butterflyfactor | (no subject)

"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.

"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.