Songs Mentioned:
Werewolves of London, Warren Zevon

Chapter 35: Introducing...the Competition

JPOV

Thursday March 16 – Saturday, March 18, 2006

Catskills, NY

"We're getting closer, aren't we?" I asked, though the answer was already plain on Anya's face.

She nodded slowly, her expression serious at first, but then something shifted. A flicker of amusement danced in her eyes, and before I could say anything, her joy and mischief returned in full force. It was so sudden, so quintessentially Anya, that I found myself sitting up a little straighter, bracing for whatever was coming next.

What now?

"Yes, Anya, care to clue me in?" I asked, raising an eyebrow, knowing that whatever was on her mind, it was bound to be entertaining.

She just grinned at me, her eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter. "Oh, Jasper, the fangirls, Team Edward…" she trailed off, the hint of a smirk playing on her lips. Then, as if she hadn't just dropped a massive hint right in front of me, she began singing Werewolves of London under her breath, the words slipping out casually as she turned to dance her way over to the record player.

She swayed her hips, humming the tune like it was the most natural thing in the world, as if she hadn't just thrown a puzzle piece into the air and walked away.

Oh, my sweet human, I thought, watching her with a mixture of affection and exasperation. Over the past few months, on those nights when she was asleep and I was alone with my thoughts, I'd found myself going over the little breadcrumbs she'd dropped throughout the year. I knew that Edward and Bella's love story was idolized, the core of everything here, but there was something else, something she never quite said outright.

Anya was, of course, firmly "Team Jasper to the end," but there was always something in the background, something she alluded to when she talked about treaties at our first lunch with my family. I had guessed she was referring to La Push, the Quileute tribe, their legends and the old agreement with the Cullens. But she never mentioned the tribe by name, never spoke directly about what she knew, like she was holding onto a secret she wasn't ready to share.

But now, it hit me. Team Wolf. That was the other half of this equation. Edward wasn't just Bella's soulmate; he was about to face a rival—someone who was going to step in while Edward was away, and if I knew anything about love triangles, this was about to get complicated. Especially when I thought about the breadcrumb she dropped Christmas Eve about letting sleeping dogs lie. Was there more than one rival? Is that what she found so amusing?

I couldn't help but smile, shaking my head at her. "So, that's what you've been hinting at all this time," I murmured, more to myself than to her. "Team Wolf? But which wolf Anya?" I took the risk and asked the other question, "Or is there more than one wolf?"

Anya spun around to look at me, catching the realization on my face, and her grin widened. She didn't say anything, just winked at me and when she reached her record player, her eyes scanning the vinyl with focused determination. I watched as she finally found what she was looking for: Werewolves of London.

With a mischievous glint in her eye, she placed the record on the turntable, and the needle dropped with a soft crackle. The cabin was instantly filled with the unmistakable opening notes of the song. Anya cranked the volume up, louder than what was probably comfortable for her human ears, but the sheer joy on her face was contagious.

I couldn't help but smile as I watched her, her body swaying to the rhythm, completely lost in the moment. She turned to me as the chorus kicked in, eyes sparkling, and without a second thought, she started to dance. It was impossible not to get caught up in the energy of it all. So, without hesitation, I joined her, letting the music wash over me, and we danced together in the middle of the cabin, laughter spilling out of both of us.

Didn't matter than fifteen minutes earlier she had thrown up on me and the couch (another vintage shirt possibly ruined) or that she never answered if it was one wolf or more. Nope, it was just the two of us dancing in the cabin to a ridiculous one hit wonder from the 80s. I could not wait to mess with Edward with this. But when? I tried not to think too hard about Fucker and instead just focused on the ridiculousness of a plotline my creator wrote and be grateful for this sweet, unpredictable woman – Anya – who had brought so much light into my existence.

I got the text from Alice in the middle of the night. The screen lit up with a message that instantly had my full attention: Found Bella. She's alive. Apparently, she went cliff diving off La Push.

