The Chess Players – Zugzwang*

Foreword:

I just realized that I had by mistake published the 13th chapter only in the French version, here is the translation ^^"

Still no beta; the mistakes are mine, the characters are not. ;) I'll keep this introduction short so as not to—once again—make the chapter feel even longer. :p

Happy reading!

Carlisle forced a slightly strained smile at his most boisterous child, then let his gaze drift back to the two chess players. There was clearly a subtext to the scene that eluded him, some hidden stakes behind the seemingly mundane game.

A deception was unfolding before his eyes.

« Helplessness is an illusion. The strength of the heart, intelligence, and courage are enough to defy fate and overturn it, sometimes. »

Albert Camus – Speech to the Circle of Progress, January 1956.

The contrast between the two vampires was striking: where Edward seemed rather relaxed—or at least skillfully managed to give that impression—Jasper once again resembled the sentry-like soldier who had arrived at their home three weeks earlier. His posture was incredibly rigid: he didn't move an inch, yet the way he stared at the chessboard carried an intensity too sharp for him to simply be considering his next move. Carlisle didn't think he had seen him this tense and on edge since the moment he had confessed his role as an executioner in Maria of Monterrey's army. Every muscle in his body was taut, poised for action. As if he were about to endure an attack. Or launch one.

It had been two weeks since the boy seemed to have noticeably warmed to their presence. Serene in their company, he regularly exuded an odd sense of tranquility. Even, at times, a dreamy sort of happiness whenever Alice was near. Carlisle didn't know what had caused this sudden shift, but he was unsettled by the empath's abrupt resurgence of distrust—something must have happened in his absence. He didn't know what had triggered this regression, but from his perspective, it was an ill omen.

Edward, I assume you have a good reason for calling me at the hospital and suggesting I come home before the end of my shift… Are you going to explain yourself, or is something preventing you from speaking? [1]

Carlisle deliberately infused a healthy dose of concern—and a hint of annoyance—into his thoughts. Now he just had to wait for the telepath's reaction to his barely veiled jab.

Edward slowly lifted his gaze to him, his expression unreadable, his voice perfectly neutral.

"Carlisle, thank you for coming home so quickly. I'm sorry for making you rush. We need to talk, but at least take the time to drop off your things in your office…"

Carlisle restrained himself from frowning at the peculiar directive. Edward was telling him to go upstairs and put his things away? This kind of instruction was entirely unlike his son, and the situation as a whole was anything but trivial. How long was he going to be kept in the dark? The worry he had felt earlier, when the young receptionist had informed him of the call, returned in full force; a vague anxiety swelling in response to yet another oddity.

He noticed Jasper's hands twitch abruptly. A heavy sensation crashed over him, a spike of panic tightening his throat for a few seconds—before vanishing as quickly as it had come, replaced by a deep boredom. The situation Carlisle had deemed worrisome less than a minute ago now inspired nothing more than cold indifference… He shook his head to clear his thoughts and resist the intrusive influence, turning toward the man he knew to be responsible for his sudden emotional shifts. He hoped his expression conveyed curiosity rather than accusation—he didn't want to further unsettle their guest, not when he already seemed to be on a warpath.

"Sorry."

Jasper uttered the word with a brief, apologetic smile that didn't reach his eyes, which remained stubbornly fixed on the chessboard. Carlisle caught a very brief exchange of glances between Emmett and Edward and decided to leave the matter alone for now.

Resigning himself to following Edward's instructions without question, he forced himself to remain calm and gave a short nod, ready to cross the room and put his briefcase away in his office, when Edward added a few more words—this time in a tone of dry cynicism that suited him far better.

"That way, Jasper and I can play a few more moves. Maybe even finish the game. His defeat is all but certain."

At this, a flicker of a smile—one that seemed almost genuine—played at the former soldier's lips, the corners of his eyes twitching slightly; yet he still didn't lift his gaze from the chessboard, nor did he relax his rigid posture. He moved a pawn with a quick, deliberate gesture. Sharp and precise. The unexpected hint of humor stood in stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere. Edward—like Emmett earlier—was clearly trying to put Jasper at ease. Which was all the more curious, given that the telepath had made no secret of his reservations about integrating the two nomads into their family. On the contrary, he had sternly warned them all against the soldier, regarding him with the caution one might reserve for a grenade on the verge of being unpinned.

