Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is Stephenie's.

A/N: A birthday gift for the Jasper to my Edward, Train Lindz.

Edward sat in the lounge, a battered copy of War and Peace in his lap, half-listening to Carlisle regaling Esme and the others with the ins and outs of his day. A gentleman had nearly died of heart failure, another would require a transplant they all knew was unlikely to come in time, and a child had been brought in after a run-in with a climbing frame. As he talked, Carlisle radiated calm, considered good, and Esme laid a hand on his arm, kind, empathetic, a mirror to his ineffable probity.

Edward turned a page, even though he hadn't finished reading the last one, thinking that they all caught it, in the end, Carlisle's goodness. Rosalie had softened, Alice exuded light, and Emmett had slipped, but not for very long or very far. He was the exception, the one goodness seemed to encroach upon but never quite reach. He and –

Jasper met his eye across the room.

You tired of it, Edward?

Edward nodded before he realised he was going to, instinct rather than thought powering his response. He was tired of it, tired of the trying and tired of the denying, the endless, yawning effort it took every day not to be what they really were. Jasper understood. Jasper was the only one whose darkness echoed his own, the only one who doubted Carlisle's teaching, the only one who had things in his past that moved into the realm of the unforgiveable. Rosalie had had motive, vengeance – justice even – on her side, but he and Jasper –

They had done things, terrible things, in anger, for advantage, simply because they wanted to and because they could. If souls existed, theirs were tattered fragments that were beyond repair, impossible to stitch back together.

I don't think I can stand –

"I might go and hunt. Jasper?"

Jasper nodded, got up, and within a second they were out of the door, mountain flitting beneath their feet, Carlisle's goodness dwindling into a flicker behind them on the horizon.

The bar was a dive by anyone's standards. Two stout glasses of whiskey ordered for show sat on the sticky table in front of them, and Edward regarded the frosted stains on the rim, glad he wouldn't be drinking anything. During his rebellion he'd tried whiskey, wondering if it would dull his senses, but tasteless as it was on the way down it was peculiarly unpleasant on the way back up, and he'd quickly learned that appealing as the thought was, the practice was better avoided.

He watched the crowd, isolating and picking out their thoughts: the hairless barman humming Ride of The Valkeries inside his own skull, the buxom woman in the corner making her own survey of whose eyes were flickering in her direction, the school teacher promising himself just one more and then he'd go home and face those reports. It was a cacophony of banality, and the more time he spent around humans, privy to the workings of their minds, the more surprised Edward was that they'd achieved anything as a species.

"What are we doing here?"

Jasper toyed with his glass compulsively, tapping it with the tip of his finger as part of his routine. Edward had seen it before in endless school cafeterias, the dance Jasper went through: shift his weight, tap his foot, play with whatever was on the table in front of him. They all had them, these affectations, and for a second he longed to be on the side of a mountain, far from humans and the need to hide what they were.

Edward? What are we –

"Waiting."

"For who?"

"Someone who deserves to die."

Jasper's thoughts barely tripped on the idea, his eyes questioning and then elsewhere, darting from face to face, or more precisely, vein to vein.

Jasper only ever thought in faces when he was trying to be good. When instinct rose to the surface he traced arterial patterns, not features, and his focus was impressive, his thoughts always tactical, efficient, violent. Jasper thought all sorts of things. Things he would never tell Alice or Carlisle, things that made him seek Edward out and apologise. His contrition was only slightly tempered by the recognition in his eyes, the thought:

You understand.

They'd always understood each other, he and Jasper, in a way that the others did not. They didn't speak about it, but it was always there. Jasper could feel it and Edward could hear it, the way pulses called to them both, thrummed in them as assiduously as their own once had.

Jasper's eyes fell on a red head, dainty features and a quickened pulse, and then he shook his head, forced his eyes away.

"Alice would never forgive me."

"Alice would forgive you anything."

"You can't know – "

Edward smiled. Alice's love was utterly baffling, but the deepest thing he'd ever seen in someone's head. It went further, even, than Carlisle's faith, more certain, more vivid, more alive.

"Alice would forgive you anything. Even infidelity, although if you make use of that information, I will rip your head off myself."

Jasper smiled, halfway, then halted on another thought.

Carlisle, then.

"I've tried Carlisle's patience in more ways than you can imagine and found it exhaustless. He'll be disappointed, but he will get over it."

"The others?"

"Would understand."

Edward could hear possibility ticking in Jasper's head, the shoulds and shouldn'ts jostling, overtaking each other, louder and louder as they clamoured for attention. He sat a little straighter, leant a little closer, something he hadn't felt in far too long pricking under his tongue.

