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xp_logsAn evening at Harry's with Betsy and Jim as they are joined by Scott and Jean. A blind double date ensues and much gnawing. Or perhaps, much talk of gnawing. Note: This log is interspersed with time cuts to help the story along and to also get to the good bits. Enjoy.
Even just getting off the mansion grounds made her headache diminish. It had been a long couple days, with nothing much to do but lie about and listen to the low level frustration and anger everywhere which, coupled with the pain in her ribs, was slowly driving her out of what mind she still had. Convincing Scott that she was well enough to go out had taken some work but finally he'd caved and they were on their way to Harry's. "Can we just get a hotel tonight?" Jean asked, leaning back in her seat. "Don't want to go back."
"Don't tempt me. But we have to go back," Scott said, "because things will blow up if we don't. Things always blow up if I'm not there. And if I'm there. But at least if I'm there I can pick shrapnel out of the walls." He blinked, glancing sideways at Jean as he pulled into the parking lot. "That was a little grim, wasn't it?"
"Mmm, just a bit." Her own look was wry. "But if you won't let me have a hotel, then I'm going to solve the problem with vodka." Once he'd stopped the car she carefully got out, seeming to be a little more cautious even than usual. She'd cut back her painkiller prescription (the sort of trick she'd have yelled at any one else for doing, but everyone knew doctors made the worst patients) and that was possibly part of the reason her mood had ended up so dark.
Scott got out, locking the doors, and followed her. "I am perfectly capable of pouring you back into bed, not to worry. I have done it before." There was a touch of dryness to his tone, but only a touch. He couldn't really fault her impulse. In fact, he was possibly going to join her, at least to an extent.
Pausing at the door Jean set her hand over her heart and said, "I promise not to get so drunk I can't walk. Now come. I have a headache, my ribs hurt, I'm cold and cranky, but inside there is warmth and light. And vodka. We will not forget the vodka. If you're going to drink liquor from eastern Europe, vodka is clearly the way to go." And she turned and pushed the door open, ducking inside.
"Are you actually listening to me?" Betsy said. She was leaning up against the pool table her back to the door as Jim lined up his shot. "I mean, there's a reason why everyone is predisposed to going psychotic back there. All sane going in, quite nutters on the way out. And while you, my dear, are not classified as 'sane' per se," Betsy leaned down and said not too softly. "You are quite fantastic in bed and therefore worth keeping around."
Jim smiled down the cue-sight. "Maybe that's the compromise," he commented, sliding the stick back and forth. "It would explain why fights keep breaking out if losing your mind also makes you some kind of sexual god. I mean, something's got to keep them coming back, right?" His smile widened as he slid his eyes away from the ball and up to Betsy. "Though I guess if it's in proportion to the amount of damage you have it'd explain that thing you can do with your--"
At which point Jim realized just who'd walked into the bar in right behind her, and scratched the table.
Scott just raised his eyebrow - but didn't make the sort of response that might have been called for, had it been 'just us men' and he'd been looking to make Jim's head explode. "Pool and bizarre psychosexual conversation," he said, instead. "And yet it's still preferable to being at the mansion."
"Scott, Jean." Jim jerked upright from the pooltable, face bright red. Oh god, do I ever disagree.
"Yes, hello," Betsy called over her shoulder, swallowing the grin on her face. If Jim's back was any straighter. Well, there was now another person in the room with a firmer grip on their sphincter muscles. "Care to join us? I'm sure you'd be able to share some insight on the topic at hand. I do love a frank discussion regarding the state of affairs at Xaviers and all things sordid and sundry."
"See, the pool's the only thing that makes it different from the mansion, really," Jean said. "I will happily join you, Betsy, and God if that isn't the strangest thing I've ever said. Now I really need the vodka."
It was funny to think that two years ago, the prospect of the evening ahead would have filled him with terror. Scott clapped Jim on the shoulder. "Chin up, they're both actually rather cute when they're drunk."
Jim, who unfortunately did not have quite the same emotional progression as Scott, gave the other man an incredulous look. "Uh . .. you weren't with us the last time they got drunk, but you may remember the morning after. The very unfortunate, very public morning after."
"Note the qualifier - 'when' they're drunk. I said absolutely nothing about the morning after." Scott slid an arm around Jean, nudging her in the direction of an empty booth. "Harry? Your best vodka, please."