In truth, Edward had accepted Jasper's presence grudgingly and had deliberately kept his distance after his arrival. The two boys had exchanged no more than a handful of words, maintaining a respectful distance from one another. Even though Carlisle was aware that his eldest son had grown less wary of Jasper's potential threat in recent days, it was still surprising to see them suddenly so close. As if, in just a few hours, they had somehow developed a form of brotherhood.

Emmett chimed in with his usual good humor, commenting on the inevitable outcome—no one could beat the telepath at a strategy game—with a broad, teasing grin.

"Weren't you supposed to be a war chief? You're really going to let a teenager beat you, man? If you lose, who's going to teach him to respect his elders?"

Edward snorted and rolled his eyes, briefly glancing skyward.

A faint chuckle escaped the former soldier as he relaxed—almost imperceptibly—his jaw unclenching as he responded in a playful tone.

"Well, is it my fault that you failed to instill that so-called respect for elders after more than a decade of playing the big brother?"

Emmett pouted for a fraction of a second, purely for show, before his wolfish grin returned, visibly proud of having managed to amuse the wary empath—he had an innate ability to make him relax.

Carlisle shook his head, still uncertain about what was at stake; the three men under his roof were apparently united in something, but for what purpose? He slipped away, this time using his vampiric speed. A fraction of a minute later, he found himself in front of the door to the room adjacent to the bedroom he shared with his wife. He could still hear faint sounds coming from the living room: the light tapping of Edward's fingers on his trouser leg, the sound of a piece being moved across the chessboard, the very low—unintelligible—murmurs of Jasper and Emmett. Alone in the room, he scrutinized the paneled bookshelf in the far left corner, fixing his gaze on the spot where an object was missing. His instincts had not deceived him; here was the clue he had been looking for.

A note had been carefully placed in the usual spot where he stored his chess set. He hurried over to decipher it.

Even a vampire's handwriting was not elegant when written in haste. Edward's normally meticulous script resembled the scrawl of a frantic insect. He must have taken no more than a few seconds to jot down this message.

"The situation is already settled. It's not as bad as you might think. Keep your emotions as neutral as possible during the discussion. Jasper will explain everything, but no matter what he says, he does not deserve to be cast out. And above all, if he talks about punishment, deflect. You absolutely do not share the same definition of the word. Trust me."

His gaze lingered on the message for a moment. Somewhat cryptic, but still a significant breakthrough. If Edward deemed it necessary to remind him to control his emotions, that was not a good sign. And if he felt compelled to advocate against Jasper being expelled, that was even more concerning. As for the last part about the definition of punishment…

The doctor suddenly felt very old as he once again—pointlessly—let his eyes drift over the words, which were less obscure than he would have preferred. He could dance around the concept and refuse to acknowledge Edward's warning for what it was, but he had a fairly clear idea of the issue of polysemy, easily guessing what lay behind the cryptic phrasing.

He knew enough about how newborn armies operated and how large vampire clans enforced hierarchy to understand that any mistake had cruel—if not fatal—consequences for offenders. Having spent nearly twenty years in Volterra, he had witnessed the ruthless execution of vampire justice on multiple occasions; he retained a repugnant memory of it. Edward had assured them—somewhat pointedly—that Jasper had never tortured anyone during his time in the South; which did not necessarily mean the opposite was true [2]. Not the same definition of punishment… The prospect was anything but pleasant, regardless of the reality behind their differing interpretations. Carlisle tried not to let his mind spiral into imagining the brutal treatments the empath might have endured.

Carlisle pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, letting his posture sag for a moment, shoulders dropping. Weary at the thought of the inevitably tense conversation ahead.

He had taken pleasure in the role of patriarch within his family since Edward's creation: centuries old, he had a considerable knowledge of the world, having accumulated an extensive wealth of experience and lived through a multitude of eras; rightly or wrongly, he considered this gave him a certain legitimacy in acting as a guiding figure for those he had turned. Being the cause of their enforced immortality, it seemed natural to him to take responsibility for guiding them through the complexities of an eternal existence fraught with dilemmas. Carlisle had never considered himself a clan leader in the way that vampires living in groups of more than three traditionally did. Not for a moment. He did not wish to dominate his family members, nor be treated as a king, and certainly not regarded as a tyrant. He had naturally felt like a "father" when he had chosen to prevent Edward's death by transforming him and teaching him the intricacies of his new existence. He had taken on the role because it suited him perfectly. When he married Esme, her maternal instinct had been so tangible that—though they were close in both human age and time of transformation—it had almost seemed a given that she would take on the role of a surrogate mother to Edward; then, by extension, to Rosalie and Emmett shortly after their respective transformations. The fact that Carlisle and Esme called themselves—and sincerely felt like—the parents of the younger vampires did not take away their autonomy.

