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The Jasper they rescue is not the Jasper they saw last.
Well, technically, the Jasper they saw last was flambé. Prior to that, Jasper was threatening Guy with a really bad time, cavalier of the fate he said he wished to inflict.
The Jasper they rescue is a starved wreck, little more than a heap in a cage, cadaverously pale, claws ripped out, iron shackles over seeping wounds, clothing crusted with old blood and reeking of that rot.
It would be easier if Jasper had any strength of his own, but Doris already vetoed feeding him even a drop. Too much of a risk, she said. Jasper could revive just enough to maul Guy for his blood and Doris can’t be sure she could take him even in a severely weakened state.
If we’re going to do this, Guy, we’re going to do this my way, do you understand?
That is the condition of Jasper’s rescue — Doris’ way or not at all.
So they end up hauling two hundred pounds of dead weight with them, which is considerably more difficult than Guy imagined, not helped by the sanitizer that Doris slathered him with. The harsh chemical smell irritates Guy’s nostrils with each intake of air until he has to breathe mostly through his mouth. It’s meant to dampen his human smell that could awaken Jasper’s predatory drive.
Gifts go first. Then vision. Then hearing. The last is smell.
It’s hard to say for sure how long Jasper’s been starved, Doris tells Guy once they’re headed toward safety six hours away. Relative safety — safety is always relative these days. Given that it’s been eight months since Guy and Doris ran, given that they learned that Jasper was captured not long after their escape, eight months of starvation would not be a bad guess. It’s the Talamasca’s go-to for inducing vampire cooperation. Knowing Jasper, he would’ve been uncooperative to put it mildly. Vampires can’t die from it apparently but they can suffer, really fucking suffer, the pangs of hunger mindrending, feral inducing, sometimes to the point of madness, all coherent thought exiled.
Doris refuses to let Guy stick around while she revives Jasper. They argue for all of five seconds before he caves. When Guy comes back to the apartment half a day later, he’s not prepared for the sight: Jasper — unshackled, cleaned up, changed into the not-quite-fitting clothes they got him, a little colour returned to his face — sitting on the bed, his head laid on Doris’ shoulder, her hand stroking through his hair as she sits next to him. Jasper doesn’t stir, his closed eyes remaining shut. Doris does, just a little, her eyes opening, gaze flickering over to Guy even as she continues the slow brush of her fingers through Jasper’s hair.
The sight stays with Guy, even two weeks later in a different country as they move further and further away from Amsterdam yet again, months now of being caught between escaping the reach of the Talamasca and Guy’s search for answers. Without having really talked about it, Jasper went along with them when they moved on, and it was distinctively a follow, as if Jasper had nowhere else to go.
Two weeks, and Guy’s hardly exchanged more than twenty words with Jasper. The Jasper he remembers is chatty and wry, bold lines and confidence of motion. Jasper now is quiet, tired, wary though not of them, not exactly furtive though Guy can't help but think of ragged lions in shitty, rundown zoos. Guy didn’t exactly have an expectation in mind when he convinced Doris to help him break Jasper out but this certainly isn’t it. Guy thought maybe Jasper would try to kill them, lit with fury. He thought maybe Jasper would just leave after throwing some acerbic remark in their faces. Not this strange limbo where Jasper sticks with them and yet keeps his distance.
Correction: keeps his distance from Guy. Because Guy knows that Doris and Jasper talk. Doris hasn’t the Mind Gift and Jasper’s is in tatters, but Guy can sense their silent conversations, like whispers in another room that he can vaguely hear but the shape of the words is indistinct. Meanwhile Guy gets not a quip from Jasper.
Jasper flinched — actually fucking flinched — when Guy reached out once. The outward touch of his mind is still a fumble, Guy knows, finesse coming along steadily though slowly, helped by having weaned off the benzos but unhelped by lack of guidance, but Guy isn’t that ungentle. No, the flinch had little to do with skill and everything to do with it coming from Guy.
The impasse is driving Guy mad, and he doesn’t even know why. Jasper used him; Jasper tried to kill him. A shovel was jammed into Guy’s hands — dig, Jasper had said. But ever more lingering is the impression of Jasper’s body on top of his, pinning him down, spittle and rage thrown in his face.
You child.
You puppy.
You don’t want things the way I want things.
Guy remembers his terror, the fear coursing jagged through his veins, icy shards carving through his lungs with each breath, digging into his chest with each rapid beat of his heart. He thought he was going to die on that freezing concrete floor. Jasper was going to rip his throat out.
And somehow Guy still thought it was a good idea to help Jasper, to free him from his imprisonment, but after knowing what’s been done to Doris, after learning that Jasper’s been captured, Guy couldn’t just leave Jasper to his fate.
Nobody deserves that.
But if Guy were honest with himself, he thinks just as much about the other moments.
I know what you’re going through. And that’s why I won’t let you down.
Jasper meant those words — that’s the most damnable thing. Guy felt it.
Something was burgeoning between them, something that barely fluttered before it was crushed.
Now all Guy holds — all they hold — are the mangled pieces.