Relief washed over me, but it was quickly followed by the need to share the news with Anya. I moved quietly, not wanting to startle her, but when I leaned down to wake her, she opened her eyes almost immediately, as if she'd been half-expecting it.

"Anya," I whispered, holding up my phone so she could see the text.

She blinked at the screen, her eyes adjusting to the brightness in the dark room. Then, with a heavy sigh, she rolled her eyes and muttered, "Damn teenagers."

Before I could respond, she softly began to sing the chorus to Werewolves of London, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ahh, so my hunch about Team Wolf was right. Edward was not going to like this. But which wolf was it? How many wolves were there? I mean Anya said teenagers plural – is that Bella and one wolf or Bella and the pack?

The following morning, another text from Alice came through, this time carrying even more urgency: Edward called Bella's house. Jacob Black answered and made him believe she's dead. We're on a flight to Italy.

I stared at the message, my mind reeling. Why the fuck are they going to Italy? What was Fucker up to now? And is it just one wolf? This was moving faster than I'd anticipated. Without a word, I showed the text to Anya, bracing myself for her reaction.

She took one look at the screen, and I could feel the shift in her emotions immediately. That sense of boredom she used as a shield came flooding back. But then she gritted her teeth, a flash of frustration in her eyes, and spat out, "Esti de châlice de tabarnak! Damn teenagers!"

I waited, watching as she calmed herself down, her emotions flickering between exasperation and determination. Without another word, she turned on her heel and headed up the stairs towards our bedroom. I followed her, only to find her yanking out suitcases from the closet with a focused intensity. Just one wolf? Bella and Jacob Black?

"What—Anya, are we going to Italy?" I asked, half expecting her to confirm that we were about to plunge headfirst into yet another disaster.

She spun around to face me, eyes blazing with a mix of urgency and irritation. "No, you idiot! Forks!"

Forks. Of course. While Alice and Bella were racing off to Italy to try and stop Eddie Boy, we had to be ready to handle things on this end, in case it all went to shit, which knowing Fucker, it would.

I barely had time to process Alice's call when my phone buzzed again in my pocket. I pulled it out, glancing at the screen—Emmett.

"What now?" I muttered before answering. "What's up, Em?"

His voice came through loud and clear, a mix of frustration and urgency. "Jasper, before Alice told you and Anya about her vision, Rosalie called Edward."

I froze. "What?" My grip tightened on the phone, and I could feel my jaw clench involuntarily. "You're telling me Rosalie called Edward before Alice even spoke to us? About Bella cliff diving?"

"Yeah, she didn't waste any time," Emmett said, his voice tense. "She told him Bella was dead. I don't think she realized what he'd do with that information."

"Fucking hell, Emmett," I growled, pacing the room. "Does she have any idea the mess she's created?"

"She didn't mean for this, Jasper. She thought Edward had a right to know," Emmett replied defensively. "But now? He's in full-on self-destruct mode, and Alice and Bella are trying to stop him from making the worst decision of his existence."

"By throwing themselves into the lion's den," I muttered darkly. The Volturi weren't exactly known for their hospitality. "This just keeps getting better. And Rosalie? She's not answering her phone, I'm guessing."

"She's hiding out with Esme, probably wishing she never answered Alice's call." Emmett admitted. "Look, Jasper, you know Rose. She acts first, thinks later, especially when it comes to Edward."

I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair. "Yeah, well, thinking later doesn't help us now, does it?"

Anya came down the stairs, her sharp eyes locking onto mine as she noticed my expression. "What is it?" she asked.

I covered the phone's mic and muttered, "Rosalie told Edward about Bella before we knew anything. That's why he's losing his shit."

Her eyes widened, genuine shock flashing across her face. "She did what? When? How? Why?"

"Hang on, Em," I said into the phone. "I'm gonna call you back." I ended the call, turning fully to Anya. "Anya?"

