell into a fitful sleep later that night.
Her dream had changed again.
This time, instead of the primroses in her hand, she was standing in a field of forget-me-nots as her name, spoken in the same drawl she had heard that night, echoed around her.
This time she woke up angry. She was frustrated at the vague nature of her dreams and wished that they would finally come out and just say whatever it was they were trying to tell her.
Oh yes, she was now certain more than ever that her dreams were trying to tell her something.
And she didn't know why, or how, but that man had something to do with it. But what?
Did she dare attempt to track him down again and ask him? Would he be receptive after her bi-polar display that night?
Do I even want to, was the bigger question.
After two days of asking herself these questions, she had finally picked up the phone, desperate to hear some voice other than the one in her head.
Reaching to punch the numbers in, she was startled out of the action by the sudden pounding at her door.
Was it him? Did she want it to be?
Hesitantly she crossed the room, cell phone still in hand. Her finger hovered over the button that would speed dial the police (a number her mother had made her promise to key in) and cursing that her door lacked a peep hole.
Inhaling deeply, she unlocked the door and opened it a crack. When she peeked out at the disheveled person, a broken-hearted look twisting their face, she quickly swung it open the rest of the way.
"Mom?!"
A/N2: Was Peter kind of harsh to Jasper?... Perhaps. They always have a great relationship in every story I've ever read and this is me attempting to explore a fractured one. And I hoped I explained a little bit more about why Bella ran so hot and cold in the last chapter... but I'd still like to know what you thought!