Chapter Text
JPOV
December 25th, 2005
The Cullen Home, Ithaca, NY
When Anya made herself comfortable at the kitchen counter, the rest of us stood there, unsure what to do. She side-eyed me and waved me off, clearly content to stay put, surrounded by food. I swear I felt desire rolling off her and it wasn’t directed at me.
Taking the hint, I ushered the rest of the family out to the living room, leaving Anya in peace. I started to unpack the box of gifts I’d brought into the house—the ones in gift bags, of course—to place around the tree. It was an unusual sight: nothing but gift bags under a tree that usually held meticulously wrapped presents.
Busy with arranging the gifts, Alice sidled up to me, her voice soft as she said, “I didn’t want a repeat of Bella’s birthday party.”
It was the first time we’d spoken since the morning after that night.
Her words hung in the air between us, laden with unspoken meaning. I knew she wasn’t just talking about the party. We both had been trying to avoid this moment, but it was inevitable.
I turned to face her, unsure of what to say. The memory of that night flashed in my mind, the way we’d comforted each other in the only way we knew how. The night when everything had shifted between us, when the roles we’d been written into had pulled us together in a way neither of us had planned. Afterward, as we walked back to the cabin in silence, I’d finally broken it, telling Alice that Anya had expected this to happen. That she was okay with it.
Alice had been quiet for a moment, processing my words. Then she’d turned to me with a look that was both serious and deeply understanding. “Jasper, you and Anya have the most complicated relationship ever, but… fuck, does that woman love you.” Her words had stuck with me, echoing in my mind long after that walk home. Anya’s love for me was something I couldn’t take for granted, something that went beyond the roles we’d been assigned, beyond the expectations of this world we were navigating.
Standing there now, facing Alice again, I knew we had to address the unspoken tension hanging between us. “Alice, about that night…,” I began, but she shook her head, cutting me off gently.
“Jazz, I know. I know Anya expected it, and I know she’s okay with it. But I also know that things are different now.” Her gaze was steady, her eyes reflecting the depth of her understanding. “She’s changed everything for you, hasn’t she?”
Then I chuckled, remembering how all Anya had asked me to do after that night was to burn my clothes. While I was outside at the fire pit, doing just that, the window had been cracked open, and I could hear Anya playing The Bad Touch by the Bloodhound Gang. The absurdity of the situation wasn’t lost on me.
I shared this with Alice, and she tried not to laugh. “She really is okay that we gave into our baser instincts?”
I couldn’t help but laugh myself. “Yeah, she is. Anya’s always known that vampires are inherently different, and she understands that we can get primal sometimes. She doesn’t take it too seriously.” Although her confession while fevered and admitting last night she was jealous potentially suggests otherwise. But I shoved that thought aside, Alice didn’t need to be saddled with that as well. Especially as her eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was relief there too—relief that Anya wasn’t harbouring any resentment or hurt over what had happened. The last thing either of us wanted was for that night to come between us and the woman who had become such an integral part of my existence. Yep, keep the jealousy to myself. Smart move Whitlock.
Then I leaned in closer, mouthing what I had realized on the car ride over. “Anya’s my mate.”
Alice’s expression softened, and for a moment, she just looked at me and mouthed back. “I’m happy for you, Jazz. You deserve this.”
“Thanks, Alice,” I mouthed back, the weight of that realization settling in a little deeper. Anya wasn’t just someone I cared about—she was my mate, my partner in every way that mattered.
Then, almost hesitantly, Alice asked, “Does Anya know about Edward leaving?”
Great, the twenty questions had begun. I could feel them lining up in her mind, one after the other, but I wasn’t about to let this turn into an interrogation. I gently turned to Alice, giving her a pointed look. “No twenty questions, Alice. Passive reader, okay?”
She bit her lip, clearly wanting to ask more but nodding in understanding. “Okay, okay. Passive reader,” she repeated, raising her hands in surrender.
