She watches him as he speaks of Alice, barely able to see him in the dark save for the silhouette of his frame as light barely peaks through the window from the blocked moon outside. He's informing her about Alice, yes, but the story is in the way that he speaks, passion and anger and everything in between weaving in and out of his words with a natural flow. She sees more of him, more of Jasper, within these few moments than she has since her arrival here, it's as if the simple mention of Alice lights a sort of life within him that he's void without. The envy is gone, because how can Natasha feel something like that when it obviously makes him so happy?
She's happy for him. She isn't sure if that's supposed to hurt with a constant ache of longing that even she doesn't understand to this day, but she's happy for him.
That's why this is so hard for her, she realizes. "She sounds amazing." Her voice is soft and encouraging, as if thankful that he shared Alice's story with her. It's hard because Natasha has given up on this sort of connection, she realized a long time ago that she'll never be loved or love someone the way that Jasper loves Alice. She can't, she's not a person she's a weapon, and weapons don't decide who they do and don't like. She never had the opportunity to be anything else and she told herself that it was okay, once she got into Shield. The sacrifice was worth it.
Now she's here, with him, with nothing to show for all the efforts she made, and she's realizing just now what she had to give up to make them. Everything. She gave up everything, she's lived a full life and she has nothing to show for it except for a cabin in the woods, one that exists only for her to hide herself away from other people. This is all she has to her name, and when she hears Jasper speak of Alice... that certainly feels like nothing.
"You'll get back to her," she assures him in the same soft, passive tone. "It doesn't sound like your story is over yet. You've been through too much for it to end now."
"She is that," Jasper agrees more softly, looking down at the crest once again. He doesn't wear a wedding band like some of the others, hasn't wanted to fret over damaging it, and Alice doesn't wear a ring herself, but they don't need them. They know.
The ache in Natasha is low and steady, settling in for the duration like a cracked bone that needs time to heal, and she's still curled up on the couch in the chilly front room instead of beneath the layers of blankets on the bed. That's simply not right. Slowly, making more noise than he needs to, Jasper slips off the windowsill and glides to the fireplace, carefully adding a log and poking kindling at the embers. If she isn't going to sleep, she may as well stay warm.
As the flames leap up again and Natasha shifts instinctively toward the little billow of warmth, and incidentally toward him, and he doesn't move away again, it all comes crashing back.
They hadn't had much time, but Alice had told him a lot of things before they'd been separated. She'd told him she'd only seen all of them caught when they all ran together. When he'd decided to stay behind, she'd told him, with tears in her eyes, what needed to be done to hold off the attackers and give them time to escape. They'd been a little oasis of stillness, clinging to each other as their siblings and parents flew past them, blurred with speed, when her eyes had unfocused again.
"You'll meet someone. When we're apart. Someone new. A, a woman, with red hair. Sharp. Angry, but...not always. I don't know who she is, but you love her," and she'd put a finger over his lips as he'd immediately gone to protest it, he'd never love anyone the way he loves her, "you'll love her, and you'll bring her back to us. To both of us." Her glorious eyes had narrowed in confusion and she'd given that little huff she always gets when she can't figure something properly. "I don't...she's still human, but she feeds you, somehow she feeds you and you keep her warm. ...that's all I know, except. I'll love her too." She'd lain both hands on his cheeks, clarity restored even as Jasper's own confusion kept building. "Bring her with you when you come back. I'll wait."
It hadn't been the most pressing issue at the time, and in the weeks of fury and agony that had followed, he'd all but forgotten it. Red hair. Sharp. Angry. She feeds you and his breakfast mug is still sitting on the drainboard from the morning's squirrel blood. You keep her warm and what reason would he have to build a fire but to keep her warm, what reason to drag downed trees across the forest for firewood but to keep her warm?
The force of it knocks him back to sit on the hearth, his back against the hearthstone, the poker falling from his hand as he stares at her red hair, coppery now in the firelight. He shouldn't have any business being around a human, alone, for this long without going for her. She's touched him so many times, and he's only had to run from her once. He's never been as strong as the others, by rights she should be dead already, but she's never feared him, not once, not this woman whose instinct for death is such that he can feel it.
Does she know? Does she know what she is to him? To both of them?
Natasha finds herself so deep in thought that she barely realizes Jasper is moving, her blank stare having returned to the window to stare out into the darkness. Something about hearing it hurts and yet she doesn't wish it to be hers. Hearing Jasper speak of Alice with such tenderness is beautiful to her, and Natasha has already accepted that she's not going to have something like that. She'll never be able to start a family or keep someone close, not when she's always putting her life at risk or on the run, and maybe that's why she wishes nothing but happiness for Jasper and Alice. Happiness, for something that she can't have herself.
It isn't until she starts feeling warmth that she registers what he's doing for her, and it's enough to pull her out of the darkness that her mind is spiraling into so she can instead offering him a tiny but grateful smile. The corners of her mouth barely curl up as she watches him, knowing that this is probably the first time he's started a fire strictly for warmth in much too long, and she's about to thank him when he seems to be struck again like he had been when she first arrived. He drops the poker and he stares at her, and Natasha would think that he's having some sort of issue being around her again if she didn't know that he wouldn't be in the house anymore if he did.
"...Jasper?" She says his name with thinly veiled concern because he's never looked like that before, and she hesitates before standing from her seat on the couch and approaching him, sitting on the hearthstone beside him to soak in the warmth that he's provided. Her green eyes are wide with worry as she studies his face now that she's closer, the light of the fire dancing against one side of her as she faces him.
"...What? What is it, did you hear something or... do you need me to go into the bedroom...?"
He notices her moving closer, of course he does, and the monster chained inside him writhes in impatience, but this isn't the moment to worry about the monster, and for the first time, he can possibly see how Carlisle can have the control he has: focusing so intently on something else that the proximity of a human and her blood just doesn't matter as much.
It's her, it must be. It must be her that Alice meant. There are plenty of women with red hair in the world, but how many of them have fed him in a way that kept them breathing and whole and moving? How many of them has he, with his icy skin and leashed-up monster inside, kept warm?
Which leads to the larger question of how he's ever going to pitch this. The certainty of it has sunk into him, tethered him to her, and he knows leaving her would make him ache in almost the way being apart from Alice makes him ache. But from what he knows of her, her life has been death. Her meaningful connections with people have been fleeting, or built on conditions that she herself sets. She's never known something like this, and worse, she never plans to, and she's made peace with that, of a kind. As much peace as she ever allows herself.
He could still be wrong. He's moving too slowly now, noticeably too slowly, as he reaches out and avoids touching her skin but hooks a lock of her red hair over a finger, and draws it gently along, and lets it fall again and pulls his hand back. "That morning pick-me-up you so kindly provided," and his voice is lower, a little hoarse with bewilderment now, "was that something you were planning on doing often?"
She doesn't know what Jasper is doing when he starts to reach out, but she doesn't move for his sake. She knows what kind of affect she has on him, she's used to having a certain hold over men but this is different, and Natasha isn't going to pretend as if she knows how to use something this dangerous to her advantage. So she stays still, despite her own discomfort with being touched on anybody's terms but her own, and she watches as he seems to play with her hair before letting it fall away. She looks at him oddly, because honestly... what the hell is he doing?
"...I was planning on it," she responds finally, her eyes flickering from the hand that had touched her hair before returning to his face. It really is absolutely absurd, how handsome he is. Natasha usually finds herself attracted to the larger ones, muscular men who look like they can handle themselves in a fight and Jasper is much leaner than anybody she's given a second glance. It's the way that the light hits him though, and hits his eyes, that holds her attention.
"It didn't seem like it had done much but you enjoyed it so I thought that it was just a little thing I could do for you in the mornings. Keep your hunger a little more at bay." Her tongue darts out quickly to wet her lips before she moves a hand to brush her hair behind her ear, her shiver subsiding now that she's this close to warmth. "It looks like it's working better than I thought though." She's referring to here, right now. How close he is to her.
