October 18, 2023

Jamie hasn't been this pissed in ages.

The rage should have subsided already, she thinks as she trails up the stairs after Nathan, glaring at his back. She had her moment to be furious on the boat and should be super zen again by now.

If this vacation hadn't been shoveling stress onto her in heaps, maybe she would've been able to let it go easier. But she can't. Nathan put himself in terrible danger, almost died, all because he somehow convinced himself it would be better for her that way, and oh my fucking god why are men so incredibly stupid?

Her hands, stuffed into the pockets of Nathan's go-to brown jacket, clench into fists. The jacket is currently the only article of clothing between the two of them that isn't sopping wet; Nathan had already taken it off way before entering the Doctor's Venetian lair. Jamie was going to be stubborn and decline when he offered it to her, but it turns out her principles aren't quite unshakeable when her teeth are chattering and her skin is riddled with goosebumps. Plus, the jacket may be too big for her, but it's warm and soft and it has that nice Nathan scent, so maybe it's worth holding on to a little longer.

Nathan opens the door to their hotel room in awkward slow-motion. Jamie has barely said a word to him since her outburst and his subsequent apology. He might be mistaking it for the silent treatment, but she's doing him a favour. The whole situation is too much for her and she still can't guarantee she'll be able to open her mouth without snapping at him some more. And he's suffered enough of that.

He lets her enter the room first, holding the door open all sheepish, watching her with this heartwrenching kicked-puppy look. Jamie doesn't have a clue what to do with that right now. She doesn't even know how to stop feeling so angry and cold.

Nathan doesn't seem to know what exactly he should do with himself, either. He lingers by his bed, staring at his still remarkably organized suitcase as if doing it hard enough may send dry, undamaged clothes float over to him through telekinesis.

He should be getting himself clean and treating his wound, but he must still be too distraught to do so. "For the record, I, um... I really am so sorry, Jamie."

"I know," Jamie manages to reply. "I'm sorry, too."

Sorry for every harsh word she allowed to slip out, even though some of them truly had to be said—she got carried away, shouldn't have struck with quite so much verbal force. Sorry for not being chill again when she ought to be over it already, when she should've left it miles behind her as easily as she would a revenant or a not-deer.

She doesn't want to be mad at Nathan anymore. She'd rather kiss him a little. Or a lot. But she's been putting a lot of work into evading the massive mess that would become, and jeopardizing everything good about them because she's all over the place emotionally is a kind of fallout she can't deal with on top of everything else. Nothing should happen and nothing will. Get real already.

Jamie draws the curtains halfway closed. She isn't in a mood for all the bright sunshine streaming in.

"Can we talk about what happened properly?" Nathan asks. "Just... Have a normal conversation about it, without screaming this time. There are a couple more things I think I need to say."

Jamie would like such a do-over. Just not right now. She turns back to him to tell him as much, but oh Jesus H. Christ.

Nathan found the motivation to rummage through his luggage for a change of outfit, but took off the sad remains of his wet T-shirt somewhere along the way.

Jamie's brain short-circuits. She's very normal about this, totally not distracted by his shirtlessness. She doesn't care about the fact he obviously works out or the way the muscles in his arms move or the faint happy trail leading into his jeans. None of that is important whatsoever.

"Thoughts?" Nathan follows up, hesitant, when she spends too much time being mesmerized and too little formulating a reply. It takes Jamie a moment to remember that the thought he's searching for is her opinion on his request, not I'm thinking you're fine as hell and you'd look even better in my bed.

"Talk, yeah, we... We should do that." Jamie turns away fast to hide her intense blushing, mumbling curses under her breath. Angry and horny are without a doubt the worst combo deal on the spectrum of human emotion. "But I need more time to cool down before we do."

"Got it."

Jamie should gather some clean clothes of her own. She sets about completing this task, which requires a lot more searching and walking around for her than it did for Nathan. Jamie's side of their room is about as tidy as a post-combat battlefield.

This is inconvenient most of the time, but a blessing right now. She can't hunt for sweatpants and ogle Nathan at the same time.

"Besides, we're in no comfortable state to talk yet," she adds for good measure. "All cold and wet. We ought to take a shower first."

"Uh... You mean showers, plural?"

Jamie almost drops the T-shirt she just snatched off the windowsill. God, what in the seven hells is wrong with her today?

"Yes, that's what I mean. Stupid mistake." She grits her teeth in frustration. None of this is good for her blood pressure, but at least a moment of reprieve is close. She's scavenged everything she needed. "You should go first. The sooner you're done, the sooner you can start taking care of that wound."

The receptionist downstairs, inhospitable as she may have been, took pity on them when they came in so haggard and promised to have a first-aid kit ready for them to pick up soon. As far as she's aware, Nathan got attacked by a dog.

