A little oneshot exploring the relationship between Esme and Jasper.

Note: I know Esme lost her baby to a fever (I think), but in this oneshot I'm suggesting something else.

Warnings: Discussion of stillbirth.

Alice had worried that the house would be too quiet for him without her – that he wouldn't know what to do and would be uncomfortable alone for eight hours with Esme. It had made Jasper smile. After living on his own, leaving even Peter and Charlotte behind, he had grown used to solitude; even comfortable in it. Alice's company he had welcomed of course. It hadn't ever occurred to him to refuse her anything. But on joining the Cullen's, he'd often found himself taking Alice and escaping from the house, needing a break from living on top of five other vampires. She'd understood every time of course.

They had lived with the Cullen's for a little over a year by now, and Alice had felt ready to attend the local high school with her 'brothers' and 'sister'. Before she'd uttered a word to anyone however, she'd taken him away for the weekend, and asked him how he felt about it. Did he approve? Would he be alright without her? Did he want her to wait a year or two more? Jasper had been more touched by that than he had expected. He'd kissed the tip of her nose, clasped her face between his hands and smiled.

"Silly Alice," he'd whispered. As if he'd ever desired anything but her happiness.

And so her first day at high school had arrived. She'd spent hours fussing over the perfect outfit – nothing too flashy (it wouldn't do well for some fashion-conscious teenager to recognise her Chanel boots straight from Paris, now would it?), but still trendy and well-cut. After a rigorous make-up regime, which Jasper would never understand no matter how many centuries he lived through, she'd crawled on top of him where he lay on their bed, and stayed there until Edward had yelled that she was going to be late on her first day; and she'd left him with a lingering kiss.

With the 'children' of the house gone and Carlisle at the local hospital, Jasper let a calmness settle over him. It was rare that he felt such a peaceful moment in the home the Cullen's had made for themselves. Although it was mostly a positive atmosphere, and aggression was non-existent, their living situation was not without its drawbacks. Edward's perpetual moodiness had given Jasper more than one headache, conflicting with the other happier emotions in the house. Emmett and Rosalie and their...enthusiastic appreciation of each other had probably been the most troublesome aspect of it all. The first time he had felt it, unfortunately sitting on the arm the couch they were both currently occupying, their lust, excitement and eagerness had struck him with such a force, he'd fallen backwards, landing on his back on the floor with a thud and a look of utter surprise over his face.

It had taken Emmett a very long time to get over that one.

And so Jasper had felt his tension at being without Alice for a portion of the day quickly ease away. He'd think of it as a reprieve; something to make the most of until he was ready – or as ready as he ever would be – to join his mate in the ritualistic education of human teenagers.

Jasper stood and found himself drifting towards the stair case, his grey boots softly clacking against the wooden floor. He heard Esme fluttering around on the floor beneath him. He'd instantly been curious about the Cullen's matriarch. When he and Alice had turned up on their porch, even compassionate Carlisle had been wary at first. But Esme – from Esme he'd felt hope and joy. He'd been inclined to think her...touched in the head, knowing full well it could happen to some vampires. But over time he came to realise that was just her way. Esme revelled in her family – and whether Jasper was ready to accept it or not (and he most certainly wasn't) – Esme had folded both he and Alice under that blanket. Not to mention Edward had came to him smiling and full of reassurances about Esme's sanity.

At the bottom of the stairs, he could see Esme in the living room minutely straightening pillows, changing pictures over, rearranging the family photographs she had lining the mantle. Much to her chagrin, she had yet to snap one of Jasper. As a result, Alice wouldn't have her picture on display either. And although Esme never complained over Jasper's reticence, he always noticed the flicker of hurt she felt whenever it would rear its head. Hell, the first time he had willingly wrestled with Emmett (and there had been a number of unwilling attempts by the hulking, youngest Cullen up to that point which had never ended well), she had positively erupted into cascades of happiness. She surely was the strangest vampire he had ever met.

Jasper shifted his weight against his right foot as he leaned carefully against the door frame. Esme span at the sound and smiled in delight as her eyes caught Jasper's.

"Jasper, are you joining me?"

He let himself smile a little at that. It was a well known fact in the household that you didn't attempt to join Esme in her pursuit of perfection. You would only end up doing it wrong.

"Wouldn't think of it ma'am," he said.