Jasper takes a breath to speak, then lets it out again slowly, barely aware of the burn of thirst in his throat. How is he meant to address any of this? How can he explain it properly? Not for the first time, he wishes Alice were here to do the talking. She's better with words, and her cheerful, effortless confidence is so often contagious, people just find themselves smiling and taking her at her word, especially when it comes to what she's seen.
"I'd like that," he says at last, a little helplessly, letting his head fall back to rest against the stone behind him, eyes still on her. "I should tell you something. It's something I've only just recalled, and now that I've brought it to mind I can't imagine how it didn't occur earlier, but I suppose I have been...somewhat distracted."
He shakes his head, looking away, staring at the window, his usual perch, then dropping his eyes, watching the play of firelight and shadow on the stone hearth. It's more than he usually moves, it could almost be termed fidgeting, as he searches out the best way to prove that he isn't mocking her for the feelings he's picked up, he isn't playing games with her. "You're not going to believe it, I think. From what I know of you. Or you'd likely rather not. But I told you before that I'm no liar, and I know you believed that."
He's shifting around as if he's uncomfortable, and Natasha's eyes don't move from him as she falls completely still this time. She's studying him, because although he doesn't have a pulse, everybody has tells, even after hundreds of years. He doesn't look as if he's preparing himself to tell a story, so his warning that she's not going to believe him is taken with a little more faith than she would probably give.
"Well I can't believe you if you don't tell me," she points out with a raised eyebrow of suspicion. "And if you like feeding in the morning then I'll just keep doing that for you, I don't mind. But you look like you're about to tell me that you need a coffin to sleep in at night or something." She says it with a half-joke in her voice, but it's still obvious that she's unsettled by his behavior. She even moves, reaching out as if to touch his hand before quickly catching herself, and Natasha frowns a little before pulling her hand back to fold them in her lap instead.
"Sorry..." she frowns. "Yes. I believed that you aren't a liar, and you're making me nervous, Jasper. What's going on?"
"I apologize," he says immediately, looking up to meet her eyes, steady again as he can feel the truth in what she's saying, he has gone and concerned her by being so evasive with this. "I don't mean to make you nervous. It's nothing worth being nervous for. Alice saw...you. I'm sure of it. In a vision, before they all bolted, she had a vision of a woman with," his eyes shift to her hair again and his fingers flex as if he wants to reach out again, "red hair, a mortal who would keep me fed, and who I'd keep warm."
He looks at the fire, roaring now, burning through the birch logs he'd brought back and split earlier that day. It makes good firewood, a dry paper birch, he'd remembered that. There'd been a time, after all, when he'd needed a fire to stay warm.
"She didn't know anything more, couldn't see anything, but she said I—" He looks back at her and falters. No, he can't say it straight out, he can't quote her. It's too new, this slender thing forming, it's too brittle to risk her slamming herself behind her walls again and shattering it. "She said she saw me bringing this woman back with me." Now the corner of his mouth pulls up in a little smile. "I've been racking my brain, but you seem to fit that description awfully neatly."
Her eyes flicker to his hand when she sees his fingers move, and Natasha is already realizing that everything he does is purposeful. She can't help but wonder if he wants to touch her again, and for some reason that's strange to Natasha. Men want to touch her; men always want to touch her, but Jasper is different. He avoids her as if she's filled with a plague, and yet right now in this moment he stares at her as if he wants to get closer, and not from hunger. There's something in his eyes... but it's not hunger.
He falters and that's his mistake. Natasha picks up on it immediately, he's not lying but he's hiding something and she stares at him with suspicion that's evident enough on her face where he doesn't have to feel it coming off of her. "...You want me to come with you?" He's smiling, and that's rare too. "I can't." She says it before she really thinks about it, her eyes searching around the house now as if she's looking for the reason that prompted the immediate denial. Natasha doesn't run away with people, she's alone. That's how she's supposed to be.
Yet she has nothing to go back to. This time she has no agency to join and no partner to check on. She's reminded of her lack of purpose yet again and when she looks back at Jasper it's with a look that's almost unrecognizable to her. It doesn't seem to fit her face with how rare it is, and yet she looks hopeful; she feels it, and she hates that.
"How am I supposed to go back with you? I'm human, and - you're already struggling, won't your family have a hard time being around me? With what I am?"
"That's an issue. But Carlisle is unaffected now, he's a doctor in fact, and of anyone else in my family, I'm the one with the most," his face hardens a little, and she can probably see the sharp dissatisfaction in his expression and the taut line of his shoulders, "difficulty."
It's weakness, pure and simple. He'd lived his life through murder for eighty years. Even the fear and pain he'd felt from each victim hadn't stopped him from taking more, not until Alice had found him and taught him a different way. He'd never even considered it, and every day, it feels like it would be easier to just go back to what he'd known for so long. The scientist he'd ripped into, he could claim that as self defense if he felt like lying to himself. He couldn't claim it hadn't felt damned good. Even he can't lie that well to himself.
But that's an old argument, his frustration with his own thirst, and he forces his shoulders to relax, lets his head fall to one side when he looks at her again. "Alice's visions are subjective," he says quietly. "They change based on what people decide. It doesn't mean it's something that's going to happen, but...yes, I do want you to come with me. I...we," he corrects himself, because he wants to be as honest as he can without frightening her off, "we would like to see that future come about. That said, you would be walking into a house full of vampires."
"I would be walking into a house full of vampires." She repeats it back to him slowly, as if she needs to make sure he can hear aloud just how ridiculous that sounds. She's be putting her life at risk which, yes, she has little to lose now, but that simply sounds foolish. She would actively be walking into a dangerous situation just because someone who she realistically barely knows feels like it would be nice to have her around. Because his dead girlfriend had a dream. That's what Natasha is considering.
So why is she even considering it? He's acting oddly, touching her hair and staring at her as if she's suddenly grown a new face. He's asking her to leave everything behind and walk into what sounds like a death trap, there's a very realistic chance that she could die from this. Doesn't that just sound thrilling?
That familiar rush of adrenaline moves through her as if to finalize her decision.
"Alright." She nods once. "When are we going if you're too afraid to find them just yet? Are we going to wait around until you think it's safe?"
One eyebrow twitches upward. He wouldn't even need his abilities to hear the skepticism in that. "I had planned on caution, yes," he says, amused, then looks thoughtful as he starts to think more strategically. "But if your organization is as disorganized as you say, my moving now might mean a lower risk of exposure for them. Surely I'm not high on their list of priorities."
Whatever horrors they'd had in store for him, he'd had the distinct sense, from the feel of the people who had worked on him and the way they'd been talking, that he'd been just one of many curiosities the organization had tucked away. There's a little surge of anger at that, but it's not a time for that, and he puts it aside, as he continues, "But you might be a focus of theirs, and we won't be traveling as fast together." Unless he turned her, but that doesn't bear thinking about.
"Looking for them blindly wouldn't be wise. Carlisle's gotten good at disappearing over the years, and with Edward and Alice with him, he'll have a head start on bolting if need be, wherever they've settled. But I know where they've lived before, and I know Carlisle sometimes likes to revisit old haunts, put down roots and live a normal life. We can start there." By the time he's finished, he sounds calm and authoritative, more certain about the path they'll take. But then he tilts his head toward her, inquisitive. "Unless you have other suggestions?"
Natasha stays silent as she listens to him, turning her body to face him where he sits on the opposite edge of the hearthstone, and her eyes only shift away when he finishes so she can mull over his plan. "Finding them is going to be the real problem," she finally agrees aloud, and Natasha shifts to lean back on her hands so she can stretch her legs out on the hearthstone in front of the fire. "Hiding from whatever might be left of Shield, that's not going to be something that you need to worry about."
She stares at him from across the fireplace, searching his face again in a way of suspicion that says, she knows he isn't telling the whole truth. She's agreeing to this, but because she wants to. Not because she feels as if he's been completely honest. "I have what we'll need." She cocks her head to the in the direction of the bedroom. "I have twelve passports at this location, sixteen credit cards, around twenty seven identities, none of which are registered with Shield's databases. None of them have been used, so if it's me you're worried about, don't." She can't help but give him a sly smile. "Nobody finds me unless I want them to. That's kind of what I do."
