betagainstme | april 16, 2006 // a cabin in canada

april 16, 2006 // a cabin in canada

She'd taken her husband's packing advice, leaving most of her clothes at home, for once. She'd packed two or three outfits and a suitcase of underwear.

So when she'd wanted to sit in the open window, her feet hanging out over the edge, she stole Jasper's sweater. It's more like a dress on her, reaching down to her knees and covering her hands with long sleeves, but it's comfortable and smells like him.

Besides, what if some random hiker wandered through the picturesque area and saw a half-naked girl in the window? That simply wouldn't do.

Alice is watching the birds flit and fly around in the early morning dew. It's chilly, if she could notice it, but the ground is soft, making it easy hunting grounds for the cardinals, robins and crows that hop around near the lake. They're peaceful, a kindred sort of spirit, even if her presence, if noticed, would scare them away more than a human's would.

She's always found birds to be fascinating. Tiny, hollow-boned and frail looking but resilient. She knows the feeling.

Glancing over her shoulder, she watches Jasper turn a page in the book he reads, naked on the bed with the covers piled around him, like he's in a giant nest. The wood has splintered on the bed's frame--a casualty from their first half hour in the cabin. They'll compensate the owners well enough. Probably after it's destroyed more.

A songbird's whistle catches her attention, her gaze returning to the birds on the yard. A lone yellow bird has joined the fray, hopping on its little feet to catch a worm trying to wriggle away.

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Jasper is not very focused on the book he's reading. His gaze often drifts to where Alice sits in the window, watching her as she watches the birds outside.

She's dressed in one of his sweaters and the sight of it engulfing her tiny frame makes his chest hurt as it has every time he's looked at her since their fight and the realization of how close he'd been to losing her. (The bed's splintered frame had been yet another moment of their need to reaffirm that she was still very much here.)

But more than just observing her in the window, assuring himself that she was okay physically, he's also been checking her emotions every so often, keeping a close tab on her moods. What Alice (and Edward and Bella) had experienced is not so easily gotten over. He knows what it's like to be haunted by things.

He tosses his book aside finally, sitting up, to focus all of his attention on her when he asks, "What're you thinking about over there?"

The yellow bird has succeeded in its hunt for food, taking the wriggling worm up and away to wherever the bird's nest is. She hopes there's a small, featherless baby at home for the bird. Spring is always a treat.

Alice turns to face her husband, her hands on the walls next to her to keep her from slipping out the window. A fall wouldn't hurt her, but it wouldn't be ideal either. She draws one leg back inside, curling her toes around the sill.

She looks at Jasper, a shrug prepared. She was fine. She wasn't really thinking about much at all, to be honest, but something stops her. Her lips part, as if to speak, and then she shakes her head and the shrug happens after all. It makes the sweater slip off of her shoulder.

"Just lookin' at the birds," Alice murmurs. "They're active this morning."

Another long pause, as she focuses on a crow and a cardinal picking at each other, fighting over the same patch of worm-filled land. "They remind me of Carlisle. I suppose all bird related things do, after being called uccello for the last fifty-odd years. I spoke to him, before we left."

Her gaze catches his again and she smiles softly. "It's all good, so no fretting."

Fretting is just his natural state these days.

The little furrow in his brow softens somewhat when he smiles softly back.

"I'd known you'd gone off with him," and she'd returned a little lighter, "You want to talk about it?"

He knows she'd be worried about the relationship with Carlisle. The man she looks to as a father, and who very much is her father.

"Um, first," Alice murmurs, pulling herself out of the window. Her feet won't reach the floor from here, she has to push out off the sill, landing softly on her toes. The sweater slips off the other shoulder, nearly pooling down her arms. She grumbles, lifting her arms so the sleeves fall back into place.

"I was in Milliways, before. I'd just run in to grab a book that I left upstairs there. But I met a friend of Carlisle's...or...an acquaintance. I don't actually know what they are. Or how they even..." Alice's brow furrows as she comes to sit on the edge of the bed. "She's a tarot card. The personification of one? An idea? I don't know how she works. Her name is Star."

This isn't making sense, she realizes. "I'm sorry, it's all a bit jumbled. She's amazing. She's watched over Carlisle since meeting him. She said she was in Rio with Edward, where she wasn't supposed to be. She said she was in Italy with me--wherever Hope is, she is. Uhm, she read the tarot cards for me. It...helped. And it helped with Carlisle. Cleared up some uncertainties. Made it easier to talk to him."

