butterflyfactor | (no subject)

"And there's no conceivable way of getting around that," Layla said, one eyebrow hitching up slightly.

Sighing, Jamie pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, and he ducked his head to avoid her gaze. He knew he didn't owe her an explanation. She hadn't been there that day, for one, and whatever they were to each other -- Friends, and that's all. -- sharing was a very recent development of their relationship. There were still kinks that needed to be worked out on both sides of the equation, and he wasn't sure he was up to it -- not right that second, at any rate.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, looking up at her with a mildly plaintive expression, as he let his hand fall back to his side.

Edited 2010-03-23 02:46 (UTC)

"Because you won't," she said, "not on your own, and it's something you need to do."

He's already starting to. That's what the investigation is- it's dealing with the sense of futility, of having no control. And it's a good start but when he reaches the end of it, he'll be totally without answers. I don't have even the slightest doubt of that. But this isn't a dead end, this isn't some ghost for him to chase. This is real, and it will help.

"What, do you have a checklist or something?" he said, taking an affronted step back. "Who are you, telling me what I need to do -- let alone what I won't?"

"I'm Layla Miller," she replied steadily, and even though the familiar feeling of being right was reassuring, it was pretty exhausting, too. She didn't sound very triumphant, but she sounded unshakably sure.

"I know stuff."

"Great," he said, and he dragged a hand over his face. "Now we're busting out the catchphrases. Fantastic."

Edited 2010-03-23 04:11 (UTC)

"You asked," Layla pointed out.

"I did," he agreed, nodding slightly. "But it's not good enough. You can't... just spring this on me out of the blue and expect me to cooperate. It doesn't work like that anymore."

"Why won't you?" she asked.

"Actually. Instead of a quip about your clothing."

He didn't say anything for a moment, tipping his head back to look up at the stars, expression thoughtful. There were plenty of reasons, of course -- some, he felt, she could probably guess at for herself -- but in the end, the one he kept circling back to in his own thoughts seemed the most pertinent. Maybe he didn't owe her an explanation, but he could give her one if she was so insistent.

"It's not because I can't swim."

Layla frowned at him, barely.

"...So you don't trust me, then."

"What? No, it has nothing to do with you, Layla," he said, quickly becoming exasperated. "It has nothing to do with trust, and I'm not... going to be guilt-tripped into doing something that terrifies me!"

"I'm not guilt tripping you," Layla said. "That would require a skillset I don't have. I'm asking you a really basic question and you're refusing to answer it. I can't force you to do anything, Jamie. I never could."

She hated this 'putting herself out there' shit. It was extremely taxing, without knowing each step of the outcome for sure. But if she had to, she had to. She walked over to stop in front of him, less than a foot away.

"But this is an important part of who you are and where you're going, and you won't talk to me about it. So what should I think?"

"I could ask you the same question," he said. "Do you think I'm stupid? That I don't realize what you must be keeping from me? But wait, this isn't about you, right? It's about me. My problems and my issues and my death wish." He slapped a hand to his chest in punctuation, forever the drama queen. "So fine, you wanna know why I don't want to go in there? Because I've been there, done that, and don't see a need to revisit one more mistake. I'm treading enough metaphorical water as it is."

Her hand whipped up, covering his where it was digging so emphatically into his chest, and kept it there. Her eyes were locked onto the place around his collar bone, and her face had slipped into passivity that was a defense mechanism, now.

"...what do you want to know?"

This is not a game I ever, ever intended on playing. I can't even guarantee I'll answer him honestly. But he answered a question, so okay. He can ask one. Even if it kills me to risk it.

The question took him so by surprise that he all but deflated on the spot, his mind gone maddeningly blank when he needed it the most. There was no inner monologue, no quick retort, no anything. It felt enough like a burden simply remembering how to breathe.

"Can I--" he said after an indeterminate amount of time. He swallowed, thickly. "Can I get back to you on that or is there an expiration date?"

"I haven't decided yet," she murmured, looking very faintly troubled, not meeting his eyes. She stifled a sigh and looked up at him.

"Fine. No. No expiration date."

That concern taken care of for the time being, Jamie started the slow process of gathering his thoughts. He was very suddenly aware of Layla's hand over his own, and while some small part of him wanted to pull back, he found he couldn't move.

An object at rest staying at rest.

"You're really serious about this," he said, voice lilting upwards, though it wasn't much of a question.

Layla nodded a little, watching him to make sure there would be eye contact involved in the conversation. That was hit or miss, with them.

"Yep."

"And you'd... Be with me. Out there?" he asked, sounding increasingly uncertain. After about a second, though, he shook his head, immediately backtracking. "Assuming I agree to this, I mean. Which I haven't, by the way, because just the idea's enough to make me break out into a cold sweat, but hypothetically speaking... You'd be there?"

Hello, abandonment issues. That's what losing your parents and growing up totally alone does to a person. Or other people.

Clearly I am immune.

She squeezed his hand a little, nodding, and though the lines of her mouth didn't change, at least not into something anywhere near a smile, her eyes softened a little.

"Of course."

God, you sound pathetic. You said it yourself, Madrox -- it's not the water that scares you, so what are you waiting for? You're on an island surrounded by water, for Christ's sake. Whether you like it or not, this is something you need to do. So suck it up, princess -- you're making the rest of us look bad.

Oh, shut up.

Turning to look out at the water, though not dislodging Layla's hand, Jamie sighed, his teeth clenched together. The corners of his mouth tugged down in a frown, and he pushed his free hand back through his hair.

"Fine," he said, clearly on edge. "Alright. Okay. Fine. Let's do this."

"Okay," she said, one side of her mouth pulling back in a smile that managed to be understanding without being condescending as hell. She stepped back and turned for the canvas bag, then caught her t-shirt by the hem and peeled it up off her body and over her head, dropping it ceremoniously onto the sand.

Without staring -- one fleeting glance, but that was it -- he followed suit, tugging the collar of his t-shirt over his head, then tossed it to the ground, not paying any particular mind to where it landed. If he stopped to think about what he was doing, there was every chance he'd just back out, and Layla had been right, before, when she'd said this was something he needed to do.

She undid the five buttons of the fly of her jeans, and pushed them down her hips. She stepped out of them and took a few steps toward the water before she looked back over her shoulder at Jamie.