butterflyfactor | (no subject)

Entry tags:

home plot,
jamie

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The early years of her life aside, Layla hadn't spent much time wrapped up in luxury. She'd gone from orphanage to what was effectively the team's Bowery barracks to run-down, borderline post-apocalyptic ruins. The island wasn't bad, although real mattresses, couches, pretty much anything from Pottery Barn would have been nice. As much as she enjoyed her living situation, particularly that time spent in bed- at least since she and Jamie had gotten their acts together- she was immediately aware that whatever situation she was waking up to was better. She shifted a little as she woke up, groggily recognizing the feel of soft, airy cotton sheets dragging against her skin, tangentially aware of a soft pliant mattress beneath her that didn't sag or give any hint as to what was holding it up. Real luxury.

The air didn't smell like the island air. To begin with, it was crisp, void of humidity, vaguely pine-scented. She cracked one eye open toward the nearest source of light, which was coming in a broad balcony window that framed the forested mountains beyond. It was breathtaking. Also, highly unexpected.

I know this view, but not because I've seen it before. Not exactly. I know I'm looking out at Latveria from the exquisite stone framing of my room's balcony the same way I know what kind of crap Rahne tries to pull after she gets all preggers- because my future self told me so. Kinda sorta. Anyway, I know for sure I don't arrive in Latveria by just waking up- wearing the clothes I went to sleep in, or lack thereof, on the island- in a guest suite. Which means this is... All wrong.

I also know that I don't turn up with anyone else in tow.

Layla pushed herself up onto her elbows, looking around the room from behind a messy fall of blond hair before her gaze landed on the sleeping Jamie Madrox beside her.

He was probably gonna freak out. She sort of wanted to let him sleep and just.... avoid that, for a while. Maybe get up, take the tour, figure out what the what was happening, and then come back. If he woke up while she was gone, though, he'd probably freak out more.

She reached over and shook his shoulder gently.

"Jamie." She tapped him, realizing what the result would be if they were, indeed, in Latveria and, therefore, home (or somewhere like it).

"Jamies. Wake up."

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"Where's the fun in that?" he asked, and it wasn't entirely clear whether or not he was being sincere in the sentiment. All things considered, he wasn't much of a brawler -- which wasn't to say he was no good at it, because he was, skilled in several different forms of combat at that, but he was an easy target to underestimate. He didn't have the same itch for violence that other people in their line of work suffered from; his homesickness was generally born of feeling of uselessness, of being unable to help out in any significant way. Helping Doom after so long of helping no one didn't strike him as something particularly ideal.

"For you, or for me?" she mumbled as she strode for the double doors at the end of the hall, which began to swing open. She stopped.

"Miss Miller," the voice boomed, reverberating out of an iron mouth and off the slate and masonry walls.

"You need not have brought an escort in tow."

"He's tenacious," Layla said with an easy shrug.

"Thank you for the hospitality, Doctor," Layla said with what almost could have been a kind of curtsy, and at least showed off the dress.

"It suits you," Doom replied.

"She's engaged," said Jamie, folding his arms over his chest. It was hard to look particularly intimidating in the getup his dupe had picked out -- he really did look like an overgrown Hobbit -- but he wasn't about to sit back while Doom ogled his girlfriend, even if this was a dream (which in itself brought a few worrying implications, but that wasn't all that important, given the matter at hand).

"No ring, no promises," Layla said blithely.

"Doctor, you have some questions for me."

"That I surprisingly do," Doom replied, and made a grand sweeping gesture which Layla took as a sign to start walking. The despot didn't wait for Jamie before he turned and did the same.

"And I believe you possess several for me."

"That," Layla said, "surprisingly, I do."

Does no one wait around here?

"Sorry, I wasn't aware we were speaking in cryptic today, should I have brought my decoder ring?" Jamie asked, following suit. Whatever requests Layla had made earlier were, apparently, going to go distinctly forgotten. He had a mouth, he was going to use it. "I've got a few questions of my own, not that anyone is going to answer them."

"And if anything were to befall your associate-"

"I would be significantly less forthcoming, yes," Layla said. She glanced over her shoulder at Jamie.

I can't tell if he thinks this is cute or not. It's not.

