xp_logs | LOG: [Betsy, Haller] (Backdated) Third date

Upon returning from Nepal, Betsy gets an unexpected gift and they have a brief conversation best gotten out of the way sooner rather than later.

When she reached the corridor to his office, she treaded lightly down the entire expanse of the hall. For what? So that he wouldn't hear her? David was oblivious to a great many things. She need only shield herself from him to stick to her surprise but nevertheless, she tiptoed because it was a great more fun this way.

She heard the deep timber of his voice and by the sounds of it, he was lecturing a student on..... Well, that was none of her business what he was lecturing the child on. And so, she waited. Feeling much like a lioness on her nocturnal hunt, Betsy splayed herself against the door, remaining so as it opened with a loud creak. She watched as the teenager bounded from the office and smiled when she saw the glimmer of Haller's face. But instead of springing her surprise, she waited. Just for that right moment as he turned his back to her and she slipped inside, unnoticed. And the moment he turned to close the door, Betsy smiled up at him and pounced, happily.

The kiss nearly sent him into heart-failure. For one panicked moment Jim thought this counseling session had just gone very, very awry -- and then he registered that the body wrapped around him was not that of a chitin-plated sixteen year old boy. That was a relief on so many levels the fact of the kiss itself was almost an afterthought.

"Betsy?" he gasped as she broke away, slightly breathless. "I, I didn't know you were there." Stating the obvious was the best he could come up with at the moment. Betsy was not an untalented kisser.

"Which would be the point of a sneak attack," Betsy mumbled into his neck. Laughing a bit, she leaned back and placed a quick peck on his lips. "You're not too upset I hope. I was around and I thought it'd be rude to come and go with not so much of a word." Her hands encased around his neck, Betsy peered up at him. "You're not upset, are you?"

Jim laughed. "Um, no. Upset is -- not the word I'd use." He attempted to keep the ones he would out of his surface thoughts. There were practical considerations for living in a school full of telepaths. The young man smiled, one arm traveling around to lightly encircle her waist as the opposite hand settled on her back. "It's good to see you. How was Nepal? Wanda made it sound pretty eventful. I heard there were cultists and everything."

"One of the bastards actually nicked me with his machete." She pushed her arm up and showed him the bandage. Shrugging it off, Betsy leaned closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder and sighed. "It was fun. For the most part. And I even took your advice about 'Manda. So for the moment, I'd like to not be serious and perhaps spend an evening with you, if you don't have any plans. "

"I have a counseling follow up in the city tonight, but that could work out. We can have dinner after and both not be serious together. Hopefully machetes won't become an issue, but after what happened on Wanda's vacation I'm not going to make that assumption." He really shouldn't be doing this, he realized, because he had office hours tomorrow morning and couldn't cheat his sleep, but Jim pushed that aside. He could afford a few hours with Betsy, at least. If working with Scott had taught him nothing else, it was that it paid to be selfish sometimes. And it wasn't as if he was the only one in this room feeling the need for a little indulgence right now. Jim smiled slightly at the thought. It's so easy to justify the things you want, isn't it? Oh well . . .

Jim snapped his fingers. "Ah, hang on a minute." He disengaged himself from her embrace and went to retrieve something that leaned against the wall behind his desk. It was flat, wrapped in plain brown paper, and about 18"x11".

"I'm sorry it's so late," he apologized, handing Betsy the package. "I would've given it to you sooner but oil takes a while to dry and then cultists happened. So, um. Happy birthday."

"Happy....?" Betsy looked down thoughtfully at the covered canvas, she could feel the trim through the paper packaging and felt her chest constrict. This was getting serious, wasn't it? "It's not that I'm not grateful but..." She shook her head and smiled ruefully down at her fingertips. "Thank you, David."

