fandomtownies | The Beach, Sunday Morning

It had been warm a fair bit longer than Edward was used to - by now back home would be rain-soaked and miserable, ambling quickly towards cold. He supposed that was what the Americas were like, then: warmer than they ought to be, not that he was complaining. In fact, he'd had half a mind to take advantage of the heat while he still could, but matters and letters had gotten in the way.

Of course, when he finally did find the time to go to the beach for a swim, there were threatening clouds piling on up ahead. They didn't seem to do the temperature much harm, however; he decided, after a moment, that he could chance the rain this once. After all, the clouds could be a sign that the weather was turning for autumn sooner rather than later.

He tugged his shirt off over his head and rushed into the water, pushing through his own shivering - it had gotten colder than the last time he'd done this. Still, it was nice, and soon enough he was splashing about, making good time, swimming circles and letting his muscles have a workout.

Aye, it'd been a good idea - as long as those clouds didn't do nothing.

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It was the only kind of appreciation he was going to be doing, so it was a good idea to get his fill of that.

Isabelle waded chest deep into the water, then stopped, looking into the distance. If for a second there she forgot he was even there, well, she probably wasn't sorry. She'd had a rough few weeks.

Edward stopped a couple of feet away. He wasn't stupid, and he'd been quite determined not to be like any of the pushy gents down at the pub since he'd seen them act out at thirteen years of age.

So, yes, he stopped. And he watched. And if after half a minute or so his interest shifted from the curves of her body to what she had to be thinking about, well, he wasn't going to ask aloud, at least for now.

He'd hardly deprive anyone of having their time with the sea.

Isabelle wasn't volunteering anything, either. She was actually reciting a few silent apologies in her head. She'd been doing that a lot, lately.

Then she submerged herself. And she stayed under the water for a while. Not long enough to cause any alarm – though her lung capacity was pretty great – but, long enough. Long enough for what? Only she knew.

Then she reappeared again, her hair plastered against her back and shoulders. Deep breath.

"Feeling better?" Edward asked.

There wasn't much trace of grin in his voice this time around.

"Sort of."

Not by much, but as Flick had repeatedly told her, healing was a process and probably couldn't be rushed.

"Sort of's better than nothing, I suppose," Edward said delicately. He was still trying to figure this out without setting her off by asking or something of the sort.

Isabelle breathed in, and breathed out, and then turned to look back at him.

She smiled. It wasn't very genuine, and that didn't matter to her much. "I'm fine," she said. "You can go back to staring at my body."

"Don't seem appropriate right now," Edward said. Ashamed he'd been caught in the act? Never. Somewhat concerned? Yeah, maybe a bit. "You all right?"

There was that little headtilt again. "'Fine' doesn't mean the same thing in your time as it does in mine?"

Well, guess it did have a certain universal flair of being a bullshit answer.

"You don't seem fine," Edward said lightly, "In any definition of the word I've encountered."

"Then you obviously need to broaden your definitions a little," she replied without missing a beat. A little haughtily. "That's no concern of mine."

"Fine, if you don't wish to talk about it, I won't badger you no more," Edward said, frowning.

The haughty tone did not sit well with him. Quelle surprise. He stepped back. "Pardon me for asking."

"Wrong answer." Was dry better than haughty? "The right answer would have been 'okay, you're fine'. Because by saying 'you don't wish to talk about it' – which I don't, by the way, and neither would you if there'd been a death like this in your family – you're just humiliating me by not taking a damn hint."

That... slipped into something other than dry somewhere along the way. The way she crossed her arms and turned away from him was pretty huffy.

"And what, exactly, do you know of the state of my family?" Edward returned evenly, because there was nothing like talking to him like he was beneath her - or at least, that's how he had a tendency to parse haughty - to get his hackles up. "I was just showing some bloody concern, not trying to play target practice 'round your godsbedamned pride. Jaysus."

"I don't need your concern, Edward," Isabelle informed him without looking back because the distance was a good direction to glare in right about now. "If you also failed to protect your nine-year-old child of a brother, then I apologize. Otherwise, you can deal with it."

There could have been some kind of reassuring statement here about how difficult and horrible she was when she was dealing with grief and guilt, but really, she wasn't that much nicer during better times, either.

Edward, himself, was stuck between the nice-and-genuine of his concern, and the swift kick in the knee of his own none-too-selfless pride she had dealt.

It was a fairly confusing place to be in - and frankly, had she been a man, he'd likely have gone with the side he was more familiar with and thrown a punch already.

"You don't need my anything," he agreed, pouring his flash of angry hurt into that one sentence. "You know what, if you ever decide you can bear the vicious, humiliating weight of my concern, you know where to find me."

With that, he stormed towards the coast - which would've been easier if not for all the water, but there was a rock halfway down he could leap onto with nigh-feline grace. He could move on from there.

Like he probably would. Isabelle glared after him over her shoulder, and unsurprisingly did not have anything smart or good to offer as parting words.

"You're an idiot!"

Took one to know one. Sigh.

The Beach, Sunday Morning

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