Jamie merely flashed Layla a smile that belied the fact that he was, of course, purposefully disregarding any and all of her instructions. Were any of this actually real, he might have begrudgingly forced himself to abide by her warning, but as it was, he felt no need to; they were performing with a net. There was no real concern.

She didn't really respond, just looked back ahead with the barest rolling of her eyes.

"There's some technology, I believe, that you have for me."

"Doomtech is not something many are permitted to wield," Doom countered.

"That is ambitious of you, Miss Miller."

"I've been accused of worse," Layla said.

"If your concerns lie in technology, aiding you will be a trifling matter, to be sure."

"Great. Then we'll be able to move on to the mysticism pretty quickly." Doom stopped walking as they reached another door, to regard Layla, who had also stopped to look up at him with her hands clasped innocuously behind her back. He didn't speak for a moment.

"Very well," he said. Layla looked at Jamie.

"I'll be back soon."

"...you're joking, right?" said Jamie, flatly. He hadn't actually expected, of course, that he'd be permitted to watch whatever it was Layla needed to learn from Doom (and vice versa), but he was no less impressed for the confirmation than he was for the hunch. He frowned at Layla, not bothering to hide his contempt for the situation they'd found themselves in.

"You really want me to keep the door company while you two go off and do God only knows?"

"You're the funny one, Jamie," Layla countered, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm as serious as mutant uprising."

"Miss Miller's honor is hardly at risk," Doctor Doom said with what Layla had to assume was a glower in Jamie's direction.

"Since there wasn't much of it to begin with," she added.

"Do not touch anything," Doom commanded, and started into the next room. Layla stepped up to Jamie, her gaze suddenly sharp.

"I told you, I need to do this. So I'm doing it."

"And I'm not technically stopping you," Jamie replied, holding up his hands in what was, decidedly, mock surrender. "But if you think I'm going to stand here without comment, then I'm afraid you'll have to be disappointed."

"Disappointment," Layla said, "Right. Because that's a foreign concept to me." She turned and started through the door.

"Try not to get lost."

"What, no kiss goodbye?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. He was, in a word, concerned. That being left behind to play sentry in Doom's Latverian stronghold rankled was secondary to all of this; even if he knew, intellectually, that none of what was happening was real, the idea of letting Layla just go didn't sit well. Looking at her now, a part of him couldn't help but wonder if they wouldn't have been better off just staying in the room they'd woken up in, though he quickly dismissed the thought as pointless.

"I'll be here."

Even if you don't want me to be.

It wasn't a short wait.

It took me hours to find out two things, neither of which were at all helpful: One, that Jamie was right, and two- so was I. There are questions I have that Doom answered, but he answered them wrong. I know he did. And the reason he did is because I didn't know the right answers. But I did learn a thing or two, regardless, which isn't to say that knowledge will be of any use to me when we wake up.

I'm pissed.

Layla strode through the heavy double doors as they burst open ahead of her. She didn't touch them. She did lift a hand with an almost delicate-looking silver gauntlet on and made a gesture, and the doors didn't so much close as splinter behind her.

She kept on straight, aiming for the front room, knowing the sound would bring Jamie running back to see what was happening, if he wasn't already sulking nearby.

"We're getting out of here," she said, only half to herself.

"Well, you sure as hell know how to make an entrance," said a dupe from behind her. Prime was elsewhere, having sent out a number of his duplicates out to explore the surrounding areas. With nothing else to except wait an inordinately long time, it had seemed prudent, even if it was all a dream. If nothing else, it'd kept him -- all of him -- occupied, the worry not so sharp from the distraction. Sweeping in beside Layla to fall into step, the dupe eyed her arm with interest, and added, "We were right, weren't we?"

"First off, you sound like the Borg. Or the pope. Equally creepy. Second off, you were, but so was I." She pulled the cape off with a flourish and discarded it as she walked, then stopped in the middle of the great front room.

"Any idea where the rest of you is?"

"You know, you actually kinda look like a--" started the dupe, but he was interrupted by the sudden presence of Prime, who'd seemingly popped up out of nowhere. It was part of the noir mystique, after all, right there in the handbook underneath wisecracks and a distinct lack of crying.

"Around," said Prime, answering Layla's question, since the dupe had failed to do as much. He looked, for a moment, like he wanted to shove his hands in his pockets to affect his desired nonplussed air, but was prevented by the fact that he had no pockets. He settled by folding his arms over his chest. "Where's Doom?"