She sighs, her head falling back so she can look up at the ceiling in thought. "We'd have to go back to the last home that you were located at so we could track them from there, that's roughly eight days of travel with a car, we can get one in the town closest to us if we buy it outright, we could us a credit card but I'd rather not use one of those until we have to so we can use the cash, I've got about twenty five thousand here that we can make work if we find them within the first couple of months of searching... longer since you don't eat." She looks back at him after she thinks it all aloud, and Natasha chews on the corner of her lip as she continues to run it all through her mind.
"It's up to you. I know I won't get caught. You have to be comfortable with that. I can wait until you are."
He pays attention as she talks, and her confidence doesn't flicker one bit. She knows she won't get caught, and when she finishes, he nods. "That is an impressive array. I've only ever used the one," he says with that little smile again, though most of him stays serious.
"I can make a call and have a fresh ID of my own in two days at the most. I have a source. He is reliable." A healthy combination of money and fear kept him that way, as well as Jasper's ability to tell if Jenks was ever lying. Twenty years and counting thus far, and not a peep out of him. "But in the meantime, I trust you. It shouldn't be so difficult to find a car that will get us there, inconspicuously. That, I am comfortable with."
As promised, it wasn't difficult at all to find a low-profile vehicle for a decent price, cash on the table, at one of the lower-end dealerships. Jasper had offered to drive, but he'd agreed with her logic that she ought to stay behind the wheel during the day, to avoid any unfortunate eye-catching sparkle on the sunny freeways. She drove during the day, with infrequent breaks, and listened to music constantly, and turned up the volume and sang along when she judged him to be insufficiently enjoying a song. It got a smile out of him more often than not, which, based on the warm satisfaction that rolled his way, had always been the ultimate goal. He drove at night, all night, stopping only to refuel with Natasha curled in the back, sound asleep, and they never stopped moving. Somehow, the increased proximity of her didn't make him anxious or push the limits of his control. Something of the opposite, in fact, which he chalked up to familiarity and their shared urgency. There just wasn't time to think about that.
Forks is a quiet place by nature, the little stirring of the Cullens' sudden departure already rippling out and fading into the pool of routine that Carlisle had judged so restful for all of them. They'd managed less than a year there before needing to bolt, but the house is still there, empty and locked up tight. It's just after dusk when they arrive, but Natasha is still driving, no point in swapping for such a short time. When she pulls into the driveway, Jasper gets calmly out of the car and enters a long number on the garage keypad, smiling in satisfaction when it grinds open.
The row of cars is still there, with just enough room on the end for theirs. It will look thoroughly out of place next to the Mercedes, the Volvo, Emmett's souped-up truck, but the sight of the vehicles makes him relax more than he'd expected. It's not home, they're just things, the family isn't here, but it's familiar. It's something he'd predicted that's come to pass, a consistency. The invaders hadn't taken everything from him after all.
"Plenty of room upstairs," he calls over to Natasha as he closes the garage door behind the car, locks them in. "I doubt anyone would mind whichever room you picked. There are beds in most of them. Esme and Carlisle were sticklers for detail."
Natasha isn't one to spend an extended period of time with a single person. She enjoys her privacy, it's something that she's grown into, but spending days in a car with Jasper seems to annoy her less than she had originally expected. It's annoying to have to stop at truck stops to shower, and to sleep in the backseat of the car so they can make the best time, but being around him specifically is much less irritating than she was preparing for. Natasha tells herself that it's because they have a goal in mind, and it has nothing to do with the fact that he can hold a real conversation or his smile gives her a sense of satisfaction that she doesn't expect every single time.
When they finally reach Forks she follows his guidance until she's pulling into a garage with an array of cars that speak for themselves. Her eyes roam over all of them, and she can't help but smile to herself as she takes it all in. The M3, Tony. The Volvo, Bruce, the truck, Thor... she finds herself being reminded of them more and more lately. It's almost as if she misses them.
"Do you bother keeping food in the house?" Probably not. She wanders past him as they move into the house so she can explore the place. "Probably not, right?" She moves back to him after checking the immediate area, and she looks up at him before folding her arms across her chest. She's closer to him now, but after sitting in a car with him for days, proximity doesn't seem like it's as much of an issue. "Are you sure you want to stop here? We can keep working, see what we can track and keep moving. A bed sounds amazing but I don't mind foregoing one for a couple of more nights." She pauses. "I do need a shower though. And clothes, if you think there's anything here that will fit me."
"Even if we did, I hate to think the state it would be in by now," Jasper points out as he follows, closing the door to the garage behind him and turning on a light, just in the immediate area. The house had been built on a piece of carefully-selected property, out of the way, out of sight to people passing by on the road or walking on any trails, even with the lights on, but it has been vacant for two months. The good people of Forks have left it untouched—completely untouched, he thinks with narrowed eyes as he takes in the smashed coffee table and the crack up one wall where he'd thrown an agent, before he'd made it outside—but seeing it all lit up again, someone might get curious.
He starts forward, intending to start tidying up that mess, but stops and turns back to her, surprised. "Why would I deny you a chance to rest properly?" he asks. "It's been a kindness to me that we moved as quickly as we did, Natalia, I won't forget that." His eyes move over her a little critically, assessing her size. "You may not have much luck in my wife's closet, but Rosalie's or Esme's might give you a selection. I know Esme would be more than happy to let you borrow anything you need," he adds with confidence as he turns away again, resolved to clear away the detritus of the fight.
At his insistence that she get rest Natasha gives him a grateful smile, the way he says her name still falling on her ears in a pleasant way after several days in his company. "I just want to get you back to your family. I don't mind." The reassurance comes with genuine softness, the kind that wouldn't be recognized if anybody from the team was standing around.
"She's your wife?" Natasha asks it aloud before she can think, the word blindsiding her more than it should, and the reaction is immediate. Those walls jut up for the first time in over a week, tall and thick and ominous, and they're not hiding anything in particular yet. Natasha felt a twist of discomfort in her stomach, something that she doesn't recognize and she needs to shield whatever aftermath it leads to just in case it's something that she doesn't want him picking up on or comprehending better than she can. It takes her less time than a thought to do it, and she waits, but nothing comes. It's just that... discomfort, a kind that settles in her gut and spreads to her chest tightening around her heart.
Disappointment?
Maybe.
That would make more sense if she had anything to be disappointed by, which she most certainly does not. He's spoke of Alice before and although she didn't know they were married, he's obviously made his dedication to her perfectly clear. Not that it matters because Natasha Romanoff is indifferent to the love life of Jasper Whitlock Whatever his name is. She doesn't worry herself about that sort of thing, it's pointless if she wants to get anything accomplished.
Although, the only accomplishment she's aiming toward right now is one for him.
Another thought to push out of her head. "I'm going to go upstairs and look for something to change into." She sounds monotone in an effort to keep herself unreadable, her eyes off of him to avoid giving something away, and she's already moving up the stairs before she calls back to him. "I can drive into town later to get something to eat. If you want me to pick up anything... I don't know, make a list."
"Alice? Yes, though we were only married the once, Emmett and Rosalie do it nearly every time we..." The force of the sudden lack of feeling coming off her is enough to make him look up, bewildered, the pieces of the coffee table gathered together in both hands. She hadn't known? He thinks back across their conversations, surely he'd said it before. But then, he doesn't think of Alice as his wife, he just thinks of her as his Alice. Being married is a fine thing, but it's a detail, and over fifty years ago in any case. It's never changed a thing about them.
He stands slowly as she retreats, and it is a retreat even if it has an intended goal at the end of it. He almost calls her name, asks her to stop, but after a few narrow-eyed moments spent trying to read her—and it's a challenge like this, after she's been so open with him—he lets her go and finishes tidying up the room in record time.