Esme grinned indulgently, well aware of her "children's" thoughts on her obsessive designing and tidying. She happily turned back to her task as Jasper shot over to the two-seater couch which sat to the right of the door. She watched from the corner of her eye as Jasper sat - or rather lay down - with his long legs dangling over the arm. Although he hadn't initially understood the need for furniture bar keeping up the human charade, Jasper had quickly found a liking for this particular pose on the plush little sofa. He would lay there, and gently kick his legs back and forth, wearing the smallest smile as if he were a giant kid trying to amuse himself. His hair was partly bound in a hair-tie Alice had given him when he'd mentioned perhaps cutting his hair. She'd shrieked, thoroughly alarming everyone, and demanded why. He'd simply answered that it got in his face sometimes, to which she'd shot upstairs, grabbed a hairband from Rosalie's room, and loosely scraped the bulk of Jasper's hair into a messy pile. Esme thought it suited him. You couldn't even tell he was wearing one really, with the plethora of lose honey waves that escaped it and framed his face. More often than not, Esme found herself struck by how handsome he was.

When he was human she'd have bet that he had green eyes – perhaps with that little hazel ring around the iris that some of them had. And as a Texan, maybe with farmland, she thought that his skin would have had the same honey-glow as his hair did. She would never forget the first time she'd seen him, and how grateful she was that Edward hadn't been there to read her thoughts. Over the years, Esme had dealt with her grief at losing her baby son by imagining the man that he would have become, that she would have taught him to be. She always pictured him tall, and broad-shouldered, so that he could stand proud in a room. She'd hoped that he would have her waves, though his fine hair when he'd been born had been blonde, instead of her own wonderful shade of caramel. He'd have a pretty face – one unthreatening to women to match his gentlemanly manners, but it would still be strong. He would stand up for those he loved and for what he believed in...

And when she'd first seen Jasper, if she looked past the scars, it was like seeing the images of her own son in her head walk through the front door. She'd never told him of course. She'd never told anyone; and if Edward had heard it from her mind, he gave no indication of it.

Of course she tried not to think about it too often, partly for her privacy and partly because she didn't like to dwell on what could have been too much. She had such a wonderful life now – a husband she adored and a family to love, nurture and care for. She would count each and every one of her blessings with glee and thanks. Yet still, she acknowledged the briefest pang of sadness before she pushed it down. Indulging in such feelings wasn't the best idea when she was sharing the room with Jasper. She was glad for his company, that he was making the effort to be around her; and she wouldn't do anything to chase him away.

"Esme? Are you alright?"

Apparently her efforts were for naught, however.

"I can leave if you'd like."

Esme's eyes widened at his suggestion.

"No Jasper, of course not!" she insisted. "I like having you keep me company."

He still lay on the couch, though his legs were still and his head was turned to face her. His eyes, always piercing (which she felt unusual seeing as they all shared the same colour) studied her intently.

"I was just thinking," she offered.

"And it upset you. You shouldn't think about things that upset you, Esme."

His gentle frown of disapproval almost made her laugh. It had become very clear very quickly that Jasper had irrepressible protective instincts, mostly towards women. All the females in the Cullen household had experienced it in some way shape or form; whether it was the ever present all encompassing protection Alice was so used to; or the way that he would place himself in-front of Esme if Edward and Emmett rough-housed to close to her in the house; or, most surprisingly, when he had doled out a tongue-lashing to Edward after he'd been particularly scathing towards Rosalie. He'd gotten in one of his bad moods and Jasper had rather firmly lectured him on inappropriate language towards a lady. Edward had looked amused until he looked Jasper in the eyes and realised how absolutely serious he was. When asked about it from Carlisle, he had explained it was one of the first parts of his humanity he'd recovered upon meeting Alice.

"It's alright Jasper," she reassured him. "I'm okay."

He watched her for a few seconds, as if he was trying to decide how truthful she was being. But with a firm nod he looked away and continued kicking his legs from the arm of the couch. Though he stopped in surprise when he heard Esme's soft giggling.

"Why do you do that?" she asked him.

Jasper looked back at his legs, swinging them back and forth again experimentally. "I don't know, entirely," he said through his smirk. "Why do you hum to yourself?"

