Achromatic
A/N: I officially cannot write Jellie to save my life. Don't read this, it blows; but something inside me forced me to write it. Jimmy & Ellie, during season five. Semi-AU. Too angsty for them, nonsensical, and probably out of character, but I don't care, I felt like updating.
000
"We'll change the world with art," Ellie says on a lazy Saturday, sitting on Jimmy's porch, squinting up at the sun. "Add some beauty to this perpetual suckfest we all seem stuck in."
Jimmy laughs. "Simple as that, eh?"
"Yep," she decides, leaning back on her elbows.
"So, I've got drawing, and you'll be doing what exactly?"
"Graphic design, of course. Take over the virtual world. Or journalism. Sway the people with my awe-inspiring words." She smiles a wicked grin, her brown eyes glittering, and he wheels closer to her - just a little - and nods, like it's a perfectly plausible plan.
"It just hate it," she adds, and suddenly he's paying closer attention, "the way life plays out sometimes, you know?"
That much he could agree on.
"Some of the choices people make – it's not fair, all the crappy stuff that happens."
"So you'll change it through art?" he asks casually, though he's suddenly become even more aware of the ten pounds of metal and vinyl beneath him.
"No," she says, a little impatiently, "we will."
"Ellie, what are you trying to say?" Jimmy asks, because he's sick of these games she likes to play, and the way she doesn't say what she means.
She hesitates for a second, and then, "I think I'm in love with Craig."
The silence that follows is excruciating, but his heart is too busy dropping to his feet. His hands grip the wheels of the chair tightly.
"Isn't Craig with Manny now?" is the only thing he can think of to say.
"Yeah," Ellie says with a bitter laugh. "And that sucks, too."
He realizes in that moment that the only reason she's here, the only reason she's been here every weekend for weeks, is to make herself feel better about Craig. Like he's her diary or something.
"You know," she tells him a few seconds later, as if she could read his mind, "you're really easy to talk to."
He doesn't mean for it to happen, but his stomach flipflops.
"Ditto, Nash," he says nonchalantly, though he laughs nervously and she gives him a weird look.
They sit together for a few more minutes, under the heat of the sun, words few and far between.
"I really hate that I like him so much," she says finally and looks at him again, this time differently. Like she would change the entire situation if she could. He believes her.
"Yeah," he tells her, "I know what you mean."
She doesn't pry, partly because she's afraid of confirmation to the questions she already knows the answers to.
They sit quietly for a little longer, thoughtful and heartbroken and still, like words might ruin it, though they aren't quite sure what 'it' is exactly. She reaches over and takes his hand after a while. He thinks of letting go, asking her to leave, but he figures that if being her rock is the only way to get close to her, he'll take it.
000
She feels his fingers, warm and kind of rough against hers. She wishes there was a spark, something to make her believe that this is right.
She waits and waits and waits, but nothing happens.
The silence grows thicker, and the air becomes uncomfortably hot.
END