Chapter Two: Take Back the Memories.
A/N: It didn't come out how I wanted it to, but I wasn't going to leave it unfinished!
She actually gave him less than twenty four hours of grace. Early the next evening a shadow fell across him as he was reading 'The Geology of the Lesser Antilles, having brushed up on his basic geology enough to now be able to cope with the more detailed textbooks. She dropped her bag and took the seat next to him.
"I thought you were spending your weekend outside, talking to people," he said, he resisted the urge to put down the book and give her his full attention, wouldn't want her to think she was actually welcome to just turn up out of the blue. Even if that was technically true…
"Well I believe," she said slowly. "That this is actually outside. And also, you are, no matter how hard you sometimes try to convince us otherwise, 'people'. Thus my plans remain unchanged."
Well, the argument was certainly irrefutable. He placed down the old book and tried to think of something to say, but she beat him too it, "How are the geology studies going?" she asked casually.
"Good thanks, proved useful for identifying the fossils lining the bottom on the box, no wonder the thing was so heavy. Don't worry I was careful with them, I've wrapped them all up and put them in a better box," he went to stand to fetch it for her, but she cut him off.
"Oh I don't want them back," that same casual tone now sounded a little strained, if he were interviewing somebody he'd be getting suspicious about now.
"Camille they're really quite good specimens, there is a really quite nice Nautilus praepompilius and what I think is a Baleen whale jaw," he told her brightly.
"You can keep them then," she sounded rather annoyed at him, and he really wasn't sure what he was doing wrong.
"Um, okay, maybe," this conversation was not going the way he expected. Perhaps he shouldn't assume everyone would like fossils as much as he did. "Ok well, you'll want this, it fell out of one of the books."
He handed her the Polaroid picture that had amused him so much the night before. It showed Camille, clearly recognisable despite being no older than four in the photograph, sitting on the shoulders on what he presumed was her father. He might not always get the appeal of children, but he had thought she was rather cute at that age, with her frizzy hair and bright pink swim suit. Camille was staring at the photo, her expression unreadable, and then suddenly she burst into noisy, messy tears.
"Oh dear," was all he could manage, he hadn't exactly expected this. She'd always shrugged off the whole father leaving when she was small thing in the past. But then again she'd seemed tense yester. God, he was a real idiot sometimes. "Um, you're upset. Um, do you want me to call your Mum?"
"No!" She protested loudly, and he stopped in the doorway. "I'm fine!" She said between sobs. "I mean, just give me a minute."
"I. um, didn't mean to upset you," he passed her his handkerchief trying to be useful in some way. She used it to wipe her eyes, but she was still crying so it didn't really help at all.
He sat back down in the seat next to her, "Are you sure you don't want me to call somebody?" He tried again, feeling thoroughly useless. She shook her head vigorously, and before he could convince himself otherwise he reached out and rubbed her arm in what he hoped was a comforting manner. This had surprising results, as she immediately leaned into him and started to cry into his shoulder. He awkwardly tried putting his arm around her, and since she didn't shove him off in disgust he figured he wasn't doing so badly.
Eventually, the sobbing subsided, and she pulled back – actually managing to dry her eyes properly this time.
"I bet you think I'm an idiot," she said, still sniffling slightly. "Take one look at a photo and burst into tears for no apparent reasons."
"I'm sure you have very good reasons," he said sensibly. "If anyone's an idiot it'll be me for not thinking, as normal."
"It's not your fault," she was sincere, and he felt a bit better. "That picture was taken in the Bahamas. I was four, we all went out, and my father was doing some sort of lecture series I think. He put me up onto his shoulders and walked out into the ocean, and he just kept walking and walking and we were so far out but still above the water."
"The Bahamas platform," Richard explained. "What you see of the islands is just the tip of a massive deposit of lime, the water around the islands is very shallow, the sea floor there being a carbonate platform, and then it'll suddenly drop away. There are places you can walk out a couple of kilometres." She was staring at him, and he realised that geological explanations weren't exactly what she was hoping to get out of this conversation. He muttered an apology and she dropped her intent gaze, apparently willing to let it go.
"Well, you know, I just got upset because I was so happy at that point and then…"she trailed off.
The time it took him to reply was a little longer than was comfortable, so he took a deep breath and spat something out, "I don't think you should let him take that away from you?"
"What?" she asked, clearly having no clue about what he was one about.
"Right," he said, shifting a little and trying to sound more confident than he was. "Well, you know, sometimes things can happen, you know, and they, um, taint good memories and make them into bad ones – but it doesn't have to be that way. It's like, like when you break up with somebody and for ages rivers make you sad because they remind you of punting." Her raised eyebrows made him regret using a personal example. "Or something. But whatever happens in the future, it didn't make the feelings you had at the time less significant. I just think a happy memory can stay that way if you want it too. You shouldn't let somebody take…rivers or, or fossils away from you. Especially because fossils are really interesting," He finished rather lamely.
When he did muster up enough courage to look at her, she was smiling softly, "That's not bad advice," She told him.
"Well, you know, I also read some psychology textbooks," his tone self-deprecating. "Though I think my geology is probably stronger."
"Did you see the ammonite with the massive crack in it?" She asked
"Yeah, why?"
"I knocked that off a shelf and tried to stick it back together with nail polish. This annoyed both of my parents greatly," She told him, grinning.
"Yeah the adhesive properties of nail polish aren't exactly well celebrated," he replied, smiling back.
"Just wait until I tell you my method for attempting to resurrect his butterfly collection."
Maybe his psychology wasn't so bad.
A/N: See I was going to have them 'get together' but then it didn't feel right. And thus I lost my ending!