---
"You know," Jean said, cradling her glass between her hands. "I don't know what's worse - the self righteousness of the students, or the fact that I almost kind of agree with them. Mind, they'd like as not have something to say about this," she added, tilting the glass in salute and knocking it back.
"I don't know how you quite manage it all anymore," Betsy said quite seriously to Jean. "Especially with having every minor episode end up plastered on the boards for everyone to see." She leaned forward to emphasize her point. "The worst thing Hank could've done was give those little fingers and little voices a network connection and the first amendment. Then leave all of us to deal with the aftermath." Betsy motioned to all of them. "Actually all of you."
"Yes. You get to sit in New York and laugh at all of us. You lucky bitch." Scott tossed back what was in his glass, then coughed. "So not used to vodka."
"I'm with agreeing with her," said Jim, gesturing at Jean. Because he was even less used to vodka the gesture was a little off. "Kids. Illusion of stability. Stuff. Anyway . . ." he waved a hand and took up a glass of water. The telepath took a drink and gave Betsy a pointed look. "Besides, they're not the only ones who use the journals for evil."
The glass was almost to her mouth before she registered Jim's comment. "How many times do I have to say - I'm sorry. Because really, you'd think I'd've more than made up for it by now. Especially with all the......OW!"
Jim coughed into his waterglass and retracted his elbow.
Jean snorted, leaning back into her chair without a wince - vodka was a fairly effective painkiller on it's own. "You," she said, wagging a finger at Haller, "have waaaay too much shame to be dating her. Not like we don't all know exactly what she's gonna say." The finger moved to point vaguely at Betsy. "Bets here has no shame. I have no shame. Scott fakes it ok. You need to take some lessons from him."
"I find a really handy rule of thumb is to go 'No, shameless woman! Think of the children and their innocent eyes!'" Scott said sardonically, refilling his glass. "Of course, the results of that are sometimes unpredictable."
Jim shook his head. "It doesn't work with her. I was anywhere from 1/2 to 4/5th's innocent when I met her, and the shamelessness happened anyway." He leaned over to Betsy and whispered, "By the way, thanks."
Betsy smiled to herself quite pleased. She casually looked over in Jean's direction. Tell me you're not going to let him get away with that? The thought quickly sent as she focused her attention back to Jim and leaned into his space. "You are quite welcome."
Jean made a face at Scott. "Unpredictable your ass... Actually, that's frequently true. Which doesn't help to avoid the corruption of the innocents, but right now I don't care." She pouted at him. "My glass is empty. Fix it."
---
"I am sick and tired of you dodging the fucking issue," Betsy argued. She shrugged Jim from her shoulder and leaned precariously close to Scott. "I won't ask again and you bloody well tell me the truth." Her finger scant millimeters from his face. "Who is the better kisser, me or Jean? And none of this marital vow of honor business. It's simply a change in title and ownership."
"You know, I'd kind of like an answer to that myself," Jean said, the vodka making her pleasantly argumentative (which was a weird combination, and maybe there'd still been a bit of medication in her system, but Jean was willing to go with it). "And remember, darling, table full of telepaths. We'll know if you lie." She smiled oh-so-sweetly at Scott.
Scott met her eyes unflinchingly and smiled right back. "You, of course, darling. Betsy likes to gnaw."
Jim's head whipped from one woman to the other. "No way, I abstain. I can't make a comparison." He paused on Betsy's face and added, "But for the record, I like the gnawing."
Jean frowned in concentration, trying to think that through. "Gnawing..." she said slowly, considering it. "Gnaaaaaawing..." She looked at Betsy. "Gnawing? I admit it, I'm confused. Also, curious."
"Oh, you are so going to regret that." The hand that had been idly spinning the rim of the shot glass stopped as Betsy shook her head at Jim. She pulled away from Scott and now shifted all her attention to Jean. "Well, if neither one of you are going to own up to it," she said. "Jean, fancy a snog?"
Jim looked from the doctor to the Brit, carefully replaying the proposition in his head in a vain attempt to fit the mental image into his personal reality. Even the alcohol wasn't helping.
"Um," he said.
Scott reached out and tapped Jean's wedding ring. "Don't let the vodka overcome your common sense."
"Aw, but it's been ages since I've kissed a girl," Jean said, pouting slightly, although there wasn't any real force behind it. "Mind, I would want assurance that Haller wouldn't set me on fire, first."
