xp_logs | LOG: [Betsy, Haller] (Backdated) Mistakes were made

Backdated from an unfortunate happening back in May, Betsy and Haller have a talk and prove that there isn't one tense moment in a relationship telepathy can't somehow make worse.

At least he'd been here enough times now that getting in wasn't a problem. Jim paused outside the door briefly to rub his nose in the discreetest way possible. It'd been tickling him all the way into the city, and the last thing he needed to do was compound his sins by sneezing on Betsy in the middle of groveling. Jim had vague hope that she was in a generous mood. Maybe she'd only open with light maiming.

"Ah-," Betsy muffled voice could be heard through the door. "Ah-." Inside, Betsy clutched onto a tiny piece of tissue as she hunched forward, her hands clenching the corners of her desk and shut her eyes. "Oh, God. Kill me now," she said around her clogged sinuses and watery eyes.

That had been cryptic, but at least she was in. "Betts? It's me." Jim's tentative knock was mostly perfunctory, though he did duck automatically upon opening the door on the off chance anything was heading for his head.

She sneezed just as Jim entered the room. "Whatever you want, you can have it," Betsy heaved, rubbing her nose gingerly. "Just take those damn things away from me." She pointed to the stack of flowers piled in the corner. "They've been coming every hour on the hour. I can't get close to one without having a fit and I can't chuck them out the window without accosting the fine upstanding vagrants that were haphazardly standing outside my window."

Jim blinked, taking in Betsy's watery eyes and red nose, then spared a moment to envision banging his head against the wall. Under the circumstances it was better to keep the act inside his head, but he felt like the scenario had to be played out somehow. Because nothing says apology like raging hayfever.

"Shit. Betsy, I'm sorry." The other telepath pinched the bridge of his nose, mostly to curb the urge for smacking. "I'll -- yeah. I'll take them with me when I go. Which'll probably be fast so I don't have any time to make it worse. But, um, I just came to say I'm sorry. For your birthday -- forgetting your birthday." And mine. For two weeks.

"If you take them now," Betsy said, breathing through her mouth. "I won't take this as your attempt to end our relationship through subterfuge and guile simply to avoid the fact that you forgot more than our combined birthdays."

"What did I forget that was mo . . ." An impressive half-sentence managed to make its way out before the brain engaged and derailed further communication between thought and mouth completely. Birthday. Last year. What were you doing for your birthday last year? London, trauma conference. And what else did you do in London? . . . oh my god.

"Oh, my god," Jim repeated, this time aloud as he realized a transgression as big as forgetting your one-year anniversary required repetition.

"Ah-choo!" Betsy sniffled. "Finally figured it out, then?" She said with a worn smile as she slipped back into her chair, literally oozing suffering. "You, sir, are indeed the worse boyfriend ever."

"Oh, god. Betsy, I'm so sorry." The renewed itch to his nose was drowned by absolute chagrin. Jim covered his face with one hand. Now it was taking a truly excessive application of self-control to keep himself away from the wall. It was true he'd celebrated his birthday with a kidnapping and was naturally inattentive to dates, but this was still unbelievable. The first girlfriend he'd ever had, and he'd forgotten their anniversary. Wow, he thought, torn between horror and genuine awe, I truly deserve to never have sex again.

"You want to make it up to me?" Betsy asked, with a dark look. Her cheeks flushed. "Burn them and when I can breathe again, maybe I won't kill you for trying to kill me."

Jim almost didn't realize he was in the process of rolling up his sleeves until it was almost too late. Considering the personality that jumped on the faintest hint of burning things the instinctive reaction needed to be stomped on fast.

"Um, I think I better take them up to the roof," Jim said, moving towards the flowers as he delivered a mental elbow-check to Cyndi to keep her safely in the back of his brain and away from Snow Valley's smoke detectors. He looked at the multiple baskets and winced slightly. "This may take a few trips."

She shook her head up at him just as she felt a tickle in her nose. She saw Haller's head rear back just before the sneeze overtook her. Did he just? Did they? "Right," Betsy said, sitting up in her seat. "You go....you go and do-"

Jim frowned, rubbing his nose again. That had been strange. Almost a sneeze, but not really. He wondered if it was something in the air, but it didn't seem quite right. His eyes weren't watering, his nose wasn't running, his throat wasn't sore and there was nothing he knew he was allergic to, so why did he keep feeling like he should be sneez--

Jim's eyes widened, his face turning slowly but inexorably to meet Betsy's.

"Oh christ, no . . ."

"I'd figured you'd be allergic too and not even know it." Betsy looked over at him, confused. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"No," Jim said slowly. "No. I'm pretty sure I'm not allergic." Whatever you do, remain calm. Moving slowly away from the flowers, Jim raised one hand to touch his temple. "Um, do you feel something . . . weird?"

"Besides my head threatening to implode?" Betsy asked, annoyed. She furrowed her eyebrows, listening in as she felt a slight tug. She stood up. "No, no, no," she said, her hands going up between her and Jim. Her face contorting into onset panic. "This is not happening. You sneezed. I sneezed. Simple." She studied his face and crumpled. "Don't do this to me. Not again."

"No way. I didn't do this to you, ever. I don't do mindlinks. I barely link with my own mind." In the back of his mind Jim knew he had to fight the panic. In lieu of this, shifting the blame was an acceptable substitute. Jim's mismatched eyes narrowed fractionally. "This is definitely your fault," he said, leveling an accusing finger at Betsy. "You're the linker. I've read the files. You've had like five."