She shook her head, her hand coming up as if to stop me from saying anything else. "Umm…" Her voice trailed off, her expression shifting from disbelief to frustration. "She... Why would she do that? And how does that even make sense? Did she—did she think she was helping?"

"Anya, why does this sound so surprising to you? Was this not in the playbook?" I asked, tilting my head.

She stood there, scratching her head as if trying to work out a complex problem. "Okay," she said finally, her tone sharp but steady. "Tell me exactly what happened and in what order. Explain it to me like I'm a special kind of stupid."

I sighed, leaning against the edge of the table. "Fine. Here's the timeline as far as I can piece it together: Bella goes cliff diving. Alice sees it, thinks she's dead. Rosalie gets that intel and calls Edward to tell him. Then Jacob answers Edward's call to Bella's house and confirms the worst—or at least, makes it sound that way. Edward spirals, decides he's going to off himself by Volturi, and Alice sees that. Cue the mad scramble to Italy."

Anya stared at me for a long moment, her expression shifting again—from shock to annoyance to something closer to possible confusion. "And no one thought to stop Rosalie from opening her big mouth first?"

"She didn't run it by anyone," I said, shrugging. "She heard 'Bella's dead' and acted."

Anya threw her hands in the air, pacing in a tight circle before spinning back to me. "And she thought telling Edward—Eddie Boy, who uprooted the entire family over a paper cut—just casually, like, 'Hey, by the way, Bella went cliff diving and, oopsie, she's dead' was a good idea? I mean, I get that she doesn't like the girl, but this? This seems excessive!"

I bit back a smirk as she continued, the frustration practically radiating off her in waves.

"Like, what was Edward supposed to do with that information? Send flowers to the funeral home? Show up and give a eulogy? 'Here lies the love of my life, tragically deceased from an extreme sport gone wrong.'" She threw her head back dramatically, hands clasped to her chest like some overwrought theater actor.

"Are you done?" I asked, crossing my arms but failing to hide my amusement.

"Not even close!" she shot back. "But… give it to me straight, Jasper. Does Rosalie actually care for her brother? Remove Bella from the equation."

I paused, considering the question. Rosalie had always hated the fact that Edward was attracted to Bella—the lowly human—and had never found her attractive, not that she liked him that way. But over the years, she'd grown to love Edward like a brother. It was complicated, though. He was… Edward. He never went off on his own. Sure, Rosalie and Emmett often disappeared for trips and extended honeymoons, but Eddie Boy? He was always at home, brooding under the roof of our 'parents.'

"Jasper?" Anya's voice broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present.

I glanced at her. "Yes," I said finally. "She does care for him. And he's always been at home. Never off on his own."

Anya nodded slowly, piecing it together. "So, she hoped this would stop his travels and…"

"...and bring him home," I finished for her, the realization settling over me.

"Huh," she said, tilting her head thoughtfully. Then, out of nowhere, she smiled, that spark of mischief flickering back in her eyes. Without another word, she started humming Werewolves of London and headed back upstairs to keep packing.

I watched her go, blinking. "Okay…" I muttered to myself then sat down on the couch. Will I get to meet the wolves? Oooh get a read on Jacob's emotions? Did he and Bella? Black, Black, Black? Relation to Ephraim Black? Oooh! Did Bella hook up with an Alpha?! Was that the spice? Why was that far more amusing than Eddie Boy manning up? For the record, he never did the night of the Spring Formal. I got further than he did, and I only made it to 2nd base.

I kept all my thoughts and questions to myself and then headed upstairs to our bedroom where I watched Anya pack, all focus and annoyance. But I couldn't help but wonder what the rush was.

I got the call from Alice, her voice frantic on the other end of the line. "Edward is going to show himself to the humans to force the Volturi's hand! We're trying to stop him! God, Jasper!"

What the actual fuck is Eddie Boy doing?! Maybe the spice is Bella getting comfort from the wolf? Can't be spice if Eddie is with the Volturi. Why the hell am I so preoccupied with Eddie Boy and spice?!

