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: Originally, you were going to get a look into Charlotte's mind but there was too many POV's going on in the same chapter, so I had to split it in two. So, now that'll be in the next one. No worries though, it's already finished. :)
"What happened?!" Charlotte gasped as the two plodded heavily through the door. She rushed to Peter's side, fluttering her hands over his torn clothes and lightly prodding at the silvery scar that circled the area between his shoulder and arm.
"Babe, I'm okay," Peter assured her hurriedly.
"What did you do?" Charlotte hissed, her protective mating instincts on full display as she turned to face Jasper, who took an uneasy step back.
Peter placed his hands firmly on her shoulders, bringing her around to face him. "I'm okay, Char," he repeated. "We're okay."
"You are?" she asked softly.
He met Jasper's eyes quickly. "Maybe not completely, but we'll get there."
Charlotte collapsed heavily into Peter's arms and buried her face in the tattered remains of his shirt. "You better not be lying to me, Pete."
"I'm not, I promise."
"No more hate?"
"Well, maybe a little."
Jasper grinned when she gave his stomach a light love tap and Peter proceeded to over-exaggerate the pain she had caused him. It was almost like old times.
Charlotte pulled away and shared a silent conversation with Peter, to which he nodded. She broke free of his embrace and shyly approached Jasper. When she wrapped her arms around him in a hesitant hug, Jasper couldn't stop himself from tensing slightly. This was the first time he had been hugged in twenty years. She pulled back a little when he didn't immediately return it.
"Sorry," he muttered, wrapping his arms around her and awkwardly patting her on the back. "It's been awhile. I'm a little rusty."
"You're fine," Charlotte replied tenderly.
"Are you kidding? It looks like that super uncomfortable, two guys hugging I see from time to time."
Charlotte lifted her head and shot Peter an icy glare.
He shrugged. "What? I told you there was still gonna be a little hate."
Jasper chuckled. "No, he's right. Besides, if you remember, I've always been pretty terrible at it."
Charlotte nodded with a grin. "You used to fidget."
"I couldn't help it. Close contact amplified my gift."
She slipped out of his arms. "Right. Sorry about that, I'm probably giving off a lot of strong emotions right now."
She was. They were fainter than usual, but were mostly comprised of relief, joy and the barest hint of love. Jasper closed his eyes, giving himself a moment to bask in them. After all the negativity, not just from earlier, but from Peter in general these last few days, he was extremely grateful for the change. "It's fine. It's not exactly at full strength right at the moment."
"When's the last time you fed?" she asked in a mothering, no-nonsense tone.
"Right before we came back here, I-"
There was a dull thump from behind his bedroom door.
Charlotte turned panicked eyes to Jasper. "I heard her moving around a few minutes before you got back. I was hoping she'd go back to sleep."
Jasper cursed under his breath. He'd been so preoccupied with dealing with Peter, he hadn't thought of the repercussions of being so far from the house. The constant connection with Bella had been severed, and what he'd feared earlier was now coming true. She was awake.
Peter groaned. "I should have guessed. She wasn't sleeping on her own, was she?"
"I wasn't ready," Jasper blurted, a tinge of hysteria in his voice. He had spent hours after Peter and Charlotte left the other day practicing exactly what he was going to say to Bella when she woke up. Unfortunately it was still the same jumbled mess of thoughts it had been when he'd been carrying her over the threshold of his home and consisted mostly of throwing subtlety out the window and hurling himself at her feet begging her to remember him. If he was honest with himself, he would have been quite content to keep her asleep for a couple of days. "Besides, it's not like she couldn't use the sleep."
"After what happened to her, I doubt she'd appreciate it." At the questioning look Jasper and Charlotte shot him, he clarified. "Nightmares."
"I kept her under to deep to have them," Jasper replied absently as he frowned in concentration, fully intending to put her back to sleep.
"Leave her be," Peter advised, as the sound of her first tentative steps across the hardwood floors met their ears. "It's only going to get worse the longer you put it off."
"Worse?" Jasper replied incredulously. "Considering what she's been through, and that's not even including what happened in the past, how can it possibly get any worse?" He cut off Peter's retort with a glare. "This isn't us simply telling someone, 'oh hey, your dog died'. This is heavy stuff, that neither of us are prepared for," he stressed as he tugged roughly at his hair. "Have you ever told the families of the people you've killed that they were dead before? I know I haven't."
