Disclaimer: I own nothing but a restless imagination, a laptop and a good cup of tea.

Author's Note: This is a one-shot set in Eclipse-time. It is a bit OOC and I'm sorry for that, but I'm not very good at staying completely in character. Please forgive me :D

Match

"Don't worry, Love," he soothed, long and lean fingers caressing her flushed cheek, smiling condescendingly down to her wide, worried eyes. "It's nothing that you have to worry about. We will deal with her. Your concern is silly and unwarranted."

She began to frown at his certainty, wanting to debate with him; to argue that she was not silly, and that Victoria was something to worry about, and that he should tell her what was going on. But his slow crooked smile took her breath away and made her heart beat faster, pulsing sweet, heavy blood through her veins, diluting her argument until it was nothing but a murmur in the back of her mind.

"You'll be back soon, won't you?" she begged, clutching at his smooth, pianist's hands as if her life depended on it – hands that were so different from her own rough, broken ones. She breathed in his scent of nectar and the sea, always so perfect, and nothing like her. Her hair frizzed in the rain and she tripped over her own two feet. He didn't. He was sculptured and graceful. She was merely a plain girl, while he...he was a God.

"Of course, Love," he crooned, leaning down to place a small kiss on her forehead, secretly drawing in a deep breath of her sweet, scintillating blood. "It is only a hunting trip. Worrying is irrational."

"Okay," she agreed, mindlessly nodding. She could do little but close her eyes, chew her bottom lip, and nod obediently; his presence, his smell, his kiss, his touch, all dazing her. That was until she felt her hands suddenly empty, clutching at nothingness.

She slowly opened her eyes to find his space empty. With a sigh, the fog of his presence leaving her, she went to sit down on the sofa, her worry and concern flooding back in an instant once her mind could be clear again. She felt weak and empty as she sat on that plush sofa, not sure of what to do without him there. Only then did she notice another presence in the room.

Jasper sat on the armchair on the other side of the room, holding a copy of a battered book, whose title Bella could not identify, in his lap. He was looking over the hardback perched in front of him inquisitively, keeping a fair distance away and watching her, never coming closer.

All of a sudden, he spoke.

"He's wrong, you know, Bella."

His deep southern twang shocked her. It was something he generally did his best to hide. The sound of her name rang in her ears, alien to her. It wasn't filled with expectation or judgement. It wasn't shortened or changed to his favoured pet name. It was just Bella; just the way she liked it.

"P-pardon?" she stuttered, feeling a red hue crawling across her cheeks. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, nervous.

Jasper stood up silently, placing the book on the wooden coffee table and approaching her with slow, tentative steps.

"Edward," he answered. "He's wrong."

Bella averted her eyes from Jasper, unable to control the nervousness she felt at his approaching. His calm voice and powerful stare put her on edge, more than Edward's ever had. She felt her cheeks growing hotter.

"I don't know what you mean," she whispered under her breath defiantly, her heart thumping louder because, in truth, she did.

Jasper lowered himself onto the sofa, barely two feet away from her, almost the closest he had ever been. Dully, Bella could feel slight calm begin to fill her as the aura of Jasper's emotions – his power – seeped through. But, as quickly as it came, she felt it being reigned in, refusing to control her.

"You're worry is not silly, unwarranted or irrational, Bella," he told her, his eyes watching her closely, showing no weakness in his claim. "You shouldn't let him tell you that it is."

Bella was stunned to silence, desperately trying to think of something to say as she kept her eyes glued on her lap.

"He's right, though."

The excuse sounded pathetic, even to her.

Jasper sucked in a deep, solemn breath, keeping his eyes locked on the fumbling, blushing, downtrodden girl next to him. At that moment, he resented his brother for what he had done.

"You should never let anyone make you think that your thoughts or feelings are worth any less than theirs," he told her softly.

Bella winced as he spoke, refusing to meet his eyes, already feeling them on her, stripping her bare. She couldn't speak. She didn't know what to say.

"I can feel what you're feeling, Bella," he continued, needing her to believe him, "and you should not be agreeing with what he said."

Bella felt vulnerable and weak. She felt empty, because Edward wasn't there, and scared, because Jasper was. She felt nervous and worried, because of Victoria. Yet, she also felt a small tinge of something good she couldn't place.

