butterflyfactor | The Calm After the Storm

Layla had woken up with no Jamie beside her, and for a moment felt a queer sort of panic that made her question her sanity more than the island usually did. After a moment, during which time Richards had slunk up the bed to tuck his wet nose against her jaw and wag his tail a little, she recalled that she had been up, earlier, to let the dog in, and Jamie had been there beside her, asleep.

So she'd passed out from sheer exhaustion again. She could hardly blame herself. She gave Richards' some belly rubbing, then crawled out of bed and into jeans and a tank top, forgoing underwear or a hairbrush, and padded still-sleepily for the door.

Until she remember the Doomtech and small cylinder on her own bed. She went immediately to them and made a show- albeit for no one's sake but Richards'- of hiding them, wondering if Jamie had poked his head in when he'd gotten up and seen them anyway.

Surely, they'd talk about it later. One way or the other. It tied into her fabulous yacht party story, anyhow.

She spent a moment in her own room to twist her hair into a messy knot at the nape of her neck and tie it there before she slipped into her chunky rain boots, jeans scrunched up along the tops, and started out into the still storm-tossed morning. She hoped she didn't have to go far.

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"Yeah," Layla said mildly, "there's been a few major shifts to the way the world looks. Ones that have nothing to do with the hurricane."

She didn't look directly at him as she said it, because she thought it was all just a bit... precious. Three words shouldn't have any effect on how a day dawns, but she'd woken up and it had seemed different, anyhow. Go figure.

"You're getting romantic in your old age," he quipped after a beat, though he found he couldn't actually look at her as he said it, either. There was, suffice it to say, a change in their dynamic, one he hadn't anticipated in the least, though he couldn't bring himself to mind it. Which didn't mean he wasn't mildly -- Let's be honest, here... It's more than mildly. -- terrified at what this all meant, both for them as a couple and him as a reluctant individual, but he couldn't deny it was nice, which made the knowledge that she might've died because a couple of Avengers decided to assemble all the more frustrating.

"Should I pick you some flowers?"

"Nah," Layla said, "even pretty dead things make questionable gifts." In a gesture that was telling only because it happened, where usually it wouldn't have, she ran a hand over the back of her neck and down, to hook idly over her own shoulder. It stayed there.

"You're more creative than that, anyway."

"I am," he agreed with no lack of ego, his hand slipping from her elbow to the small of her back. Arching an eyebrow, he canted his head to the side, fixing her with a curious glance. "Do I need to tell you again? I don't... I'm new at this, Layla, and you're hard to read on a good day."

Layla stopped, reaching a hand out to catch Jamie's arm. The lines of her mouth managed to contract enough to facsimilate a smile, but it was brief.

"No," she said, fingers curling in his sleeve. "No, I know, now, and it's... plenty. It's enough."

Stopping as well, he turned to face her properly, though his gaze dropped down, briefly, to her hand. "Well, just in case it isn't..." he said, forcing himself to meet her eyes. "I love you, Layla Miller."

"Okay," she said, eyes widening a little, and slid a hand over his mouth.

"I believe you. Don't say it too much, I don't ever want to get used to it." She dropped her hand to his chest and leaned up on her toes to kiss him lightly on the lips.

"I love you, too."

Still weird. Still awesome. Running with it.

"Good," he said, breathing a sigh of relief as he leaned forward a little to press his forehead to hers. Much as he meant it, it felt awkward, still, to actually say so aloud, and idly, he wondered if he was really so damaged that he couldn't utter a simple I love you without feeling like a fraud. "Can you... not say it too much, either? Because the whole lovey-dovey thing, it's... Well, it's not us, you know? We're never going to be one of those couples on the cover of a romance novel, and I'm... sort of okay with that."

"I'm so beyond okay with that," Layla answered, closing her eyes briefly at the touch.

"Romance novels are for suckers."

"That they are," he agreed, pressing his lips to hers in a quick, chaste kiss. One corner of his mouth hitched up in a teasing smirk. "Now c'mon, you smell, and it's a really sad state of affairs when I'm exhibiting better personal hygiene habits than you."

"Didn't bother you this morning," she shot back, her own smile just as teasing if worlds more sly, before she started forward. Almost back to normal, she could feel it. She just had to shake the last vestiges of the fear and uncertainty that had gripped her during the storm- two things she did not cope well with, she had to admit, at this point- and she'd be back on her game.

She was sure of it.

The Calm After the Storm

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