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23 February 2009 @ 07:57 pm
[fic] stole the night  
Title: Stole the Night
Fandom: Twilight
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Vague Jasper/Rosalie??
Words: 2,952
Notes: Alternate-universe. Obviously. :( I might possibly do follow-ups, but who knows. It works decently enough as a one-shot.

It's raining in New York and the water washes clean the dingy streets of the industrial city. Better yet, it clouds the sky and permits good cover for Jasper to venture outside without fear of the sun peeking through the clouds. Too, the streets this time of evening are empty, save for the occasional passerby ducking through the downpour with umbrella gripped tight and dripping wet scarves hanging dead around their throats.

He's fed recently, and so their presence doesn't bother him much.

He also doesn't bother with an umbrella, not feeling the cold seeping bone-deep through his wet clothing, nor the strands of blonde hair plastered to his face. The rain is cold, but he's colder and thus the weather's efforts to chill him are in vain.

It lets up long after the sun has set behind the cloud cover, and he continues trailing through the streets for lack of anything else to do. Come morning, he'll retreat to a hotel if it's too bright outside. Barring that, he'll take a trip to some of the local museums, perhaps visit a theater in the evening... but for now the rest of the world sleeps while he can't, and he only waits for the time to pass. (Too quickly, anymore. The time flies past; he can see it in the lives of the humans around him. Everything is so fleeting for anything but him and his kind. Maria would have told him it was the reason why humans were inferior. Jasper doesn't agree.)

The city does, of course, have a few choice places that remain open until ungodly hours of the night. Jasper walks past a small café with its lights still burning bright and he pauses outside of the window to gaze in. Not so much at the pastries and candies displayed in the window, but beyond them – where a small group is seated and chatting amiably amongst themselves. Pretty girls with their hair pinned up, in their delicate dresses with their handsome escorts at their sides. Young men (his age, his permanent age) with smiles a mile wide. Kids, really. Jasper finds it amusing that he thinks of them in such a way. Had he ever been so carefree and child-like?

Someone moves to his left, and nothing more than reflex has him moving in order to draw open the café's door for her. Habit, manners, things that hadn't died when he had. His eyes don't move from the group beyond the window. "Oh, thank you," he hears the woman to the left of him say. Except then he doesn't hear her actually go inside, feels her staring at him, and he turns his gaze slowly to her with a faint frown upon his features.

He's a little surprised to see her frowning right back at him. "Proper response would be to say, 'You're welcome,' sir," she says, and her tone is just shy of being rude with that carefully masked tone that so many women seemed to use anymore. So worried about coming across as unladylike. Jasper imagines she wouldn't have spoken in such a way to any man that wasn't looking quite so unfortunate out in the rain, someone of any sort of social standing.

Still – manners. Jasper bows his head. "You're welcome, ma'am," he replies easily, and something about the slight Southern drawl of his voice makes her smile. More confusing than that is how she doesn't seem in a huge rush to leave, to skirt away and put distance between them. Odd, but not unheard of. He's encountered his share of humans that weren't afraid; lacking some sort of survival instinct, perhaps? Or simply brave or defiant enough to ignore the fleeting feelings of fear their brains tended to give off.

"Better," the girl says, sounding pleased. Jasper's head lifts to regard her closer this time. To say that she's pretty is an understatement; she easily makes every other girl he's seen in the city look bland in comparison. Stars to the moon. Her skin is pale (though not so much as his; hers is a healthy, beautiful sort of pale), and the lines of her face are smooth and soft, perfect in every way from any angle. Her hair is down, clipped back, although a few strands have been tugged loose by the wind and hang around her lovely face. The most beautiful woman he's ever seen, he idly thinks.

And her blood smells just as perfect.

His eyes flick briefly to her throat and then return to her face so quickly that she doesn't notice.

"You're looking in there as though you'd like to devour everything in sight," the blonde tells him casually. It takes Jasper a moment of blank staring before he realizes she means the actual food, and not the people dining on it. "-And, oh, you're drenched. Really." She sighs, as though something about this fact irritates her, and she lowers her own umbrella to close it and shake it dry.

"The rain doesn't bother me," he says honestly, ever so patient as he continues to hold the door open. From inside, he hears someone muttering that he's allowing the cold air to get in. He tries not to quirk a smile.

"Nonsense." The young woman gestures vaguely. "I'm only here on an errand for my mother... if you'll walk me home, I'll treat you to something to eat."

It's a kind offer, Jasper knows. He doesn't sense that this girl is afraid to travel the streets alone in the dark, but he can only imagine if she were to run into someone less than friendly (like himself)... Still, he shakes his head slightly. "That isn't necessary, ma'am. Although I'd be happy to escort you home, regardless." He can feel the weight of his own money in his pants pocket. Having a woman buy him something he'd not even enjoy, anyway...

Besides, walking her home? She was making this a little too easy.

