moodshifter | Alice Cullen | Natasha Romanova

"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."

Edited 2017-02-27 06:33 (UTC)

"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..."

It's not easy for him. It's not easy to watch her approaching, predatory in her own way even when walking softly and carefully like this. His eyes close for a moment when she drops those well-crafted walls of hers and lets herself flow out ahead, washing over him like a tide: anxiety, nervousness, hope, the hope he'd known was still there even when he couldn't find it.

He opens his eyes again almost immediately and takes a slow breath through his mouth, which helps. She brings heat with her when she comes so close, he can feel it radiating from her in the chilly air. He's been out long enough to be the same temperature, and she's nearly glowing, and he's...

This close, his expression of surprise is unmistakeable. He's fine. The hunger is there, the hunter beneath the surface, but he has it reined in. They've been this close before, he realizes, dozens of times even in the short time they've been around each other. In the car, he'd spent hours suffused in the smell of her. Had he simply not noticed himself growing accustomed to it? Had he been too distracted by what they might find at the house, the next steps they'd take together to find the rest of the family?

He still doesn't move as he watches her, even as that little half-smile appears again. "Don't we? Yet, we're here, aren't we." And he isn't bolting. He isn't breathing, but he isn't bolting.

She looks up before he replies in just enough time to see that smile of his slowly rise to the surface. He seems fine, and Natasha is, admittedly, quite surprised herself by that fact. Apparently they have made progress, considering two weeks ago he could barely be in the same kitchen as her.

The smile that she gives him in return is a mirror of his own, crooked and a little more cheeky, and her eyes flicker down to his mouth once more before meeting his gaze. "Don't get too confident now, Jazz, my charm is still dialed down to a solid 1, right now." She wets her lips nervously before looking down at him again, making sure that he isn't fidgeting in his own way before she takes a deep breath to steel herself. She's putting a decent amount of effort into it as well; Natasha is hyper aware of her own heartbeat, keeping it steady the way she does when she has to lie. A quickened pulse probably wouldn't help him in this situation.

Her hand moves slowly, and at first she only touches his hair to brush it out of his bright eyes. Fingertips move against the skin of his forehead and she pulls them back quickly, looking at him in surprise. "You're cold." She blinks, and her eyes narrow a little with a dramatic sigh. "You have to warn a girl." There's still warmth in her voice, an obvious tease, and finally she places her hand on the side of his face to hold it there completely still.

"We still good, handsome?"

Her hand fits against his cheek like a brand he never wants to pull back from. He can almost hear the movement of blood beneath her skin, slow and steady, calm in a way at odds with the way she's feeling to him. He's unblinking as he watches her, still as stone, no fidgeting, but even his grip against the railing isn't too tight.

From what he'd gleaned from Edward whenever he'd been around Bella, back before they'd married and she'd turned, Jasper's having an easier time of it than his brother had. Natasha smells good, but she doesn't smell irresistible, just...good. Comfortable. Carlisle would be proud if he were here, he thinks. "Yes," he breathes. "No...more than this, right now, I don't want to need to run from you. But. Yes, Natalia, we are still good."

He's out of air from that and he doesn't want to risk breathing in again with her this close. He doesn't want to risk flinching, either forward or back. He wants her to be able to stay where she is. He falls silent, just watching, that same little smile still in place. He can only imagine what she'll be like when she dials up the charm. No one in his family will be able to resist liking her.

Despite the fact that she's moving so slowly and the fact that it's absolutely frustrating to be this close and yet not close enough, Natasha can't help but smile back at him when he admits that he can't do more than what they're doing right now. She feels like what she assumes a teenager would after first discovering their feelings for someone, as if she's courting him with innocent uncertainty. "You can't call me Natalia and then tell me that I can't touch you more, that's what we call mixed signals, we're I'm from." She's teasing again, keeping it as light as she can to keep his attention on her, and not his hunger.

She almost lets go of him and tells him that it's enough for tonight, that the effort means more than the actual action, but she can't find it in herself to pull back. His skin is almost hard beneath her touch, cold like stone and yet somehow not unpleasant. He's not breathing and she can see that, but for now she finds comfort in holding his face and looking at all the little features she wasn't able to see before. "You're obnoxiously attractive." Blunt. Almost annoyed. She says it factually, not even flirtatiously, as if it's something that he should apologize for and the funny part about it is that Natasha wouldn't be surprised if he did.

She can't stop smiling now, a relaxed one that warms her eyes as she looks up at him. "Vy sil'neye, chem vy dayete sebe kredit."

The last little breath he has escapes in a huffed laugh, his smile growing boyish for a moment, and if color could still rise to his cheeks, it might have. He wants to answer, and he's going to, he's no stranger to discipline or to endurance. His hands tighten dangerously on the wood as he closes his eyes for a moment and parts his lips and breathes in, shallowly at first, and the thirst is there, it's burning in his throat, but when he opens his eyes again, they're just as pale as before.

"Must be difficult for you, finding someone nearly as appealing as yourself," he murmurs, keeping still for her scrutiny. He wants to nudge at her hand, turn his head into it, he would if it were Alice, but he's still cautious. He's the greatest risk for her if she does agree to stay, he'll do what he needs to do to train himself out of it. Part of that is going to be patience.

But he finally does tip his head just a little at the soft Russian that comes so naturally from her. "Ja dumaju, chto Vy bolee hrabry, chem Vy znaete. I don't know that I ever thanked you properly."

She waits patiently for him to breathe in and she can see the effect she has on him, that boyish smile that rises in that moment for her alone. The satisfaction she feels is different from what she's used to; usually when she gets a man in her grasp it means she's won, and she supposes it still means the same thing in this situation but in a very different way.

His reply gets a sheepish grin out of her, one that makes her eyes fall between them before returning just as quickly with a mockery of her normal tone. "It is, it's actually quite a struggle. I've been working with coping mechanisms, they haven't been nearly as effective as I'd like but I think I'll survive."

Her smile softens into something rare and affectionate when he just barely tilts his head into her touch, and Natasha can't help but close her eyes when she hears him speak in her language with that soft southern drawl that she's grown to enjoy so much.

"Je ne pouvais pas vous laisser là. Tu mérites mieux." French this time, just to keep him distracted and thinking as she gently brushes her thumb against his cheekbone in response to the tilt of his head. "You have no reason to thank me."

"I'm so pleased to hear that," he murmurs, and the breath he'd needed to take for that next set of words hadn't driven the burning thirst into his throat quite so sharply. The motion of her thumb is distracting, verging on dangerous, but not there quite yet. He wouldn't go so far as to call it safe—he isn't certain he'd ever classify himself as 'safe' in any regard—but it's not crossing any lines that shouldn't be crossed either.

Switching up her languages, when discussing something as serious as this, it's working to keep his mind on that and not on anything that could lead to his becoming distracted, and his concentration slipping. "Begging your pardon, Natalia, but I believe I have every reason. Vous êtes venus pour moi, oui, mais alors vous êtes restés."

His eyes rest so easily on hers, it's so rare in any human that they can meet a vampire's too-steady gaze with such comfort. "Come with me to meet my family," he whispers. "Come with me to meet Alice."

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