Esme blinked, stunned. Not of course that Jasper had noticed – even for a vampire he was frighteningly observant and his senses were second to none – but that she'd done it in the first place, unconscious and unnoticed. During the early months of her human marriage, she'd happily murmured her favourite songs beneath her breath, so unbelievably content in her wifely duties. And when the marriage had soured, and the cruelty of her new husband made itself known, she had continued to do so as a way of distracting herself from her aches and bruises. However, after she awoke into her new life with Carlisle, she'd forgotten it completely, and rarely did she do it anymore.

But quickly, Esme tried to cover up her surprise. "Is that not a normal thing to do?"

"Yes, for a human. We are quite far from normal, Esme."

Once again Esme was reminded just how different Jasper, and by extension Alice, were from the rest of them. Jasper was well and truly a vampire, and he had been largely responsible for Alice's more in-depth education of their kind. Although his mate was more comfortable than Jasper in the level of interaction the Cullen's would have with humans, for her it truly was a game - a charade to help pass the time and learn something new. She remembered that for the first month, they had all been somewhat unnerved by Jasper and Alice's behaviour – no shoulders mimicking breath, no occasional fidgeting, no blinking... The rest of them had been at it so long that it was something they often carried on in privacy, mostly out of habit. And then there was their vocal communication. Growls and low murmuring rumbles and something that sounded suspiciously like purring had been heard by every member of their family at one point or another. It was something completely unique to Alice and Jasper – they accepted what they were, completely and happily; and that was something none of the rest of them could claim.

Yet Esme smiled. "Not entirely," she said. "We all started out as human. We all look like humans – essentially, at least. Even you've rediscovered some of your human traits since you met Alice, you said so yourself. Sometimes maybe we're not so different, or at least I'd like to think so."

She was surprised to see a slow, lazy, tired grin melt across Jasper's face. "After everything I'd seen – I thought I'd never be surprised again. Yet you keep doin' it, Esme."

"Then we're even. The amount of shocks you've given me? It's only fair."

A warm chuckle like dripping honey answered her. "Well alright," he said. "Forgettin' our first meeting, which I think we can both agree is a given, how have I surprised you?"

Esme carefully placed the pillow she was fluffing at an exact 45 degree angle in the crook of the armchair. Plucking a cloth from her box of cleaning supplies, she began dusting the various surfaces that would dare hoard dust in the Cullen house.

"You," she answered at length. "Just you; that someone so mannerly as you could have been chosen for the life your maker put you into. I don't know anything about the coven you were in before, obviously, but..."

"But you have eyes."

And she knew that he didn't just refer the few scars that were visible over the eaves of his clothes. His hesitance towards contact with them, the ways his eyes would always flit from window to door to wall looking for escape routes just in case...although the relationship between Jasper and the rest of the Cullens had come on leaps and bounds, it was as if such behaviour was part of a deeply ingrained habit that he just couldn't shake; one that had previously meant survival or death.

Jasper looked at her. "You don't know some of the things I've done, Esme. I doubt you would think me so mannerly then."

But she was having none of it. "When you put people into extremes, they change Jasper. They adapt to cope and to survive. You see it with the humans everyday if you look in the right places. Alice hasn't changed you, and neither has living with us. Living in this...climate has only let you discover the man you were always supposed to be – that your maker and your coven tried to bury."

Jasper's laugh was mirthless. "Every cloud has a silver lining with you, don't it?"

"You," she looked at him pointedly, her tone stern, "have never given me any reason to think otherwise."

And then Jasper was just...there. She took her eyes off him for less than a second as she knelt to slide a box of magazines underneath the couch, and then he was millimetres away from her face, his leg bridging her knees as he crouched before her. Edward may be the fastest, but Jasper struck like lightening – silent and with pinpoint precision.

With exaggerated slowness, Jasper reached out, took her hand and clasped it in both of his. He drew it away from her inch by inch until it hovered above the middle of his chest. Today he wore a long-sleeved sweater, made of some thin, soft, luxurious material that was clearly made to fit as it complimented the contours of his musculature. Clearly, Jasper's human life was not one of idleness. Esme stayed as still as she possibly could as Jasper guided her fingertips. He started to draw her hand in a repetitive motion, controlling the path of her fingers. Right, down, diagonally up, back to start; and it took a few moments to register what she was feeling. Raised lines, ragged and angry in shape more-so than those she could usually see. It screamed violence and intent so loudly Esme could not hold back her flinch.