Emmett and Rosalie had existed for thirty-five years, Edward was entering his fiftieth year; they had ceased being children long ago.

Regardless of the relative immaturity of those turned around human adulthood, in many ways, their accumulated experiences made them fully-fledged adults. Even though there would always remain a significant age gap between him, Edward, Rosalie, and Emmett, he did not consider himself superior to them; he treated them as equals except in rare moments where their actions could endanger them, expose them, or directly harm another family member. Only in such specific cases did he reluctantly assume the role of pseudo-clan leader… or rather, of an authoritarian father.

And he could only hold this role because they all, by convention, accepted that he should. It was mere display: a power that was purely symbolic. An unspoken contract between them. When the rules were broken, the sanctions Carlisle could impose were, at best, artificial: forbidding Edward from touching his piano, restricting Emmett's access to his latest hobbies, refusing to transfer Rosalie the monthly allowance she spent on expensive clothing and mechanical parts. These were rather superficial, material punishments, accepted more out of affection and a desire to maintain the status quo than out of obligation. An illusion of authority: if one of them decided to challenge the sanction, he would have no recourse other than to express his disappointment. And, in the worst case, if the transgressor refused to reconsider and repeated their harmful actions, to temporarily banish them. The problem was that Carlisle—if Jasper had indeed committed an offense worthy of punishment—had no real hold over a former soldier of a hundred and six years, freshly arrived in his home: no matter how he examined the issue, there was no room for maneuver.

He had not known the man for long, but he did not seem to have any frivolous leisure that could be taken from him or any material dependency that could be exploited to his detriment. His only notable interest was reading… and suffice it to say, the epistemophile in Carlisle violently rebelled at the thought of depriving him of it. Not only did he find the idea ridiculous, but he doubted that a punishment of this nature would have any positive impact on the empath. That someone with such a past would immerse himself—after decades of slaughter—so completely in works on philosophy, history, and social sciences seemed rather redemptive to the former pastor. He would do nothing to hinder this laudable desire to understand the world.

Since material sanctions were out of the question, what solution remained? Expressing his disappointment? They were, for now, not close enough for that to have any real meaning.

What other option was there if it was a transgression that could not go unpunished? Exclusion? [3] Demanding that he leave the house? With Alice? Expeditious and final: if he asked them to leave, it would have nothing in common with the brief banishment of Emmett and Rosalie; his instinct told him it would be permanent. The very prospect filled him with a deep sense of failure.

For years, Carlisle had wondered whether he had committed a heresy by turning innocents into monsters and condemning them to an accursed eternity. What he expected of them sometimes seemed cruel, absurd. He had made them vampires, then, from the moment they awakened, had asked them to fight against their very nature. He had trapped them in an existence where they had no choice but to perpetually battle their worst instincts or betray the morality he had instilled in them by giving in to their thirst for blood.

He could only blame himself when thinking about the burden he had placed on their shoulders. When Edward, for a few years, had chosen to kill, justifying it by the immorality of his victims, Carlisle had not blamed him. A part of him understood the logic behind this unsteady compromise between Good and Evil. Perhaps Carlisle was an anomaly; perhaps it was absurd to expect a vampire to abstain until the end of time from turning to their natural food source. Perhaps he was asking too much of them, hoping they would achieve control comparable to his own; that they would renounce the visceral satisfaction of drinking human blood without paying too heavy a price.

The arrival of Alice and Jasper changed things somewhat. Unexpectedly, it had alleviated—if only slightly—Carlisle's guilt. Alice would never have known that a vampire could survive without killing if she had not had visions of his debates with Edward. Without those glimpses, the seer would never have had the possibility of making such a choice. Yet, with only this theoretical knowledge—this indication that it was possible—she had decided to resist her thirst. Of her own volition. Carlisle felt boundless admiration for the young woman. It was almost a miracle. A miracle that spoke volumes about free will. A striking proof that a vampire—who did not even remember having been human—could, with sheer will and a small nudge from fate, transcend their own nature.