"You wouldn't understand," she mumbled softly.

Jasper sighed at the sentence. Without speaking, he reached over to her lap and slowly touched her hand. Bella's heart jumped as his cold skin met hers, tentative, and pulled it away. Her fidgeting stopped at once.

"Trust me, please? I need to show you something," he asked, reaching again. This time, biting her lip, she allowed him. Slowly, he brought her hand to sit between them, holding his breath and trying to block out the feeling of the veins in her wrist pulsing just below his fingertips, requiring just one puncture, just a little flick, for the sweet goodness to flow through her milky white skin and –

Jasper shook his head together, refusing to let his bloodlust destroy this. Instead, softly, he turned her hand over, and Bella shivered at his touch; rougher than Edward's – more real, yet more welcome. His fingers then let her wrist go, and hesitantly went to trace the deep lines in her palm, the scar on her thumb from a fish hook, the calluses and rough patches from years of poor maintenance, the crescent shaped bite on the tender spot of her wrist where James had gotten her – a place that he lingered on, stroking tenderly –, the curves and indentations, and then, finally, the little scar on her index finger that told the ever-present story of that one paper cut that destroyed everything; the ever-present reminder to Jasper that he was, in fact, weak. He lingered on that spot, and then moved on.

Just as slowly, and with measured precision, he turned her hand right-side-up. Bella's breath caught and her cheeks flushed a dark shade of crimson as his fingers roamed over the lines of her knuckles, the mosquito bite on the edge of her wrist, the freckle on the base of her thumb, the little scar from a bike riding accident, and her stubbed, chewed-down nails, the remaining evidence of her nervous habit that everyone tried to rid her of. He lingered there, caressing the ends of her fingers as if they were treasures of the seven seas, and not horrid reminders of another flaw.

As his fingers dragged over her hands, Bella took a deep breath and peeled her eyes up to him, wide and unknown. She couldn't name what she was feeling. It was a foreign to her as her name had felt earlier, but just as amazing. And, as soon as she did, Jasper's eyes latched on to hers; a bright gold; filled with both of their emotions.

And so, with eyes locked, he brought his hand to hers and laid it bare.

Her wide eyes darted down to them nervously, checking if it was okay to look. When she did, her breath was taken away. In the right light, she saw them; the numerous crescent shaped scars that punctuated his arm and ran down, like a sleeve, right to his fingertips.

Slowly, he flipped his hand over, and it was the exact same; dozens upon dozens of scars, like the one she wore, decorating his arm, palm and fingers, evidence of a haunted past that she knew nothing about; flaws in his granite skin.

Amazed, inquisitive and worried, her eyes stayed glued on their hands as his deep southern accent – fragmented and enriched – flooded her.

"I understand...More than you know. And you can't let him tear you down. You can't let anyone tear you down. You're worth so much more than that, Bella."

At that moment, she understood, and looked at their hands in a new light. Like her, he was nothing like his adopted family. He was flawed, haunted and weak in a million ways. They radiated perfection in everything they did. He was the black sheep; the loner; the weak spot in their foundation. He was the risk. Even Alice was perfect; immaculate. Her beautiful clothes, her chirpy demeanour, her astounding self control...she was everything he wasn't. She wasn't haunted or volatile or weak. And, in so many ways, Bella was like him, too; different from her peers, awkward in herself and a mess in comparison to those who mattered the most.

They were both flawed to the brink, but, with their hands laying there, mere inches away from each other, her heat flooding into his cold, dead veins and his cold contrasting so thickly to her, she thought for a moment that it was all so poetic, and that in that moment, their flaws fitted together more perfectly than Edward and her ever had. In that moment, they were stronger than any of them, and Bella admired Jasper, because although he was flawed, he was able to stay true to himself in a world so damaging; something she didn't do. He was the strong one, not them. And, as well as that, she knew one thing for certain: for once, someone understood, and challenged her to be better.

When she didn't speak, worry sparked in him.

"Don't you see it?" he asked, his voice breaking.

Bella looked up to him then, astounded that she hadn't seen it sooner.

"We match."

Author's Note: I was quite frightened of posting this.

Thoughts?