Panic surged through me, but before I could react, I caught Anya's eye. She just gave me a calm shake of her hand, a silent command that said it all: Well, calm her down! Then, as if nothing was amiss, she went right back to packing her clothes, utterly unfazed by the madness unfolding on the other end of the line. Like Eddie Boy exposing himself to humans was totally normal. Well, this is stupid Fucker who had a tantrum over a papercut, so maybe?

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. Plot still on. I got it.

"Alice, sweetie," I said, keeping my voice as soothing as I could, "just get to Volterra. I have every faith that you and Bella can stop him, okay? You've got this." Although why they should? Nope, stick to the plot Whitlock. But do I really want to?

Alice's panic seemed to subside just a little at my words, though I could still hear the tension in her voice. "We'll do our best," she replied, the determination creeping back in. Doesn't matter, Alice is still to the plot.

"Good," I said, glancing over at Anya, who was now zipping up one of the suitcases with an air of efficiency. "Stay focused. We'll be ready here if you need anything." Because apparently Fucker has gone off the deep end, again. Can't imagine what he'll do when he learns about Bella and her hot spicy wolf. Wolves?

After a few more words of reassurance, I ended the call and pocketed my phone, turning my attention fully to Anya. She had already moved on to packing the next suitcase, her movements swift and purposeful, like this was all just another part of the plan.

"You know," I said, walking over to her, "sometimes I think you're the only thing keeping me from losing my mind in all of this."

Anya paused in her packing, her eyes meeting mine with that familiar mix of affection and mischief. She tilted her head slightly, as if considering something, then smiled. "Hmm, Tex. This calls for champagne, and then we wait. Okay? But first, I suggest you go gorge yourself on some veggies. The next few days are going to be…" She trailed off, searching for the right words, then finally settled on, "teen melodrama. Saint-siboire de tabarnak dieu m'aide."

I couldn't help but chuckle at her exasperation. Ahh, our creator had made this scene drag out longer than it needed to, and Anya had hated reading it the first time around. But she seemed surprised by what Rosalie did. So, was it in the playbook or was it more of an off-stage event? Was Rosalie casually telling Edward Bella is dead her various pursuit? Maybe our creator didn't know what to do with her? I set all those maudlin thoughts aside and focused on the fact that Anya had also said champagne—because, at the end of the day, it was a love story, and the idiot teenagers were going to be just fine. But which pair? Bella and her spicy wolf? Or Heathcliff and The Duck? Can I root for the wolf?

She caught my smile, and her expression softened. "Jasper, I know this all seems like a mess, but it's going to work out. It always does, remember?"

"All right," I said, taking her advice to heart. "I'll go gorge myself on veggies, clear my head. You finish packing, and when I get back, we'll pop that champagne. Deal?"

"Really, vegetarians drink champagne?" she said with exasperation before whipping a shirt in my direction.

I caught the shirt effortlessly, grinning at her. "Touché," I said, amused by her quick wit. "I guess I'll just have to watch you enjoy it then."

"Darn right you will," she shot back, still laughing as she turned back to her packing. "But don't worry, I'll make sure to toast for both of us."

Guess it's Heathcliff and The Duck. Still…Bella was alone in Forks all winter with a spicy wolf to keep her warm on those cold dreary nights…. must really get an emotional read on the wolf when we get back west. Yes, yes indeed.

APOV

Saturday March 18, 2006

I threw another shirt into the suitcase, barely registering what I was packing. Just another round of waiting, another round of this ridiculous drama. At least Jasper was here this time, and it didn't feel like the world was about to end. But God, the frustration gnawed at me.

Rosalie phoned Edward. Rosalie. Not Jasper, not Carlisle, not Esme—hell, not even Emmett. She called Edward, armed with Alice's vision and just enough information to set off a chain reaction of epic proportions.