And more miraculous still: after years of waiting, she had found Jasper and saved him from his misery by teaching him that it was possible to forgo human blood. It had been palpable during his account of the Southern Wars how much the empath hated killing. Hardly surprising, given the nature of his gift. He had abandoned his life as a predator without regret the moment he was offered an alternative, immediately seeking to spare human lives, turning his back on decades of habit. It was difficult, but he was sincerely trying. And Carlisle could only admire his determination, his desire to embrace an existence completely opposed to the one he had always known. Jasper and Alice were a little miracle in themselves: one more reason to believe in divine providence—in predestination—and to bet on the potential goodness of every being. Carlisle did not regret for a moment having welcomed them under his roof. Thus, Edward's note, suggesting a situation so dire that it might require Jasper's departure—and by extension, Alice's—worried him endlessly.

Carlisle rose from his desk, somewhat reluctantly, but eager to return to the main room to—perhaps—finally obtain an explanation. He made sure to compose the most neutral and open expression possible; then focused on locking down his emotions as best he could. Aim for ataraxia. It was rather easy for him. He simply had to adopt the mindset required for a complex operation: unlike a human surgeon, the difficulty was not in maintaining his composure to avoid trembling in the face of unexpected events during the procedure, but in subduing his inner predator to the point where it could not so much as twitch, even if liters of hemoglobin were to accidentally spill onto the table.

After years of practicing medicine, Carlisle could maintain an Olympian calm whenever circumstances required it. And, judging by Edward's brief message, they required it.

There was no point in delaying the inevitable; it was time to lance the boil. Once again, he forced himself into a state of calm—determined to keep his emotions as serene as possible—and went downstairs.

Back in the living room, the doctor immediately noticed the change in the occupants' demeanor. The chess game had evidently reached its conclusion, and the masks were coming off. Jasper moved a pawn on the board before suddenly standing up and stepping away. He backed against the far wall, then froze, adopting an unreadable expression. Emmett had lost his grin; he crossed his massive arms over his chest, wearing a crumpled expression, guilt radiating from him. A child caught in the act. Edward was still seated at the table, but his eyes were locked onto his father. He was tapping his trouser leg with the tips of his long pianist's fingers, one foot twitching briefly. The moment the thought crossed Carlisle's mind, the anxious movements ceased; the telepath was determined not to let fidgeting betray his nervousness.

It's a little late for that, Edward.

Carlisle offered a slight smile to his sons. Jasper stood as straight as a rod, his face impassive, hands clasped behind his back, as if ready to deliver an official report. Military to the core. Edward shot his father a strange look before inclining his head slightly toward the empath, as if silently inviting him to speak. Carlisle gave the former Confederate an encouraging smile, hoping to put him at ease.

Jasper appeared incredibly rigid—even for a vampire—as if he had been turned to stone on the spot. He no longer avoided his gaze. On the contrary, he held it without a single blink, his immobile tawny eyes piercing through him with heightened scrutiny. He seemed to be analyzing every nuance of emotion in Carlisle's posture and face, assessing him visually more than relying on his talent. When the man finally spoke, his voice was soft and measured but carried a hint of restraint, as though every word had been meticulously chosen. Which was certainly the case, given that he had had over an hour to prepare for this conversation…

"Sir, I wish to inform you of an incident that occurred earlier between Emmett and me."

He paused, gauging Carlisle's reaction before continuing in a neutral tone. His body remained utterly still as he recounted the facts in a flat yet courteous manner.

"There was an altercation. I used my talents. First involuntarily, out of surprise. Then, I went on the offense tryin' to defuse the situation. Things escalated. I misjudged what was at stake and ended up hurtin' Emmett. I broke the rules y'all set for us when we arrived. I take full responsibility for what happened "

At these words, Emmett—apparently unable to stay silent any longer—interrupted abruptly, his brows shooting up in indignation, nearly disappearing into his thick brown curls as he raised his voice unreasonably.

"Don't talk nonsense! Carlisle, this is entirely my fault! I tried to jump him during a hunting contest to surprise him. It was stupid. I didn't think about what it might trigger; he thought I was attacking him. He just defended himself! Jasper did nothing wrong. I was the one acting like an idiot."

There was a rebellious impatience in his tone… and a good dose of remorse. Edward decided to drive the point home, adding a few details, his voice calm but carrying a certain emphasis in his plea.