Yet surprisingly, Jasper did not give the usual self-deprecating smile when he noticed a Cullen's adverse reaction to his scars. He only stared on and kept the pattern. "Can you guess how I got this one?"

Esme shook her head. She didn't want to.

"A newborn had proved himself completely useless. He couldn't coordinate himself to fight, he was too scared – Maria had made him too young. I don't think he was even thirteen. And what's worse, his fear kept distracting me when I was training everyone else. Everything was suffering because of it, and Maria only had one solution to problems like that."

"What?" Esme whispered.

"Kill it. And that's what I did. I disposed of him with eight others. Normally, I would go to Maria afterwards, but I never got there that night. On my way to her I was stopped by another vampire, a female who'd survived her newborn year. Esme," he breathed. "I have seen vampires starved for weeks, taunted by blood but never allowed to feed – hell that happened to me; but I have never in my life felt anything as crazed as this woman. She was screamin' at me, calling me all kinds of things and shoving me and pushing me – saying his name over and over again. It was the first time, lookin' back, that I ever came across a mated pair."

Esme sucked in a breath. She couldn't imagine the despair she would feel if she lost Carlisle. The very thought made her sick, and furious and consumed by grief that all she wanted at that moment was to find him, hold him and make sure that he was alright.

"Yes," Jasper said as he felt Esme's emotions. "Only when it happens, you feel that a thousand times more. You just want to die. I wanted to die because that's how she felt. And then she flew at me, but she didn't bite me. She didn't scratch me. She held one hand around my throat, and pressed her face into mine – she was doin' it so tight I thought she was tryin' to break my skull. But then she said to me, she said 'You'll never love someone. You'll never love someone. God won't let you feel that joy', and she tried to break through my chest, right through here – a clean strike –"

Jasper stopped all of a sudden, still staring into Esme's eyes and Esme knew, she knew she didn't want him to finish the story.

"She went for the heart - tried to rip it out. Useless as it was I don't know why."

Hearing this, Esme stopped tracing the ragged line of that scar and clutched and fistful of Jasper's sweater. Her eyes turned desperate, and yet she couldn't look away, and she couldn't tell him to stop.

"It was only then that I came to my senses and got her off me. I had my arms around her just to keep her still, and she just started cryin', beggin' me to kill her just to take it all away."

"Did you – did you kill her?"

Jasper blinked once, slowly, and his gaze became sad. "Maria turned up, heard what she was sayin', and forbade me from doin' it. Said it was punishment for attacking her Major. She went crazy shortly after – got herself killed in the next big campaign. Maybe that's when it started."

Esme wasn't sure if she was supposed to know what 'it' was. "When what started?"

"When I began to hate myself."

It was said so matter-of-factly that Esme was struck by the words far more than if they were uttered with bitterness or hurt. Her eyes stung with tears she couldn't form, and her heart that couldn't beat felt like breaking. What had happened to this boy? What kind of creature took his humanity and thrust him into what was so clearly a violent life? What kind of woman did it take to mould him into an obedient, blind little soldier who did everything he could to stay alive?

No not a woman, she quickly thought. No woman could have looked at Jasper as a young man with such cruel designs in her mind. And as she looked at the young man before her, her maternal mind ignoring the fact that he was one of the most lethal of their species and quite possibly older than herself, she couldn't help but think that he'd been failed. No one had been able to protect him well enough in his human life because here he sat. No one had taught and guided him as a maker should when he'd first opened his crimson eyes. What they had done, was ignored, or forgotten, or manipulated him to the point that he now thought he was undeserving of Alice's love, of this new chance at life and was so very, very weak.

Her breath became ragged, and she made choking sounds as if she were sobbing. Her shoulders shook and she bowed her head, unable and unwilling to show Jasper her sadness. His being able to feel it from her was bad enough. She wept, as far as she could weep, for not being there to protect him when he needed it. She wept for the loss of what was no doubt a charming and sweet young man. She wept for the brutality he was born into, alone and scared. She wept for the twisted loyalty his maker had marked into him and she wept for failing as a mother for the second time in her life.

