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xp_logsAfter a certain fight in the stairwell Lorna and Haller have a little talk. Actually, a Talk. About certain outstanding issues that go beyond Haller's questionable enabling skills.
Jim was not hiding. At all. No. Definitely not full of dread, either. He was just in his room to paint, and for no other reason. Because that would be childish.
Even if he knew for a fact the woman he'd just heard being screamed at in the stairwell for the misunderstanding he'd been hoping to fix could kill him with his doorhinges.
So, right. Just painting.
Rage, despair, pain...god, so much pain. The grief and the betrayal, it was all too much and Lorna nearly just skipped right back Haller's door and continued on to her own to hide and nurse her wounds. It was a tempting plan. The kind of plan you formulated when you had given up entirely. But Lorna had always been stubborn and she had enough anger left to not want him to get away with this kind of meddling. She kicked his door, "David! Open up."
The sound sent his brush careening across the abstract still-life he'd been cultivating. Oh, crap, Jim thought, on at least three entirely separate levels. And he'd been so relieved Cain had made it back safely, too . . .
Setting his brush aside, Jim crossed the suite, put his hand on the doorknob, and braced himself.
"Um," Jim said, opening the door, "hi, Lorna." He took a swift step back and covered his head with his arms. "Please make it below the neck, the kids will ask about the bruises."
She punched him in the shoulder. "What did you do?"
Jim winced. That hadn't been a light, sisterly punch, either. "Helping?" he tried miserably.
"Not helping! Helping was not what that was!" She stalked into the room and closed the door none too gently. "I just got home from Marcel's funeral! That was not what I needed right now!"
"I'm sorry!" It was useless, but it was the only thing he could say. Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's just Remy seemed upset when he found us in here so I tried to call him while you were gone and" not feel so completely useless "get everything straightened out, but Amanda picked up and . . ."
"Next time, don't! Amanda hates me. Do you have any idea how many reasons that girl has to think I'm evil incarnate? Do you even have the slightest clue?" Lorna flung her hands in the air, "Especially when it comes to Remy. I nearly killed him, David! And she's the reason he didn't die. She knows that and I know that and Christ, I can't blame her for not wanting me in 10 miles of him."
He needed a primer on mansion politics, Jim decided. Anyone who lived here, anyone who had lived here, and anyone they'd every associated with. And then he would just need twenty years to get through it all. Jim moved on to massaging his head. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "She just asked what I wanted him for. I didn't think about how it was going to sound. I mean, ever since Betsy my mind just doesn't go to that place with anyone else." He dropped his hands, shaking his head in disgust. "Not that I've ever had to worry about it before. Mental wards aren't really known for their dating opportunities, you know?"
"I know you were just trying to help but really things are a lot more complicated than...whoa...whoa, wait, what?" Lorna wasn't so wrapped up in her own misery that the mention of Betsy didn't give her a case of mental whiplash as it sunk in, "What does Betsy have to do with any of this?"
"Um." Oh. Right. He hadn't actually told anyone about Betsy. It wasn't a secret, exactly, but . . .Jim rubbed at the back of his head, grimacing. Great. If Lorna didn't murder him for the misunderstanding she was going to mortally wound him for the omission. Well, too late now.
"Betsy and I are . . . kind of . . . seeing each other," he said, watching her nervously to see how she took this news. God, please make it fast.
Individually Lorna knew what all those words meant. But together they just didn't fit. It was like the Tower of Babel and Haller had just started to speak Chinese. They were kind of doing what? How? When would they have had time? And David? Dating? Was there even room for that in this universe? "You...she...when? How did that happen?"
"Uh." Granted this was a new experience for Jim, but by no stretch of the imagination could 'Emotional burnout, gin and spontaneous sex on her desk' possibly be the appropriate response to that question. "We started talking while we were both working with Masque's victims back in April, and then I ran into her when I was in London for that conference last month. It just sort of happened." And he still had no idea how, but there was no denying that had been a really, really good birthday. Jim tried to stomp on the blush and kept his eyes on the carpet. "We're not -- it's not serious or anything, we just . . . see each other. When we can."