"It was just a misunderstanding. A sequence of unfortunate circumstances, nothing more. Jasper wanted to inform you of the situation as soon as possible, and I agreed with him. I thought it was best for you to come home and be made aware of the incident before Esme and the girls returned. Rosalie is probably not going to be thrilled…"

Edward let his sentence hang, allowing the implications to settle between them. A fine understatement: he had disturbed his father at work so that he could attempt to manage the thorny—and likely inevitable—mess he foresaw looming on the horizon.

Jasper remained silent for a moment, watching him cautiously. His jaw had noticeably tightened during Edward and Emmett's interruptions. Carlisle had a hard time determining whether he was relieved that his newly adopted brothers had stepped up to defend him, or if, on the contrary, he resented their interventions and would have preferred to handle the heated discussion himself from start to finish. His gaze remained fixed on Carlisle—scanning for the slightest change in his expression or emotions—before the soldier took a deep breath and resumed speaking.

"I bit Emmett, Sir. I fully realize this goes against your rules. I'm ready to accept whatever punishment ya decide, no matter what it is. And, if ya want Alice and me to leave, we'll do so as soon as she's back. "

A blunt statement, delivered in a flat tone. Yet something inside Carlisle flinched at the word "punishment" Edward's note, left in his office—and the ominous implications within it—was still turning over in his mind.

Jasper seemed to be waiting for his sentence to fall with perfect detachment. If there was any trace of nervousness in the man, it was only visible in the tension of his shoulders. And in his drawl, which had thickened as he summarized the events. It was an amusing detail that betrayed his tumultuous state of mind, even as he tried to reveal nothing physically. It was difficult to completely rid oneself of such a deeply ingrained idiom. Carlisle could attest to that—he had taken nearly a century to lose his British accent, which had far too easily resurfaced during their recent stay in the English countryside. And he still had to concentrate at times to avoid using perfectly archaic terms in front of humans.

Jasper gave a strange, somber half-smile before politely inclining his head and lowering his shoulders in a weary gesture. He had apparently finished speaking, having nothing more to add. He had not uttered a single word in his own defense; on the contrary, he had taken full responsibility for everything. Carlisle didn't know what to make of it.

It could have been much worse. It was an unfortunate event, but far from dramatic. Emmett was still alive. Yet, the memory of the cold accounts of decades spent fighting in South America, along with the myriad of scars covering the former Confederate's body, left little room for doubt in Carlisle's mind: if his colossal son was still whole—minus one bite—it was purely an act of mercy on their guest's part. Had he chosen to, Jasper would have had no difficulty tearing Emmett to pieces and drastically shortening his eternal existence. Fortunately, the man was sincere in his pacifist intentions and had not taken any drastic measures in response to the attack. They had all been very lucky…

Carlisle closed his eyes for a moment and let out a sigh, thanking the Heavens that the incident had not been more serious.

He had probably taken an excessive risk in welcoming into their home a stranger with such a violent past. The man was not at fault; he had clearly done nothing to provoke the situation and had been a victim of "unfortunate circumstances," as Edward claimed. Yet, this did nothing to resolve the issue posed by the unpredictable reactions of a vampire who had spent decades in appalling conditions, facing vampires too "domesticated" to truly grasp the danger he represented.

Carlisle felt helpless. He had no room to make a fair decision: he had already grown attached to the nomads and had no desire to abandon them to their fate; it would break his heart to ask them to leave now. But he also had to consider the safety of his entire family. Jasper was offering him an easy way out by volunteering to leave—what else could he do but dutifully accept the offer?

Carlisle hesitated, noticing an irritated shake of Edward's head in response to these last thoughts. It was true that his first son had insisted in his message on the necessity of "not sending Jasper away."

Are you claiming that Jasper wouldn't have been able to kill Emmett in retaliation for his actions? That similar incidents could never happen again and lead to something far worse? Do you no longer think I was reckless for disregarding your recommendations and inviting him and Alice to stay?

Edward justified part of his reaction aloud, frowning slightly. He remained vague, careful not to say too much and directly expose his father's last thoughts.

"He only bit Emmett to subdue him. Jasper wouldn't have gone any further, even before I arrived to clear up the misunderstanding…"

Jasper swiftly lifted his head at the mention, scrutinizing Edward, then Carlisle with wary eyes. After a few moments of hesitation, he seemed to reach a fairly accurate conclusion regarding the silent exchange of the doctor's thoughts. His jaw tightened, and he let out a peculiar hiss of displeasure. He looked positively irked by the implication, a hint of defiance unmistakable in his voice when he finally spoke again.