I could see the curiosity still bubbling beneath the surface, but she respected the boundary I’d set. Anya had her own way of navigating this world; we had to let things unfold as they would, and for now, that meant leaving some things unspoken. And I sure as shit did not want Eddie Boy to undermine this day. To hell with him. Stupid fucker.
With that settled, I turned my attention back to the gifts, grateful that we could put the questions on hold—for now.
Then, of course, it wouldn’t be Christmas Day without Emmett insisting on some entertainment. I heard his booming voice from the kitchen as he tried to coax Anya away from the treats to join us. He was practically begging, his tone almost pleading like a puppy dog.
“Come on, Anya! You’ve gotta show everyone those vocal skills! Don’t make me drag you in here!”
I could practically see him giving her his best puppy-dog eyes, which was amusing considering the size of him.
Anya’s laughter floated through the house, light and carefree. “Emmett, I’m not sure you’re ready for this!” she teased, but I knew that tone—she was enjoying every second of his attention.
“Please, Anya?” Emmett whined, laying it on thick. “It’s Christmas! You can’t say no to Christmas spirit!”
There was a pause, and then I heard her sigh, followed by a chuckle. “Alright, alright. Just don’t expect anything too fancy.”
Moments later, Anya appeared in the living room, her hands still holding a paper plate of treats. She shot me a look that said, Can you believe this guy?
Emmett was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, grinning from ear to ear. “Yes! This is gonna be awesome!”
I leaned back against the wall, a smile tugging at my lips. This was exactly the kind of distraction we all needed and leave it to Emmett to make sure there was never a dull moment.
“Show us what you’ve got,” I said, giving Anya an encouraging nod.
She rolled her eyes playfully, but I could tell she was warming up to the idea. With the whole family gathered around, she took a deep breath, setting the plate down, and prepared to give us a little taste of home.
Anya hooked up her iPod to the sound system, scrolling through her playlists with a focused look on her face. When she found what she wanted, she glanced around and asked, "Tex, the chair, please?" nodding toward the dining room.
I fetched the chair, still unsure where exactly she was going with this. I’d seen Anya sing and dance before, and it was always a joyful, effervescent experience. And it never required a chair.
She was thinking of family—I could feel it in the way her energy shifted, the way her thoughts grew more solemn. Settling into the chair, the mournful strains of O Come, O Come, Emmanuel began to fill the room, the sound both haunting and beautiful.
Then Anya’s voice joined in, soft and sweet, her eyes closed as she sang. The song’s ancient melody wove through the room, and I could see how much it meant to her, how it connected her to something beyond this moment. It wasn’t just a song—it was a bridge to the family and traditions she had left behind, a way to honour the memories that had shaped her.
The room fell silent as we all listened, captivated by the pure emotion in her voice. This wasn’t the playful entertainment Emmett had envisioned, but it was something much more profound. Anya was sharing a piece of herself, something deeply personal, and for that moment, we all understood the depth of what she had lost and the strength it took for her to keep moving forward.
I watched her, feeling a mix of admiration and love swell within me. This was a side of her that not everyone got to see, a vulnerability that she rarely let show. And yet, here she was, letting us all in, even if just for a little while. It made me wonder if this was what Christmas with her family was like, her siblings singing and dancing, Chloé and her at the piano.
With the last notes of the song fading, the room remained still, the weight of the moment lingering in the air. Anya slowly opened her eyes, and when she looked at me, I could see the trace of tears she was holding back, but also the strength in her gaze.
“Well, shit, Anya,” was all Emmett could say.
The room was still thick with the emotion Anya had poured into her performance, and Emmett’s unfiltered reaction broke the silence in the most Emmett way possible. His voice was filled with awe, and for once, he was at a loss for words.
Anya let out a soft laugh, the tension in the room easing just a little. “That good, eh?” she teased, her voice still carrying the weight of the song she’d just sung.
“Well, I was expecting a little more pop, you know, like the Forks High Duo…” Emmett trailed off, clearly trying to lighten the mood with a playful grin.
I couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory he was referring to—back when Anya and Mike Newton had performed at the Spring Formal. They’d turned the school gym into a makeshift nightclub with their energy, belting out pop ballads and love songs that had the whole place buzzing. Anya had been a whirlwind of fun and charisma, transforming the night into something unforgettable. And causing all the teen boys to lust after her. Much to my annoyance. Although I did make it to 2nd base later that night.
Anya rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re really going to bring up Mike Newton right now?”
Emmett shrugged, unrepentant. “I’m just saying, you two really brought down the house from what I heard afterwards. This was, uh… different. But still awesome.”
Anya grinned, the spark returning to her eyes. “Well, Emmett, I had to get my favourite carol out of the way. But if you insist on pop ballads, I’m going to expect some audience participation.”
She was already scrolling through her playlists, and when I heard the opening notes of Wham!’s Last Christmas, I knew she was about to turn the mood around completely. She winked at Emmett, and before I knew it, both were belting out the lyrics, full of energy and playfulness. Even Rosalie, usually so composed, couldn’t help but join in, her voice blending with theirs as she let herself get swept up in the moment. It was impossible not to smile as they sang.
Anya continued to make her way through the snacks, enjoying the spread with a contented smile. When Alice brought over a plate of mussels—ugh, so gross—Anya simply shrugged, thanked her, and carefully selected one. I watched her as she did, noticing the way she seemed to be musing over something, as if a thought had caught in her mind, something that didn’t quite make sense to her. But she shrugged it off and popped it into her mouth.
That’s when I saw it—her reaction. It happened so fast. She started coughing, her breath coming in gasps, her hand flying to her throat as her lips began to swell.
“CARLISLE!” I roared, my voice filling the room as panic surged through me.
My mind raced—what was happening? My family seriously couldn’t have a celebration without a human getting injured? What the actual fuck??? This wasn’t some accidental paper cut or minor mishap – this was fucking life serious!
Carlisle was at her side in an instant, moving with the speed and precision that only centuries of practice could provide. “Anaphylaxis,” he muttered under his breath, already pulling out a syringe with epinephrine. I watched in helpless horror as Anya struggled to breathe, her eyes wide with fear.
I couldn’t believe it. How had this happened? My mind flashed back to the moment when she had hesitated, as if something didn’t quite make sense to her. The mussels—for fucks sake, it had to be the mussels.
Carlisle had carried Anya into his study, moving with a calm efficiency that barely masked the urgency of the situation. I followed right behind, my mind racing with a thousand questions, fear gnawing at the edges of my control.
“What the hell is going on here?” I demanded; my voice rougher than I intended. I needed answers, and I needed them now.
Carlisle was already gathering supplies, his movements quick and precise. “It looks like Anya’s having a severe allergic reaction to the mussels,” he explained, his tone clinical. “Her breathing is stabilizing now, but to be safe, we should pump her stomach. We need to get the mussels out of her system completely.”
Anya’s breathing had indeed started to settle, though her face was still pale, and the lingering effects of the reaction were evident. She looked up at Carlisle, understanding the gravity of the situation, and after a moment, she gave him a small, resolute nod.
I couldn’t believe this was happening—of all the things to go wrong, an allergic reaction to something as seemingly harmless as mussels? The absurdity of it clashed with the very real fear that gripped me. My family was supposed to be safe, especially here, especially today. And I can’t even lay the blame at Fucker’s feet, although if he hadn’t demanded we do a midnight flit it’s entirely possible Christmas in Forks would have been a helluva a lot different.
But I shoved those thoughts aside, focusing instead on Anya’s calm acceptance. If she could face this with that kind of resolve, then so could I. I moved closer, taking her hand in mine, offering whatever support I could. “I’m right here,” I whispered, even though I knew she didn’t need to hear it to know.
Carlisle continued his preparations, and I steeled myself for what was to come. This wasn’t how Christmas was supposed to go. But my annoyance wouldn’t stop; it boiled over, and before I could rein it in, the tirade came tumbling out of me.