Should've told her the whole truth, he scolds himself as the pieces of the coffee table go into a garbage bin in the garage, to sit there for who knows how long, and he returns and examines the crack in the wall with absent attention. He owes her the whole truth. He can't go dragging her back to his family, to Alice, without her knowing why. He doesn't know if the stirrings of affection he has for her, all the sharper now that they've got this feeling of worry backing them, are the beginnings of the love Alice had mentioned, it's strange still to think of loving anyone else, and for all he knows, that vision has long since been canceled out by some decision he's made, or she has. Maybe just now, in these last few minutes.
But maybe not. And even if it has, he still owes her a whole truth, nothing piecemeal this time.
He ascends the stairs slowly, making noise as he goes, letting them creak beneath his weight, so she'll know he's coming, and he pauses near the top of the stairs before he steps into the hallway. "I am sorry," he says sincerely, certain she can hear him no matter whose room she's in. "Both for that moment downstairs, and because there is something I did not tell you about Alice's vision. I didn't know how. I didn't think you wouldn't believe me, but I wasn't certain you'd..." He trails off and sighs, and turns to sit on the top step. "Alice said I'd meet a woman with red hair, who's sharp and angry, but not always, that she'd feed me and I'd keep her warm, and that I would love her. ...you. That I'd bring you back, into both our lives, and she'd love you too. She said she'd wait, for the both of us. If she was here, you'd know she's...you'd just know. She's better with her words than I am."
She has no idea who's room is who's and it doesn't matter in the end. Natasha realizes before she even gets to the top of the stairs that she doesn't want to ask Jasper for help. In fact, she wishes to do nothing more than to put as much space between the two of them as possible right now, and that means going through two rooms only to find that one of filled with only male clothing and the other doesn't have any that fit her. She moves into a third, finally finding comfortable clothes that look like they'll actually fit her, and she gathers them to get ready for the shower before she hears him moving up the stairs.
The way she falls silent seems a little pointless in retrospect, she knows that he could easily find her if he actually tries, but he seems content sitting in the hall and speaking to the upstairs in general, knowing that she'll hear him. And she does.
It takes her almost a full minute before she manages to slowly step back into the hall, the clothes she had chosen clutched in one fist at her side, and her eyes bore into him with a fire that she isn't even bothering to contain. Her walls are still up, thick and unmarred, but they seem to tremble now as if the anger on the other side is threatening to tear them open at any moment. She can let them down... and she's tempted. She knows that she can let them down and the sudden emotional assault will be enough to disorient him, make him leave... she's seen it almost happen before by accident, she can certainly do it on purpose. It's the only means of defense she has against him if she needed it, of course it's something she's noticed.
She doesn't do that though. Instead she hovers in the doorway and stares at him, and when her words come they're slow and precise. "You brought me out here because your wife had a vision that you were going to love me." It's not a question, but a clarification. She still hasn't moved. "You decide to tell me this now, after I used limited resources to get here, to bring me to a group of people who are going to struggle with the desire to eat me, because you were going to love me?" Her jaw tenses and her wall cracks, heat spitting out. "What if I don't fall in love, did you think about that?"
And she seals it up again, because it's not going to help her right now and she knows it. Natasha patches the wall before she presses forward. "And even if I did, how did you expect that to work? You can barely come near me without having to run away, is that your plan? I fall in love with a man who can't stand to be close to me?" If he were anybody else, she would have already left... after smashing a few things. Yet Natasha can't bring herself to do that, instead she wants to hear what he has to say, and a little part of her hates herself for even entertaining that idea. "Or a woman I don't know who also can't stand to be close to me, I'm assuming."
"I don't know." He'd turned when she'd approached him, still sitting on the step and looking up at her now, as open as he knows how to be, open and honest, and frankly feeling more than a little wretched about this new turn of events. It's his own fault for not being honest with her from the beginning, but he's been a selfish man before, and he knows it had been selfishness driving him to keep quiet about the whole truth.
"I don't know how I expected it to work," he continues, quiet and calm, still reaching out for every nuance of feeling he can get from her. She's angry, maybe angrier than he's seen her before, and he knows what Alice had meant now by sharp. "There wasn't time to go into the finer details. I didn't think about whether or not this mystery woman can fall in love, I didn't expect anything to work, I don't even know if she saw you as still human."
He stops, watches her unblinkingly for a moment. "Resources are not a problem, now we're here, and my family's thirst is something they've been managing well with for a very long time," and he sounds more terse now, the way he sounds when he's looking to solve a problem. "I brought you here because when I asked, you said yes, and beyond that, you felt hopeful at the idea. Alice has that effect on people," with a little smile that disappears again almost immediately, now isn't the time. "I don't expect a damn thing. I asked you to come and left it to you and you came, and if you want to go now, now that you have this whole truth...all right then. I'll accept that. Of course I will." He pauses, because it hurts to think about. "...in addition, you make it sound as if I don't want to be close to you. That Alice wouldn't want it. And maybe there's no distinction for you between can't and don't want to, but you're alone in that."
"No." Natasha responds flatly, and for the first time her eyes seem to darken with something that comes from within her seeping to the surface and changing her demeanor. Her body tenses, the walls that she's built around her heart and emotions strengthen in an almost strategic manner, and it's obvious now that he's sensing exactly what she wants him to and nothing more. The anger is on the surface now, thick and stubborn as it shields everything below in her depths, and it's veined with the sort of discomfort that can be construed as suspicion. "Don't say it like that, you didn't ask me to come and left it to me, you misled me, Hale." Her jaw sets firmly. "You sold this to me as a potential new safe group, a new team. Not love, you said nothing about love. Don't try to justify your actions to me, you can't lie to a liar."
She looks away from him, and Natasha takes a deep breath as she tries to calm herself. "I knew this was too good to be true." She says it more to herself than to him, and in reality that's what she's upset about. Natasha is angry at herself, because these things don't happen. New teams, new families... they don't just fall into your lap when you're Natasha Romanoff. They're calculated and forced upon you, and you pay the price with honor and blood. "You waited until you dragged me across half the country before telling me that I can 'go' if I want to, don't pat yourself on the back." She tries to sound cold and she does, but her emotions begin to betray her, disappointment and anxiety seeping in to chew away at the hot anger that fills her.
That's the worst part of it. She likes being around him, she's enjoyed these days driving with him, watching him attentively keep her warm and drive through the night. She liked watching the side of his face as she tried to sleep in the back seat, eyes flashing that beautiful shade of amber every time they drove past a street lamp. She liked hearing about his past and Thor help her, she liked sharing her own with him. She feels foolish, and raw. The realization comes with her wrapping her arms around herself, and her face saddens with a weary sort of dejection as she stares off at the wall.
"I understand the distinction," she manages after a prolonged stretch of silence, her voice softer now with a touch of dismayed hopelessness. "The distinction doesn't really matter though, does it? Results matter. The result is that I can barely touch your shoulder without you having to run ten miles away from me, that's what I'm alone in, Jasper. Not in distinction, in reality."
He can see the change in her, and he can feel it, and he doesn't like either one. He stays where he is, quiet and still, watching her, listening as she talks. Never interrupting, even when he wants to point out that he'd hardly dragged her anywhere, because it doesn't matter. She's still here, and it's because of him.
Now he does stand, slowly, too smoothly, although he stays at the top of the stairs as he unfolds to stand straight. "I lived off human blood for eighty-five years. I've survived off animal for sixty-six. Not without my lapses, one of which you had the misfortune of witnessing. You're right," he says, dipping his head in a brief nod. "It is a challenge. But I think it does matter that you know I do want to be close to you. And that it is...getting more difficult to keep my distance. Which seems to have very little to do with how good you smell to me."
He nods past her, to the master bedroom with the powerful shower attached, possibly the only human affectation they all used occasionally. "We can keep talking now, but we'll stop here for a time. At least for tonight. Go on and finish freshening up, I'll leave you to it, and I promise you we'll talk again after."