"I appreciate Emmett, I never woulda hurt him if he hadn't jumped me. And I had no intention of killin' him!"

Well, that was defensive—and far more spontaneous of an outburst than Carlisle would have expected from such a controlled man. He was more emotional than he let on... interesting.

Carlisle never ceased to marvel at this fact: despite the number of years that had passed since their births, immortals all retained a certain "youth of mind" and a significant degree of impulsivity. With their brains frozen at the age of their transformation, they could not mature beyond what their halted neural plasticity allowed. [4] This was one of the primary reasons why creating prepubescent—or babies —vampires was punishable by immediate death: beings created in such a way were inherently dysfunctional, their aborted cortical development preventing them from managing abstraction or complex judgment. Let alone regulating their murderous instincts enough not to risk exposing the vampire community to humans.

The man standing before him was over a hundred years old. He had confessed to them less than a month ago that he had ended thousands of lives. Yet, he seemed genuinely offended that Carlisle had considered the possibility that he might have—on impulse—killed Emmett in response to his supposed aggression.

Surprising, but incredibly reassuring.

"Jasper, I'm sorry if what Edward just implied in response to my thoughts offended you," Carlisle said gently. "I simply thought it rather lenient of you not to have harmed Emmett more, considering you believed he had deliberately attacked you. Under the circumstances, the outcome of your confrontation could have been much worse. I understand that the incident was the result of a misunderstanding for which you were not responsible. It is to your credit that you want to take responsibility for it, but as far as I am concerned, I do not believe you deserve a sanction for defending yourself."

Jasper raised an eyebrow and shook his head, incredulous. There was a hint of derision in his tone, even though he still seemed measured in his choice of words.

"I broke one of the only rules y'all had set. I'm ready to own up to it. I just wanna point out that Alice had nothin' to do with my actions.. "

As expected, the man did not seem to understand what he must have perceived as excessive leniency. Or perhaps he was suspicious of the lack of punitive measures, speculating that Carlisle was merely pretending to let it go when in reality, he was not.

To his eyes, the absence of punishment for a "grave" infraction like attacking another member of the clan might be seen as weakness or an incomprehensible decision. Jasper had been subjected to strict orders—and severe consequences for any missteps—for so long that he likely felt a good dose of confusion, and perhaps even a hint of contempt, toward Carlisle's attitude.

The doctor sighed and inwardly cursed the soldier's creator: no matter what Jasper had endured in the South, it had left deep scars.

If he stayed with them—and Carlisle hoped he would—they would have to see this conversation through and lay everything bare.

"Why would I punish you?"

Edward leaned back against his chair, arms crossed, giving Jasper a knowing smirk and a pointed look, leaving Carlisle to continue.

"You didn't attack Emmett. You defended yourself against a threat you believed to be real. And most importantly, you regret your actions."

He paused, choosing his words carefully. Jasper needed to understand that he was not under the yoke of a tyrant and that, no matter what he had lived through, that time was over. That his mistakes—if he had even made any—would never result in violent retaliation.

"If you think that deserves a sanction, I'm afraid we have very different views on justice. And since we're speaking of punishment, I don't quite understand what you expect from me in that regard. You are an adult and you are here of your own free will. If you were to deliberately violate the rules we have set, I would have no choice but to ask you to leave. I have no intention of enforcing any other kind of punishment. In this particular case, the situation is complex: you have done nothing wrong, but I may still have to ask you and Alice to leave for a while...

Jasper nodded gravely at the mention, while Emmett let out an indignant exclamation. Carlisle raised a hand in the air, hoping to prevent any untimely interruption and wanting to clarify his thoughts.

"If it were up to me alone, I wouldn't ask you to leave. That is neither what I want nor what I believe to be fair. But I cannot make this decision by myself.

He let silence settle, carefully weighing his next words before speaking.

"Rosalie and Esme must have a say in this. It was their partner and son who was injured. Even if the person most directly affected rightly believes…

Carlisle shot Emmett a sharp look, and the latter had the decency to adopt a repentant expression. Oh, the reckless man wasn't off the hook yet—he would revisit his foolishness as soon as the situation was less turbulent!