She'll get to the meat of their conversation soon. But first, she's gripping his ankle, worried that he'll be upset she was in the Bar without telling him. "I promise, I was just going to get the book. I wasn't doing anything crazy like...the labyrinth or sunbathing."

"It's fine, Alice," he says, shushing her gently as he reaches for the hand on his ankle.

As long as she wasn't doing anything crazy, anyway. Like the labyrinth or - sunbathing? He hasn't been to the strange bar in some months, and likely won't be visiting anytime soon. He's worried (and always will be) about her going, but he'll need to trust her to mind herself.

"I'm glad this Star made it easier for you to talk to Carlisle. I know you were concerned about how you'd left things with him, before."

She lets him take her hand, curling her fingers around his as she calms a little. She feels so on edge sometimes, worried her actions are the wrong ones--worried the things she's said and done are going to cause more trouble.

Alice turns her head, staring out the window again, though she can't see much from here. "Carlisle...Jasper, I know you know this, and you'll think I'm an idiot for not realizing it sooner but...I was so focused on saving Edward. On making sure Carlisle wouldn't have to mourn his first, that I never stopped to think he'd...that I would be missed as much."

She looks at him, her eyes sad as she squeezes his hand. "I don't mean you--I...cannot fathom the pain of losing you. But for some reason, I convinced myself that the others wouldn't hurt as badly if I died."

God.

Jasper has to take a breath (or one or two or five), focus his gaze to the window behind her to calm himself, before he can even think to respond.

He squeezes her hand. "How could you think - ? No, I'm sorry, that's not - "

He stops and takes another breath and then brings her hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle. This is more calming than the breaths. Her skin against his lips to kiss is grounding.

She's here, with him.

He sighs against her hand.

"You and your fixations. Alice, they love you. They'd have been devastated."

Alice watches him with a detached sort of sadness. How could she think that indeed? The anger, the horrible way she'd treated everyone--because she hadn't just fought with Carlisle. She'd been snappish and mean to Rose, to Emmett, even to Esme before she finally left. Pulling away.

It feels like it should have been easier. For them to accept it. But Carlisle--his discreet sadness in the car, under her sobs--he'd made sure she'd known. How devastated he would have been. And Rose forgives her sister easily--Alice and Rose, the only daughters, sticking together when needed; Emmett would laugh at her if she tried to apologize, she's already forgiven; and Esme--well, Esme would just tuck her in close and shush her, probably.

Alice draws a shaky breath, crawling closer to her husband, taking his left hand in hers, turning the hand so his palm faces up. Her fingers drift over his life and love lines before slipping to his wedding band, twisting the ring around on his finger. It's a little thing, in the grand scheme of their love, their marriage, but it means a lot to see it right now.

"I know," she whispers, her voice soft and cracked. She smiles, a tiny thing, when she looks back at Jasper. "I know that. And I knew it before, but I--I made myself forget."

It knows what you refuse to.

Star's words, the tarot cards, they come back to her again.

"I made myself forget a few things. Like how any of you would jump to help me with anything. How I don't need to do this alone. I told Carlisle my plans. He asked me to remember that he can help. That you all can."

“You convinced yourself so you could do what you thought you needed to do,” he murmurs, and he kisses her forehead. “It’s not uncommon for us to deceive ourselves to justify an action. To protect ourselves.”

Her husband may have some experience with this.

“Recognizing that you’re doing it, acknowledging the root of what you’re feeling, why you have to lie to yourself is not easy. ‘Specially in the moment.”

It doesn’t excuse it, but he at least knows the struggle.

He kisses her hand again, the one that was fiddling with his wedding band, which he does not wear very often but finds comfort in now, especially when she does.

“Carlisle is smart, and right. We are here for you. You’re not doing this alone, anymore.”

"Carlisle said the same about you," Alice squeezes his hand as he kisses it. "Smart and right. I'd say 'like father like son', but we both know you were smart and right long before we met Carlisle."

She keeps his hand in hers, pressing her small hand against his, watching how her fingers barely reach his when pushed palm to palm. Something familiar, her tiny hand in his. She's felt so small in spirit lately, something that also feels wrong. She's used to being small in stature, but so bright and big within.

"I love this," she murmurs, fiddling with his ring again. "I love when you wear it. Something so simple, but it means so much to me. Even if," she glances up at him, her lips curving into a small smile, "there's no doubt that you're mine. But sometimes the symbol...just means a lot."