Nathan hesitates. "You won't get too cold waiting?"

What did I even do to deserve you?

"I'm not waiting until you're done. Stella has a shower, too, so I'll disturb her peace and ask to use hers." Jamie moves past him, avoiding eye contact so she can't be tempted to do anything they'll both regret. "We can talk when I get back."

"Thanks. Are you... really sure you're okay?"

Disregarding the cancelled thing, the murderous revenant thing, the family drama thing and the being hopelessly in love when she shouldn't be thing, Jamie is thriving like you wouldn't believe.

"I'm good, Nate." She pauses, closes her eyes for a split second. "We're good. I swear. I just need a goddamn shower."

She's out of their room in a flash after that, legging it through the corridor and towards Stella and Gino's temporary living quarters. Yesterday, in Verona, her sister told her over milkshakes that Gino would spend all day hanging out with old friends of his, catching FC Venezia's game on TV with them in the evening. Stella said she'd be joining him for the morning, but, in her own words: there's only so much regatta-reminiscing, soccer-speculation and complementary fantacalcio I can handle in a day.

(It was a good reminder for Jamie she should catch up with her sister and future brother-in-law more often. Half of those terms were lost on her.)

She checks her watch, which, unlike her poor phone, is fortunately still fully functional. It's early in the afternoon. Unless she went out for lunch, Stella should be in her hotel room, chilling. Jamie keeps her fingers crossed.

Once in front of Stella's door, she reconsiders her options. If her sister is here, she's most definitely going to ask questions—questions Jamie would rather avoid. Going back to her own room and waiting for Nathan to finish up would allow her to do so for certain. But the wet cold and her icy vexation have become so uncomfortable Jamie will risk braving Stella. Her desire to get doused in scalding water and wash every last bit of filth away is stronger than her desire run for the hills.

She just needs to keep things as uncomplicated as possible. Should be doable.

She raps on the door with unconcealed impatience.

It doesn't take long for her older sibling to show up in the doorway. When Stella sees her and the state she's in, she frowns, almost letting the novel she'd been reading slip out her hands in her shocked surprise.

"What.... happened to you...?"

She says it slowly, carefully, in an attempt to keep her voice neutral and free of judgment. She only partially succeeds. Jamie still picks up on traces of what she's fighting off—this special snippy Stella tone that's a mixture of concern, frustration and disappointment, reserved exclusively for little sisters with a nose for trouble.

It occurs to Jamie only now that she's still wearing Nathan's jacket, which may bring forth even more unwelcome questions than anticipated. Shit.

She's so completely fucked.

"A canal happened to me. Don't ask which one—there's too many of them out there." Jamie's answer is a little too curt. She tries to salvage it by smiling, but all she can conjure is a grimace. "Can I maybe sort of use your shower? Mine is occupied."

"A canal happened to you."

"Yeah. Didn't I tell you Nate and I are planning to go for a swim in all the major canal cities of Europe?" Jamie manoeuvres herself past her sister, into the room. "Once this trip is over, we're heading straight for Amsterdam and Bruges."

"Of course." Disbelief drips from Stella's voice like water from Jamie's clothes. She remains rooted in place by the door, but her gaze follows her younger sibling inside. She stares Jamie down, teetering on the precipice of launching a police-worthy interrogation procedure. If Jamie had to guess, she's still unsure if she'd like to assume the role of Good Cop or Bad Cop.

Jamie has neither the time nor the energy for such games. She clasps her hands together. "Do I get to shower here or not, Stel? The question loses its relevance if you're just going to stand there and wait until I'm air-dried."

"I suppose nobody else is in line waiting to use my shower." Stella closes the door with an exasperated sigh. She gestures in the bathroom's direction with her free hand, her book clutched tight in the other. "Go nuts."

Maybe Stella is backing down because Jamie radiates aggravation like it's fucking Chernobyl, or maybe she's taking pity. Perhaps she simply doesn't want Jamie leaving any more wet trails of dirty canal water on her floor. Either way, Jamie can work with it.

"Thank you, sister dearest. Means the world."

Stella does not reply.

Jamie disappears into the bathroom, strips, and gets into the shower. Her skin is so cold its warm downpour feels like it's burning. The steam gets so thick she could choke on it. This is a relief, a comfort, but she stands in it feeling lost. She wonders if there's any chance Stella will cut her more slack when she's done, though not for a long time.

There's a higher chance of her dissolving in the shower than there is of Stella not hounding her.

Jamie's thoughts scatter and drift everywhere and nowhere, breaking like drops of water once they hit the ground. This shower isn't actually so different from the one in her own room. It is, in fact, a carbon copy.

Same opaque glass door. Same white tiles in the wall. Same tube of lemongrass soap. There's no particular reason for her to be thinking about this, but she does it, anyway.

It eases the loneliness somehow.