butterflyfactor | (no subject)

"So you're choosing not to do something because you're afraid of the consequences," she said.

"That was your first thought when you realized you hadn't died?"

"It's all kind of a blur," he said, running his wet hand back through his hair, almost exasperated. A few droplets dripped down his face, and he wiped them away with his arm. "But I'm pretty sure they ran closer to I'm sorry. I don't... Do the first thoughts really matter? I'm afraid of the consequences now, and whether or not I was then, right after it happened... It doesn't play into it."

Layla shook her head once.

"It does. Because it is shockingly easy to bury the important things under mountains of other stuff- excuses, circumstances, guilt. You know better than anyone that every angle counts. What you thought and how you felt when you were staring something in the face is at least as important as when you're looking back at it. And sometimes... distance isn't as helpful as you'd think."

She pressed her lips together for a moment, gaze hovering somewhere past his arm. It looked like she was debating something.

"And I don't believe the only thing keeping you alive is fear."

It almost sounds like she's speaking from experience, and I file it away for later, as something to consider asking about in the not-so-distant future when we're not standing in the ocean after nightfall, me fighting off a persistent, if low-level, panic attack.

"Oh," he said, sounding curious, though, admittedly, he had something of an inclination of where she was heading with an opening like that. There were only so many options, after all, and he could already name a few of them. "What else?"

"Every action has a reaction equal in magnitude and opposite in direction," Layla said, shrugging a little, and noticing she was cold from the air, not the water, when she did so. She shrank back a little and ducked down to re-wet her hair, leaning back momentarily to do so. She came upright again, wringing it out a little and pushing it away from her shoulders.

"Say fear is enough to keep you from actively ending your life. What is it, then, that keeps you actively living it? Because from what I've seen, you're not exactly cowering in a corner waiting for the inevitable to hit."

"I've been actively cowering from water," he pointed out, his arms crossed. Though there was only so much he could make out of her in the moonlight, his gaze lingered over chest, seeking out every distraction he could get. A part of him wanted to get it over with, just dunk his head under the water and call it a night -- accomplish whatever it was Layla had set out to do by bringing him out there in the first place -- but he couldn't bring himself to move. "Which, I mean, save for the dinosaurs, is one of the more obvious means of dying on this island."

She sighed and leaned back, letting her feet leave the sand again as she started swimming, lazily, but at least it was moving.

"So you don't want to live?"

"Nope, didn't say that," he replied, letting his voice carry so that she could still hear it. "Just that you weren't entirely right."

"I'm doubling back," she replied, although apparently she meant in the conversation, because she didn't start swimming back to shore.

"I asked you why you didn't want to die, anymore, and you said it's because you're a coward. Okay. Are there any reasons you want to live?"

"There'd have to be, wouldn't there?"

As Jamie watched her swim with a keen eye, his panic never quite subsiding, that twisted, impulsive part of him that still spoke up every once in a while whispered to go join her, that the water was fine, and he had nothing to worry about -- not when one of his reasons for wanting to live was right out there with him.

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

She groaned, rolling her eyes, but smiled, and let her head fall back and her body follow, disappearing under the water. She stayed gone for a few long moments before she came up again, hair heavy with water and not pushed back, considerably closer.

"You're about to officially lose your right to give me crap about straight answers."

"What can I say?" he replied, flashing her a quick grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I learned from the best."

"Come on," she prompted, crossing her arms low across her ribs, half in the water, "one good reason you want to live."

I could say Moira or Rahne or the fact that Theresa hasn't had to live through the hell of watching me reabsorb our son. I could even just deflect with another glib remark, because glib remarks are something I excel at. Of all the things I've learned over the years, avoidance is unique in that I'm pretty sure I picked it up all on my own, no dupes required. In the end, though, I can't quite shake that voice nagging me in the back of my head -- do something unexpected, it says, tell the truth.

"You," he said simply after a moment's deliberation. He was breaking every rule in the noir handbook -- if such a thing existed -- with such an admission, but it was undeniably true. Still, he averted his gaze, and when he spoke again, his voice was only just loud enough to be heard over the water. "You're a good reason to want to live."