And when she gets out, he'll have something for her to eat. He knows the area, it's familiar enough that after he's fed himself, he'll be able to collect something from the outskirts of town. Send a pizza delivery boy into a peaceful sleep, and leave a twenty behind to cover the cost.
Sharp eyes move to him, narrowed with intensity as if she too holds the power to read through him in ways that could be violating if she wasn't as respectful as he also is. She wants to say something but she cant argue; she can relate to the feeling of being on the edge, always afraid to lose control and slip back into old ways that he's worked so hard to escape from. She can't hold that against him, nor can she hold his need to keep his distance against him, and she doesn't. It doesn't seem to solve the issue, however, and a part of her wishes that he just hadn't told her that he wants to get closer to her in the first place. Men say it all the time. This is the first time that Natasha has wanted it as well.
She lets him move past the conversation, already emotionally drained from keeping herself so guarded, and Natasha watches as he walks away before she turns and disappears into the bedroom to take a shower. She doesn't know who's clothes she has, but the pants are definitely women's and she's pretty sure that the shirt is for men. It doesn't matter, she gets dried off and dressed, her hair still wet and loose as she moves down the stairs at the smell of food.
She can see the pizza on the kitchen table and Natasha feels a stab of guilt, recognizing the effort on his part to get it, but she shuts that down quickly with a reminder that she's going to have to stop feeling this way about him. Their conversation upstairs helped her get her head straight, he can't get near her, what the hell is she doing letting her heart loose with such carelessness? This isn't who she is, it's not who she was built to be.
She finds the plates and grabs a slice, leaning against the kitchen table instead of sitting as she eats, and after she finishes she grabs another piece before wandering around the house. It doesn't take her long to find him.
"Thank you..." Her voice breaks a silence that feels like it should have been left intact, and the air between them feels heavy now. Natasha swallows past a dry throat. "Did you feed?"
He's outside, watching the stars from the balcony off the living room. It's reassuring, the way they never really change. It's the same starfield he'd looked at in Mexico, the same one he'd stared at from rooftops in Philadelphia. He'd planned on hunting anyway, but as he'd run through the woods toward town the smell of animal blood had veered him off-course. He'd come across a fat rabbit in a snap-trap, illegal in the area, and after he'd quickly put it out of its misery and filled himself up, he'd dropped the trap off at Chief Swan's office on his way whipping through town. Can't have poachers that close to the house.
"I did," he says as she speaks, and he turns to lean back against the railing, hands resting against the wood at the small of his back. "Before I acquired something for you. I wouldn't have wanted it to get cold, waiting on me." His eyes burn a bright amber, the lightest color they get, and she may not be able to read him the way he can read her, but she'll see he's grown settled after hunting in this familiar place.
He can still smell her from here, the sharp, enticing scent that will send a little part of him howling every time he catches it on the air, but it's submerged now beneath her wet hair, Esme's shampoo, and that's Emmett's shirt if he isn't mistaken. There's no better time, he thinks. "I am not going to get close to you," he says slowly, and he isn't moving, not one bit, he's only taking a breath when he needs the air to speak. "You are. Come over here."
The way that his eyes seem to change in shade is something that she's noticed since she's started spending so much time around him; it's hard not to, when she finds herself looking at them as often as she does. They're lighter after he feeds, they were red after he killed that scientist, and it doesn't take one to put together exactly what that means. She leans in the open doorway as he speaks, studying the way that he seems to still himself, but the unexpected request has her brows rising a little to her hairline. "Jasper." The way she says it is almost scolding, but she stops herself before she continues. It isn't as if she has to tell him that he doesn't have to do this, he fully knows that. She hovers in the doorway for another moment before putting her empty plate down on a small table and finally stepping out into the night air.
She moves slowly for him, and a part of her is intently aware that she doesn't have to do this either. She shouldn't be, she's just feeding into something that she shouldn't be encouraging in the first place and Natasha barely recognizes herself as she moves, barefoot, across the balcony towards him. Maybe it's the fact that he's making the effort when she knows that he doesn't have to, even though all of this is insanity and he very well may be crazy to believe in his wife's 'visions'. However, this isn't just the first time that Natasha hasn't had a mission, it's also the first time that she's had a taste of what it means to be truly, completely, utterly alone. She always thought that she would be okay when that day came, and she's finding out that she's not the person she thought she was in that aspect. Or, at least, the person that she used to be.
So she'll try, too.
She manages to move up to him closer than she's ever been before, not touching but barely inches from him face to face, and at this short distance she can see details in his eyes that she's always wanted to study more clearly but was never able to. Her walls come down deliberately even though she's raw and nervous; and embarrassingly hopeful, despite her earlier claims. It'll be easier for him, she thinks, if she tries too. Removing her safety is the only way she can prove that she's doing that.
"Jasper," she says his name again softly as her gaze finally falls between them, knowing that this can't be easy for him. She's so close, she can touch him so easily if she wants to but Natasha isn't sure if she can handle him suddenly disappearing after she's gotten her hopes up that they can get past this wall. She wouldn't blame him, not in the least; but she'd blame herself, because she already knows she's being far too optimistic. "We don't have to do this..."
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moodshifter) wrote2017-02-16 01:26 pm
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She's happy for him. She isn't sure if that's supposed to hurt with a constant ache of longing that even she doesn't understand to this day, but she's happy for him.
That's why this is so hard for her, she realizes. "She sounds amazing." Her voice is soft and encouraging, as if thankful that he shared Alice's story with her. It's hard because Natasha has given up on this sort of connection, she realized a long time ago that she'll never be loved or love someone the way that Jasper loves Alice. She can't, she's not a person she's a weapon, and weapons don't decide who they do and don't like. She never had the opportunity to be anything else and she told herself that it was okay, once she got into Shield. The sacrifice was worth it.
Now she's here, with him, with nothing to show for all the efforts she made, and she's realizing just now what she had to give up to make them. Everything. She gave up everything, she's lived a full life and she has nothing to show for it except for a cabin in the woods, one that exists only for her to hide herself away from other people. This is all she has to her name, and when she hears Jasper speak of Alice... that certainly feels like nothing.
"You'll get back to her," she assures him in the same soft, passive tone. "It doesn't sound like your story is over yet. You've been through too much for it to end now."
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The ache in Natasha is low and steady, settling in for the duration like a cracked bone that needs time to heal, and she's still curled up on the couch in the chilly front room instead of beneath the layers of blankets on the bed. That's simply not right. Slowly, making more noise than he needs to, Jasper slips off the windowsill and glides to the fireplace, carefully adding a log and poking kindling at the embers. If she isn't going to sleep, she may as well stay warm.
As the flames leap up again and Natasha shifts instinctively toward the little billow of warmth, and incidentally toward him, and he doesn't move away again, it all comes crashing back.
They hadn't had much time, but Alice had told him a lot of things before they'd been separated. She'd told him she'd only seen all of them caught when they all ran together. When he'd decided to stay behind, she'd told him, with tears in her eyes, what needed to be done to hold off the attackers and give them time to escape. They'd been a little oasis of stillness, clinging to each other as their siblings and parents flew past them, blurred with speed, when her eyes had unfocused again.
"You'll meet someone. When we're apart. Someone new. A, a woman, with red hair. Sharp. Angry, but...not always. I don't know who she is, but you love her," and she'd put a finger over his lips as he'd immediately gone to protest it, he'd never love anyone the way he loves her, "you'll love her, and you'll bring her back to us. To both of us." Her glorious eyes had narrowed in confusion and she'd given that little huff she always gets when she can't figure something properly. "I don't...she's still human, but she feeds you, somehow she feeds you and you keep her warm. ...that's all I know, except. I'll love her too." She'd lain both hands on his cheeks, clarity restored even as Jasper's own confusion kept building. "Bring her with you when you come back. I'll wait."
It hadn't been the most pressing issue at the time, and in the weeks of fury and agony that had followed, he'd all but forgotten it. Red hair. Sharp. Angry. She feeds you and his breakfast mug is still sitting on the drainboard from the morning's squirrel blood. You keep her warm and what reason would he have to build a fire but to keep her warm, what reason to drag downed trees across the forest for firewood but to keep her warm?