Their fight, his shutdown, the implication that he is replaceable--they still weigh heavily on her. More things she caused, without ever meaning to, because of her actions.

She rests her left hand over her right, still holding his hand. Her own rings sparkle on her left finger, caught by the light. The diamond and the band, nestled together on her ring finger. "And I'm yours. Forever."

The emphasis is all on that last word.

He’s watching her closely as she’s pressing their hands together, knowing with out the words of what she's thinking fiddling with his ring again. The way she talks about their rings -

“I’m going to be wearing it more often.”

He'd never been opposed to the idea, of their marriage, despite it being so inconsequential to what their love actually is. The idea of it had just been so human. But he has found himself thinking about it, wanting it, with each year that passes: being a husband, wanting a home.

Even so far as presenting Alice with the idea of a home. Which: Maybe, one day. If anything the past few months have proven how unready they are for it.

He kisses her hand again, the rings on her fingers.

"I like that yours keeps the men from flirting with you," he says lightly. He pauses before adding, "And women."

Not that it deters them completely.

She exhales a soft laugh, her smile stronger now, even reaching her eyes. They sparkle, golden and content as she looks at her husband. It feels easier, each day, to be happier. Less scared. Sunshine child. Made of rainbows.

"Ah, if only modern men and women would back off at the sight of them all the time." Alice laughs. "Though, I don't think they backed off in the forties either, until they caught a glimpse of you. My hero, every time."

She's thinking of a young, terrified attendant at a carnival in New England, helping her onto the swan boat for the Tunnel of Love. How protective Jasper was of her, just six months in. How it hasn't changed, nor will it.

"Oh," she ducks her head and slips off the bed quickly, moving to one of her suitcases just out of view. If Jasper stays lounged back, all he'll see is scraps of lace and satin being tossed over her shoulder for a moment before a soft ah-hah and she's standing up with her camera in hand. "I forgot, I brought this. It's been a while since I've taken any pictures. I was reminiscing the other day--"

Alice holds it up, lining up a shot of Jasper from the chest up, snapping the shot. It's one of her older models, one that requires film still, a little scuffed on the edges from being worn around her neck while climbing up things or traveling, but well loved. "I was remembering the first time you said you loved me. And all the pictures I have from that day in a shoe box back home. I want to fill fifty more shoe boxes with photos of you, Jasper. More. Until they decide making film isn't lucrative and I'm forced to fill fifty hard drives with pictures of you instead."

She climbs back onto the bed, his sweater slipping down her shoulder again, but she pays it no mind as she sits back on her heels and lifts the camera again. "Tell me you love me, so I can capture it on film."

Nevermind it's in her mind, always, forever.

Jasper is shaking his head as soon as the camera makes it's first appearance. She may have even caught him mid-eyebrow raise in the first picture she'd snapped.

"How'd you sneak that in there?"

Not that he minds at all. It feels like her artistic hobbies had been put on the back-burner for awhile, so he's actually glad to see the thing. And he's grinning at the brightness that fills her now, how stronger her smile is even than it was a moment ago.

His sits up more, elbow on knees, posing and not quite posing for the shot as he says, "I love you. More than the word can actually describe and encompass how I feel about you."

The flash bulb whines, capturing him and his smile his long limbs propped up on his knees, the moment the words leave his lips.

She feels like her heart could burst. Alice drops the camera on the mattress and throws herself at Jasper, knowing he'll catch her, soften her fall. Her hands are lost in the sleeves of his sweater as she cups his face, as she kisses him in response to his declaration.

His heart swells and he pours every ounce of his love for her into the kiss. He’ll always be here to catch her and soften her falls.

But the thought also brings to mind yet again how close he’d come to losing her.

He pulls back to cover her sweater-covered hands with his own. To look at her again. To take her in. Every little thing that he already knows, fixed in his memory and heart. But not just a memory now. Her, here. Safe and whole.

His heart swells again as he takes her in, and he releases it with a kiss to the tip of her nose, the corner of her mouth.

Her eyes flutter closed when his love washes over her, his hands on hers. They reopen when he pulls away enough to look at her, and she watches as his eyes flit over her face, committing her to memory again. Committing her to now.

When he pulls away from kissing her nose, her mouth, Alice swipes her thumb over his bottom lip. "I'm here," she whispers, nodding softly. "I'm okay. I made it home."