In the beginning when he had been with Maria, he simply hadn't cared. And when he started to care a little too much, it had been pointless; the people he had fed from during that period had been nothing more than faceless strangers. He wouldn't have been able to tell you their names, let alone whether they had family or not. Then, when had settled into life with the Cullen's and had, what they referred to as a 'slip up', he had run away like a coward, choosing to pretend that it hadn't happened or, in his most shameful moments, convincing himself that they were better off.
Peter and Charlotte stiffened. "That's not a fair comparison," he hissed. "We are not responsible for that woman's death and the people we feed from are little more than the dregs of society."
"That doesn't mean that they don't have somebody that will miss them, somebody that loves them and nobody wants to hear that someone they love is dead. So unless you want to be the one to break that news, I suggest you give me a little slack for wanting to put off telling her that her mother is-"
His words cut off as the three pivoted to face the door when it creaked open.
-oo-
Bella's eyes blinked open, their movement hampered slightly by the gummy-like consistency of her eyelashes. Though she didn't remember crying, the burning sensation that stung through her eyes when she finally got them open said differently. Wherever she was it was dark, but the absence of light didn't stop the pain (the equivalent of a screwdriver being jammed into her temple) from screaming through her brain.
Her hands jerked up to cradle her head and she inhaled sharply at the pain the sudden movement caused. The quick inhalation of air turned into a ragged cough thanks to the parched feeling in her throat. She smacked her lips, wincing at the fuzzy taste of her tongue and wondered how long she had been asleep.
She did her best to work up some spit, swishing the miniscule amount around in her mouth in an effort to get rid of the sandpapery feeling of it. At the same time she inhaled shakily through her nose, rubbing the tips of her fingers in a counter-clockwise motion over her temples until the pain in her head eased to a dull roar.
Unfortunately the pain abating banished the cobwebs from her mind and the events of last night (or possibly even longer- Bella had no concept of time at the moment) slammed into her. Moisture prickled her eyes and stung as the abused tear ducts protested and refused to produce enough to fall.
"Mommy..." she whimpered as she curled into herself. She closed her eyes tightly as the choppy memories from that night began to replay in her head. She had no illusions about what happened; her mother was dead. She had no one know. She was alone.
Bella allowed herself to get lost in the numbness that came with the realization, curling her body deeper until her forehead touched her kneecaps. There was a small silver lining in the dark haze of her thoughts and despite her inner turmoil, she felt strangely at ease. Because regardless of what had happened; at least she was somewhere safe, somewhere familiar.
My bedroom, was her first thought, and really the only plausible place she could be.
She relaxed slightly, turning on her back and feeling the dim hope that maybe it was all a dream. That the ones she'd been having suddenly took a turn for the worse as some sort punishment for continually ignoring them and not taking the time to understand what they meant.
Her hands spread out on the comforter of what was obviously a bed beneath her and she froze when her fingers came in contact with the slightly grainy fabric, absent of the silk leaf-shaped patches that decorated her own.
Her eyes snapped open and she stubbornly ignored the pain as she stared up at the ceiling. Instead of seeing the comforting glow of a hundred glow in the dark stars (a childhood fancy that had carried over into adolescence) that decorated the ceiling of the bedroom in her apartment, it was as dark as the rest of the room.
That nixed her old room in Phoenix (on the off, and unlikely, chance that Phil had somehow come to her rescue) as well, since it probably contained twice as many stars as her new room. Her dad had always found it amusing that, even though she had outgrown the childishly bright lavender paint that covered her bedroom walls, she had still held onto the stars that were pasted on them. She never had a particular reason for why she was so attached to the stars, at least not one she could put into words. Something about the night sky put her more at ease then even the most beautiful, sunniest day ever could.
She heard a door opening from somewhere in the house, followed by the low murmurs of conversation (her eyes widening when she registered more than one voice) and her mind frantically tried to suss out where she could be and came up blank. She didn't know anyone in this town, certainly not enough for them to feel obligated to take her home.
The red-eyed guy.
Terror froze the blood in her veins at the wayward thought and she began to hyperventilate, her hands clenching and unclenching in fear. That movement, along with the memory of curling up moments earlier, drives home the fact that she still had full mobility (she once again spreads out her hands and lifts her feet to confirm this) and aren't bound in any way. The realization calms Bella enough for her to think rationally.
She may not know why exactly, but she didn't doubt for a single second that whoever (or whatever) the red-eyed guy was, he fully meant to kill her in that parking lot that night. And even if, and that was a very big if, he brought her somewhere to 'finish her off', she doubted very much he'd have the decency to, not only leave her untied, but (now that her eyes were adjusting slightly to the dark) put her in a bedroom on a comfortable bed. No, he seemed more like the clichéd abandoned factory, dirty floor type.