As she gripped onto Jasper's sweater, racked by her empty cries, she felt a pair of strong arms, so much stronger than they looked, encircle her and press her against his chest. She couldn't have stopped herself from hugging him back if she'd wanted to – but it was the last thing she could have possibly wanted. She felt one large hand smooth up and down her back soothingly, the other arm wrapped around her shoulder. As her cries slowed she could feel something else, something wonderfully calming, and it took her sometime to realise what it was.

It was as if a blanket had encapsulated her, healing up all her wounds and dulling all her aches and pains. Everything seemed warmer, rosier somehow. The tumultuous fog in her head that had swirled her thoughts around as Jasper had told her his story started to lift and clarity found her again.

It was the first time she had ever experienced Jasper's gift.

Yet even now she couldn't bring herself to draw away from him, and she sent up a small prayer of thanks that Jasper didn't push her away either. Instead, he stopped the soothing motions and simply pulled her closer as he settled into a more comfortable position with Esme cradled against his side.

Lightly, so that Esme almost had to question whether she really felt it, Jasper rested his chin on the top of her head.

"It's not your fault, Esme. Don't be sad for me."

"No it's not," she admitted. "But that doesn't mean I don't wish things could have been different for you."

"Different how – living on the ranch helpin' my daddy until he got too old to work anymore? Marryin' a southern-bell for money, class and politics - or anyone that isn't Alice for that matter? Or gettin' shot in the war, loosin' a leg or my life in the line of my patriotic duty?"

Esme raised her head at that. "War? What war?"

Jasper smiled wryly and ducked his head slightly. It was possibly the most endearing thing he'd even done. He almost seemed shy. "The American Civil War, Miss Esme. Major Jasper Montgomery Whitlock of the Texas Cavalry, at your service."

Esme, normally full of grace, poise and class, gaped at the revelation; but before she could utter a sound Jasper placed a slender finger against her lips, laughing softly.

"Don't bother – don't remind me how old I am, or I might start to feel it."

Esme laughed and sat up a little straighter.

"What I'm saying," he continued, "is that I might have had a hell of a time getting here, but this is where I am supposed to be – here with Alice and you and Carlisle and everyone else. If anywhere, here is where I can learn to come to terms with myself. Maybe – in a few centuries," he teased with a small grin.

With her eyes bright again and all traces of the dry sobbing gone, Esme nodded vigorously. "You'll get there Jasper."

She swivelled as she felt Jasper gently push her leg off his lap. She watched him as he stood and flitted to the other end of the living room. He opened a decorative wooden box that sat in a little alcove on the wall, and with the greatest care (he still wasn't used to controlling his strength) he pulled out Esme's camera and brought it to her, sinking to the ground beside her again.

He slung his arm over her shoulder and pulled her into his side again, as she looked at him quizzically.

"I thought you wanted a picture?" He gestured further into the room. "For the mantle."

As he put the camera in her hands, Esme jumped in surprise and excitement, forcing Jasper to steady the delicate little piece of technology. Quickly handing it over to her, Jasper leaned into her side. Esme positioned the camera, checking the angle minutely. When she was satisfied, she leant her head softly against Jasper's and directed him to look at the lens and smile. As she pressed the shutter she felt Jasper shift suddenly, but before she could look away from the camera, and before her smile had faded by even a fraction, she felt the soft press of full lips ghost against her cheek, and then with a flash, the picture was taken.

That single perfect moment, when Jasper's eyes fluttered closed and he kissed her, Esme knew would forever be captured upon a photograph once she had the reel developed. All because he had wanted to make her feel better – about something that wasn't her business to feel bad about in the first place. And though she knew she was probably supposed to back away then, and give their family's most reclusive member his space, Esme folded her arms around him held him against her – an embrace only a mother could give. As she drew back and saw the confusion on his face, Esme smiled sweetly and held up two fingers – making sure Jasper stayed put. In a blur she streaked upstairs, and in less than five seconds she was back on the floor beside him, clutching a medium-sized box.

Jasper's keen eyes could tell it had once been white, covered in bits of lace and silk; but age and wear had stained the cover and eaten away at the cloth. Reverently, Esme gently plucked the lid off the box, and with it gone Jasper could see that it was full of photographs, letters, small jewels, and what looked suspiciously like a few articles of tiny clothing. It was a memory box. Esme reached in her delicate hand and picked a photograph right from the top of the pile. Wordlessly, she passed the little image over to him. It was of a baby – not that Jasper could ever remember seeing one for himself, but he knew what one was supposed to look like. Even in the black and white he could make out a dusting of blonde hair and pale, soft skin. The lips, though small, were perfectly formed and lax, as though in sleep. Though something was wrong – very wrong with the whole image. He only couldn't put his finger on it.

