xp_logs | LOG: [Betsy, Haller] The morning after

After the previous night, someone owes someone else an apology.

A big one.

Jim woke up slowly.

Focus didn't happen immediately. His thoughts had the blurred, slightly disjointed edge they normally did after an emotionally stressful event. It wasn't much of a surprise -- he'd been stretched thin this past week, and he'd been finishing most days with a numb, shell-shocked feeling. Nothing was coming to him, which only meant last night must have been particularly draining; if he'd been stressed enough to shut down it took time for events to filter back. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Jim rolled over onto his back and tried to think.

Ah, that's right. He'd fallen in with Betsy after another day of seeing Masque's victims and gone to her office for company in a place not the infirmary. There had been drinks. Well, a drink, because he couldn't afford to have his head anything less than clear. Then she'd claimed an early flight and gone to show him out, and her heel had snapped, and then--

And then they'd . . .

Oh.

Ohdeargod.

He needed to find Betsy.

Now.

The hot press of water hitting her body almost made her feel human again.

Almost.

Betsy braced her hands on the opposite side of the shower head and let her neck fall forward, water splaying hair against her face. She wasn't sure how long she'd been standing there with her head bowed, feeling the satisfying tingle of her skin flushed red from the heat. But from the look of her pruning fingers, Betsy forced herself to turn off the valve and exit the stall. Tying the straps of her robe around her waist, Betsy caught her image in the mirror and got a good look at herself and frowned.

"Starting to look your age for once, luv." Betsy sighed, bringing her hand to her face and trying to rub the exhaustion from it and failing.

Then there was a knock on her door.

"Betsy?" Jim called, retracting his telepathic probe as he did. It was rude of him to use his powers to confirm her presence, but right now he didn't feel he could afford the luxury of being polite and circuitous. "It's David. I need to talk to you."

She felt him before he even knocked on the door. His mind searching her out and feeling herself instinctively recoiled, not bothering on being discreet about it.

They were damn well beyond discreet.

He was talking now, his words sounding muffled to her from the bathroom. Looking down, Betsy found her hands clenched, white-knuckled against the surface of the bathroom counter,

~Go Away, David.~ she sent, bitterly. ~You've made your intentions perfectly clear.~

Jim leaned his forehead against the lintel, resisting the insane urge to repeat the motion with enough violence to beat himself into unconsciousness. Oh, god, David, you idiot -- forget the bitterness, after that she should've punched me in the damn face . . .

"Betsy," he said again, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I really, really need to talk to you. Please."

She was out in the foyer now, looking hotly at the doorway, willing him gone.

"How many times do I have to say it before it sinks into your thick skull?" Betsy snapped, her arms crossed over her chest. She should've felt ridiculous scowling at the door but couldn't be bothered to care. Her feelings were raw and still too close to the surface to keep in check. "I don't bloody care what you need. Bugger off!"

Jim winced at the anger in her voice. Which she's got every right to. Oh god, I have to fix this. "We can either do this through the door or face-to-face," he said, pushing away from the wall, "but I'm not leaving until we get this straightened out, and if you don't talk to me I'm only going to get louder and more public. Please, Betsy," Jim said, softer, and with an edge of pleading, "let me in."

She narrowed her eyes at the doorway. Not here for more than a blooming week and she was.... Betsy felt her jaw clench. Nevermind, what she was doing.

Betsy opened the door with such force, it was suprising it wasn't pulled off its hinges. She stood in the doorway guarded eyes broaching no room for a conversation. Much different than the way they looked last night. Now, they were hard and the dark edges around them said enough. "Talk."

The moment the door opened Jim shot his foot forward to keep her from slamming it in his face. Taking a deep breath, he looked her dead in the eye and said, "What I did last night was inexcusable, and I owe you one hell of an apology."

Haller was a peculiar entity. Betsy had met the man and notice right off he went through inordinate amounts of time vying for everyone's acceptance of him. He was inexplicably polite and careful not to offend, always ensuring that everyone was as comfortable and at ease with him. It was very....Canadian of him. But there were other quirks, aspects to him Betsy had caught glimpses of and wasn't fooled by the facade.

If he wanted her to be mollified by his heartfelt apology . His conscience wiped clean, so he could sleep easy at night. Well, she could afford him that small grace. Not that he would return the favor, or if he ever could.

"Apology accepted," Betsy said, hand bracing against the door. She was sorely tempted to slam it shut on his toes. The only thing keeping her from doing just was her lack of faith in the medlabs staff's ability to reattach them all. "Now, bugger off."

Well, there it was. One Conscience dry-cleaned and pressed.