The force of it knocks him back to sit on the hearth, his back against the hearthstone, the poker falling from his hand as he stares at her red hair, coppery now in the firelight. He shouldn't have any business being around a human, alone, for this long without going for her. She's touched him so many times, and he's only had to run from her once. He's never been as strong as the others, by rights she should be dead already, but she's never feared him, not once, not this woman whose instinct for death is such that he can feel it.
Does she know? Does she know what she is to him? To both of them?
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It isn't until she starts feeling warmth that she registers what he's doing for her, and it's enough to pull her out of the darkness that her mind is spiraling into so she can instead offering him a tiny but grateful smile. The corners of her mouth barely curl up as she watches him, knowing that this is probably the first time he's started a fire strictly for warmth in much too long, and she's about to thank him when he seems to be struck again like he had been when she first arrived. He drops the poker and he stares at her, and Natasha would think that he's having some sort of issue being around her again if she didn't know that he wouldn't be in the house anymore if he did.
"...Jasper?" She says his name with thinly veiled concern because he's never looked like that before, and she hesitates before standing from her seat on the couch and approaching him, sitting on the hearthstone beside him to soak in the warmth that he's provided. Her green eyes are wide with worry as she studies his face now that she's closer, the light of the fire dancing against one side of her as she faces him.
"...What? What is it, did you hear something or... do you need me to go into the bedroom...?"
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It's her, it must be. It must be her that Alice meant. There are plenty of women with red hair in the world, but how many of them have fed him in a way that kept them breathing and whole and moving? How many of them has he, with his icy skin and leashed-up monster inside, kept warm?
Which leads to the larger question of how he's ever going to pitch this. The certainty of it has sunk into him, tethered him to her, and he knows leaving her would make him ache in almost the way being apart from Alice makes him ache. But from what he knows of her, her life has been death. Her meaningful connections with people have been fleeting, or built on conditions that she herself sets. She's never known something like this, and worse, she never plans to, and she's made peace with that, of a kind. As much peace as she ever allows herself.
He could still be wrong. He's moving too slowly now, noticeably too slowly, as he reaches out and avoids touching her skin but hooks a lock of her red hair over a finger, and draws it gently along, and lets it fall again and pulls his hand back. "That morning pick-me-up you so kindly provided," and his voice is lower, a little hoarse with bewilderment now, "was that something you were planning on doing often?"
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"...I was planning on it," she responds finally, her eyes flickering from the hand that had touched her hair before returning to his face. It really is absolutely absurd, how handsome he is. Natasha usually finds herself attracted to the larger ones, muscular men who look like they can handle themselves in a fight and Jasper is much leaner than anybody she's given a second glance. It's the way that the light hits him though, and hits his eyes, that holds her attention.
"It didn't seem like it had done much but you enjoyed it so I thought that it was just a little thing I could do for you in the mornings. Keep your hunger a little more at bay." Her tongue darts out quickly to wet her lips before she moves a hand to brush her hair behind her ear, her shiver subsiding now that she's this close to warmth. "It looks like it's working better than I thought though." She's referring to here, right now. How close he is to her.
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"I'd like that," he says at last, a little helplessly, letting his head fall back to rest against the stone behind him, eyes still on her. "I should tell you something. It's something I've only just recalled, and now that I've brought it to mind I can't imagine how it didn't occur earlier, but I suppose I have been...somewhat distracted."
He shakes his head, looking away, staring at the window, his usual perch, then dropping his eyes, watching the play of firelight and shadow on the stone hearth. It's more than he usually moves, it could almost be termed fidgeting, as he searches out the best way to prove that he isn't mocking her for the feelings he's picked up, he isn't playing games with her. "You're not going to believe it, I think. From what I know of you. Or you'd likely rather not. But I told you before that I'm no liar, and I know you believed that."
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"Well I can't believe you if you don't tell me," she points out with a raised eyebrow of suspicion. "And if you like feeding in the morning then I'll just keep doing that for you, I don't mind. But you look like you're about to tell me that you need a coffin to sleep in at night or something." She says it with a half-joke in her voice, but it's still obvious that she's unsettled by his behavior. She even moves, reaching out as if to touch his hand before quickly catching herself, and Natasha frowns a little before pulling her hand back to fold them in her lap instead.
"Sorry..." she frowns. "Yes. I believed that you aren't a liar, and you're making me nervous, Jasper. What's going on?"
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He looks at the fire, roaring now, burning through the birch logs he'd brought back and split earlier that day. It makes good firewood, a dry paper birch, he'd remembered that. There'd been a time, after all, when he'd needed a fire to stay warm.
"She didn't know anything more, couldn't see anything, but she said I—" He looks back at her and falters. No, he can't say it straight out, he can't quote her. It's too new, this slender thing forming, it's too brittle to risk her slamming herself behind her walls again and shattering it. "She said she saw me bringing this woman back with me." Now the corner of his mouth pulls up in a little smile. "I've been racking my brain, but you seem to fit that description awfully neatly."
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He falters and that's his mistake. Natasha picks up on it immediately, he's not lying but he's hiding something and she stares at him with suspicion that's evident enough on her face where he doesn't have to feel it coming off of her. "...You want me to come with you?" He's smiling, and that's rare too. "I can't." She says it before she really thinks about it, her eyes searching around the house now as if she's looking for the reason that prompted the immediate denial. Natasha doesn't run away with people, she's alone. That's how she's supposed to be.
Yet she has nothing to go back to. This time she has no agency to join and no partner to check on. She's reminded of her lack of purpose yet again and when she looks back at Jasper it's with a look that's almost unrecognizable to her. It doesn't seem to fit her face with how rare it is, and yet she looks hopeful; she feels it, and she hates that.
"How am I supposed to go back with you? I'm human, and - you're already struggling, won't your family have a hard time being around me? With what I am?"
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It's weakness, pure and simple. He'd lived his life through murder for eighty years. Even the fear and pain he'd felt from each victim hadn't stopped him from taking more, not until Alice had found him and taught him a different way. He'd never even considered it, and every day, it feels like it would be easier to just go back to what he'd known for so long. The scientist he'd ripped into, he could claim that as self defense if he felt like lying to himself. He couldn't claim it hadn't felt damned good. Even he can't lie that well to himself.
But that's an old argument, his frustration with his own thirst, and he forces his shoulders to relax, lets his head fall to one side when he looks at her again. "Alice's visions are subjective," he says quietly. "They change based on what people decide. It doesn't mean it's something that's going to happen, but...yes, I do want you to come with me. I...we," he corrects himself, because he wants to be as honest as he can without frightening her off, "we would like to see that future come about. That said, you would be walking into a house full of vampires."
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So why is she even considering it? He's acting oddly, touching her hair and staring at her as if she's suddenly grown a new face. He's asking her to leave everything behind and walk into what sounds like a death trap, there's a very realistic chance that she could die from this. Doesn't that just sound thrilling?
That familiar rush of adrenaline moves through her as if to finalize her decision.
"Alright." She nods once. "When are we going if you're too afraid to find them just yet? Are we going to wait around until you think it's safe?"
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Whatever horrors they'd had in store for him, he'd had the distinct sense, from the feel of the people who had worked on him and the way they'd been talking, that he'd been just one of many curiosities the organization had tucked away. There's a little surge of anger at that, but it's not a time for that, and he puts it aside, as he continues, "But you might be a focus of theirs, and we won't be traveling as fast together." Unless he turned her, but that doesn't bear thinking about.
"Looking for them blindly wouldn't be wise. Carlisle's gotten good at disappearing over the years, and with Edward and Alice with him, he'll have a head start on bolting if need be, wherever they've settled. But I know where they've lived before, and I know Carlisle sometimes likes to revisit old haunts, put down roots and live a normal life. We can start there." By the time he's finished, he sounds calm and authoritative, more certain about the path they'll take. But then he tilts his head toward her, inquisitive. "Unless you have other suggestions?"
