Jasper shifted uncomfortably beside me, and I wondered once again what had made him decide to join me. He was obviously uncomfortable around so many humans, and I doubted that I alone would be enough to stop him if he lost control. Yet he was here with me.

He leaned over to whisper in my ear. "I'm fine, Carlisle. Relax." I hadn't realized I was tense, but I could feel him send me a wave of calm and the difference it made. I let myself relax, knowing my tension would only make things worse for him.

I turned my attention back to the front. The choir was singing now; the melody stirred in my mind memories of the church I had grown up in, long ago. Some things had changed since then, certainly, but others had not.

I didn't go to church every Sunday; I couldn't. But I did go when I could, and had occasionally been joined through the years by various members of the family, though it had never held the same value for them as it did for me. I had never been comfortable inviting Jasper, however, knowing the stress it would cause him.

I had, therefore, been immensely surprised this rainy morning when Jasper had caught me on my way out the door and asked if he could join me. He had really wanted to go, and an encouraging nod from Alice had calmed my concerns in the matter, so I had agreed.

I still didn't understand why he wanted to go. He had offered no explanation on the way to the service, and I had been hesitant to ask. To doubt him.

Jasper closed his eyes as the pastor began his message, a slight frown on his face. He leaned forward to rest his head on the back of the pew in front of us. He was tense, fighting a fierce battle within himself, one I tried to believe he wouldn't lose.

So many humans in such a small place. If he lost control-I shook my head. He would resist this. I would not allow myself to doubt him.

By the time the invitation came he was upset enough that I could feel it. I shifted to lay a hand on his shoulder, and felt his gratitude, though it did little to calm him.

I was relieved when the closing prayer ended, and stood. The couple behind me approached to shake hands and talk: they noted how nice it was to see me again, asked after the family, commented on the wonderful sermon, and so I was forced to look away from Jasper for a few seconds. When I turned back to him, he was gone.

I nearly panicked as I scanned the auditorium in search of my son, and was puzzled to see him down at the front, speaking to the pastor in a voice low enough that I could not make out what he was saying over the sounds of the congregation.

Perhaps he could sense my concern even from across the auditorium, for he suddenly looked up, his eyes meeting mine. He smiled, that odd upward twist in the corner of his mouth, nodded reassuringly, and went back to his conversation. He was fine. I decided to give him his privacy and headed outside.

It was raining still, lightly. The clouds would remain through the better part of the day, which meant there was no hurry for us to get back. I stood outside the door, nodding to people as they left, and spoke with a few who recognized me either from past services or the hospital.

"Who was that with you?" I turned at the familiar voice. Margaret Atkinson, fellow doctor, greeted me with a warm smile. I recalled her recently mentioning that she had started attending church.

"That would be my son Jasper." I returned her smile. She was possibly one of the few women at the hospital who had managed to keep their wits about them when talking to me from the beginning.

"Another son?" She asked teasingly. "I've not met this one. Where did he wander off to, anyway?"

"Inside." I nodded toward the door. "You wouldn't have met Jasper. He stays away from hospitals." She regarded me curiously, her eyes questioning, but was too polite to pry.

"There's too much suffering." My son had come up behind her without her noticing. She started.

"Excuse me, I didn't see you there." She blushed, embarrassed to have been possibly overheard talking about him.

"I just got here." He said reassuringly, as if he could sense her embarrassment, which, of course, he could. "No harm done." He gave a slight bow. "Jasper Hale." He introduced himself. "And you are?"

She chuckled, amused by his display. "Doctor Atkinson." She replied, extending her hand. He took it with another small bow, and I frowned. There was something off about him.

"Would I be correct in assuming, then, that you work at the hospital with my father?" They continued with this sort of small talk as I puzzled over the change in my son. He was still as quiet and reserved as ever, certainly, but there was something about him that was missing. Something was different.

He tensed as the wind shifted and blew her scent to him; he had been standing so he couldn't smell her. He was alarmed, surely, but there was less of the usual panic, and he merely apologized for keeping us both standing out in the rain and wished her good day. I was surprised at how well he handled it.

I was burning with curiosity by the time we were in the car and on our way home, but didn't want to intrude. He was, after all, still the newest of my sons, and the most reticent.

He turned to me with another one of those smiles. His smiles. "It's okay." He said easily. "You can ask."

I met his eyes. "So?"

He didn't flinch. "I found something." He said quietly, as if to himself, and I understood. I realized what had been missing.

All the misery, the depression and self-loathing Jasper had picked up during the first part of his existence as a vampire had plagued him, following him even to his life with us, waiting for him to let his guard down, waiting to consume him if he wasn't careful. We had all felt it from him at one time or another, though usually he kept it controlled, buried, hidden. Even then you could still sense the shadow of it, lurking deep inside, waiting to spring. It was something we all wished he didn't have to deal with, but it was something we had grown accustomed to, to the point that, as bad as it was, we rarely noticed so long as he kept it controlled.

Its absence now, however, was glaringly obvious. Whatever had gone on between Jasper and the pastor, my son had found a peace of sorts. Everything wasn't suddenly miraculously perfect now, but things were better. He was more at ease with himself.

I grinned at my son, happy for him, and was shocked when he returned my smile with one of his own. Not his usual smile, but a smile that lit up his whole face and sparkled in his eyes. It was an amazing sight, to see him so happy.

The rest of the family was waiting when we got back, curious, wanting to know how it had gone. They were silent as we entered, expectant.

"So?" Alice demanded at last, when neither of us volunteered anything. "How was church?"

"Fine." Was Jasper's simple reply. "It was fine."

But the difference was there, plainly seen, and yet hardly noticeable at all.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, or Carlisle, or Jasper, or Alice, or any of the others.