"You," she pointed at Scott. "Need to stop being such a prude. And you," she addressed Haller. "No scorch marks on the nice lady." With that, Betsy leaned across the table and smiled lovingly at her red-headed companion. "Come on. Give us a kiss."
---
"I am going to be terribly hungover on the plane tomorrow," Scott said gravely, refilling his glass. "Maybe I will sleep. Jean, will you divorce me if I drool on your shoulder? Jim, is Betsy okay with you drooling on her shoulder? I find it's the mark of a wonderful woman..."
"Don't know. Height difference makes finding out physically improbable." With a sigh, Jim readjusted his arms around Betsy's waist and kissed her hair. "Don't sleep at Harry's. I think he's got a policy. If you're going to at least pass out honestly."
"It's so difficult being the tall one," Jean agreed muzzily - Scott wasn't the only one likely to be hungover on the plane. She'd scooted her chair about so she could more handily use Scott's shoulder as a pillow without putting undue stress on her ribs. "And when I wear heels... Hah. Not that he seems to mind."
"Tall is good," Scott said, very pleasantly mellow at this point in the evening. "I approve of the legs. Very much."
"Me too," Her hand absently running along the nape of Haller's neck as his arms tighten around her. "You should go." Betsy said to both Jean and Scott. "It's getting late and her side is starting to bother her."
"And you clearly need to be put to bed, too," Scott said as he got up, carefully helping Jean up as well. "You're sounding downright solicitious. Jim, check her for a fever, too, before you... do whatever it is the two of you do."
"I'm thinking 'sleep it off at my place'," Jim said, gently pushing Betsy into a sitting position. "No cars."
"Give you a bit of authority and you're downright obstinate," Betsy said, sleepily. She sat up, wrapped both arms around him and grinned into Jim's neck. "Why Mr. Haller, I'd almost assume you were jealous. But that's quite unlikely as you implied earlier that you feared my enormous appetite."
"Nom nom nom," Jean muttered, hiding a grin in Scott's shoulder. Straightening up she caught the look Harry was giving her and nodded at the bartender. "Think our cab is here. Come on, love. It's going to be morning far sooner than we want. Night you two. Don't do anything I'll have to laugh at you for."
Even just getting off the mansion grounds made her headache diminish. It had been a long couple days, with nothing much to do but lie about and listen to the low level frustration and anger everywhere which, coupled with the pain in her ribs, was slowly driving her out of what mind she still had. Convincing Scott that she was well enough to go out had taken some work but finally he'd caved and they were on their way to Harry's. "Can we just get a hotel tonight?" Jean asked, leaning back in her seat. "Don't want to go back."
"Don't tempt me. But we have to go back," Scott said, "because things will blow up if we don't. Things always blow up if I'm not there. And if I'm there. But at least if I'm there I can pick shrapnel out of the walls." He blinked, glancing sideways at Jean as he pulled into the parking lot. "That was a little grim, wasn't it?"
"Mmm, just a bit." Her own look was wry. "But if you won't let me have a hotel, then I'm going to solve the problem with vodka." Once he'd stopped the car she carefully got out, seeming to be a little more cautious even than usual. She'd cut back her painkiller prescription (the sort of trick she'd have yelled at any one else for doing, but everyone knew doctors made the worst patients) and that was possibly part of the reason her mood had ended up so dark.
Scott got out, locking the doors, and followed her. "I am perfectly capable of pouring you back into bed, not to worry. I have done it before." There was a touch of dryness to his tone, but only a touch. He couldn't really fault her impulse. In fact, he was possibly going to join her, at least to an extent.
Pausing at the door Jean set her hand over her heart and said, "I promise not to get so drunk I can't walk. Now come. I have a headache, my ribs hurt, I'm cold and cranky, but inside there is warmth and light. And vodka. We will not forget the vodka. If you're going to drink liquor from eastern Europe, vodka is clearly the way to go." And she turned and pushed the door open, ducking inside.
"Are you actually listening to me?" Betsy said. She was leaning up against the pool table her back to the door as Jim lined up his shot. "I mean, there's a reason why everyone is predisposed to going psychotic back there. All sane going in, quite nutters on the way out. And while you, my dear, are not classified as 'sane' per se," Betsy leaned down and said not too softly. "You are quite fantastic in bed and therefore worth keeping around."
