okteiviakom | An Island Somewhere Off the Coast, Thursday

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An Island Somewhere Off the Coast, Thursday

Wednesday had made it two weeks that Octavia, Duke and Lucifer had been out at sea on the OceaNyx. Things on Fandom had gone back to normal, according to Eric's texts on Tuesday, but they were still out here.

Octavia was pretty sure everyone agreed that their second week had been much worse than the first. What she wasn't sure about was whether the others were finding being on the boat to have gotten as suffocating now as she was. The only times she felt like she could really breathe was when they docked at one of the random islands.

Like at this one, right now.

She was sitting at what could charitably be referred to as a tiny stretch of beach, her shoes off, just her toes in the water. It was a grounding, sensory thing.

There had been such little room for screaming in the past week.

[ooc: NFB due to distance, open to the guys and for texts/calls.]

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"She told you she didn't want you to do that the way you were doing it," Lucifer said, rolling his eyes. "You were too busy being up your arse to hear it."

He waved a hand at where Octavia was going. "And now I'm done helping you," he said irritably, "Go see if she's even willing to speak to you again."

"I was trying to deal!" Duke said again, frustrated. Octavia was allowed to deal the way she felt she needed to but he wasn't?!

(Obviously, it was not that simple. But he was defensive and prickly and -- and Jordan had never been great at listening to anyone else's opinion on anything, either. . . .)

Duke let out a low, groaning sigh and stormed after Octavia. Not barefoot. Not bare-anything. He was even wearing a hat, which was definitely overkill.

But he was trying desperately to deal.

But Octavia had not been allowed to deal the way she felt she needed to. That was sort of a major part of the issue.

Right now, of course, she was still barreling on. What was her plan? Don't ask her. She'd get to the boat and figure it out.

And that left Lucifer standing on the beach. He hadn't even gotten to his own hurt feelings yet - both over the way the consequences of Duke's stupid bloody decision kept coming back to haunt Octavia and himself, and...

Well, look, Duke could touch him. And yet.

It felt -- weird. To touch Lucifer when he couldn't touch Octavia. Also, Lucifer was clearly pissed at him so he didn't feel welcome touching him. . . .

"Octavia!" Duke called. "I'm sick of this. Talk to me, okay?"

"Now you want to talk?" Octavia called back, glancing over her shoulder - just long enough to stumble a little, on something or other on the ground.

Whatever, she righted herself and kept moving.

"I haven't not wanted to talk. You keep storming off."

Well, that got Octavia to stop in her tracks and whir around.

"You shut down everything I had to say!"

It really was a good thing it was just them on this island, because she'd absolutely just screamed that at him.

"What?" Duke shook his head. "When? You told me to stop hiding my hands and then got mad that I was going to wear pajamas. And stormed off."

He was playing pretty loose on the definition of 'storming off' there, wasn't he?

Octavia was staring at him again, eyes wild and angry.

"I left because it hurt." For an extra bonus, so did this. "This isn't just happening to you, Duke, it's happening to us. It's happening to me, and I tried to get even a little bit of say in how you choose to keep me safe, and you shot me down!"

"Because this is all my fault!" Duke yelled back. He spun away, fisting his hands on top of his hat. "I did this to -- to all of us. So yeah, I'm the one who should have to clean it up!"

"No, what you're doing is pushing me away."

There was a difference. Quite a big one, in Octavia's book.

"Because everything I do hurts you! I get retroubled, you blame yourself. I let myself fall apart, and you fall apart harder. So I try to deal with things, and that messes you up, too? I can't win, Tavi, I don't even know what I'm doing anymore!"

This situation was just finding new ways to be hurtful, now. Octavia hated it.

Her voice went much lower, and more measured, and more precise. "All I needed," she said, "was any indication that you'd let me help figure out how to be safe without anyone getting isolated."

Her lips were a thin line.

"Any at all that you weren't just going to do whatever you, and only you, think is best. Again."

"Then -- fuck, Tavi, just say that! At least when Lucifer gets pissed at me, I know why."

Because he hadn't wanted to kill an infant. (That was not what Lucifer was mad at Duke about.)

"I don't know how to do this. I am making it up as I go along."

This was the longest, most consistent relationship he'd ever had in his life at this point. He really, truly did not know how to handle any of it.

"Listening would have been a good start."

Octavia knew only a fraction about what Lucifer had been telling him after she'd slipped out of earshot (slipped out, calm and quiet and soft, not stormed out), and yet she could tell none of it had landed.

And that was only one conversation.

Duke closed his eyes, hands still on his hat. "Okay. I'm listening now. What do you want to do?"

"I want to figure out how to get this fucking trouble to back off," Octavia replied, in that same even tone, "so I can try to get my boyfriend back."

No, that wasn't one of her words.

But she was trying to speak his language, trying to make a point.

That word felt a little like an attack. Duke swallowed it back and opened his eyes.

"I'm open to suggestions."

Octavia shook her head, the barest minimum of movement.

Voice gone even quieter. "I don't believe you."

Duke flinched.

He took a long breath in through his nose, and dropped his hands from his hat.

Didn't say anything. Because he was listening.

Octavia took a few slow breaths, too. This was the closest to him she'd felt all week. Because right now she at least had his attention.

She hoped she did, anyway.

"No one asked you not to be careful," she said. "But you seemed to forget I could be careful with you."

Something hurtful in that, too.

He hadn't wanted her to have to.

He didn't say that, though. He gave a faint nod instead.

That wasn't his choice to make.

"I think," Octavia continued, slowly, "that sometimes you also forget who I am. I've done worse things than you've ever even seen. And I'm not saying that like I think it's a competition. It's just facts."

Cold and hard and uncomfortable, as facts often were.

"I'm saying it because there's nothing you can do that I can't handle, if I can... feel like I'm getting some kind of a say in the things that affect me."

Duke had the urge to tuck his hands away again. He curled them into fists instead.

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