When he'd done this regularly, come to places like this, it had turned into a routine, but now even the possibility made his toes curl with excitement. He'd subjected himself to years of sticking to the rules, years of being good, years of mountain lion, and on one foul occasion when lions were scarce, a goat, a stinking, filthy pygmy goat. It was about time he allowed himself to do what he really wanted.

"It doesn't bother you that it's wrong?"

"Not especially. We're wrong. Everything we do is unavoidably wrong. We can try our best, but we'll only ever be grey instead of black."

Jasper considered, carefully, and then abruptly his thoughts turned reckless, a Catherine wheel of sparking possibility.

"Who, then?"

Edward watched his eyes as they fell on the barman, then the blonde in the corner, then came to rest the thick-set man at the door. He met Edward's eye, raised a brow.

"Not him. He's thinking of cheating on his wife but he visits his mother every Tuesday and volunteers with endangered birds. He'd be missed and I'd feel bad for the birds."

"This is how you choose?"

"Too much guilt gives me indigestion."

Jasper rolled his eyes.

"Who, then?"

Edward focused, considered. The brunette waitress was a thief with appalling glass-cleaning skills, the guy in the trench coat had lecherous thoughts about the blonde –

The school teacher got up to leave.

"Perfect. Come on."

The alley behind the bar was strewn with the detritus of a city night, abandoned hamburger wrappers, liquor bottles, the scent of deviance and bodily fluids in the air. They followed the man at a discreet distance along it, out onto a side street peppered with flickering streetlights.

One of us should cut him off before he reaches the boulevard.

Edward nodded, indicating Jasper should, watched as he merged with the shadows, ducked out of sight.

If he was honest, this was the part Edward always enjoyed, not the chase but the anticipation. The feeling of his own power coiled in his stomach, deeper and darker than anything else he'd ever felt, and although he'd spent years trying to deny it, it was that which called to him as much as the blood did, the sense of what he was truly, truly capable of. The vampire wanted blood, but the bit of him that was still a man wanted something too, something every bit as unsavoury. Control. The ultimate control. He swallowed.

The man's steps quickened, and he neared the doorway where Jasper was lurking, his mind completely untroubled by the idea he was being pursued, driven towards someone who saw not his face, cared not about his deeds, just felt the pattern of his blood as it throbbed in his veins. Edward quickened his pace too, deliberately making his footsteps more noticeable, stepping on a can and smiling at the metallic crunch that ensued. It was no fun if they didn't see it coming.

The man looked back, fear abruptly in his head, his thoughts rapid with paranoia and adrenaline, his eyes on Edward until Jasper stepped out of the shadows, right into his path. The man started, then tried to dodge, muttering an apology. Jasper was in his way before he'd even really finished the movement, though, his eyes fixed, determined, his head full of strategical thoughts that were in all likelihood unnecessary.

"What the – "

Edward met Jasper's eye over the man's shoulder. They'd always understood each other, and Edward knew they had the same exhilaration in their veins, the same giddiness at the thought of what they were about to do, the bit of themselves they were about to unleash.

The man looked between them, his eyes wide as they confirmed that he was surrounded, that the man behind would not be his saviour any more than the one in front. His head became clouded, swearwords and epithets, half a thought about some kung-fu he'd seen on TV rapidly firing to the fore.

"You'd be dead before you raised your fist," Edward said. "I wouldn't advise it."

"What – how do you – "

"I can read your mind. I know what you've done."

"What do you want? If it's money – "

"It's not."

The man spluttered, surprise and indignation mingling with his fear, and in his head Edward saw a flicker of the things he'd done, and stepped closer. There was a bit of him that always enjoyed the way humans played their darkest deeds in their last moments, and it felt a little like proof, tasted like vindication. Humans were never a physical challenge like mountain lions, but occasionally they made up for it with their synaptic commentary, the depth to which their thoughts sank with twisted, bitter predictability.

Jasper growled low in his throat, his eyes fixed above the man's collarbone, right on target. But sure as his instincts were, his thoughts were a jumble, Alice's face, his own past, the curl of unease that was at odds with the thing his body wanted.

"He deserves to die. He won't be missed. The things he thinks about the children he teaches – "

It was enough. Jasper nodded.

Shades of grey. We're only ever shades of grey. Slate is no different to silver.

Jasper's fingers tensed, and he shifted into a crouch. The man backed against the wall, his feet shuffling pathetically, scraping on the concrete in a desperate effort to move further away, further back, his hands raised in front of him in supplication.

"How dare you – who are –

Jasper growled again, and Edward saw the man shiver, a wave of horror rippling down his body. Jasper's desire made Edward's skin itch and he shifted closer, imagining he could already feel the metallic tang of blood on his tongue.