"No." A hand moved to the door to counter hers. Jim shook his head, still maintaining eye contact. "It was incredibly hurtful, and I owe you an explanation. And the apology. Please, let me come in. If only so you can slap me somewhere private."

"I don't want private," Betsy said, looking away. Her voice sounding a great deal more stable than she felt. "Not with you. Now, leave before I make you."

Jim gave her a humorless smile. "Go ahead and try. I learned how to shield from Charles, and I work with people who don't want to talk to me for a living. In the hall, or in your room. It's up to you."

Insufferable git.

"If you think I can be forced to let you into my quarters after what you've done?" Betsy questioned, keeping a hushed tone. She did not want to make a scene. She did not want to be made a fool of. But Betsy'd be damned if she'd let him back her into a corner. "Besides, who said anything about using telepathy?"

There was a dangerous glint in her gaze. A promise.

"In the hall, then." Jim didn't move a muscle. He believed she could hurt him. He didn't care. "I'm sorry," he said, his tone equally low. "I didn't mean to shut you out like that, I just . . . panicked. At the contact. I didn't know I was going to . . ." He smiled again, this time soft and apologetic. "It was my first time."

It wasn't an excuse and he knew it, but he couldn't take back what he'd done to her. Nothing could. He could only explain -- and show. So, slowly but deliberately, fighting every instinct he had, Jim pulled back his shields and let her see his intent for herself.

The last time he opened his thoughts to her, she'd fallen and found herself kicked harshly to the gutter. Betsy looked down again, feeling the creep of flush rise in her neck and cheeks. She blamed it on the shower despite the cool air circulating throughout the hall. The hard lines around her eyes softened at the attempt of intimacy but not by much. It'd been a trying week, after all.

"What do you want from me?"

"To make this right." He didn't know how, or if that was even possible, but he had to try. The idea of leaving things as they'd been last night was unbearable. He focused on keeping his shields down and pressed on. "It was my fault. You didn't deserve to get hurt because of my problems. I ruined things, and I'm sorry."

She sighed. This was so not the conversation to have in the hall. And the bastard didn't look like he'd move anytime soon. After a moment of quiet regard, Betsy stepped aside. She closed the door behind him and then turned around to face him with as stern an expression she could muster.

"And I've accepted your apology," Betsy stated. "And since there won't be a repeat of last night's events, I suggest that we both go back to our respective lives and move on from this experience. I'm sorry for taking advantage of you. I should've been more attuned to your needs and realized that any form of intimate contact would've affected you in such a way. It was careless of me and I know better. Even if you didn't."

Regardless of her words, Haller's reactions did hurt. But Betsy still found her anger pointed more towards herself than at him. She'd slipped and fell hard in the process and it was quite embarrasing picking up the pieces with an audience.

Jim froze.

"I know better. Even if you didn't."

"Wait," he said. "Wait a minute here." Until that point he'd been doing fine holding his defenses down, but her words were like a bucket of icewater to the face. He knew she hadn't mean it like that, but that hurt, badly. Especially after what they'd done.

Ten years. For ten years people had looked at his condition and treated him . . . differently. Ten years of people acting like he was an innocent victim, a helpless child to be sheltered and forgiven and patted on the head, and he was sick of it. Sick. I'm a telepath and a killer. What innocence do they think they're protecting? Why can't I be held accountable for my actions, like everyone else?

That was something no one had ever seemed willing to understand. No matter who he thought he was, in the end, David was always the one accountable. Always. If there was only one person he could make understand that, it had to be Betsy.

Jim raised his eyes to hers. "My mind doesn't work like other people's," he said quietly. "I know that. I won't lie. But I'm not the disorder. I'm a person, I'm David Haller," and in that moment he could truly believe it, with every fiber of his being, and threw open his shields to let her feel it for herself, "and I can make my own decisions. You didn't 'take advantage of me.' I knew what I was doing. I knew it was a bad idea. I didn't care. I wanted it anyway. Me. As myself. Call it a mistake, slap me in the face, never speak to me again, I don't care -- but don't act like I'm some confused little kid who didn't know any better. I may be defective, but I'm still a rational human being, and I deserve to be treated like one."

He held her eyes with his own, his blue on her amethyst, willing her to understand, to sense that he was in harmony about this. Long ago, Charles had told him David was the sum of his parts, and even now he still struggled to believe that. Some days he felt like nothing but a pile of broken glass poured into a paper bag, every thought the grind of one jagged edge against the other. There were times, though, that he felt like this.