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She stares at him from across the fireplace, searching his face again in a way of suspicion that says, she knows he isn't telling the whole truth. She's agreeing to this, but because she wants to. Not because she feels as if he's been completely honest. "I have what we'll need." She cocks her head to the in the direction of the bedroom. "I have twelve passports at this location, sixteen credit cards, around twenty seven identities, none of which are registered with Shield's databases. None of them have been used, so if it's me you're worried about, don't." She can't help but give him a sly smile. "Nobody finds me unless I want them to. That's kind of what I do."
She sighs, her head falling back so she can look up at the ceiling in thought. "We'd have to go back to the last home that you were located at so we could track them from there, that's roughly eight days of travel with a car, we can get one in the town closest to us if we buy it outright, we could us a credit card but I'd rather not use one of those until we have to so we can use the cash, I've got about twenty five thousand here that we can make work if we find them within the first couple of months of searching... longer since you don't eat." She looks back at him after she thinks it all aloud, and Natasha chews on the corner of her lip as she continues to run it all through her mind.
"It's up to you. I know I won't get caught. You have to be comfortable with that. I can wait until you are."
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"I can make a call and have a fresh ID of my own in two days at the most. I have a source. He is reliable." A healthy combination of money and fear kept him that way, as well as Jasper's ability to tell if Jenks was ever lying. Twenty years and counting thus far, and not a peep out of him. "But in the meantime, I trust you. It shouldn't be so difficult to find a car that will get us there, inconspicuously. That, I am comfortable with."
As promised, it wasn't difficult at all to find a low-profile vehicle for a decent price, cash on the table, at one of the lower-end dealerships. Jasper had offered to drive, but he'd agreed with her logic that she ought to stay behind the wheel during the day, to avoid any unfortunate eye-catching sparkle on the sunny freeways. She drove during the day, with infrequent breaks, and listened to music constantly, and turned up the volume and sang along when she judged him to be insufficiently enjoying a song. It got a smile out of him more often than not, which, based on the warm satisfaction that rolled his way, had always been the ultimate goal. He drove at night, all night, stopping only to refuel with Natasha curled in the back, sound asleep, and they never stopped moving. Somehow, the increased proximity of her didn't make him anxious or push the limits of his control. Something of the opposite, in fact, which he chalked up to familiarity and their shared urgency. There just wasn't time to think about that.
Forks is a quiet place by nature, the little stirring of the Cullens' sudden departure already rippling out and fading into the pool of routine that Carlisle had judged so restful for all of them. They'd managed less than a year there before needing to bolt, but the house is still there, empty and locked up tight. It's just after dusk when they arrive, but Natasha is still driving, no point in swapping for such a short time. When she pulls into the driveway, Jasper gets calmly out of the car and enters a long number on the garage keypad, smiling in satisfaction when it grinds open.
The row of cars is still there, with just enough room on the end for theirs. It will look thoroughly out of place next to the Mercedes, the Volvo, Emmett's souped-up truck, but the sight of the vehicles makes him relax more than he'd expected. It's not home, they're just things, the family isn't here, but it's familiar. It's something he'd predicted that's come to pass, a consistency. The invaders hadn't taken everything from him after all.
"Plenty of room upstairs," he calls over to Natasha as he closes the garage door behind the car, locks them in. "I doubt anyone would mind whichever room you picked. There are beds in most of them. Esme and Carlisle were sticklers for detail."
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When they finally reach Forks she follows his guidance until she's pulling into a garage with an array of cars that speak for themselves. Her eyes roam over all of them, and she can't help but smile to herself as she takes it all in. The M3, Tony. The Volvo, Bruce, the truck, Thor... she finds herself being reminded of them more and more lately. It's almost as if she misses them.
"Do you bother keeping food in the house?" Probably not. She wanders past him as they move into the house so she can explore the place. "Probably not, right?" She moves back to him after checking the immediate area, and she looks up at him before folding her arms across her chest. She's closer to him now, but after sitting in a car with him for days, proximity doesn't seem like it's as much of an issue. "Are you sure you want to stop here? We can keep working, see what we can track and keep moving. A bed sounds amazing but I don't mind foregoing one for a couple of more nights." She pauses. "I do need a shower though. And clothes, if you think there's anything here that will fit me."
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He starts forward, intending to start tidying up that mess, but stops and turns back to her, surprised. "Why would I deny you a chance to rest properly?" he asks. "It's been a kindness to me that we moved as quickly as we did, Natalia, I won't forget that." His eyes move over her a little critically, assessing her size. "You may not have much luck in my wife's closet, but Rosalie's or Esme's might give you a selection. I know Esme would be more than happy to let you borrow anything you need," he adds with confidence as he turns away again, resolved to clear away the detritus of the fight.
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"She's your wife?" Natasha asks it aloud before she can think, the word blindsiding her more than it should, and the reaction is immediate. Those walls jut up for the first time in over a week, tall and thick and ominous, and they're not hiding anything in particular yet. Natasha felt a twist of discomfort in her stomach, something that she doesn't recognize and she needs to shield whatever aftermath it leads to just in case it's something that she doesn't want him picking up on or comprehending better than she can. It takes her less time than a thought to do it, and she waits, but nothing comes. It's just that... discomfort, a kind that settles in her gut and spreads to her chest tightening around her heart.
Disappointment?
Maybe.
That would make more sense if she had anything to be disappointed by, which she most certainly does not. He's spoke of Alice before and although she didn't know they were married, he's obviously made his dedication to her perfectly clear. Not that it matters because Natasha Romanoff is indifferent to the love life of Jasper Whitlock Whatever his name is. She doesn't worry herself about that sort of thing, it's pointless if she wants to get anything accomplished.
Although, the only accomplishment she's aiming toward right now is one for him.
Another thought to push out of her head. "I'm going to go upstairs and look for something to change into." She sounds monotone in an effort to keep herself unreadable, her eyes off of him to avoid giving something away, and she's already moving up the stairs before she calls back to him. "I can drive into town later to get something to eat. If you want me to pick up anything... I don't know, make a list."
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He stands slowly as she retreats, and it is a retreat even if it has an intended goal at the end of it. He almost calls her name, asks her to stop, but after a few narrow-eyed moments spent trying to read her—and it's a challenge like this, after she's been so open with him—he lets her go and finishes tidying up the room in record time.
Should've told her the whole truth, he scolds himself as the pieces of the coffee table go into a garbage bin in the garage, to sit there for who knows how long, and he returns and examines the crack in the wall with absent attention. He owes her the whole truth. He can't go dragging her back to his family, to Alice, without her knowing why. He doesn't know if the stirrings of affection he has for her, all the sharper now that they've got this feeling of worry backing them, are the beginnings of the love Alice had mentioned, it's strange still to think of loving anyone else, and for all he knows, that vision has long since been canceled out by some decision he's made, or she has. Maybe just now, in these last few minutes.
But maybe not. And even if it has, he still owes her a whole truth, nothing piecemeal this time.
He ascends the stairs slowly, making noise as he goes, letting them creak beneath his weight, so she'll know he's coming, and he pauses near the top of the stairs before he steps into the hallway. "I am sorry," he says sincerely, certain she can hear him no matter whose room she's in. "Both for that moment downstairs, and because there is something I did not tell you about Alice's vision. I didn't know how. I didn't think you wouldn't believe me, but I wasn't certain you'd..." He trails off and sighs, and turns to sit on the top step. "Alice said I'd meet a woman with red hair, who's sharp and angry, but not always, that she'd feed me and I'd keep her warm, and that I would love her. ...you. That I'd bring you back, into both our lives, and she'd love you too. She said she'd wait, for the both of us. If she was here, you'd know she's...you'd just know. She's better with her words than I am."
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The way she falls silent seems a little pointless in retrospect, she knows that he could easily find her if he actually tries, but he seems content sitting in the hall and speaking to the upstairs in general, knowing that she'll hear him. And she does.