Layla's expression slipped a little from sheer surprise that was being tightly reigned in by habitual nonchalance. Her fingers dug into her arms so that they wouldn't.

"I wasn't angling for that," she said, after a moment.

I really wasn't. It's actually surprising as hell to hear. I could almost feel guilty, but I guess I'm a better alternative than not having a reason.

And it's nice to hear.

"Yeah, well, I feel like I just walked into the third act of a bad rom-com," he said, pressing his fingers briefly to the bridge of his nose. After a moment, though, he let his hand drop back down to his side, sighing. "Doesn't make it less true."

As someone who knows the ending, I can safely say this is not a rom-com. Matters of taste aside, however, bringing that up at this juncture probably wouldn't be helpful.

"Okay," Layla said, and let out a breath that was too purposeful and quiet to be a sigh. She put her hands on his shoulders, the way you did when you were about to shake someone awake or say the words Stay with me, here. She ducked her head to an angle where she could meet his eyes.

"Don't panic."

This was some of the better advice that had ever been put to paper, Layla had always thought. It had, at least, served her well on a pretty regular basis since a very early age. It was applicable to just about every conceivable situation, including several she was currently in, not that she had said it for her sake. Or not entirely, anyway.

Before he could argue it, she leaned up and kissed him. Her pulse seemed to jump start.

Don't panic.

Given that he'd been panicking since the second he'd step foot in the water, Layla's advice, such as it was, seemed a little late to Jamie. Still, he forced himself to take a deep breath per her instruction, a course of action that was at complete odds with every instinct fighting its way for control over his body.

It's not the first time we've kissed, but it's not something we've done so often that it's become familiar, either. There's a novelty to it still that makes my already racing heart beat faster, and the anxiety slips away into the background, waiting to make its presence known the second we pull away.

Like I really needed any more incentive to want to stick around.

Sighing against her mouth, he tilted his head to better the angle, and his hands tentatively rested on her hips underneath the water, holding her but not bringing her any closer. Given what had happened the last time, he had every intention of letting her guide them through this, and set the pace. He didn't want to lose his anchor, after all.

Edited 2010-04-02 20:51 (UTC)

Layla lifted her hands from his shoulders to slide them along his jaw, instead. She shivered a little.

Because the water was cold. Absolutely why.

He wasn't bolting, which was a good sign. She parted her lips against his mouth, just slightly.

While Jamie moved deliberately as a general rule anyway -- a side-effect of his constant over thinking -- the small step he took towards Layla seemed especially careful, though whether it was because of the resistance from the water or fear was up for debate. His toes curled in the sand and without truly deepening the kiss, he parted his lips in turn.

I've got a pretty solid grasp on who I am, as a person. Certain words just aren't really applicable, have never been a part of my vocabulary, in that regard. Sweet, for example. It's just not something I related to or focused on or cared much about. It's kind of useless, sweet. Like 'nice'. Who needs it?

But even I can admit, that under the million other things that this is, because it's loaded, and it's a lot- under everything else that this kiss is, it's sweet. And I can't even manage to feel too stupid about it.

Layla fitted her arms about his shoulders as she fitted her mouth better to his in slow, sure increments. The swell of a wave lifted her a little, and set her down closer to him, but she dragged her toes in the sand so it wasn't too much so. There was a happy side effect to their current situation, which was Jamie not thinking, let alone over thinking. The water- hopefully- at least not in the obvious ways- was the last thing on his mind.

Edited 2010-04-03 07:11 (UTC)

"Mmnlayla?" he murmured, easing out of the kiss after a few moments, though he didn't go very far, his lips still brushing against her mouth, just barely. His train of thought was notably aborted, however, because he proceeded to gently catch her bottom lip with his mouth before giving her a chance to answer, his hands sliding up her back.

"Uh huh?" she breathed back, fingers curling in his hair. It was a place for her to focus the considerable tension in her body and stop her from letting herself just go on something as unreliable as instinct.

It was a few more moments before he spoke again, his nails dragging lightly across wet skin. "What," he asked, pressing another kiss to the corner of her mouth, "exactly does this mean?"

Layla shivered again, her face turning into the touch of his mouth.

"What does what mean?"