Jasper leapt, his action coinciding perfectly with the man muttering 'Oh God' –

And then the man clutched at his chest, his face rigid with mortal terror, and dropped onto the concrete like a plank. He thudded, groaned once, and then was utterly, unnervingly silent.

They froze in a tableau: Jasper halted mid-attack, muscles ready but abruptly without purpose; Edward stalled in a ridiculous pre-predatory pose, fingers grasping out at air; the man horrified on the ground, clutching at the front of his shirt and staring blankly up at nothing.

Edward looked at Jasper, then at the man, then back again.

"Shit."

"What? Is he – he's not – "

"I think he had a heart attack."

"You mean we – we killed him? Are you sure?"

Edward kicked the man's leg, then tried again more forcefully. The man didn't move.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Shiiiiit."

Edward pinched the bridge of his nose.

In all the years he'd been doing this, this had never happened before. Maybe he was out of practice. Maybe he'd broken a mirror and this was his bad luck. Maybe the man had successfully invoked God with his last words and this was the result.

"What do we do now?" Jasper said.

It was a very good question.

"Carlisle? Carlisle!"

Edward skidded into the lounge, the man cradled in his arms.

"Edward, what – "

Carlisle rushed to his side, his eyes wide and his thoughts abruptly professional, assessment and checklists rioting in his head.

What happened? Put him down over there.

Edward set the man on the carpet, and Carlisle was immediately busy, checking his pulse, listening for a breath that Edward hoped would never come.

"I think he had a heart attack."

Yes, it does seem –

Behind them the door opened, and Jasper came to a halt on the carpet, his eyes skirting over Carlisle crouched over the man.

You brought him here? I thought you were going to weight him and throw him in the river or –

Edward glared, although now he came to think about it, that was a better idea. A much much much better idea. He cursed himself for not thinking of it, for not seeing that this plan, which he'd formulated in the briefest flicker of a second as he ran, was fraught with difficulties, not the least of which was Carlisle's insurmountable medical prowess.

"Did you attempt to treat him?"

"Not really. I thought a more practised hand – "

Carlisle sighed, shook his head, his hands busy on the man's chest.

"So what happened?"

"We – found him."

"Found him?"

"In an alley."

"I thought you were going hunting. Why were you in an alley?"

"Jasper fancied racoon."

Jasper's face contorted with indignation.

Racoon? Racoon?! I fancied racoon!? I would never stoop as low as – you're the one with the pygmy goat previous –

Edward shrugged at him apologetically, both of them neutralising their faces as Carlisle straightened up.

"I'm afraid he's gone, Edward. There's nothing I can do. Maybe if you'd been quicker, tried at the scene – not that I'm apportioning blame. You did everything you could."

Edward smiled, small, considered, just the right amount of sadness in with acceptance, trying not to let the relief flooding his body manifest on his face.

"Unless – "

"What?"

There was no unless in his plan. There'd been the briefest inkling that Jasper would use his connections to falsify the detail that the man had no living relatives, then of Carlisle saying he'd take care of it, sneaking the body into the morgue or burying it in the orchard with a nice prayer and maybe a hymn –

"Well I've never tried but – maybe if the rigour hasn't set in we could turn him? Such a shame to see life just slip – "

"You can't turn him. He's a child molester."

"A child – "

Carlisle's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Edward? Would you mind telling me how you know that if he was already dead when you found him?

Jasper rolled his eyes. Edward looked at him, then back at Carlisle. He'd forgotten quite how impeccably withering Carlisle's gaze could be, and felt himself shrink a little in the wake of it.

"Tell me the truth, Edward."

Edward shifted his weight, although he knew it was pointless. Evidently Carlisle could see the truth as plainly as if he was the one who could read minds, and there was no point delaying the inevitable.

"Oh all right. We killed him. But it was entirely accidental. We didn't mean to."

"You didn't mean to?"

"Well, we did. Just – not in quite the manner that we did."

Carlisle glanced at Jasper, then back at him, his shoulders dipped and his expression worried and a little disgusted.

"So when you said you were going hunting, you meant to hunt humans?"

"Only one. Human, not humans."

Carlisle considered the ceiling, and Edward watched as his thoughts danced through anger, sorrow, and finally came to rest squarely in disappointment.

"The world's better off without him, Carlisle. The things he thought – the things he'd done. He was thinking about this one time he – "

"How many times have we had this conversation, Edward? It is not our place to deal out retribution just because we can." Carlisle sighed, brought his hands together and laced his fingers. "I'm just glad Esme and Alice aren't here to see this."

"Alice would forgive Jasper anything."

"Yes, of course. But she loves him in the expectation that she'll never have to."

Jasper stared forlornly at the carpet, his head full of Alice, the look on her face, picturing his own reaction, the way his heart would break watching her anguish and the way she'd pretend it wasn't there.