Jim rubbed the back of his head self-consciously, noticing the slight withdrawal. He felt a faint blush starting and rushed to correct. "It's nothing, um. To be honest I couldn't figure out what to get you that wouldn't be -- bad or" too much "something, but I paint to relax and I had an idea one afternoon so I thought I'd give it a try because that's usually what I give people for presents. When I give them. The framing was just because you wouldn't want to handle the canvas straight. It's just . . . easier." Or so I thought. Argh . . .

Betsy leaned in and gave a soft kiss to his cheek. "Thank you." She felt the flush creep up her cheeks and ducked her head to keep from seeming outrightly foolish. Her right hand fingering the edge of the wrapping, she found an exposed point and began slowly stripping it away. Piece by piece, she pulled until all she saw was butterflies. A wash of purple butterflies, coalescing together into a mesh of painful beauty, she couldn't help but gasp.

"Scott's had me reading old incident reports," Jim explained, a little red from the kiss but firmly quashing the instinct to fidget. "And Forge mentioned the time you were sick and pulling people into your mind, so I took a look. The file didn't have personal specifics," he added hastily, "but it mentioned the physical representation your powers took, so . . . so I just thought butterflies might be appropriate. That's all."

"When my powers first manifested," Betsy said quietly. "To help myself control them, they'd appeared as a psionic projection. A butterfly. Right here," she pointed to her forehead. "It was downright awkward in my youth going through everything else and then having to deal with my mutancy. But then I came to appreciate what it was but then as my control grew, I no longer needed to rely on something to help my focus. And with the line of work, I was engaging in. The less conspicuous, the better. But still...." She fingered the edge of the painting with a loving touch. "I sometimes miss it."

Jim smiled. "I'd like to see it sometime, maybe. I had to learn through practical experience. I got sort of thrown into it. It wasn't really a normal manifestation. I'm still getting used to being around so many other psis."

And that, and her words earlier, forced his mind to the thing he really needed to tell her. Not just because she deserved to know, but because it was something he wanted, too. Jim looked at the slender fingers hovering over the initials D.C.H at the bottom of the painting for a long moment, then raised his mismatched eyes to hers.

"If I tell you something," he said slowly, "could . . . could you not ask me to explain it? Just not yet." He smiled awkwardly, aware he was about to ask a lot of her and mortally afraid it was too much. "I should have said something earlier, but it's, it's kind of a third-date thing, but I should tell you, so . . ."

Looking up curiously at him, Betsy nodded. "All right. So long as it isn't you claiming to have an uncontrollable thirst for world domination, I can stave off any questions that might be...." It was then she noticed the tautness of his shoulders, the oh-so not concerned expression he was trying to regarding her with. She winced inwardly. "Yes, of course."

"No. The world is safe from me. I promise." He swallowed hard and said, "C . . . could you call me Jim? Just when we're alone. Please."

As he said it he pulled his shields back just enough for her to get a sense of his mind -- to feel that the texture of it was the same she'd always known, that she was still talking to the same person she'd been talking to ever since that first night in her office. That much of an assurance he owed to her, at least. The need for verbal acknowledgement was almost absurd after the level of physical and psychic intimacy they'd shared, but Jim knew it was important. It was about acceptance. On both their parts.

"There's a story behind all this," Betsy said with concern. She brought her finger up to his lips, staving off any sort of explanation. "And one day I plan on you telling me what this is all about. But for now, Jim, it is. At least when we're alone. Haller for when you get on my nerves. Now," she let her hand fall down the line of his jaw to the hollow of his neck. "You're tired and I'd rather sit in. Besides, I'm horribly out of touch with what's out and I'm sure we can snag a DVD from somewhere."

"A movie would be . . . good," Jim managed, almost sick with relief. Head bowed, the telepath clasped her hand in his against his heart, odd-colored eyes falling closed in the briefest acknowledgement of a gratitude almost too deep to express. Thank you. Thank you.

"I'll pick something up," Jim said, giving her hand a small squeeze before releasing it. "We can have dinner in, and no one will be kidnapped by cultists or bizarrely disfigured or anything. Or if they are, we'll ignore them until tomorrow. Sound good?"

"It sounds absolutely divine."