Why would Alice call Rosalie? Not that Alice didn't love her, but Jasper made so much more sense. He was calm, strategic. The logical choice. Did Alice think I still harboured mistrust because of the mussels' incident? I didn't. It was an honest mistake. Nope – she'd chosen Rosalie, of all people. What the hell was she thinking? Like did she call Rosalie after she spoke to Jasper? Was she bored on her cross-country trip to Bella and wanted to what? Shoot the shit?

I yanked open another drawer, pulling out a handful of socks and tossing them into the suitcase. My thoughts churned. Was this in New Moon? Did I miss this? Or maybe it was Eclipse? Ugh, the vampire-wolf tug o'war for affection was over the top; honestly, it's a miracle I remember as much as I do. But Rosalie's little phone call – zero recollection. Meyer wouldn't have glossed over this, would she? Well…she glossed over a shit ton of other stuff, so maybe?

Unless I glossed over it myself…ugh

Setting aside the Rosalie phone call tangent, I shoved another shirt into the suitcase, my movements brisk and sharp and focussed on what I did remember: the Duck was going to save Heathcliff. Of course, she was. She'd swoop in, all desperate and determined, and Edward would be right back to his usual brooding self. Oh, Bella, I can never leave you! he'd say, all wounded and poetic. Then, inevitably, he'd demand we all move back to Forks as if this had been some grand, tragic misunderstanding.

Misunderstanding? My ass.

For nearly six months, that self-righteous, angst-ridden vampire had made Jasper, my Jasper, feel like a monster. He had to endure Emmett's fury, Alice's grief, and my own illness. saint-siboire, the flu. Nearly dying from a damn mussel allergy. Getting rip-roaring drunk because I couldn't do anything about it. Don't even get me started on the fact my mate had wild vampire sex with his ex-lover who has stamina. Wild vampire sex that could have been avoiding had Meyer been more explicit about how mate bonds work in this world! And, I. – well, I remembered what Bella was doing – how catatonic she had been. I knew what Edward had said to her, how he broke her down piece by piece. He left her alone in the woods after breaking her heart. Sadistic bastard.

And the worst part? I couldn't say a word. Couldn't let anyone know how much I knew, how much I felt. All for what? So those two could wallow separately in their misery for six agonizing months.

And this is what kids were swooning over? This was their idea of romance? Hell no.

I'm surprised my liver survived this.

Hours later, when Jasper returned from his hunt, I noticed he also came in with Champagne. He must have gone into town. Got the good stuff too – Veuve Clicquot. I had a few glasses and then he started to pace beside me, feeling the tension rolling off me in waves. He knew I knew more than I should. And then, like clockwork, Carlisle called. "It's safe to come back," he said, but we all knew what that meant. Edward had given the green light. He was okay now, so everything was fine.

Right.

I looked at Jasper, incredulous. "Who's the actual adult in this family? If my brothers, Grégoire or Michel, pulled a stunt like this, there'd be hell to pay."

My brothers. The ones who didn't exist in this world. The ones Jasper had taken from me when he saved me from James' venom in that dance studio. Jasper's face softened, feeling my pain like it was his own. Before he could say anything, I grabbed him, kissed him hard.

"I'm sorry, Anya," he whispered.

But I wasn't. I chose this. Chose him. And I'd do it again.

"Jasper, my love," I said softly, wrapping my arms around him, "you have nothing to apologize for. I know you. I chose you. I love you. Team Jasper to the end, remember?"

He nodded, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "So, does this mean we can finally talk about Team Jacob?"

I couldn't help but laugh. I'd dropped enough hints about this second round of insanity, teasing him with the knowledge that things were about to get complicated. I knew he was dying to know the details.

But I couldn't resist drawing it out just a little longer. "Darlin'," I drawled, my Texan accent just as awful as it was in bookclub, letting a playful smile spread across my face, "don't you think we ought to wait for Heathcliff to find out on his own? Ain't that more fun, sugar?"