(Somewhere in the back of his mind, he feels a twinge of guilt. Trusting, kind humans... had she not smelled so good, he wouldn't even be considering, but-)

The girl gives him a bit of a look, but says nothing as she glides gracefully inside. Jasper hesitates, but follows after. He tends to avoid the indoors where too many people are gathered, but taking into consideration that he fed the previous night and that his eyes were set so intently on another target, he steels himself as he lets the door swing closed behind him.

He's immediately greeted with the fresh scent of rolls, crisp and buttery, just from the oven. It mingles with the smell of sweets, pastries, cold-cuts, but none of it masks the sharp, definable scent of human. One of the girls at the table looks up at him with warm brown eyes, and although her gaze is brief, he notes the faint pink tinge to her cheeks and it makes him swallow thickly and hurriedly look away. It doesn't help that his attention goes automatically back to the blonde he entered with. The curve of her throat is far more tempting than anyone else's in the room, and he finds himself staring quietly as she speaks with the man behind the counter.

He only vaguely pays attention to what she's ordering, and before he (or she) realizes it, he's standing beside her and bowing his head to speak close to her ear. "The ham's gone bad," he tells her, just as she's requested a pound of it. She looks up at him, blinking a few times in surprise.

"It looks fine... How can you tell?"

"The smell," he says automatically, ignoring the faint glare that the café worker is giving him. His companion blinks at him once more, doubtful perhaps, but turns forward once more.

"Ah... please cancel that, then."

Jasper smiles somewhat uncomfortably. Why was that necessary, he asks himself, if he wasn't planning on her surviving the trip home?

She finishes up her order, and they wait in silence awhile until it's ready. Jasper picks up the sound of those speaking across the small place, whispering and ducked close together. It's still crystal-clear to him.

Who is that, anyway? She's so beautiful.

Don't you know? That's Rosalie Hale.

-Oh, oh! I've heard of her. She is so beautiful, isn't she?

Who is that with her? Her brother?

No, she doesn't have a brother. Maybe it's a boyfriend or something.

A few faint giggles from the girls follow, while the men – boys – scoff to themselves. Jasper allows his gaze to drift back down to the girl beside him. Rosalie Hale, was it? If the overheard conversation could be believed. It doesn't surprise him that someone as lovely as her is well known; her parents are likely of high social class themselves. And well to do, if her clothing is any testament to that.

Sam, as the man's greasy nametag reads, has her order prepared within ten minutes and exchanges it for her money. Rosalie casts a look to Jasper, inquiring, but he shakes his head to let her know that he truly isn't interested in being treated to anything. (Except her, but that will have to wait for just awhile.)

Rosalie slips back out of the café once Jasper has the door open for her, and the two duck back out into the drizzly night.

"It's a bit of a walk for a young lady to be taking in the dark," he murmurs once they're alone and up the street. It isn't raining, and so he's taken to carrying both the bag of food and Rosalie's umbrella for her, as any good gentleman would.

She keeps her gaze straight ahead, shrugging loosely. "My mother's been ill in bed the last week or so. She hasn't had much of an appetite until tonight, so I thought it necessary to get her whatever she wanted if it meant she'd try to eat anything."

He pauses, picking words carefully. "You don't have... servants for that sort of thing?"

"Of course," Rosalie scoffs, in that same haughty tone so befitting a girl raised as Jasper suspects she was. Women as pretty as her never, ever had a reason to do anything themselves. "But that house can get so unbearably stuffy sometimes, you see. I'm perfectly capable of doing something like this on my own." Her face momentarily scrunches up into something of a pout. She still looks pretty while doing it.

But the topic changes quickly as her attention swivels onto Jasper. "So what has a gentleman like you out wandering in the rain in the middle of the night, sir?"

He almost replies with I was hungry and bites it back. "... Seeing the sights, I suppose," he murmurs. "I'm not overly fond of crowds; it's quieter at night."

She purses her lips. "Where are you from?"

Ah, he thinks, even after so many years his accent still shows enough to give him away. "Texas, ma'am. Born and raised."

"You're a long way from home."

"Not so much my home anymore." Something in his demeanor tenses, but she doesn't seem to notice. "I just sort of travel now."

"Oh." She lapses into momentary silence, leading him through the mostly empty streets. Mostly empty, but not empty enough to serve his purposes just yet. "Are you staying in New York long?"

"A few weeks, at most," he replies. Any longer than that and he risks the chance of people noticing the missing persons count rising. He feeds twice a week, and would do it more often if he could safely do so. Smaller towns require him to cut his hunting down to once a week.

"Hard to see all of New York in just a few weeks." Rosalie slows in her steps then, and turns suddenly down into an alley stretching between two tall buildings. The moonlight doesn't reach there, and so her steps are slow to avoid tripping over anything. Jasper follows with ease, seemingly unphased by the lack of light. It's a shortcut, he gathers, and she seems anxious by it.