"His name was Henry," Esme whispered, her head drifting to his shoulder again so she could get closer to the photograph.

Jasper flashed his eyes at her. "Why do you have a picture of him?"

She was silent for a moment before she answered. "Jasper, Henry was my son. My baby."

Comprehension dawned in his tawny eyes. "When you were human."

"I...I was married, before Carlisle. His name was Charles – and Henry was the only good thing he ever gave me."

Esme almost laughed at the crease that formed in Jasper's brow as she spoke. "Come on Jasper – you can't tell me than even in your time there weren't men who beat their wives and treated them as bad as the slaves they kept?"

She watched how, in a moment, Jasper's whole face hardened, his eyes glinted and his features grew sharp.

"Yes, I know." His voice was quiet, but there was something in his low murmur that reminded Esme that Jasper could be a very dangerous creature when he wanted to be. "He – your husband...he would strike you?"

"Not at first," she said. "But after a few months, he would start to get angry about little things. How the bedding wasn't put on correctly, or dinner was too cold, no baby - those kinds of things. But he would just insult me then. He'd say really cruel things. But once I learned to ignore him..."

"And he's dead now?"

Esme looked at Jasper, surprised by the question but at the same time not. "Yes, Jasper."

And again Jasper gave her that penetrating stare. "Good."

He turned back to the photograph, and gazed at every minute detail. "What happened, Esme? Is this why you're so...sad some of the time?"

She should have known she couldn't keep something like that from Jasper. Unlike her mind-reading son, Jasper wasn't intrusive about his gift. He never gave away any sign he had sensed your emotions if he could help it, never broadcast it to anyone else. And in a few words, Esme was reminded how much Jasper must have learned about them in a few short months.

"He died – shortly after he was born. Before they took him away from me, they took this photograph. So I would have something to remember him by."

And that was when Esme experienced another aspect of Jasper's gift. Quite suddenly, she was overcome with sadness, pity and shame. Not her own – but Jasper's emotions. His hand, rough and calloused, covered hers, and she let him weave his fingers between her own to offer what comfort he could.

"It's worn at the edges," he said. "You've looked at this a lot."

"Yes," Esme conceded. "But I've found I haven't looked at it as much this year."

"Why's that?"

If she could, Esme would have blushed a wonderful shade of pink. She knew Jasper wasn't as comfortable as she wanted him to be – and probably never would, as all Esme wanted to do was treat him like her own.

Jasper breathed a laugh. "Don't be embarrassed, Esme."

She wanted him to know – and knew that if she hesitated, she would lose her nerve. "You remind me of him – the man I wanted him to be, even how I imagined him to look when he turned into a man."

Jasper's eyes turned startled, and he moved his head as if to look away, but Esme's firm but gentle hands clasped his face and drew his gaze back to her.

"You're a good man, Jasper. I know you were born into a violent life, and to be honest I'm not really sure I want to know the details. But you left – you left. You're such a sweet boy – always looking after us girls," she teased. "You always show respect to Carlisle – and you love Alice so much. She was prepared for the life Carlisle chose for us – you weren't. But you've stayed with us – you're fighting against what they taught you. I don't think I've ever seen anyone as strong as you. I'd be proud if you were my son, Jasper. "

"And Henry would be proud to have had you as a momma," he replied, without missing a beat.

Esme's brow furrowed. Only Edward, on account of his gift knew about her shame regarding her little boy – how she felt as if she had failed him; had not protected him as well as she should have during her pregnancy.

"You feel guilty. It's not your fault – you're a good woman and a good mother."

Esme straightened up and took to her feet, holding her hand out to help Jasper in standing. Humoring her, as she knew he would, he took it and brought himself to his feet.

"Alright I'll make you a deal," she said. "I'll work on letting go of my guilt about Henry, if you start letting go of who you were before and accept that you're part of my family now. Agreed?"

Jasper smiled in that slow way, that spoke of all things Texas and dipped his head. "Yes ma'am."