Log [Alison, Jamie] During the BBQ...

[x-dazzler.livejournal.com]

During the BBQ, people get splashed of course, which is always bound to happen. Alison won't be wearing a white shirt near the water again for some time, now though, and Jamie realizes that not remembering stuff is still sometimes a clear indication of things leaving a mark.

Anyone could splash around in the pool and have fun at a pool party--and, in fact, several people were doing just that.  There was a higher calling, however, in making sure everyone was included in the fun.  What was the use of going to a pool party if you didn't plan to get wet?

In pursuit of this higher calling, Jamie snuck up behind Alison, a bucket of water held at the ready.
She was leaning on the railing watching Artie and Miles take turns dunking each other, but she'd made no move toward the pool herself--wasn't even dressed for it, in shorts and a sleeveless white top.  Completely substandard behavior for a pool party, and Jamie wasn't about to stand for it--especially not when he needed to stay in a half-crouch to make the most of the available cover. A few more steps was all he needed.

The sun was beating down on her, the stinging on her shoulders both a comfort and not – at least the top was white and thus cool, which meant that she'd be fine just watching until the boys were done. She hadn't wanted to ruin Miles' fun and though jumping in was out of the question. The whys and wherefores of this caused her to look away from the pool – a simple attempt to regain control on her expression, to keep from snarling to herself quietly. The scars extended too much, and there simply wasn't any bathing suit that would cover them entirely. The looking away also meant she entirely missed the motion nearby, the sloshing of water in the bucket lost in that of the merry screams resonating around the pool and the water being splashed about energetically.

Jamie's aim was perfect--the water landed squarely between Alison's shoulderblades, plastering the top to her back . . . and, as the white cloth turned transparent, revealing five thick, blackened furrows, straight as razors, running diagonally from her shoulder almost to her waist.  Jamie froze, staring--those were new, they had to be, and there was something, something about the spacing, or the depth, or the look of them, something horribly familiar that he couldn't quite place.

It didn't take long--a split second--for him to realize what it meant that he couldn't remember why those scars seemed familiar.  Jamie's memory was, ordinarily, perfect.  It had to be, to organize half-a-dozen or more simultaneous experiences.  If he tried, he could remember every single moment of his life--his lives--since the day his mutation manifested.  Except for one set of memories, that were as blurred and faded as the nightmares they still occasionally triggered.  Skippy's memories.  Skippy, who had endured brutal torture and even more brutal training under Sabretooth's claws.  Skippy, who had worn scars like Alison's almost everywhere on his body, before that body had disintegrated in the quarry.

Jamie wanted to run, or apologize; all he could manage to do was stand there, staring, and try very hard not to be sick.

Alison's head had snapped around as the cold water hit – breath being held in from the sudden cold, any other reactions stopped on the spot for being unreliable and likely extreme. The expression on Jamie's face wiped away any of the sudden and near overwhelming anger though, thoughts easily skipping from 'wet damn it and surprised which is Not Good' to 'white goes transparent when wet' in the span of a few seconds. Thinning her lips she turned slightly, putting her back away from the sight of any of the others at the pool. They would show though, she knew. Exquisitely well.

"Jamie. Could you please get me a towel?" Her front was nearly dry, of course – Jamie had aimed carefully, which was only as it should be, under normal conditions.

"Towel."  Jamie blinked.  "Towel?  Towel!"  There was one draped over the back of a chair; he grabbed it convulsively and held it out. "That--those--you . . . that was him.  Wasn't it?"

"Not here." Taking the towel Alison wrapped it around her shoulders carefully, before giving the pool one last piercing look. Miles was at the shallow end, being tossed about by one of the kids and having a wonderful time. She could step away for a little bit.

"Come on." Towel securely held in place, Alison started to walk away from the pool, breathing slowly and evenly. Keeping control. "I'd rather not talk about that here."

"No, I--no, of course, I'm sorry, I just--"  Jamie waved a hand lamely, hurrying to catch up.  "Kind of a shock."