The newfound solitude and privacy offered by the alley serves his purpose well. Jasper reaches for her, places his hand against her upper back in a gesture that comes across as nothing more than a gentlemanly aid to ensure she doesn't stumble of lose her way. But the touch makes it easier – and quicker – to soothe her anxiety, and soon enough she's radiating a lulling calm. Her steps slow, unnoticeable at first, and then more and more until she stops walking completely. She sways on her feet and Jasper's already dropped the bag and umbrella in favor of folding his hands around her upper arms and guiding her with all gentleness against his chest. She sags there, barely awake, and mumbles some absent quiet or another while trying to sleepily twist around and curl her fingers against the fabric of his shirt.

It's easier this way, Jasper knows. To feed from a sleeping person; maybe it takes away some of the thrill of the hunt, but he's long since lost the stomach for such things. The fear, panic, sense of loss, horror – all of it hits him like a ton of bricks and has made hunting no longer an exciting event, but one he does as little as possible. At least this way, the feelings are delayed, dulled. And this particular girl who was so kind to him doesn't deserve to suffer.

Her body feels weightless in his arms, and she's quiet and still there against him, one arm wrapped around her waist to hold her up, and his free hand caressing back long strands of pale blonde hair away from her throat. His lips touch briefly to her jaw, again to the spot just below her ear, and again to her pulse-point. Her pulse thrums steadily, excitedly, below the surface of her skin, and he can feel it against his mouth, practically taste it against his tongue without even having bitten down. He's fed so recently that this is for pleasure rather than necessity, and he remains where he is to savor the scent and the feel of her warm, pliant body fit so neatly against his own.

He mouths lightly at the spot upon her neck, rolling his tongue over the favored bit of flesh. Beneath him, Rosalie lets out the softest of groans, a sound so low and soft it comes across as a sort of sigh, a breathy, Oh... It's so quiet and yet it makes Jasper pause, lips parted, seconds from biting—

He's withdrawing then, the back of his skull touching to the alley wall behind him, cold and damp. After a moment of shallow breathing, he begins to sink down to the ground in a crouch, Rosalie still gathered against him. It wouldn't do for her dress to get dirty by laying her down. The sleep he placed over her is lifted, and it's only a matter of minutes before Rosalie's eyes are fluttering open on their own. He keeps the atmosphere calm and collected, unwilling to deal with a girl that has every right to be hysterical over – whatever it was that just happened.

But Rosalie only blinks up at him, blearily at first until her vision clears. She frowns then and tries to straighten up some, hands pressing to Jasper's chest. "What in the world..."

"You fell," Jasper tells her easily. "Tripped right over there on that trash bag and bumped your head." Of course, she reaches up to feel around her head, looking bewildered by the lack of any lump or blood. Still, it's a logical enough explanation to her blackout, and she only nods slowly. Jasper rises back up to his feet effortlessly, bringing the blonde girl with him and allowing her a moment to steady herself on her feet. She says nothing else, but he can tell if it weren't for his calming effect on her, she'd be itching to put distance between them now.

He stoops to gather up her bag and umbrella, mouth drawn into a thin line and an almost pained expression upon his face that Rosalie may or may not have noticed. He can still hear every rush and beat of her pulse, and his mouth and throat are painfully dry and aching for him to finish what he started. To his credit (and surprise) he keeps collected and calm, ushering Rosalie through the rest of the alley and back out into the streets where she proves to be safer. Her home is only up the street from there, sitting back from the road a ways and surrounded by a brick wall and a wrought iron gate. It's outside the gate that he comes to a halt and she turns to take her things from him. The smile she offers is somewhat dazed, still clearly confused.

"Thank you for walking me home," she tells him after a moment. "Who knows what would have happened if I'd fallen and you hadn't been there." There is something in her tone that sounds doubtful, and it makes Jasper's chest tighten uncomfortably. Still, he smiles a polite smile and only bows his head.

"My pleasure, Miss Hale. I suppose I'll be seeing you around." His voice nearly cracks with the effort of speaking, and he knows he needs to leave and feed elsewhere before physical want overcomes emotional. Rosalie says nothing to his quick departure, and he disappears down the foggy street into the night.

She watches him go, touching a hand again to the back of her head and feeling nothing.

It dawns on her that she never told him her name.
Pirate Princessbarbossas_wench on February 24th, 2009 03:03 pm (UTC)
Oh, what a *wonderful* story! I really enjoyed this very much! I do hope you add to it. :)
Kelley: [t] emmett/rosalie → all i wantedskittled on February 24th, 2009 03:14 pm (UTC)
Thank you! I'm going to try, I just didn't want to make any promises and then find I had no inspiration to create another part to it. XD

Thanks for the comment. ♥
Pirate Princess: Twi R Halebarbossas_wench on February 24th, 2009 03:18 pm (UTC)
I can't help it, I'm a sucker (pun intended) for Jasper/Rosalie fics! :) They're my non-cannon OTP.
veronica marsjauregui on February 25th, 2009 10:21 am (UTC)
this was great! you should definitely continue, i love jasper/rosalie fics.