Lorna had the irrational desire to go shake down Betsy and grill her over her intentions toward the gawky, blushing man in front of her. Of course... "You know, if you break her heart, I'm going to have to break your legs. It's nothing personal. But Betsy needs to be treated well."
"Well -- well yeah. Of course." That wasn't even a question. You treated women Well. There wasn't any other way. . . . except for that couple of years half a lifetime ago, but he hadn't treated anyone well in that time period, including himself. He was making his peace with that. He hadn't been Jim yet, anyway.
"It's okay, though," he added after a moment's thought. "If something ever happens I don't think Betsy will need any help. She's quite capable of breaking my legs herself." He thought, with an odd undercurrent of satisfaction, My girlfriend could kill me with one hand behind her back in four-inch stilettos, and still look beautiful in the bloodspatter.
He wasn't wrong but... "That's not the point. She's been through a lot and I don't want her getting hurt." Lorna folded her arms and frowned at him, "You've totally distracted me from my point. The point is don't help. I can screw up my relationships on my own, I'm very very good at it."
Jim looked at her sheepishly, wondering if the highly uncomfortable flush was worth not being yelled at anymore. Given the yelling was accompanied by hitting, probably. "Sorry. It's just people keep coming to me with relationship stuff and I don't actually . . ." He sighed and folded his arms. "I just thought I saw something I could help with. For a change."
"Except that I didn't come to you! What you should have done is come to me instead! How about telling me that you noticed my… that you noticed Remy had entirely the wrong idea? Finding out because Amanda was out for my blood was not my preferred method of finding out!" And there would be words with Remy for jumping to that conclusion. Oh, yes there would.
"I . . . kind of assumed you'd know," Jim mumbled. It had seemed obvious to him, but he was beginning to realize his reasoning skills were somewhat questionable. This was like Bobby and the tape all over again. That's it. That's the last time we assume anything. About anyone. Ever. Jim shook his head. "I'm sorry. Next time I see your relationship on a collision-course with an iceberg I'll let you know. Okay? It's just that you're my friend and you were in pain, and I was trying to . . . spare you that. That's all."
Lorna's unstable mood shifted and she slouched, defeated. "I know you were. I'm sorry, it's just been such an awful week and to come back to that, I just…" Her arms tightened around her waist, shoulders hunched like she couldn't take another blow. "I shouldn't have overreacted. I know you weren't trying to hurt me. I'm sorry, David."
"No." Jim closed the space between them and wrapped the younger woman in a hug. "I'm the only one who gets to apologize. This was my fault. This was really my fault. So no stealing my 'sorry,' okay?" His arms tightened around her too-warm body for a moment, cheek buried in the green of her hair. Bereavement, he thought as he held her. The one thing David had never learned how to handle. So just let it be.
"You don't get any more guilt today," Jim said into her hair. "I'm cutting you off. You're taking my quota."
She didn't hesitate for even a second to unwrap her arms from around her own waist and link them around his, burying her face in his shoulder as she started to cry again. So much for being done with crying for the day.
This was the second crying woman he'd held in a week, Jim thought as warmth soaked into his shoulder, and the second time it had been his fault. He closed his eyes and held her tighter, hands making slow, minute movements across her back. When there was nothing to say, just be.
"June sucks," he whispered.
She laughed softly, not actually amused just relieved to have it said. "Yeah." She sniffled and pulled away from him, "Yeah it does." She rubbed at her damp eyes and then at the tear marks on his shirt. "Christ, look at me. I'm a disaster. And this isn't even over." Tilting her head back, she looked up at him miserable. "I don't suppose you have any temporal powers that you're hiding that will make this all be in the past so that I can laugh about it?"
Jim laughed. "Um, I don't think so. Anyway, I don't have a solid enough grip on where I'm at now to try screwing around with time and space. I think that's more Illyana's area." She was tired, and distressed, and he seriously doubted she'd eaten in at least a day, but her comment stirred something that had been uneasily on his mind about their relationship ever since that conversation back in March. Hiding, and being hidden. They weren't good things. Not between friends. And whatever the reason, Lorna had become the closest one he'd had in a long time.
He'd already told her one truth today. He might as well make it two for two.