I'm sorry mom, Bella thought as she pushed away the memories of her death and attempted to piece together what had happened afterwards. All she remembered was running, screaming, falling, than... nothing. She thinks she might of ran into someone, but when she tries to bring to mind his face, all she can see is the stars over his shoulder.
She has a feeling it was a man though, because she recalls that the last thought through her mind before she blacked out had been, I'm safe, he'll protect me. Her brow furrowed as she concentrated harder on exactly who 'he' was, but all she succeeded in doing was causing her headache to flare up again.
Frustrated at being in the dark, both figuratively and literally, Bella reached out blindly towards the right side of the bed, hoping that whoever owned this room had equipped it with a lamp. Her prayers were answered, but unfortunately she was a little too enthusiastic with the hand waving and ended up knocking it off of whatever stand it was sitting on. She held her breath as it toppled to the ground, landing with a heavy thunk, but thankfully not shattering.
Deciding to leave it where it lie, she shifted on the bed and eyed the door. There was a faint light seeping in around the door frame and the conversation that she had heard on the other side had come to an abrupt halt. Any hope that she had of possibly sneaking out a window (she could just make out the barest sliver of moonlight peeking through a heavy curtain on the other side of the room) was dashed now that whoever was out there knew without a doubt that she was awake.
Bella tensed and stared hard at the door, waiting for someone to walk through it and contemplating on whether to lean over for the lamp that was currently on the floor and using it as some sort of weapon. She frowned when it remained closed and the conversation began again. She couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, but there was a definite note of panic in one of the vaguely masculine voices.
That tone, as opposed to anger, bolstered her confidence (or maybe it was the belief that with her mother gone she had nothing left to lose) enough to swing her aching legs over the bed and hesitantly stand. As if testing the water in a pool, she touched her feet lightly to the floor a few times, applying a little more pressure each time. Deciding that they were strong enough to support her, she stood a little quicker than she should of, immediately losing her balance and almost tumbling back down on the bed. Bracing one arm against what she thinks is another bedside stand, she takes a long moment to regain her equilibrium, before finally taking her first few tentative steps towards the door. The progress is slow, thanks to the fact that her legs wobbled like a newborn colt the entire way, but she managed to make it the entire way without tripping, steading herself completely as she drew closer to it.
Pressing her ear against the cool wood, she slid her trembling hand around the chilled brass knob and turned it enough that it became obvious that the door wasn't locked. Hearing that same voice, of what now clearly belonged to a man, rising on the other side; she twisted the door knob the rest of the way. Stepping back as she pulled it opened she cut him off mid-sentence.
"-for wanting to put off telling her that her mother is-"
Had Bella not been teetering precariously on the edge of a full mental breakdown, she would have laughed uproariously at the look on the faces of the three people currently staring dumbfounded at her. She didn't recognize the male and the female off to the side staring at her like they were witnessing a miracle, but the man directly across from her line of sight was the same one she had spent the last few days obsessing over.
She decided to finish what he was obviously going to say. "She's dead, isn't she?" she asked flatly, feeling a strange sense of déjà-vu as the words passed her lips. Like she had already asked a similar question before.
"They're really dead, aren't they cowboy?" The question echoed through her head, the nuances eerily similar to her own voice, but with a lazy drawl to them, thickened by sadness.
She began blinking rapidly as a tanned face with tear misted blue eyes superimposed itself on the pale features of the man in front of her, his dirty torn clothes and scuffed motorcycle boots replaced by a faded tan button up shirt, dark brown pants and dusty cowboy boots. The differences were subtle, mainly in the color of his skin and eyes, but there was no mistaking that this was somehow the same man. The other two people disappeared as the background blurred and transformed into the field from her dream- the tree with the, what looked to be freshly carved, initials directly behind him.
"I'm sorry darlin', they are." "I'm sorry, she is." Their lips moved at the same time, their voices (again with subtle differences) overlapping.
Bella gave her head a quick shake and the vision faded rapidly, replaced once again by a living room and a messy, sad golden-eyed man standing in the middle of it.
Overwhelmed by not only having her mother's death confirmed, but by seeing aspects of her dream, while she was awake, she felt the blood rush to her head swiftly followed by a powerful wave of dizziness. She teetered slightly on her feet as her lashes fluttered and her hand rose to her forehead as she tried to fight off the light-headed feeling.
"Wha-" She didn't get to finish the question before for her knees folded and she pitched forward.
The last thing she saw before she blacked out was the blond man darting forward quicker than she thought humanly possible. And, just like that terrible night, the same thought echoed in her head.
I'm safe, he'll protect me.