Jim smiled down the cue-sight. "Maybe that's the compromise," he commented, sliding the stick back and forth. "It would explain why fights keep breaking out if losing your mind also makes you some kind of sexual god. I mean, something's got to keep them coming back, right?" His smile widened as he slid his eyes away from the ball and up to Betsy. "Though I guess if it's in proportion to the amount of damage you have it'd explain that thing you can do with your--"
At which point Jim realized just who'd walked into the bar in right behind her, and scratched the table.
Scott just raised his eyebrow - but didn't make the sort of response that might have been called for, had it been 'just us men' and he'd been looking to make Jim's head explode. "Pool and bizarre psychosexual conversation," he said, instead. "And yet it's still preferable to being at the mansion."
"Scott, Jean." Jim jerked upright from the pooltable, face bright red. Oh god, do I ever disagree.
"Yes, hello," Betsy called over her shoulder, swallowing the grin on her face. If Jim's back was any straighter. Well, there was now another person in the room with a firmer grip on their sphincter muscles. "Care to join us? I'm sure you'd be able to share some insight on the topic at hand. I do love a frank discussion regarding the state of affairs at Xaviers and all things sordid and sundry."
"See, the pool's the only thing that makes it different from the mansion, really," Jean said. "I will happily join you, Betsy, and God if that isn't the strangest thing I've ever said. Now I really need the vodka."
It was funny to think that two years ago, the prospect of the evening ahead would have filled him with terror. Scott clapped Jim on the shoulder. "Chin up, they're both actually rather cute when they're drunk."
Jim, who unfortunately did not have quite the same emotional progression as Scott, gave the other man an incredulous look. "Uh . .. you weren't with us the last time they got drunk, but you may remember the morning after. The very unfortunate, very public morning after."
"Note the qualifier - 'when' they're drunk. I said absolutely nothing about the morning after." Scott slid an arm around Jean, nudging her in the direction of an empty booth. "Harry? Your best vodka, please."
---
"You know," Jean said, cradling her glass between her hands. "I don't know what's worse - the self righteousness of the students, or the fact that I almost kind of agree with them. Mind, they'd like as not have something to say about this," she added, tilting the glass in salute and knocking it back.
"I don't know how you quite manage it all anymore," Betsy said quite seriously to Jean. "Especially with having every minor episode end up plastered on the boards for everyone to see." She leaned forward to emphasize her point. "The worst thing Hank could've done was give those little fingers and little voices a network connection and the first amendment. Then leave all of us to deal with the aftermath." Betsy motioned to all of them. "Actually all of you."
"Yes. You get to sit in New York and laugh at all of us. You lucky bitch." Scott tossed back what was in his glass, then coughed. "So not used to vodka."
"I'm with agreeing with her," said Jim, gesturing at Jean. Because he was even less used to vodka the gesture was a little off. "Kids. Illusion of stability. Stuff. Anyway . . ." he waved a hand and took up a glass of water. The telepath took a drink and gave Betsy a pointed look. "Besides, they're not the only ones who use the journals for evil."
The glass was almost to her mouth before she registered Jim's comment. "How many times do I have to say - I'm sorry. Because really, you'd think I'd've more than made up for it by now. Especially with all the......OW!"
Jim coughed into his waterglass and retracted his elbow.
Jean snorted, leaning back into her chair without a wince - vodka was a fairly effective painkiller on it's own. "You," she said, wagging a finger at Haller, "have waaaay too much shame to be dating her. Not like we don't all know exactly what she's gonna say." The finger moved to point vaguely at Betsy. "Bets here has no shame. I have no shame. Scott fakes it ok. You need to take some lessons from him."
"I find a really handy rule of thumb is to go 'No, shameless woman! Think of the children and their innocent eyes!'" Scott said sardonically, refilling his glass. "Of course, the results of that are sometimes unpredictable."
Jim shook his head. "It doesn't work with her. I was anywhere from 1/2 to 4/5th's innocent when I met her, and the shamelessness happened anyway." He leaned over to Betsy and whispered, "By the way, thanks."
Betsy smiled to herself quite pleased. She casually looked over in Jean's direction. Tell me you're not going to let him get away with that? The thought quickly sent as she focused her attention back to Jim and leaned into his space. "You are quite welcome."