It's for her as much as it is for him. Her hand drops to trace the concentrated cluster of scars at his neck and throat. Leaning in, Alice presses a kiss there, inhaling against his skin, breathing the scent of him in before leaving one more kiss there.

“I know,” and yet Jasper still wants to bundle her in his arms and hide away for the rest of forever.

He does gather her in his arms, tucking her under his chin and to his chest when she kisses her scars. And then he’s falling back into the bed and pulls the previously discarded covers over their heads.

It’s not forever, but he can at least shelter her for the next day or so.

He adjusts so he’s on his side, her still tucked in his arms, nose buried in her hair, breathing her in.

“So, Carlisle and you talked through everything then?”

“I think so,” Alice murmurs, curling into him.

Everything she could. Not broken Icarus. Not Edward. Not the fear of bonds broken—Carlisle’s greatest weakness.

But enough to set her at ease. To heal more between father and daughter.

“Did you know, we are made of rainbows?” Alice peers up at him. “When touched by a Star?”

He caresses her cheek when she peers up at him, fingers so gentle though he is well aware of her strength.

“All of us, or just you?”

Because he can definitely imagine it for her. Even with these past few months, she’s always been so full of light and color with the way she sees and feels about the world that he’s not surprised to hear she’d be made full of rainbows.

“All of us,” she laughs, reaching for his fingers with sweater-covered hands. “Star let me touch her and the light—oh, it was beautiful.”

Alice squeezes his fingers, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. She wants to spend more time than they have, here in his arms. She wants to spend months making amends to him, for hurting him, betraying his trust.

She wants his faith in her back, fully, unwavering; scared he still doesn’t trust her completely. Scared that she was (is?) acting like Maria, using his love for her against him.

Alice sits up, her hand on his chest as she looks down at him, the sweater slipping down her shoulder once more. “I love you,” she whispers, so quiet. “I’m going to be sorry for betraying your trust for the rest of my life, Jasper. But I love you, forever.”

She’s caught in the the blanket that’d been over their heads, her hair a wild halo, when she sits up and the way his sweater slides off her shoulders, obviously too big for her. The whole look is ridiculous and adorable.

Yet her words bring a crushing heartache as if her hand on his chest was gripping his heart rather than simple resting there.

His hand covers hers.

“Please don’t,” he murmurs, feeling like he could cry if he could, looking at her with a sorrowful gaze. “I love you, too, and I don’t want our life spent with you trying to make amends for what happened. Just no more lies, and we talk, okay?

“It’s you and me, darlin’.”

“You and me,” she whispers, her lower lip trembling as she takes him in. Her fingers twitch under his and she turns her hand over to press against his, palm to palm.

He looks like a painting, laying surrounded by the blanket, his golden curls framing his face, the shadows under the fabric throwing his face into stark contrast. Even (always) the scars on his body are beautiful to her; they always have been, they’re him.

Bowing her head, Alice leans against their hands on his chest. The blanket collapses in her wake, the sweater slips off the other shoulder now, and she’d grumble again if she were anywhere but here, against him.

“C’mere,” Jasper murmurs, even as he sits up to wrap his arms around her. The tiny tremble of her lip seems to carry through her whole body.

Or maybe it’s him trembling, and, sometimes he’s so in tune with her, he can’t differentiate the feelings between them.

He kisses a shoulder bared by the sweater, still holding her hands to his heart. His lips travel up her shoulder, to her jaw, a slow, reverential journey.

She makes a soft noise, halfway between a sob and a hiccup. Her free hand comes to cradle the side of his head, her fingers in his wayward curls. She shudders under his lips, a shiver of all sorts of emotion—sadness lingering from all of this, happiness to be in his arms and the love she has for him.

It’s a lot. It’s all been so much. She still feels raw and broken open, the memory of oily fingers in her head, plucking from her memories and moments held precious. Her fingers tighten in his hair, infinitesimally, a small, actual sob escaping her.

Jasper reaches her jaw and she turns to meet him, kissing him to try and hold back the threat of tears that won’t fall.

“It’s okay,” he whispers against her lips in between unneeded breaths. “It’s okay, hon.”

If she needs to fall apart. To (not-)cry. To let her feelings show. To talk, or rant and rave.

Her hurt is his hurt, and his is hers.

And, if she just needs him, too. To be distracted. To be loved and lifted up from the thoughts that are threatening to drag her down.

“I love you.”

He kisses the corner of her mouth, the other, the full pout of her lip, gently drawing her bottom lip between his.

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