"Since we're talking about things I should have told you sooner," he said quietly, drawing back so he could look her full in the face, "I'd . . . it would really mean a lot to me if you could call me Jim. I'm . . . Jim." He smiled weakly, his hands on her shoulders as much to support her as to force himself not to look away. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have left it so long, I'm sorry, but it's private and then we got to be friends and I just . . . I was . . ." Afraid.
It had been a very long week. It had been a longer weekend and at this point the day was seeming like it might last all month so the fact that Lorna responded by staring at him blankly then tilting her head slowly to the side in utter confusion was understandable. "You're…Jim." She blinked, her mind refusing to even attempt to work this out on its own. "Not David?"
Jim shook his head. "No. I'm David. David is Jim. It's . . . it's confusing. I can't explain, we--" He laughed helplessly, raising one hand to massage his temple and the headache that was growing there. "I'm sorry. There's a reason I don't tell many people. Just -- just know that David is Jim and Jim is David. That's all that matters. I promise."
She blinked at him a moment longer then nodded. "Okay. If you say so." Right now, that was plenty good for her. Eventually, probably after some sleep and perspective she might have questions about it but just his word was enough until then. It wasn't as though she didn't trust him.
"I say so." So this was the meaning of the expression 'drunk with relief', Jim thought. It seemed very wrong that telling Lorna should have been harder than telling Betsy -- and worse still that he was almost relieved Lorna'd had the week she'd had, because at any other time he didn't think she would have let this go, and this was something he couldn't yet explain. Selfish. Selfish. He squeezed her shoulder gently with one hand, moving the other to brush a strand of hair from her red-rimmed eyes. The woman standing before him looked wasted, vulnerable. This isn't fair. We have to explain sooner or later. I will. I just need a little time. Just until I can . . . earn it.
"I think we need to turn our brains off," Jim said, giving her arm one final squeeze. He smiled a little. "Yours needs the break, and mine's done enough damage today. Sit through a movie with me? There will be talking animals and Robin Williams. And juice. Because people who've had a long weekend need juice."
"I really should just head to bed. Except that my body thinks it's three hours ago and probably won't sleep so...sure...just...Robin Williams? Really? Why is there Robin Williams?" She wrinkled her nose. "I'd rather have coffee. I like coffee. Mmm, lifeblood." Her brain clearly had already started its break, wandering off to a calmer land where caffeine was plentiful and things like thought were unheard of.
"He's the Genie. Duh." Jim coughed and tried to pretend that particular word hadn't just cleared his throat. Davey needs a bigger vocabulary. "We can do coffee. But water comes first because otherwise you'll get a headache." Privately, he was hoping that she would pass out before she got a chance to douse her system with caffeine. A combined stimulant and appetite-suppressant were not what Lorna needed right now. "And we can try the dates I bought the other day. Dates and coffee. It's a weird combination, but it's kind of nice."
"Oh. That movie. Yes, I had such a crush on Aladdin when I was little you know. And Prince Phillip. He's the best of the Disney princes." She let him guide her over to the couch and tumbled down on it, curling up automatically. "Why did you buy dates?"
"I like dates. I used to eat them back home." Jim removed the cassette from its case and slipped it into the VCR, then went to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. The painting on the easel still had that unfortunate misstroke all the way to the edge of the canvas, but that didn't matter. He'd fix it later.
Carrying the water in one hand and the container of fruit in the other, Jim settled down on the couch beside her. He set both on the coffee table and looped his arm around his friend's shoulder, kissing her lightly on the cheek. "I liked Aladdin the best. Even though he fit the stereotype and wore a fez."
"Aladdin's good. He's good hearted and protects people who are weaker." She sighed and snuggled into him, dragging a throw pillow to her chest. "And he gets the princess because he's a diamond in the rough. But he had parachute pants. Why the parachute pants, Al? M.C. Hammer is not a role model." Sitting down had the effect of reminding her body just how much punishment it had taken recently--stress and planes and fights--and she let her eyes drift closed as the previews started playing.
"Pajama-clothes. The curse of my people." Jim felt her head sag onto his shoulder and leaned his cheek against her hair. She hadn't yet eaten or drunk anything, but that was all right. There would be time for that.