Jean made a face at Scott. "Unpredictable your ass... Actually, that's frequently true. Which doesn't help to avoid the corruption of the innocents, but right now I don't care." She pouted at him. "My glass is empty. Fix it."
---
"I am sick and tired of you dodging the fucking issue," Betsy argued. She shrugged Jim from her shoulder and leaned precariously close to Scott. "I won't ask again and you bloody well tell me the truth." Her finger scant millimeters from his face. "Who is the better kisser, me or Jean? And none of this marital vow of honor business. It's simply a change in title and ownership."
"You know, I'd kind of like an answer to that myself," Jean said, the vodka making her pleasantly argumentative (which was a weird combination, and maybe there'd still been a bit of medication in her system, but Jean was willing to go with it). "And remember, darling, table full of telepaths. We'll know if you lie." She smiled oh-so-sweetly at Scott.
Scott met her eyes unflinchingly and smiled right back. "You, of course, darling. Betsy likes to gnaw."
Jim's head whipped from one woman to the other. "No way, I abstain. I can't make a comparison." He paused on Betsy's face and added, "But for the record, I like the gnawing."
Jean frowned in concentration, trying to think that through. "Gnawing..." she said slowly, considering it. "Gnaaaaaawing..." She looked at Betsy. "Gnawing? I admit it, I'm confused. Also, curious."
"Oh, you are so going to regret that." The hand that had been idly spinning the rim of the shot glass stopped as Betsy shook her head at Jim. She pulled away from Scott and now shifted all her attention to Jean. "Well, if neither one of you are going to own up to it," she said. "Jean, fancy a snog?"
Jim looked from the doctor to the Brit, carefully replaying the proposition in his head in a vain attempt to fit the mental image into his personal reality. Even the alcohol wasn't helping.
"Um," he said.
Scott reached out and tapped Jean's wedding ring. "Don't let the vodka overcome your common sense."
"Aw, but it's been ages since I've kissed a girl," Jean said, pouting slightly, although there wasn't any real force behind it. "Mind, I would want assurance that Haller wouldn't set me on fire, first."
"You," she pointed at Scott. "Need to stop being such a prude. And you," she addressed Haller. "No scorch marks on the nice lady." With that, Betsy leaned across the table and smiled lovingly at her red-headed companion. "Come on. Give us a kiss."
---
"I am going to be terribly hungover on the plane tomorrow," Scott said gravely, refilling his glass. "Maybe I will sleep. Jean, will you divorce me if I drool on your shoulder? Jim, is Betsy okay with you drooling on her shoulder? I find it's the mark of a wonderful woman..."
"Don't know. Height difference makes finding out physically improbable." With a sigh, Jim readjusted his arms around Betsy's waist and kissed her hair. "Don't sleep at Harry's. I think he's got a policy. If you're going to at least pass out honestly."
"It's so difficult being the tall one," Jean agreed muzzily - Scott wasn't the only one likely to be hungover on the plane. She'd scooted her chair about so she could more handily use Scott's shoulder as a pillow without putting undue stress on her ribs. "And when I wear heels... Hah. Not that he seems to mind."
"Tall is good," Scott said, very pleasantly mellow at this point in the evening. "I approve of the legs. Very much."
"Me too," Her hand absently running along the nape of Haller's neck as his arms tighten around her. "You should go." Betsy said to both Jean and Scott. "It's getting late and her side is starting to bother her."
"And you clearly need to be put to bed, too," Scott said as he got up, carefully helping Jean up as well. "You're sounding downright solicitious. Jim, check her for a fever, too, before you... do whatever it is the two of you do."
"I'm thinking 'sleep it off at my place'," Jim said, gently pushing Betsy into a sitting position. "No cars."
"Give you a bit of authority and you're downright obstinate," Betsy said, sleepily. She sat up, wrapped both arms around him and grinned into Jim's neck. "Why Mr. Haller, I'd almost assume you were jealous. But that's quite unlikely as you implied earlier that you feared my enormous appetite."
"Nom nom nom," Jean muttered, hiding a grin in Scott's shoulder. Straightening up she caught the look Harry was giving her and nodded at the bartender. "Think our cab is here. Come on, love. It's going to be morning far sooner than we want. Night you two. Don't do anything I'll have to laugh at you for."
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