David is stronger than his disease. Sometimes even I forget that.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he said after a long moment. "I didn't know what would happen, and I wasn't ready for it when it did. That was my fault. But I won't apologize for not letting what I am get in the way of the things I want. DID already took half my life. I refuse to give it any more." He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. "I just wanted something normal. Just once. That's all."

Betsy couldn't decide whether to take a step back or move towards him. This was too complicated for what she needed at the moment. The strain of helping Marius through the reconstruction process and dealing with her own worries of back home. Her mouth tried to find the words, as her hands clutched protectively against the soft silk of her kimono robe. She faltered, feeling herself being torn from the seams. She felt....

Idiotic. Vulnerable. Open.

Lost.

And it all showed and still, somehow remained hidden.

A part of him, far back in his mind, couldn't believe what had just come out of his mouth. These were things David never told anyone -- and looking at Betsy's stricken face, he remembered why.

At a different time, the thought of throwing all this on another human being would have appalled him. How selfish was he, that he'd just made his problems her burden? But this wasn't a different time. This was now, and all he could think of was the look on her face -- lost, and alone. Adrift. Feelings he knew too well, had felt for too long. Basic, essential things that had driven them into this in the first place.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Jim was stepping across the room to close the distance between them, hands moving to slide through the warmth of her hair, and found her mouth with his.

Betsy couldn't tell time under these circumstances. Sometimes, it felt like ages. And others like seconds had passed. But at this particular moment, Betsy didn't know. Time moved and she was oblivious to it.

Haller. David. No, the other one was reaching out to her. The one from last night and Betsy couldn't help but press herself up against him, the fight leaving her and filling the expanse with something more tenable. Contact. She didn't feel so alone like this and tried not to think on what that meant while Haller kissed her. And with what he was doing....

Oh my, Betsy sighed to herself. He was thorough.

This time when her mind brushed his Jim didn't pull away. The terror he'd switched off to the night before -- of being seen, of being known -- didn't even trigger. He was ready for it now. This was what it was: a moment in time. Nothing more, nothing less. Ripples across the surface, pure and uncomplicated.

Jim wasn't deluded enough to pretend that this was honesty, but it was close. Closer than he'd ever come with anyone but Charles. It was stupid, and selfish, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away. He let himself fall open to the weight of her in his arms and in his head, and almost -- for the first time in more years than he could bear to count -- he could remember what it felt like to be a man.

Without pulling away, Jim broke from the kiss and leaned his face into her damp hair, still thick with the fragrance of her shampoo. Lilac. The same as the night before. Breathing deep, he drew back to meet her eyes.

"There are some mistakes I don't mind having made," Jim murmured, giving her a lopsided smile. "It . . . it was nice. Before everything. I -- that, at least, I wouldn't take back."

Cradling her head on his neck, Betsy's leaned against him with her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. If you looked at Betsy from the front, her eyes were wide and her mouth did its best impression of a surfaced guppy. She honestly tried speaking but couldn't managed the words.

Nice. Betsy tightened her grip on his shoulder and began smiling against him. When she let out a chortled laugh, she knew he might wonder if she was actually choking.

"Nice," she murmured into his neck.

Jim laughed as well, now feeling slightly embarrassed. He pressed his hands against the silk, rubbing the length of her back. "I, um, I'm glad it was," he said awkwardly. "Nice, I mean. And that we got it straightened out. I'm sorry I confused everything."

"Water under the bridge now," she replied. Looking down, Betsy noticed that he was wearing a crumpled pair of jeans and t-shirt. And well, no shoes. "In a hurry?"

"Um, a little," Jim admitted. He gave her a sheepish smile as they drew apart, making an apologetic motion to the day-old clothing. "I was distracted by my blinding stupidity."

"It's a good look on you," Betsy jested, feeling a little cold when they pulled apart. She wrapped her arms over her chest, suddenly aware of the slight disadvantage. "Now, if you don't mind. I'd terribly like to get dressed. Though, it is odd...."

Betsy moved toward her wardrobe and began rummaging through her unmentionables, looking for something to wear. It seemed like she forgot what she was about to say but then she began speaking as she pulled out a rather risque piece of clothing. Her back still to him. "I always seem to end up half-clothed when I'm around you. I wonder why that is?"

Jim liked to think he had been doing astonishingly well up until this point, but there were some things for which he was not equipped to deal with -- the casually hoisted contents of Betsy's lingerie drawer being one of them. He didn't even have time to fully process the visual input before his brain slammed on the brakes and reversed gears.

"I'll . . . just be going then," he managed, groping for the door. And wondering if it were possible for a blush to leave physical burns.

Betsy snorted and then went back to her lazy meanderings. She could do with the break.