Later.
Jim was not hiding. At all. No. Definitely not full of dread, either. He was just in his room to paint, and for no other reason. Because that would be childish.
Even if he knew for a fact the woman he'd just heard being screamed at in the stairwell for the misunderstanding he'd been hoping to fix could kill him with his doorhinges.
So, right. Just painting.
Rage, despair, pain...god, so much pain. The grief and the betrayal, it was all too much and Lorna nearly just skipped right back Haller's door and continued on to her own to hide and nurse her wounds. It was a tempting plan. The kind of plan you formulated when you had given up entirely. But Lorna had always been stubborn and she had enough anger left to not want him to get away with this kind of meddling. She kicked his door, "David! Open up."
The sound sent his brush careening across the abstract still-life he'd been cultivating. Oh, crap, Jim thought, on at least three entirely separate levels. And he'd been so relieved Cain had made it back safely, too . . .
Setting his brush aside, Jim crossed the suite, put his hand on the doorknob, and braced himself.
"Um," Jim said, opening the door, "hi, Lorna." He took a swift step back and covered his head with his arms. "Please make it below the neck, the kids will ask about the bruises."
She punched him in the shoulder. "What did you do?"
Jim winced. That hadn't been a light, sisterly punch, either. "Helping?" he tried miserably.
"Not helping! Helping was not what that was!" She stalked into the room and closed the door none too gently. "I just got home from Marcel's funeral! That was not what I needed right now!"
"I'm sorry!" It was useless, but it was the only thing he could say. Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's just Remy seemed upset when he found us in here so I tried to call him while you were gone and" not feel so completely useless "get everything straightened out, but Amanda picked up and . . ."
"Next time, don't! Amanda hates me. Do you have any idea how many reasons that girl has to think I'm evil incarnate? Do you even have the slightest clue?" Lorna flung her hands in the air, "Especially when it comes to Remy. I nearly killed him, David! And she's the reason he didn't die. She knows that and I know that and Christ, I can't blame her for not wanting me in 10 miles of him."
He needed a primer on mansion politics, Jim decided. Anyone who lived here, anyone who had lived here, and anyone they'd every associated with. And then he would just need twenty years to get through it all. Jim moved on to massaging his head. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "She just asked what I wanted him for. I didn't think about how it was going to sound. I mean, ever since Betsy my mind just doesn't go to that place with anyone else." He dropped his hands, shaking his head in disgust. "Not that I've ever had to worry about it before. Mental wards aren't really known for their dating opportunities, you know?"
"I know you were just trying to help but really things are a lot more complicated than...whoa...whoa, wait, what?" Lorna wasn't so wrapped up in her own misery that the mention of Betsy didn't give her a case of mental whiplash as it sunk in, "What does Betsy have to do with any of this?"
"Um." Oh. Right. He hadn't actually told anyone about Betsy. It wasn't a secret, exactly, but . . .Jim rubbed at the back of his head, grimacing. Great. If Lorna didn't murder him for the misunderstanding she was going to mortally wound him for the omission. Well, too late now.
"Betsy and I are . . . kind of . . . seeing each other," he said, watching her nervously to see how she took this news. God, please make it fast.
Individually Lorna knew what all those words meant. But together they just didn't fit. It was like the Tower of Babel and Haller had just started to speak Chinese. They were kind of doing what? How? When would they have had time? And David? Dating? Was there even room for that in this universe? "You...she...when? How did that happen?"
"Uh." Granted this was a new experience for Jim, but by no stretch of the imagination could 'Emotional burnout, gin and spontaneous sex on her desk' possibly be the appropriate response to that question. "We started talking while we were both working with Masque's victims back in April, and then I ran into her when I was in London for that conference last month. It just sort of happened." And he still had no idea how, but there was no denying that had been a really, really good birthday. Jim tried to stomp on the blush and kept his eyes on the carpet. "We're not -- it's not serious or anything, we just . . . see each other. When we can."
Lorna had the irrational desire to go shake down Betsy and grill her over her intentions toward the gawky, blushing man in front of her. Of course... "You know, if you break her heart, I'm going to have to break your legs. It's nothing personal. But Betsy needs to be treated well."