Doris is out hunting. Jasper should be with her; he often went with her. Instead, he is here, in this small studio that’s too small for the three of them but it’s all they could manage, and Guy is out of his mind with the tension inside him and the silence between them. Sometimes he thinks it’d be easier if Jasper were trying to kill him, then at least Guy knows where they stood with each other, instead of all the could’ve-been’s just dangling like burnt out Christmas lights nobody bothered to take down.
Jasper is sitting on the bed, fucking reading, pretending to be reading, when Guy knows damn well that he’s waiting.
Is Guy supposed to make the first move? Is he supposed to offer forgiveness, when he doesn’t think he has any to give? He’s not angry anymore but he hasn’t absolution, except somehow he doesn’t think forgiveness and absolution are what Jasper is waiting for. Guy doesn’t dare poke. Poking got him into trouble, and Guy still remembers the flinch.
Disquieted and unable to hold out anymore, Guy climbs onto the bed, climbs into Jasper’s lap, straddling Jasper’s thighs and yanking the book out of Jasper’s hands. He clasps hands to Jasper’s face — a face that’s still wan, not enough blood, not enough recovery — and uptilts Jasper’s head so their eyes meet. Pale gaze doesn’t shy away but all Guy can see is brittleness.
It won’t take much to push, those moves of Jasper’s badly hobbled, no match for Guy, but Guy doesn’t want to set this precedent even if Jasper had done it already. Guy strokes a thumb across the arch of Jasper’s cheekbone, eyes fixed upon Jasper’s. He doesn’t beckon, doesn’t beseech. He's made his move now; let Jasper come to him.
Jasper’s eyes close; his mind opens.
Guy sees. He sees himself — the bright, beautiful boy that the Talamasca threw in his lap, one-quarter bravado and three-quarters longing, a longing that shone off the boy without his own knowing, and everything inside Jasper responded despite himself, a sparked hunger that came with it barbed tendrils of want, vast and pervasive and consuming, not just for flesh or for blood but for everything.
The boy could be his — something he could hold, something he could keep. There is spitfire, rebellion and spite, but the boy would be easy to tame.
Except even just a hint that the boy could— could fucking leave him was intolerable. Drove him mad with rage, with fury.
With fear.
Guy starts out of the connection, his hands jolted from their hold, hovering an inch from Jasper’s face. He stares down at Jasper, realizing suddenly that Jasper’s arms are spread, palms open, the only point of contact being where Guy dictates. Guy sits back on his heels, weight resting just above Jasper’s knees, his arms lowering.
The want echoes inside Guy, reverberates against his own, makes him breathless, makes him hurt, and what hurts the most is knowing that he would never have gotten this kind of raw honesty from Jasper if the Talamasca hadn’t cracked him open first.
“Yeah,” Jasper whispers. “I think they call this irony.”
Guy half-sobs, half-laughs, not humor but a touch of hysteria, not knowing what to do with himself, not knowing what to do with Jasper, the unbearable weight of potential crushing him, crushing Jasper, crushing them both. He takes Jasper’s hands, puts them on his waist, then he’s cradling Jasper’s face once again, looking into those pale eyes for a good long moment before he leans down, leans in, and softly touches his mouth to Jasper’s. He is swept by the surge that courses through Jasper — relief, gratitude, ache. So much fucking ache.
Permission given, Jasper’s hands wander, sliding over Guy’s t-shirt, molding over his sides, his back, seeking to touch and touch and touch as they kiss and kiss and kiss, Guy now winding his arms around the back of Jasper’s neck and pulling Jasper closer to him. Guy breaks from the kiss, gasps a breath, feeling a stumbling flutter inside him as Jasper’s mouth wanders his face, as Jasper’s hands slip under his t-shirt, cool palms over heated skin. Arousal flickers but it’s almost an afterthought, the need to be touched superseding all else, the need to feel Jasper’s wanting, the enormity of it washing over Guy, crashing wave after wave. It’s the helplessness of it that brings a sting to Guy’s eyes. He can’t forgive what Jasper’s done to him but he gets it. He gets it, that desperate fucking loneliness that’s squashed down tight into a tiny little ball, and just one atom, just a teeny atom of hope, and it’s enough to cause nothing less than fission.
Perhaps if Guy were a vampire, perhaps if he’s been alive long enough, he maybe would’ve done the same. Guy doesn’t know, but what he does know is that what the Talamasca did to Jasper — it’s far more than punishment enough. He is sure that Doris came to the same conclusion, for Jasper’s other unforgivable crimes.
Guy clutches Jasper to him as Jasper clutches him in return. There’s too much fragility for their minds to touch; what’s been shattered — within Jasper, between them — is too cutting still. For now, the press of each other, body to body, that’s enough.
Softly, gently, Jasper touches a kiss to Guy’s throat, right over the pulse point. Even without a connection, Guy can feel the desire desperately reined in — to taste, to possess, keepkeepkeep — but the predator is held at bay. When Guy is ready. When it’s been given. Then Jasper will have. May have.
“Will you let me stay?”
Barely audible, whispered into Guy’s skin, words as indelible as the unspoken ones.
Stay here. Stay by your side. Stay at your heel.
With you with you with you.
Guy tightens his arms around Jasper. Lightly, but surely, he nods.
~~