"Not important," Layla said, lifting her gauntlet clad hand above her head.

"Stand close to me and call back any of your missing parts, we're going to blow this joint."

Layla had always had a knack for creating more questions than answers, and apparently that talent wasn't dampened even when they'd all but left reality. Two identical pairs of blue eyes scanned the immediate area for any sign of Doom, but were met with nothing; given Layla's general air of haste, however, and Jamie's own desire to get the hell out of this place, he decided to stop wasting time.

"Is this to make up for the lack of goodbye kiss?" asked Prime, getting in close before extending both of his hands outwards, and falling silent. From what he could tell, none of his dupes were far, but it required a degree of concentration to absorb anything from a distance. For a long moment nothing happened after the first dupe was returned with little ceremony, but then the room around them was full of movement, the dupes' bodies elongated into ribbons of peach and green and brown that stretched and twisted through the air, all coming to a dead end in the center of Prime's chest.

It stopped as abruptly as it started, but the exercise left Jamie winded and disoriented as he tried to sort through a dozen set of memories. He stumbled back a step, blinking hard from the head rush, and grabbed a hold of Layla's shoulder to steady himself.

"Nearly forgot what that felt like," he murmured.

She glanced up at him.

"But only nearly."

A yellow square of light appeared on the floor beneath them, growing in brightness with each passing moment until the was a beam that enveloped and illuminated them.

It rose, and Layla knew if anyone had been watching, they'd have seen herself and Jamie disappearing from the legs up, slowly, like a drawing on a slate being wiped clean.

When the light was blinding, passing over their faces and heads, she had a brief moment of not knowing if it was going to work or not. In the next instant the Doomlock had winked out of existence, and they stood on the cool, dark bank of the Seine at night time, the water dark and lapping quietly at the stone, the gaslamps and electric lights of bars and flats twinkling down at them from their place under the slender bridge they'd appeared under.

Not bad, Layla thought, turning her hand over the way one might admire their manicure, taking in the slender silver gauntlet.

Effectively useless by all real world standards, but in these circumstances- not bad.

Well, that was unexpected.

Letting his hand drop from Layla's shoulder, Jamie blinked at their new surroundings, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the low light. He took an uncertain step forward out from the shadow of the bridge, then returned to her side, his gaze questioning.

"We're in France," he said, stating the obvious. He'd lived there for a time, after all, it didn't take much to clue him into where they were. The real questions were why and how. "You... took us to France."

"You know until I landed on the island, I'd never really been out of the Tri-State?" Layla said, starting to walk out from under the bridge. A long set of narrow stone steps led up to the street and she stopped at their foot.

She turned back to look at him, eyes glittering as darkly blue as the water, not from some heightened sense of romanticism but from barely suppressed, deeply frustrated tears she wouldn't let fall.

"And I could murder a croissant right now, so."

"What the hell happened in there?" Jamie demanded, immediately following after her. He was starting to feel like a satellite, about as autonomous as a freshly made dupe, and the act was wearing thin. He caught her by the arm to prevent her from going further, concern underlying his annoyance, but not the overwhelming emotion written plain across his face all the same. That close to her, it didn't escape his notice that she was upset, but it was a knowledge he couldn't put into practical use just then, even if he loosened his hold on her arm to reach for her face instead, cupping her cheek in his palm.

"Please?"

She pulled away from him, drawing inward and wrapping her arms around herself.

"Nothing. Nothing happened. He gave me the glove and I just knew how to make it work. I knew everything he was going to say the instant he started saying it. Like deja vu that wouldn't stop. There may have been truth in some of it, but I can't know that."

Not just that I don't. I can't. Can't. It's worse than being on the island, for all that that's a frustrating situation. Dressed up in the trappings of home, doubting what I know feels even more desperate, leaves me even more lost.

Jamie sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose with the very hand he'd used in his failed attempt to comfort her; he wasn't sure what to do. There weren't many words of reassurance he could offer, after all, since this is all a dream was sort of besides the point. This world, imagined though it may be, was giving him a taste of his old life back, but it necessarily couldn't give Layla a taste of hers.

"No, you can't," he agreed, because it was the only thing he knew to say. "And I'm sorry for that, Layla."

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