butterflyfactor | (no subject)

"Do you have someplace else to be?" she asked, not letting go of his arm, tilting her head inquisitively to one side.

"Not an answer," he said in an almost sing-song voice, flashing her a tight smile. There were only so many places they could go this time of night, and since he doubted Layla had any interest in visiting half of them, he was at a greater loss than ever. "Come on, what's this about?"

"You," she said, which she felt was pretty straightforward. Her hand slipped, not away, but down a little so it was curled around his forearm. She didn't pull at him, she wasn't even really holding on, but she couldn't bring herself to break the contact yet.

It was the first they'd had in a while.

"Trust me," she said, more quietly.

I'd be lying if I said that was the answer I was expecting, because I wasn't, not in the least. It's enough to push me off-kilter, and the follow up's just as disorienting, sending my thoughts spiraling out in hundreds of different directions without so much as a friendly warning. Think fast, Madrox, you've got an x-factor in your midst.

His breath caught in his throat, and he stared at her with wide eyes. Suspicion was replaced with trepidation, and he swallowed, thickly, as he considered just what it was she was asking.

"I--" he started, then pressed his lips together in a thin line, ducking his head. He found himself strangely transfixed by her hand on his arm. After a moment, he spoke again, eyes flicking upwards to search hers. "F-Fine."

Layla stayed still while he took a moment to battle whichever million and one replies he'd come up with. When he met her eyes again she nodded, once. She imagined them just staying that way at the threshold of the hut for an indeterminate amount of time. She wouldn't have minded. But then she did tug him, forward toward the steps.

"Good. Come on." She didn't let her fingertips slip off his arm until she was at the bottom of the steps, and slinging the bag up onto her shoulder.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, following after her with no better idea of what she was up to than before. For the first time in a long time, it almost felt like being back at home.

She wasn't going to rush them there, but she didn't go at a stroll, either. There was a purpose behind the trip, after all.

"You know this was actually your idea," she told him as they walked.

"Fully realizing that I take a lot of late night walks, I fail to see how this was my idea," he said, trying to orient himself as he fell into step beside her, and figure out just where it was that she was leading him.

"Well, that's why you keep me on staff," Layla said, knowing that wasn't exactly accurate, and smiling a little for that fact.

"To tell you what your ideas are."

"Oh, really?" said Jamie, rolling his eyes as he stepped out around a rock in the middle of the path, looking back at her. "Well, if that's the case, tell me what this idea of mine was, then?"

"It was rather astute," she reassured him, ducking beneath a palm frond. She could hear the ocean through the trees.

"Though you weren't suggesting it for yourself, at the time. Or even directly. Still."

Water. Alright, so we're heading towards the beach. Whether or not that's our end destination remains to be seen, but that bag of hers could plausibly be holding a towel... Which means I'm suddenly fighting off a pretty telling sinking feeling.

"Still," he echoed, and the only reason he didn't turn around right then and there was that she'd outright asked him to trust her. He was already starting to wonder if he was going to regret that choice.

When they broke through the treeline to the sand, canopy no longer blocking the vast overhead array of stars, Layla silently took a deep breath in. As casual as anything, walked down the beach until she was about mid-way to the water, and set the bag down.

She had to admit, the ocean looked pretty beautiful at night. She turned back to look at him.

"If you wanted to go swimming, Layla, you didn't have to drag me along," he said, his voice deceptively light, and he hung back a little, keeping his distance. A part of him wanted to just duck and run right there, having already worked out what he thought, at least, was her plan for the evening.

It's not that I'm afraid of water. I probably should be, all things considered, but I'm not. It's what it reminds me of that's terrifying, the sense of helplessness and futility that drove me to jump off that cliff in the first place, and revisiting those feelings -- revisiting that day -- strikes me as wholly unnecessary, like I'm asking for trouble. I won't deny that the view is gorgeous, but I can appreciate it just as well from afar.

"I already told you," she said, "it's not about me."

She had slipped her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and stood still, making no move toward the water, watching Jamie wholly without judgment but with a certain air of expectation.

Jamie shook his head, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards in something of a humorless smile. A faint sound of disapproval escaped the back of his throat, though he was far enough away that he doubted she'd heard it.

"I'm not going in there."

"Why," she prompted, in too matter of fact a way to be described as gently. Still, it wasn't an easy thing she was asking him- more or less asking- to do.

"I'm a little overdressed," he replied flatly, gesturing to himself.

"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.