A/N: Hope everyone is having a great holiday season! Here's another Diana/Jake fic. Enjoy! No beta, mistakes are my own.

Disclaimer: This is the work and play of fanfiction. I don't own anything. Everything belongs to their respective owners.

setting fire to our insides for fun

He walks into his bedroom and stills midway. He squints at the figure sitting on his bed and then walks in completely, shutting the door behind him. He doesn't know why Diana Meade of all people is in his bedroom waiting for him, but he's going to find out whether he wants to or not.

She's all straight back and fidgety fingers in her lap, and he knows this is the last place she'd want to be but she's here nonetheless. Whatever the reason might be it must be important, he concludes.

They've never been close, never been friends. Not even when she spent every saturday in his backyard playing with Nick up until they were seven, or when he got that job at the Boathouse and she spent most of her time after school there with Adam. It dawns on him then, that she's always been there, and that unsettles him because he's never really noticed until now. Jake furrows his eyebrows and looks over her face slowly. He can see the battle she's having with herself and he clears his throat, hoping to bring an end to this mystery.

"Why are you here, Diana?" he questions.

She stands up and brings her hands to her sides, determination is written on her face and something inside of him stirs. He's not going to like what she has to say but then again he doesn't really care. They've never been close, never been friends.

Diana takes a few steps closer then takes one back. Her hands ball into fists at her sides and she opens her mouth a few times trying to form the appropriate words he presumes, but, she comes up empty and settles with a deep sigh. He watches as she closes her eyes and runs the palms of her hands over face. He moves to take off his jacket and throws it on his bed once he's taken it off. He walks over to the chair by the computer desk and sits down, facing her.

"Sit," and she does as she's told. Resuming her place on the edge of his bed once more.

"Dian-."

"I'm leaving," she blurts out and cuts him off.

It takes a few seconds for her words to settle in his mind, and they still don't make any sense to him.

"I don't understand. What do you mean you're leaving? What does that even…" he trails off not knowing what else to say. Her words make absolutely no sense. 'I'm leaving.'

He stands up and starts pacing. He doesn't know why her words are affecting him the way they are but they do, and they piss him off. 'I'm leaving.' He wants to shake her. To make her words more comprehendible. He stops, exhales deeply and rakes one his hands through his hair. He doesn't understand these damn girls. They're going to drive him insane, or worse, get him killed.

She stands up and walks to him, an empathetic expression is written all over her face. She knows what the burden of her coming to tell him this will do. He wants to laugh. Life would be this cruel.

Jake presses his palms into his now closed eyes, hoping the act itself will erase everything that has conspired within the last few minutes. Teenage girls, he swears, will be the end of him. So self-centered, uncaring, stubborn with no sense of self-preservation…

Warm, long, delicate fingers wrap around his wrists and tug down gently, bringing him back to this moment and out of his head. He opens his eyes and stares down at her as she brings his arms down and loosely cradles his wrists in her hands. He wants to ask her why him but he already knows why. There is an ache that settles over his heart as if it's breaking. It's a hurt that can't be explained. Not now, not ever because they've never been close, never been friends. This time he pulls away and laughs, it's sarcastic and coated with bitterness. He turns away from her, the warmth in her eyes makes him uneasy and he can't bring himself to analyze this pain he's feeling for this girl he barely even knows.

"I need… I need you to make them understand." she speaks softly from behind him.

He snorts. Him make them understand, what reality is she living in? He turns around to asks her just that but stops short when he sees the tears in her eyes and the way her arms are wrapped around her body. It's as if they're the only things keeping her together; in one piece.

"I know you think I'm being inconsiderate… a bad friend, sister, person, whatever… but, I… I can't do this. I'm not like you, or Cassie, Faye… I'm not as strong. I won't survive this." She whispers the last part, practically pleading with him to understand her reasonings. That's what he doesn't get, her insistent need for him to comprehend and then it dawns on him. She must be trying to bring him to his knees, he concludes, because it is so un-fucking fair. His hands are itching with a need to wipe away her tears and hold her close but instead he keeps his hands to his sides. They've never been close, never been friends and that would be too intimate for them. Too much of something… anything.

"You understand." It's not a question, or a plea for him to do so, it's the God honest truth and that's what kills him. He does understand. He doesn't know how he missed how alike in their differences they are. It's so unfair and too late to dwell on something that will never come to fruition.

"I do," he chokes out, "I do."

The way that she looks at him, almost regretfully, puts everything in perspective. She's known for a while and a part of him wishes he would've put the pieces together sooner. Maybe… maybe… He shakes his head. It's too late for maybes'. They were never… never…

She takes a step closer to him and reaches out, her fingers smooth against his cheek cause him to open his eyes he doesn't remember closing in the first place. He takes in her face, wet cheeks, the sad tilt of her lips, the dimming brightness in her eyes and he suddenly feels angry… angry at her, at the circumstances, at the world. Angry at the fact that he's actually going to miss her.

"Why me," he asks softly; he can't help himself but want to hear her say it.

She takes a step back from him putting some much needed distance between them and looks at her palms before meeting his gaze.

"You'd listen." The real meaning unspoken; it kind of breaks his heart. 'You won't stop me because we've never been friends.'

"Right," he states and nods stiffly, and before she can respond her phone rings. She moves to pull it out of her bag that's on his bed and answers without looking at the caller ID, like she was expecting the call. He stares at her back as she listens to whoever is on the other line. He can't help but feel like he's missing out on something, or stop thinking that it could've been something. He shakes his head and berates himself, it's too late to think like this… too fucking late. There's no point… no point… they've never been… never will…

"I'll be there," she speaks into the phone. When she turns back to look at him he's already facing the other direction, away from her.

She hesitates before saying, "thank you," because really, what else could she say? With soft footfalls and a creak of his door, she's gone taking everything that could've been with her.

He should've stopped her.

But they've never been close, never been friends.

.

.

.

The scent of her is all that remains.