“Fuck, Carlisle! First you missed the flu shots, and now this?? You saw her medical records! I know you did, because she asked you to find them when she got her period last January and couldn’t understand why she had severe cramps. How could you miss this? How could you fucking permit food that she’s apparently highly fucking allergic to in this house!”
The words were out before I could catch myself, a mix of fear, frustration, and anger that had been simmering for too long. Nope, not gonna apologize.
There was a pause in his preparations, the calm, composed expression he usually wore cracking slightly as he met my gaze. There was a flash of something—guilt, regret, maybe even a bit of frustration with himself. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, his hands steady even if his emotions weren’t. “Jasper, I—” he began, but I cut him off, the anger still pulsing through me.
“No, Carlisle! How could this happen? You’re supposed to be the one who keeps us safe, who catches these things. How could you let this slip through the cracks?”
Anya squeezed my hand, a silent reminder that she was here, that she was okay, but I couldn’t stop. The fear of nearly losing her was still too raw, too immediate. I’d only just admitted to myself she was my mate, I sure as hell was not going to let this go.
Carlisle’s eyes softened as he looked at me, the weight of my words clearly affecting him. “Jasper, you’re right. I should have caught this, and I failed to do so. I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I didn’t mean for this to happen—I never would have allowed mussels in the house if I had known.”
“No, Carlisle. No! Where the fuck are her records? I want them now!” My voice was sharp, cutting through the room. I wasn’t about to let this go—not when Anya was lying there, about to endure something as revolting as stomach pumping. This wasn’t just a mistake; it was a failure that could have cost Anya her life. A life I wasn’t sure I could turn. I shoved that errant thought down. Not the point Whitlock!
Carlisle hesitated, the guilt deepening in his expression, but he saw the resolve in my eyes. Reluctantly, he went to fetch the file. When he returned, he handed it to me without a word.
I flipped through the pages, my mind racing, until I found it—in black and white, clear as day. When she was fifteen, she had an allergic reaction to mussels. Anaphylaxis. How could he miss this?
“How could you miss this, Carlisle?” I demanded, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. “It’s right here. Anaphylaxis. She could have fucking died, and you didn’t see this?”
Carlisle’s face was a mask of regret, but he didn’t try to defend himself. “I have no excuse, Jasper. I should have seen it. I don’t know how I overlooked it, but I did, and I’m deeply sorry. All I can do now is make sure she’s okay.”
His admission of fault didn’t erase the fear still twisting in my gut, but I could see that he was as devastated by this mistake as I was. Anya squeezed my hand, a small but powerful reminder that she was here, that she was fighting through this with the same strength and resilience she always showed.
I handed the file back to Carlisle, the anger still simmering but no longer boiling over. “Just… make sure she’s okay, Carlisle. Please.”
A few hours later, Anya was resting upstairs in my room, looking pale but steady. I sat beside her, still fuming over everything that had happened. My thoughts were a tangled mess of anger, fear, and guilt, but all of that seemed to melt away when she looked at me with those warm, loving eyes.
“Tex, you gotta cut Carlisle some slack,” she said softly, her voice gentle but firm.
What??? My mind reeled. The damn doctor nearly got my girlfriend – my mate – killed —twice! Okay, maybe the flu isn’t usually deadly, but it could’ve been. The thought of losing her because of something so preventable made my venom boil all over again.
“Anya, he missed a severe allergy in your medical records,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “And then he nearly got you killed with that mistake. How can you expect me to cut him any slack?”
She sighed, a small, tired smile on her lips “Jasper, I know you’re angry, and I get it. But Carlisle’s not perfect, and he didn’t do this on purpose.” She paused, her brow furrowing slightly as she gathered her thoughts. “Go get Carlisle. Ask him to come in, okay?”
What?? Now she wanted to talk to Carlisle? I was about to protest, but then I saw that look in her eye—the one she gave me when I was being a special kind of stupid and the answer was obvious.
