xp_logs | LOG: [Betsy, Haller] Morning

Sometimes you should really leave well enough alone.

Jim pushed the door open, borrowed keys in one hand and two bags dangling from the other. He had to stoop to retrieve the coffee he'd set down by the door. He'd debated on the last, wondering which would be better for hangovers, but then he'd remembered what Betsy had once told him. "Tea for easy mornings and lazy afternoons and coffee for long nights and necessary resuscitation." After last night, the latter was probably the more appropriate. Coffee it was.

Coffee and food. Those he knew were necessary. Beyond that, he had no idea.

Jim took a deep breath and entered the apartment.

Betsy woke up to the sound of the door locks turning and reacted. Her hand went under her pillow and threw the black eight-pointed throwing star resting there just as the door opened. The star lodged against the door jam an inch from Jim's face, and Betsy felt whatever dredge of sleepiness in her system simply evaporate. "Oh my god." She sat up fully, moving her legs over the side of the bed. Betsy cradled her head gingerly with her hand just as she completed the movement. A sharp shock of vertigo as the room suddenly moved without her. "I didn't mean that," she said into her palm. "--- only to scare, mostly. When did you get here?" Betsy looked up after a few minutes, feeling herself getting it under control. She then took in his rumpled pajamas and another set of clothes hanging off her chair. "Oh."

"It's okay." Outwardly there was no visible reaction, not even a blink. Inwardly it was chaos. Jack had sensed the weapon's trajectory an instant before it struck the door, and that was the only reason the telekinetic was still in the back of his mind rather than out and furious. The surge of adrenaline pressed the alter up right beneath the surface of Jim's skin; it was only with effort that the grey that had begun to spread across his irises like a stain receded again to brown and blue.

"I um, brought you some breakfast," Jim continued. "In bed, if you want. Donuts. And plain bread for toast if cruellers aren't a great option right now. Um, I've got coffee, too." He lifted the bags from the bakery and the cups in their cardboard carrier to give himself some sort of action to focus on. And trying to convince himself that someone struggling to bury the psychic evidence of the dissociative near-miss should not be this painfully aware of the fact that the woman in bed was clad only in her underwear. Despite past experience that should have put them both well past embarrassment, Jim felt the beginnings of a blush starting.

"Thank you," Betsy said. A slight shudder wracked her body and she fought a wave of nausea with deep steady breaths. It was when she had her head between her legs that she noticed she wasn't quite dressed. Oh dear. The creak from the other side of the room reminded her that Jim was still studying her. Betsy couldn't help but feel the tinge of what was that, embarrassment still even with her mind feeling like a veritable sieve. "Mind filling me in?," she asked, head still down. "The facts are still a little blurry and I'm assuming with you here, something horribly awkward must've transpired. And well, since I'm under-dressed, I'm sure I should be feeling appropriately mortified."

"Um, that was me." This had seemed a lot less complicated when she'd been unconscious and Jim could just pretend he was back doing volunteer work in the sanatoriums. "I didn't think being strangled on your dress in your sleep would be a good follow up for the night."

Jim cleared his throat and shifted his eyes back to the coffee in his hand in an attempt to quell the irrational flush. "Anyway, it wasn't too bad. You called me from a club, so I came to pick you up. That's all." The part where she'd been hitting on him relentlessly could probably wait until she didn't look like her head was about to fall off. And he could sympathize with the loss of memory, at least.

Betsy grimaced. I love it that you're lying to me, about me, for my sake... She sat up again and reached for her kimono at the base of her bed. Wrapping herself in it, she wiped at her face to try and shake off her disorientation. "I'd like that coffee now," Betsy said. "Please." She took a breath and continued. "And maybe we can talk?"

"I, um." They needed to talk. They had to. They'd had no contact since July. Betsy deserved an explanation, and she was so close, she was so beautiful and so close, and he'd put himself right here in this apartment. . .

"I, I have to get back." Jim tore his eyes away, fixing them on the oriental rug. "I have hours. At the school." Coward you coward you fucking coward. The telepath grit his teeth against the seething in his mind, his shields pulled down so tight he might as well have been alone in the room. Or Betsy was.

But better she feel alone than made to see.

Jim turned away, face and tone utterly blank. "I'll . . . leave this stuff in the kitchen."

Betsy stared at styrofoam coffee cup sitting on the counter and then looked from the cup to Haller's entreating back, completely speechless.