"Oh that's bloody unfair and you know it!" She yelled, close to stomping her foot. "Hello, brain damaged? I was under duress for pity's sake but in worse shape than you! So, if I was capable of creating a link so are you! And that was even before I had complete control of my own faculties!" Betsy suddenly stopped speaking, a realization hitting her. "Shut it off," she said coldly. "Shut it off now."

"You shut it off! I didn't do it!" Screw not panicking. Jim scrambled through his memory for evidence and found one. It was bizarre how important the details were even though a good portion of him was fairly certain this was the stupidest fight he'd ever had. "Don't try to pin this one on me, you did the reaching in December!"

"That's what I do," Betsy reiterated as if talking to an especially slow five year old. "My ability allows for long-range telepathy and connections especially when it comes to people I am familiar with like you and the others." Her gaze going steely. "And I've reached to Amanda and Nate and never had I an Oh-So-Special Bond, you arse."

Jim threw out his hands in exasperation. "See, that's my point. You're the long-range telepath. Meanwhile the school's paved with bricks more psychically sensitive than I am. If this is my fault it's because you gave it to me along with your comas. Before I met you I never even involuntarily linked!"

"Please it didn't seem so involuntary the first time in my office." Betsy said coldly. "Or perhaps you want to put that on me as well?" She walked over to the window just for some space and caught sight of another vase filled to the brim with colorful tulips, grabbed it and tossed it quite violently out the window. "And you can't catch a coma, idiot."

"You can the way you have them," Jim countered, flushing a little at the first part of her accusation. The faint scream from the street below went totally unnoticed by either party. "And you know what I meant. You were the first time I -- okay, there is no good way to finish that sentence. You know." The young man rubbed his temples with both hands, though it didn't accomplish much more than giving him an excuse not to look up. "I just mean this has never happened before," he muttered. "That's all."

"And because I'm the fountain of wisdom on all accounts and took. Took. Goddamnit took your man-...." Betsy sneezed, loudly, then sniffled. The fight literally sapped out of her. "Fine, I give up. You want me to say it. You win. I'm the worst girlfriend ever. I force my significant others into mind links because I have abandonment issues. Happy, counselor?"

"Yes. Wait, no!" Jim pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. The moment of chagrin passed almost instantly, though, upon seeing how miserable Betsy looked standing there by the window. Jim picked up the box of tissues and took it to her.

"I didn't mean it like that," Jim explained, extracting a kleenex from the box and holding it out. "I mean it's natural, a lot of psis develop bonds with repeated contact, it was probably both of us. I just think that for us we need to draw the line at full-time brainsharing. Um. Because we've both already been enough people that adding one more probably isn't a great idea." She'd pick up the added and it's making my nose itch, but Jim felt it was a fair complaint.

"I'd rather not, thank you very much. " Betsy swiped the kleenex from him and gave him a sideways glance. "Serves you right though." She took a steadying breath to calm down and bit her bottom lip as the thought hit her. "How come we hadn't noticed when it happened?"

A slight frown ghosted Jim's face as he lowered the box of tissues. "What do you mean? Is it supposed to happen all at once?"

"When it's done so mutually, it feels like.....trying on a new pair of shoes. The fit is never comfortable at the onset but soon." She paused. "Soon, it's hard how to imagine life without it." Betsy deflated. "As you said, I'm an old hat when it comes to this. I should've noticed before it went this far. I don't feel comfortable..... Rather, if both of us choose to withdraw this connection, then it should be no trouble to disconnect." Betsy rubbed her palm, self-consciously. She finally continued. "The longer we wait, the worse it gets."

As unsettled as he was, Jim's powers of observation supplied what his dearth of experience with relationships lacked and informed him this was potentially delicate ground. "Hey," he said, taking Betsy's hand with his free one, "we were close for months without one. Telepathically, I mean. I think that's why we didn't notice. It just grew when we got close, so . . ." Jim sought her eyes with his and gave her a crooked smile. "I don't know. It's safer to disconnect it, but I'd really rather have almost psychically tangled with you than, um . . . Nathan." His face remained straight as he hid the wince masterfully. 'Nathan'? Really, Jim? No sex again ever?

"You do realize you fail completely at nurturing," Betsy laughed. "But I appreciate the effort. Though if you want to stay tangled up means only one thing," she paused a winning smile lighting up her rosy cheeks and nose. "You're the one that started it."

Jim's mouth quirked at her cheeriness. "Okay, okay. Even though I don't believe you ever plan on touching me again, I did have to be at least fifty percent responsible. I think that is how it works."

He raised the hand holding hers, spinning her around slowly to bring her against his chest. He also pointedly ignored the parts of his brain that insisted deriving enjoyment by twirling Betsy was conclusive proof he was a twelve year old girl. In his mind he didn't care to apologize for anything that brought her body any closer. Leaning his cheek against her ear, Jim brought his chin to rest in the cradle of her neck. "I really am sorry I forgot," he said.

"Fine. Equal blame." Betsy said into his shoulder. Experimentally, pulling at the starts of whatever this thing was. She sighed. What is it she'd gotten herself into this time? How did a simple friendship turn into something else entirely. Ah well. "Share the crazy."

Jim smiled into her hair. "Um, let's try not to. But first we burn the flowers."