Without another word, I nodded and got up, heading downstairs to find Carlisle. He was in his study, still clearly shaken by what had happened, though he was trying to mask it behind his usual calm demeanour.
“Anya wants to talk to you,” I said, my tone clipped but neutral.
He looked up, surprise flickering in his eyes, but he quickly stood and followed me back to the room. Entering, Anya gave him a tired but sincere smile, gesturing for him to sit on the chair beside the bed.
“Carlisle,” she began softly, her voice steady despite the fatigue in her eyes, “I don’t react to you like other patients do, right?” She stared at him intently, her gaze unflinching.
“No,” Carlisle, cautious as ever, nodded. “This is true. Most patients are more, ahh…”
“Dazzled and compliant?” she filled in for him.
“Yes,” he confirmed with a small nod.
I had no clue where she was going with this, and my frustration must have shown because she turned to me with a knowing smile.
“Oh, Tex,” she said gently, “I’m not from here. I know that, well—I know I’m supposed to be all ‘Oooh McDreamy, the handsome doctor is saving me.’” She actually fluttered her eyelashes for effect. “But I don’t,” she continued, her tone growing more serious. “He’s just Carlisle to me. And because I don’t act like other patients do, I fluster him.”
What??
I stared at her. Carlisle looked equally bewildered, and for a moment, none of this made sense.
Anya sighed, seeing our confusion. “Jasper, think of it like this: Carlisle is used to patients reacting to him a certain way. He’s like a doctor who sees symptoms and immediately thinks of the common diagnosis—horses, not zebras. But me, because I am not dazzled, I fluster him, and so he forgets that maybe he should be looking for zebras instead.”
I stared at her, trying to wrap my head around the analogy. “So… you’re saying Carlisle didn’t catch your allergy because you don’t fit the typical mold? That you threw him off his game?”
“Exactly,” she said, nodding. “He’s so used to being this perfect, controlled presence around humans who are awed by him that when I don’t follow that pattern, it messes with his usual instincts. He’s used to patients being dazzled, compliant, easy to read. But I don’t react that way, so he didn’t notice something as crucial as my allergy.”
Carlisle looked thoughtful, processing her words. “That… makes sense, actually. I didn’t realize it at the time, but you’re right, Anya. You don’t respond to me the way others do. I’m sorry that my lapse in judgment put you at risk.”
Anya squeezed his hand gently. “It’s okay, Carlisle. And honestly, the real me isn’t allergic to mussels. I’m not a fan, per se, but I’m not allergic. It would appear my alternate is. This truly was an honest mistake.”
Carlisle looked at her, relief and understanding softening his expression. “That explains a lot,” he said quietly. “I didn’t expect there to be differences like that between you and your alternate, but I should have been more thorough.”
“It’s not something you could’ve known to look for, Carlisle.” Anya smiled reassuringly. “This whole situation is unusual, to say the least. I’m just glad you were able to help when it mattered.”
I felt some of the tension in my chest loosen as I watched them. Anya was right—this was an honest mistake, something none of us could’ve anticipated.
He nodded, his gratitude clear. “Thank you, Anya. I’ll be more careful in the future. And I’m truly sorry for the scare today.”
Anya gave him a warm smile, her eyes filled with the same understanding that had calmed me earlier. “We’re all learning as we go. Just remember, Carlisle—when it comes to me, sometimes you’ll need to look for zebras.” She then turned to me, her eyes soft but still holding that quiet strength I loved so much. “Tex, can we go home now?”
Her voice was steady, but I could hear the weariness beneath it. Today had been more than enough for both of us. I nodded, relieved that she was ready to leave and eager to get her back to the peace of our cabin.
“Of course,” I said gently, taking her hand in mine. “Let’s go home.”
Making our way out, I gave Carlisle a brief nod of thanks. He returned it with a small, understanding smile, and then we were off, stepping out of the house and into the crisp evening air.
I opened the car door for Anya, making sure she was comfortable before sliding into the driver’s seat. Pulling away all I could think about is wanting to get home. Just the two of us. No drama. No mussels. Just us.