"Now if you'll excuse me," Carlisle said, "I think there may be real patients that require my attention."

"What should we do with the body?"

"Deal with it as your conscience dictates, Edward."

"Is that enough concrete, do you think?"

"You know, I'm not sure this is quite what Carlisle had in mind."

Edward crouched on the river bank, and slowly tipped the man and his new concrete boots towards the reeds. There was a splosh as he disappeared from sight, his expression still startled as he slipped below the surface of the water, leaving it bubbling slightly but otherwise undisturbed.

"We'll tell him we said a prayer."

Edward dusted off his hands on his trousers, and then looked up into the stillness. The stars were out, the town miles away, but compulsively he scanned the surroundings for stray dog walkers, amorous couples, anyone who might see what they were doing.

There was nothing, though, and so he looked back at the river, no longer able to tell exactly where he'd deposited the body. He'd contemplated sneaking into the graveyard and giving the man a proper burial – after all it would hardly have been any effort for two vampires to dig a hole big enough to house a corpse, but in the end his conscience had dictated that this was the best the man deserved.

"What now?"

"Give it a few days?" Edward said. "See if he resurfaces or shows up in the paper. If not we're probably safe without moving."

"No, I meant – "

Jasper's eyes switched back to the direction of the house.

"Oh."

Edward's thoughts had been largely untroubled, and if they were it was frustration and irritation rather than guilt, but Jasper's were a different matter entirely. Since Carlisle had left to go back to work, his thoughts had been oscillating between self-loathing, chastisement for his weakness, and shamed thoughts about leaving for the good of the wider family, for Alice.

"Carlisle'll calm down," Edward said. "He always does. In two weeks it'll be like nothing ever happened."

Edward sat in the lounge, a battered copy of War and Peace three quarters finished in his lap, half-listening to Carlisle regaling Esme and the others with the ins and outs of his day. A woman needed bowel surgery, a young boy had a nasty broken arm, and an aging police officer had come in with a gunshot wound. Carlisle talked, radiating calm and good, and Edward stared at the pages of his book until the words weren't words anymore, just a blur of black on white.

Jasper got up, his fists rigid balls at his side, apologised and headed out into the garden.

Carlisle shot the briefest glance in his direction.

Actions have consequences, Edward.

Edward nodded, put down his book and got to his feet.

Jasper was on the lawn, pacing beneath the stars and trying to calm his own thoughts as they swirled through anger and violent desire. His head was a mess, right and wrong, justifications and counter-arguments, extrapolated futures where he could no longer cope versus the painful truth that he could if he really wanted. Carlisle's stories seemed to amplify it all for Jasper, as if the contrast between the two of them only served, in Jasper's mind, to make it worse. To make him worse.

"Tired of it?"

"Endlessly."

"Me too."

Jasper looked at him, that same look he sported whenever his thoughts turned to destruction and bloodlust. Apology and then:

You understand.

Edward gestured to the porch step, and Jasper sank down, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, for a second looking every inch the petulant teenager he so often pretended to be. Having manoeuvred them here Edward wasn't quite sure what to do. He understood, but that was all he had to offer. He'd spent decades trying to make peace with this on his own behalf, and so far nothing had helped, no conclusion or solution had presented itself.

And so they just sat until Jasper's thoughts quietened a little, until one was alone in his head.

We'll never be like them, will we? It'll never be easy for us.

Jasper looked back at the house. Alice was laughing at something Emmett was saying, and Carlisle's broad, easy smile seemed to fill the room. Rosalie and Esme were totally at ease at his elbow, enjoying whatever tales he was telling, and none of them seemed to be struggling, plagued by thoughts of who they really were and what they could really do.

Jasper longed more than anything to be one of them, truly one of them, to have his thoughts never stray where they shouldn't, to have his dark impulses disappear and in their place natural, thoughtless good.

Edward and Jasper had always understood each other.

"No."

"So what do we do?"

"We could go to the city. There's a serial killer – the police are baffled – really we'd be doing them a favour."

Jasper smiled, but not in agreement.

"You go if you want. Alice told me no more one bite stands. They're nothing but trouble."

Edward had been right, of course.

Alice had told Jasper that she'd seen him making the right choice at the last minute, that really there was nothing to forgive except bad timing. It had set his own thoughts in motion, wondering what it was like to have someone like that, love like that, unconditional and ready to catch you when you inevitably fell.

"That's it, then? You're just going to be good?"

What else can we do? We owe it to them to try, don't we?

Edward nodded.

They all caught it, in the end, Carlisle's goodness.

Everyone but him.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Reviewers get a vampire of their choosing and a night out where bad behaviour is the only thing on the menu ;).