xp_logs | LOG: [Betsy, Haller] Silver (Reply)

Midnight at a party.

His hand had to be checked from going to the cigarettes in his pocket for at least the third time in the last forty seconds. It was an enclosed space, he was fairly sure it was against Silver's zoning laws, and he needed not to be smoking when he was supposed to be a chaperone for Xavier's. No smoking. No alcohol. He had a good example to set.

Which was great, except now he had no physical prop to hold him up during the stilted conversation with the one person who, at this moment, he had no idea how to talk to but wanted to. Badly.

Not that this was a new experience where Betsy was concerned.

"It's almost midnight," Jim said, bringing his hand up to rest flat against the bar. Silver was loud with increasing babble, but yelling wasn't quite necessary. "I can't believe you're closing the year with people you just spent a week quarantined with."

"I couldn't think of a better way to spend this evening." Betsy said happily, looking at the crowd moving passed them. "Though I seriously thought that I would've ended up cutting my wrists with a butter knife by week's end but I'm still here." She tilted her head to look up at him. "How did you spend your holiday?"

Jim's mouth twitched. "That was beautiful and life-affirming. Um, me? Nothing, really. Mostly bothering the professor, since Moira's been on Muir and the only family he's got around for the holidays is, uh . . . Cain." Jim's long fingers traced a nervous pattern in the water-rings on the bar. "Have any resolutions?"

"Don't die?" Betsy offered pathetically. She turned away, hiding the upturn corner of her lips. "Honestly, I try not to predict what the year holds for me anymore. Too many expectations." She said the last bit with a sad grimace, shyly averting her eyes from Haller's face. "And then, of course, there's trying to make sure we all don't become hermits because we've all become cynical and bitter about what expectations actually did fall through." Betsy laughed at that. "Goodness, this turned quite maudlin."

He wanted to say something about expectations fallen through, or make some comment on the hermitude and bitterness. Some acknowledgement of what she'd been through, and his part in it. Instead, looking at the amethyst eyes that kept slipping off him, he dodged.

"Sorry. My fault. Like I don't know introspection on life to date is the last thing that's going to pass around bottled sunshine and puppies." Jim winced at the inadvertent mental image the last presented. "Um, thank God."

"It's quite alright," Betsy shrugged. She waved down the bartender and ordered another gin concoction. She looked back at Jim and his rather pinched expression and bit her lip. Words obviously on her mind but decidedly turned back toward the bar. With her back still turned, she spoke. "I'm glad you could make it here. Truly."

"Betsy, I--"

The ambient blue darkness of Silver went up to normal lighting. The images projected by the televisions in the club switched: Times Square. Babble from excited clubgoers swelled around the two telepaths as Jim stared at Betsy's back, bent over the bar as she waited for her drink.

"Guess it's almost time," he murmured.

Betsy looked over to Jim and her expression softened. "Is everything all right? I didn't do something that...." She took in his taut features and felt a nervousness well up inside her and knowing that it wasn't entirely coming from her. She placed her hand on his forearm and squeezed gently. "What is it?"

"It's not you, Betts." Jim smiled. "It's a lot of things, but it's never been you."

Around them the crowd began to chant.

"Ten, nine, eight . . ."

Standing in the middle of a club full of people, the only real weight was suddenly Betsy's hand on his arm. Reaching out to him -- again, still. Somehow.

"Seven. Six. Five . . ."

This isn't something I can ask her for, Jim thought, eyes fixed on the pale hand on his sleeve. Betsy's dress left her arms bare. She's already given us more than enough.

"Four."

We can't--

"Three."

Jim looked at the face of the woman standing across from him and thought, Fuck it.

At two he put one arm around her waist as the fingers of the other slipped into her hair. As the counter in the corner of the plasma screens hit one, Jim swung Betsy into a dip and kissed her.

Time snapped. At least it did for Betsy, as her entire world slowed down. Neurons exploding and oozing blissfully out of her pores. She brought her arms up and around his neck, caressing the nape of his neck while the New Year began with a bang and a sigh.

The world moved around them as Silver celebrated midnight; people cheered, or sounded noisemakers. They were just one couple among many, actions lost in the ripple and surge of the crowd. Jim stood there in the feel of Betsy's lips on his, her fingers ruffling the hair on the back of his neck, her weight supported by his arm around her waist, and to Jim they might as well have been the only ones in the room.

"Okay," he murmured. "Here's how it is." He drew away from her so he could look Betsy in the eye, setting both hands on the bare skin of her shoulders. "We're both so messed up we can barely move. You know what I am. I know it. I know. Screw it. Screw damage, screw baggage. If you say no we'll never talk about it again, but just tell us one thing so we know."

Behind them a belated noisemaker popped. Flakes of confetti still drifting from the ceiling caught in their hair like snow as a scarred hand rose to Betsy's face, her cheek. The settle of fingertips on skin echoed the ghost of the touch on her mind as amethyst eyes were met by blue and brown.

"You're who I want to be with, Betsy," Jim said. "Just tell us if you want to be with me."

"I...I don't know what to say," she said, breathless. She kept her hands on him, up and down his spine. "With everything that's been happening, I didn't expect. I thought you didn't want this."

"I'm sorry. I'm so used to the conflict I don't know how else to be anymore. Especially with everything that's been happening." The young man smiled faintly as his fingers brushed back purple strands of confetti-flecked hair. "But not right now. For this, it's unanimous. It's up to you. If you say no after what happened last time I'll understand. I'm asking anyway. Would you let me take you home again?"

Her lips were stained red from her teeth biting down hard on them. If she said yes, she would have a year of this. A year of constant grounding. A year of light brushes down her side. A year of kisses just above her temple. A year of missions gone wrong. A year of good friends lost. And a year of unexpectedness and discovery. Betsy stared deeply into his eyes, searching for an answer she couldn't find in herself.

She wondered, would this be a year of more bad choices and mistakes? Her pause was painful but then Betsy leaned in, her body flushed with his. Her mouth nuzzling just below his ear, hot air brushing along his on his neck. "Yes," she breathed, heavily. "Most definitely, yes."

Thank you. Jim released a shuddering breath and slid his arms around her waist, burying his face in her hair. Betsy, thank you.

"Let's get out of here, babe," he whispered. "And tomorrow, please don't throw anything sharp at my head."