"Well -- well yeah. Of course." That wasn't even a question. You treated women Well. There wasn't any other way. . . . except for that couple of years half a lifetime ago, but he hadn't treated anyone well in that time period, including himself. He was making his peace with that. He hadn't been Jim yet, anyway.
"It's okay, though," he added after a moment's thought. "If something ever happens I don't think Betsy will need any help. She's quite capable of breaking my legs herself." He thought, with an odd undercurrent of satisfaction, My girlfriend could kill me with one hand behind her back in four-inch stilettos, and still look beautiful in the bloodspatter.
He wasn't wrong but... "That's not the point. She's been through a lot and I don't want her getting hurt." Lorna folded her arms and frowned at him, "You've totally distracted me from my point. The point is don't help. I can screw up my relationships on my own, I'm very very good at it."
Jim looked at her sheepishly, wondering if the highly uncomfortable flush was worth not being yelled at anymore. Given the yelling was accompanied by hitting, probably. "Sorry. It's just people keep coming to me with relationship stuff and I don't actually . . ." He sighed and folded his arms. "I just thought I saw something I could help with. For a change."
"Except that I didn't come to you! What you should have done is come to me instead! How about telling me that you noticed my… that you noticed Remy had entirely the wrong idea? Finding out because Amanda was out for my blood was not my preferred method of finding out!" And there would be words with Remy for jumping to that conclusion. Oh, yes there would.
"I . . . kind of assumed you'd know," Jim mumbled. It had seemed obvious to him, but he was beginning to realize his reasoning skills were somewhat questionable. This was like Bobby and the tape all over again. That's it. That's the last time we assume anything. About anyone. Ever. Jim shook his head. "I'm sorry. Next time I see your relationship on a collision-course with an iceberg I'll let you know. Okay? It's just that you're my friend and you were in pain, and I was trying to . . . spare you that. That's all."
Lorna's unstable mood shifted and she slouched, defeated. "I know you were. I'm sorry, it's just been such an awful week and to come back to that, I just…" Her arms tightened around her waist, shoulders hunched like she couldn't take another blow. "I shouldn't have overreacted. I know you weren't trying to hurt me. I'm sorry, David."
"No." Jim closed the space between them and wrapped the younger woman in a hug. "I'm the only one who gets to apologize. This was my fault. This was really my fault. So no stealing my 'sorry,' okay?" His arms tightened around her too-warm body for a moment, cheek buried in the green of her hair. Bereavement, he thought as he held her. The one thing David had never learned how to handle. So just let it be.
"You don't get any more guilt today," Jim said into her hair. "I'm cutting you off. You're taking my quota."
She didn't hesitate for even a second to unwrap her arms from around her own waist and link them around his, burying her face in his shoulder as she started to cry again. So much for being done with crying for the day.
This was the second crying woman he'd held in a week, Jim thought as warmth soaked into his shoulder, and the second time it had been his fault. He closed his eyes and held her tighter, hands making slow, minute movements across her back. When there was nothing to say, just be.
"June sucks," he whispered.
She laughed softly, not actually amused just relieved to have it said. "Yeah." She sniffled and pulled away from him, "Yeah it does." She rubbed at her damp eyes and then at the tear marks on his shirt. "Christ, look at me. I'm a disaster. And this isn't even over." Tilting her head back, she looked up at him miserable. "I don't suppose you have any temporal powers that you're hiding that will make this all be in the past so that I can laugh about it?"
Jim laughed. "Um, I don't think so. Anyway, I don't have a solid enough grip on where I'm at now to try screwing around with time and space. I think that's more Illyana's area." She was tired, and distressed, and he seriously doubted she'd eaten in at least a day, but her comment stirred something that had been uneasily on his mind about their relationship ever since that conversation back in March. Hiding, and being hidden. They weren't good things. Not between friends. And whatever the reason, Lorna had become the closest one he'd had in a long time.
He'd already told her one truth today. He might as well make it two for two.