It takes her almost a full minute before she manages to slowly step back into the hall, the clothes she had chosen clutched in one fist at her side, and her eyes bore into him with a fire that she isn't even bothering to contain. Her walls are still up, thick and unmarred, but they seem to tremble now as if the anger on the other side is threatening to tear them open at any moment. She can let them down... and she's tempted. She knows that she can let them down and the sudden emotional assault will be enough to disorient him, make him leave... she's seen it almost happen before by accident, she can certainly do it on purpose. It's the only means of defense she has against him if she needed it, of course it's something she's noticed.
She doesn't do that though. Instead she hovers in the doorway and stares at him, and when her words come they're slow and precise. "You brought me out here because your wife had a vision that you were going to love me." It's not a question, but a clarification. She still hasn't moved. "You decide to tell me this now, after I used limited resources to get here, to bring me to a group of people who are going to struggle with the desire to eat me, because you were going to love me?" Her jaw tenses and her wall cracks, heat spitting out. "What if I don't fall in love, did you think about that?"
And she seals it up again, because it's not going to help her right now and she knows it. Natasha patches the wall before she presses forward. "And even if I did, how did you expect that to work? You can barely come near me without having to run away, is that your plan? I fall in love with a man who can't stand to be close to me?" If he were anybody else, she would have already left... after smashing a few things. Yet Natasha can't bring herself to do that, instead she wants to hear what he has to say, and a little part of her hates herself for even entertaining that idea. "Or a woman I don't know who also can't stand to be close to me, I'm assuming."
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"I don't know how I expected it to work," he continues, quiet and calm, still reaching out for every nuance of feeling he can get from her. She's angry, maybe angrier than he's seen her before, and he knows what Alice had meant now by sharp. "There wasn't time to go into the finer details. I didn't think about whether or not this mystery woman can fall in love, I didn't expect anything to work, I don't even know if she saw you as still human."
He stops, watches her unblinkingly for a moment. "Resources are not a problem, now we're here, and my family's thirst is something they've been managing well with for a very long time," and he sounds more terse now, the way he sounds when he's looking to solve a problem. "I brought you here because when I asked, you said yes, and beyond that, you felt hopeful at the idea. Alice has that effect on people," with a little smile that disappears again almost immediately, now isn't the time. "I don't expect a damn thing. I asked you to come and left it to you and you came, and if you want to go now, now that you have this whole truth...all right then. I'll accept that. Of course I will." He pauses, because it hurts to think about. "...in addition, you make it sound as if I don't want to be close to you. That Alice wouldn't want it. And maybe there's no distinction for you between can't and don't want to, but you're alone in that."
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She looks away from him, and Natasha takes a deep breath as she tries to calm herself. "I knew this was too good to be true." She says it more to herself than to him, and in reality that's what she's upset about. Natasha is angry at herself, because these things don't happen. New teams, new families... they don't just fall into your lap when you're Natasha Romanoff. They're calculated and forced upon you, and you pay the price with honor and blood. "You waited until you dragged me across half the country before telling me that I can 'go' if I want to, don't pat yourself on the back." She tries to sound cold and she does, but her emotions begin to betray her, disappointment and anxiety seeping in to chew away at the hot anger that fills her.
That's the worst part of it. She likes being around him, she's enjoyed these days driving with him, watching him attentively keep her warm and drive through the night. She liked watching the side of his face as she tried to sleep in the back seat, eyes flashing that beautiful shade of amber every time they drove past a street lamp. She liked hearing about his past and Thor help her, she liked sharing her own with him. She feels foolish, and raw. The realization comes with her wrapping her arms around herself, and her face saddens with a weary sort of dejection as she stares off at the wall.
"I understand the distinction," she manages after a prolonged stretch of silence, her voice softer now with a touch of dismayed hopelessness. "The distinction doesn't really matter though, does it? Results matter. The result is that I can barely touch your shoulder without you having to run ten miles away from me, that's what I'm alone in, Jasper. Not in distinction, in reality."
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Now he does stand, slowly, too smoothly, although he stays at the top of the stairs as he unfolds to stand straight. "I lived off human blood for eighty-five years. I've survived off animal for sixty-six. Not without my lapses, one of which you had the misfortune of witnessing. You're right," he says, dipping his head in a brief nod. "It is a challenge. But I think it does matter that you know I do want to be close to you. And that it is...getting more difficult to keep my distance. Which seems to have very little to do with how good you smell to me."
He nods past her, to the master bedroom with the powerful shower attached, possibly the only human affectation they all used occasionally. "We can keep talking now, but we'll stop here for a time. At least for tonight. Go on and finish freshening up, I'll leave you to it, and I promise you we'll talk again after."
And when she gets out, he'll have something for her to eat. He knows the area, it's familiar enough that after he's fed himself, he'll be able to collect something from the outskirts of town. Send a pizza delivery boy into a peaceful sleep, and leave a twenty behind to cover the cost.
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She lets him move past the conversation, already emotionally drained from keeping herself so guarded, and Natasha watches as he walks away before she turns and disappears into the bedroom to take a shower. She doesn't know who's clothes she has, but the pants are definitely women's and she's pretty sure that the shirt is for men. It doesn't matter, she gets dried off and dressed, her hair still wet and loose as she moves down the stairs at the smell of food.
She can see the pizza on the kitchen table and Natasha feels a stab of guilt, recognizing the effort on his part to get it, but she shuts that down quickly with a reminder that she's going to have to stop feeling this way about him. Their conversation upstairs helped her get her head straight, he can't get near her, what the hell is she doing letting her heart loose with such carelessness? This isn't who she is, it's not who she was built to be.
She finds the plates and grabs a slice, leaning against the kitchen table instead of sitting as she eats, and after she finishes she grabs another piece before wandering around the house. It doesn't take her long to find him.
"Thank you..." Her voice breaks a silence that feels like it should have been left intact, and the air between them feels heavy now. Natasha swallows past a dry throat. "Did you feed?"
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"I did," he says as she speaks, and he turns to lean back against the railing, hands resting against the wood at the small of his back. "Before I acquired something for you. I wouldn't have wanted it to get cold, waiting on me." His eyes burn a bright amber, the lightest color they get, and she may not be able to read him the way he can read her, but she'll see he's grown settled after hunting in this familiar place.
He can still smell her from here, the sharp, enticing scent that will send a little part of him howling every time he catches it on the air, but it's submerged now beneath her wet hair, Esme's shampoo, and that's Emmett's shirt if he isn't mistaken. There's no better time, he thinks. "I am not going to get close to you," he says slowly, and he isn't moving, not one bit, he's only taking a breath when he needs the air to speak. "You are. Come over here."
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She moves slowly for him, and a part of her is intently aware that she doesn't have to do this either. She shouldn't be, she's just feeding into something that she shouldn't be encouraging in the first place and Natasha barely recognizes herself as she moves, barefoot, across the balcony towards him. Maybe it's the fact that he's making the effort when she knows that he doesn't have to, even though all of this is insanity and he very well may be crazy to believe in his wife's 'visions'. However, this isn't just the first time that Natasha hasn't had a mission, it's also the first time that she's had a taste of what it means to be truly, completely, utterly alone. She always thought that she would be okay when that day came, and she's finding out that she's not the person she thought she was in that aspect. Or, at least, the person that she used to be.
So she'll try, too.
She manages to move up to him closer than she's ever been before, not touching but barely inches from him face to face, and at this short distance she can see details in his eyes that she's always wanted to study more clearly but was never able to. Her walls come down deliberately even though she's raw and nervous; and embarrassingly hopeful, despite her earlier claims. It'll be easier for him, she thinks, if she tries too. Removing her safety is the only way she can prove that she's doing that.
"Jasper," she says his name again softly as her gaze finally falls between them, knowing that this can't be easy for him. She's so close, she can touch him so easily if she wants to but Natasha isn't sure if she can handle him suddenly disappearing after she's gotten her hopes up that they can get past this wall. She wouldn't blame him, not in the least; but she'd blame herself, because she already knows she's being far too optimistic. "We don't have to do this..."
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