It was not, Alison decided, possibly for her shoulders, neck or back to get any stiffer than they already were. It was the shock of someone finding out like this, really - and that someone being Jamie, whose dupe had been in Sabertooth's grasp no less. "It would be." Her voice was too short and she wasn't giving him any room to relax or absorb things, she knew. And hated that, intensely so. Finally she stopped, taking a deep breath and turned around, the heat of the day completely unnoticed as the towel firmly stayed wrapped around her shoulders.

"Happened a few weeks ago. He... knocked me out. Took me under Ryker's island. Team got me out. Lucked out, combination of things got me healed." The words were short and clipped, Alison nonetheless managing to offer Jamie a pained look, breath coming a bit short. Mingled apology for being unable to speak easily, a desperate need for control of some sort to be there piercing through.

Jamie nodded--and he was calming down, room or no room, his breathing steadying and some color coming back to is face.  "I wondered--about the rest of it," he said, voice still a little ragged.  "He marked Skippy like that, almost the first thing--and yours, that was what really spooked me, that it looked . . . deliberate."  He grimaced.

"And I hate that I can tell the difference, by the way.  But if he had time to do that much, he . . . wouldn't have stopped there. 

"I'm glad the rest got healed."  Jamie shook his head abruptly.  "And I'm sorry, I--if it's too hard to talk about, I understand, we can stop and I won't say another word.  But if it isn't, if it'd help--" He managed a brief, wry smile.  "I'm going to be finding unforeseen consequences to Skippy for the rest of my life, I think.  If it helps to know that you're not alone, that somebody else went through what you did, I'm here.  You don't have to keep control of yourself to hide anything from me--I know it already, God help me."

"I'm still not all that good about talking about it." The words were short and clipped, though Jamie still earned himself a smile. "But I'm talking to Charles." Her voice went up, wavered a little at that, though she forced it into smoothness on the last word. Control wasn't going to be let go of for a while yet, the only thing she could cling to – and she was, with stubborn blind desperation.

But of anyone here... Jamie knew. This, specifically, pertinently and as personally as it got. And there was a comfort in reigning any other reaction in, including the not so small corner of her mind which wanted to do nothing more than to find a hiding place to crawl into and stay in. Forever. "Wish you hadn't seen it because you don't need the reminder. But if anyone had to I'm glad it's you because you know." Not to push, not to wonder, so many other things as well. The blurted out words stopped though, at that point, and Alison just settled on taking another breath, slowly and unsteadily. Shivering slightly, knuckles white as she clung to the towel around her shoulders.

Jamie reached out reflexively at Alison's shiver, but stopped short of contact--giving her the option Skippy never had, to decide when to stop, how much to deal with all at once.  "Reminders I can handle."

There was a hint of surprise in his voice, as if he hadn't quite realized it was true until he said it.  "And talking to the Professor is about the best thing you can possibly do right now.  But when it gets to where talking about it isn't the same as living through it, and it will . . . when you get there, I'll be waiting, and the offer stands. Anything I can do, and even some things I can't."

"Okay." Nodding stiffly, keeping all the memories crawling in the back of her mind as far away as she could, Alison let go of the towel with one hand, offering a small gesture of assent. Not reaching out, not initiating contact – but letting go of the towel, however briefly so. "I should go change." She'd bought more than a few new articles of clothing, lately. All of which covered her back nicely. "Would you mind keeping an eye on Miles for me 'till I get back?" That Miles didn't know was clear in the tension which ratcheted up slightly at the mention of the boy's name, the worry showing through as Alison glanced back towards the pool

"Absolutely.  I'll break out a cannonball contest if I have to--keep him nice and occupied until you get back.  Take as long as you need." Jamie smiled gently, hoping she knew that he understood it might be longer than what a simple change of clothes required, and why. "As long as you need.  We'll be fine."

"Okay." And after having taken a few steps in the direction of the mansion, she paused and turned to look over her shoulder, giving him a faint smile. "Thank you, Jamie."