"Since we're talking about things I should have told you sooner," he said quietly, drawing back so he could look her full in the face, "I'd . . . it would really mean a lot to me if you could call me Jim. I'm . . . Jim." He smiled weakly, his hands on her shoulders as much to support her as to force himself not to look away. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have left it so long, I'm sorry, but it's private and then we got to be friends and I just . . . I was . . ." Afraid.
It had been a very long week. It had been a longer weekend and at this point the day was seeming like it might last all month so the fact that Lorna responded by staring at him blankly then tilting her head slowly to the side in utter confusion was understandable. "You're…Jim." She blinked, her mind refusing to even attempt to work this out on its own. "Not David?"
Jim shook his head. "No. I'm David. David is Jim. It's . . . it's confusing. I can't explain, we--" He laughed helplessly, raising one hand to massage his temple and the headache that was growing there. "I'm sorry. There's a reason I don't tell many people. Just -- just know that David is Jim and Jim is David. That's all that matters. I promise."
She blinked at him a moment longer then nodded. "Okay. If you say so." Right now, that was plenty good for her. Eventually, probably after some sleep and perspective she might have questions about it but just his word was enough until then. It wasn't as though she didn't trust him.
"I say so." So this was the meaning of the expression 'drunk with relief', Jim thought. It seemed very wrong that telling Lorna should have been harder than telling Betsy -- and worse still that he was almost relieved Lorna'd had the week she'd had, because at any other time he didn't think she would have let this go, and this was something he couldn't yet explain. Selfish. Selfish. He squeezed her shoulder gently with one hand, moving the other to brush a strand of hair from her red-rimmed eyes. The woman standing before him looked wasted, vulnerable. This isn't fair. We have to explain sooner or later. I will. I just need a little time. Just until I can . . . earn it.
"I think we need to turn our brains off," Jim said, giving her arm one final squeeze. He smiled a little. "Yours needs the break, and mine's done enough damage today. Sit through a movie with me? There will be talking animals and Robin Williams. And juice. Because people who've had a long weekend need juice."
"I really should just head to bed. Except that my body thinks it's three hours ago and probably won't sleep so...sure...just...Robin Williams? Really? Why is there Robin Williams?" She wrinkled her nose. "I'd rather have coffee. I like coffee. Mmm, lifeblood." Her brain clearly had already started its break, wandering off to a calmer land where caffeine was plentiful and things like thought were unheard of.
"He's the Genie. Duh." Jim coughed and tried to pretend that particular word hadn't just cleared his throat. Davey needs a bigger vocabulary. "We can do coffee. But water comes first because otherwise you'll get a headache." Privately, he was hoping that she would pass out before she got a chance to douse her system with caffeine. A combined stimulant and appetite-suppressant were not what Lorna needed right now. "And we can try the dates I bought the other day. Dates and coffee. It's a weird combination, but it's kind of nice."
"Oh. That movie. Yes, I had such a crush on Aladdin when I was little you know. And Prince Phillip. He's the best of the Disney princes." She let him guide her over to the couch and tumbled down on it, curling up automatically. "Why did you buy dates?"
"I like dates. I used to eat them back home." Jim removed the cassette from its case and slipped it into the VCR, then went to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. The painting on the easel still had that unfortunate misstroke all the way to the edge of the canvas, but that didn't matter. He'd fix it later.
Carrying the water in one hand and the container of fruit in the other, Jim settled down on the couch beside her. He set both on the coffee table and looped his arm around his friend's shoulder, kissing her lightly on the cheek. "I liked Aladdin the best. Even though he fit the stereotype and wore a fez."
"Aladdin's good. He's good hearted and protects people who are weaker." She sighed and snuggled into him, dragging a throw pillow to her chest. "And he gets the princess because he's a diamond in the rough. But he had parachute pants. Why the parachute pants, Al? M.C. Hammer is not a role model." Sitting down had the effect of reminding her body just how much punishment it had taken recently--stress and planes and fights--and she let her eyes drift closed as the previews started playing.
"Pajama-clothes. The curse of my people." Jim felt her head sag onto his shoulder and leaned his cheek against her hair. She hadn't yet eaten or drunk anything, but that was all right. There would be time for that.
Later.
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