"…that he is responsible for the situation that led to the bite and holds no grudge against you, I must still hear what they have to say before making a decision. I cannot promise not to ask you to leave before we've had that discussion. Out of respect for them.

The relief in Jasper's expression was almost imperceptible—just the slightest easing of tension—but Carlisle caught it.

"I would like you and Alice to stay. I hope we can find a solution, together."

Subtle movements from Edward, a faint sigh, and a barely-there smile confirmed that he had said what needed to be said.

Carlisle gave Jasper a small nod—the man was still watching him unblinkingly, his expression speculative, as if he couldn't quite believe he was getting off so lightly—and offered him an encouraging smile, hoping to lighten the atmosphere a little. He was about to ask for a few more details about the incident when an admiring whistle interrupted his train of thought. He turned his head toward its source, raising his eyebrows.

Emmett was staring at the chessboard with an awed expression. Edward, who had evidently picked up on what was causing his brother's astonishment, looked stunned.

"Would you look at that! Jasper completely played you, Edward!"

His tone was incredulous but amused. Carlisle arched an eyebrow, intrigued, and let his gaze fall on the abandoned chessboard. The pieces were frozen in an unusual configuration: checkmate was impossible with the remaining pieces. No matter the next move, the game was lost—no non-detrimental move was available to either player. He narrowed his eyes, analyzing the situation quickly.
A mutual Zugzwang [5]. Incredibly rare. No winner, no loser. But how could that have happened against Edward?

The telepath stared at the chessboard for a moment, furrowing his brows, then shook his head.

"It's just a game, Emmett. And it's a draw that wouldn't have been possible in a real tournament, no need to make a big deal out of it."

"Just a game?!" Emmett repeated, chuckling as he clutched his sides. "Since I've known you, you've never lost a strategy game. Which makes sense, since you can cheat all the time. You were reading his thoughts and still lost! Well, technically, you both lost, but anyone would call that a win for Jasper. That's insane!"

Edward shot him a dark look, but the feigned irritation on his face wasn't enough to conceal a good dose of surprise. Jasper leaned toward Emmett with a conspiratorial air, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips as his expression finally relaxed.

"Not sure I can pull that off again. He was too confident and too distracted by things outside the game to read my endgame moves properly. But wait till I teach Alice the rules: she's gonna be absolutely impossible to beat! "

Carlisle observed the scene, his mind racing. Had Edward really let himself get distracted? Was it even possible to distract a telepath enough to force him into a chess draw?

Another burst of laughter from Emmett rang out, accompanied by a faint wave of euphoria, no doubt stemming from the empath's amusement—Jasper's expression had lightened considerably. Carlisle felt the beginnings of an irrepressible smile tug at his lips.

Had Jasper really managed to manipulate Edward into making a misstep? That seemed highly improbable, but then again, Jasper had apparently been a brilliant strategist in his human days, so who knew? His ability to manipulate was far more subtle than it appeared—perhaps he had played on both his own nervousness and Edward's to provoke a mistake? That kind of maneuvering would have been incredibly daring given the specific circumstances under which the game had taken place…

He glanced at Edward again. Theoretically, it was impossible to beat the boy at chess. He himself was an excellent player and hadn't won a game against him since 1920, when the telepath had fully grasped the extent of his talents. Unless... unless he had deliberately relaxed his focus to ease the atmosphere and offer Jasper a half-victory after a day of tension? But if Edward had deliberately conceded the draw, wouldn't the empath be acutely aware of it due to his powers?

The various possibilities seemed unlikely. Edward was a good actor when he wanted to be. Perhaps it was part of a strategy silently devised by the two boys, who might have, by mutual agreement, arranged to set up this strange configuration to surprise him and Emmett…

He fixed his gaze on his elder, searching for confirmation in his eyes, but Edward merely rolled his eyes in a mock-exasperated manner, a smirk on his face betraying his amusement.

"Whatever you're thinking, Carlisle, it's wrong."

There was a distinctly mocking tone in his voice. Carlisle responded with a vague nod, though doubt still lingered. Was the irony in his son's voice revealing something? Or was it him who was looking for a sign where there was none? It didn't matter. What mattered was that the tension had given way to a welcome lightness.

Jasper, now seated again, in a more casual manner this time, gave a brief nod to Edward and flashed him a lazy smile. There was a respect tinged with defiance in the gesture. Emmett chuckled again, and even Carlisle couldn't help but let out a slight laugh as he watched the antics of the three vampires facing him.

It didn't matter who had manipulated whom; Carlisle allowed himself to savor this moment of peaceful camaraderie. A moment of tranquility and complicity, before the storm that was bound to rise.

He settled into a corner of the room and couldn't help but think, amused, that he would have liked to know the full story. Had he witnessed a pseudo "defeat" of the telepath, a brilliant stratagem by the former soldier, or some curious staging? Jasper and Edward didn't seem ready to give any clues about the outcome of their duel. Not this time.

The roar of the engine shattered the night's calm, and they distinctly heard the sound of gravel crunching in the driveway. The respite had been brief: Esmée and the girls were returning from their shopping trip earlier than Carlisle had anticipated. Jasper immediately returned to his rigid posture, on high alert. Edward froze suddenly and muttered under his breath. His expression darkened, and the thoughts that had just assailed him were clearly anything but positive.

"They know. Alice told them, and it's worse than we thought.

He had let the words slip out in a barely audible breath, obviously not wanting the occupants of the vehicle to hear him. He added a few more words in a faint whisper.

"Let Esmée speak. That's the only chance this won't escalate catastrophically."

They all exchanged alarmed glances before the empath jolted suddenly, reacting to the wave of emotions—apparently toxic—crashing over him. He stepped forward a few paces and let out a low, rumbling growl, his eyes darkening noticeably. Barely a second later, the front door swung open with brutal force, as if struck by a sudden gust of wind. Alice seemed to materialize out of thin air, appearing in the middle of the room in a whisper of movement. Without a word, she rushed to her mate and leapt into his arms, while he engulfed her in a fierce and protective embrace.

Esmé entered right after, her brows furrowed, her face unusually severe. She was closely followed by Rosalie, whose stiff gait and icy expression left no doubt about her mood. Her sharp gaze swept across the room, pausing briefly on each face, lingering on Emmett—who seemed to shrink under her unwelcoming assessment—before locking onto Jasper's. A silent battle of murderous glances flared between them.

Carlisle took a deep breath and swallowed his venom in a nervous gesture.

Zugzwang, indeed.

Notes:

*Zugzwang means "compelled move" in German. In chess, it refers to a situation where all possible moves are disadvantageous for the player whose turn it is to play: no matter what move they make, the player in Zugzwang is stuck and can only worsen their position by moving a piece.

[1] As a reminder, passages written in italics and without quotation marks represent thoughts directly addressed to Edward.

[2] We know that Carlisle has witnessed the Volturi's brand of "justice" multiple times during his time at court. It is mentioned that this was one of the reasons he left Volterra: the cruelty in the application of the Law and the complete disregard for life in all its forms.

[3] Given the theoretical age of the protagonists, punishments involving material deprivation are purely symbolic... I seem to recall Bella making a humorous remark to Edward at the beginning of their relationship, asking him if Carlisle was going to "ground him" for revealing their secret to a human. Edward replies with something along the lines of, "Carlisle is more of a mentor and a friend to us than a father, and it's because he is an extremely wise and honorable man that we let him make most of the important decisions for our family." A completely logical and reasonable argument... and yet, in the second book, Carlisle reacts exactly like a father who almost lost his child when Edward returns from Italy after his failed suicide attempt. There is an undeniable "benevolent father figure" aspect to Carlisle; I can easily picture him saying things like, "I'm not angry, just disappointed," or lecturing the Cullen children when they break collective rules... With Jasper, however, things are trickier, because the only effective measure he can take as a sanction/coercive action is to ask him to leave. The "radical punishement" is the only card he has to play—there's no middle ground...

[4] I still love Stephanie Meyer's clever way of explaining the juvenile/foolish behavior of some of her century-old vampires: according to this logic, vampires turned at around 23–25 years old (Esmée, Tanya, Eleazar, Carlisle, etc.) are much more mature—and less volatile—than those turned closer to adolescence (Edward, Rosalie, Maggie... Alec and Jane being the extreme cases).

[5] It's probably worth mentioning that I don't play chess and didn't understand much of the explanations about "reciprocal Zugzwang leading to a draw": I just thought the concept was cool, but I'm not sure the situation I described is actually realistic.

Well then, good luck to Esmée in handling the crisis in the next chapter (which will be the last one focusing on the consequences of Emmett's blunder). See you soon for the next part! ;)