Log: Haller & Betsy - Holiday Plans

[x-psylocke.livejournal.com]

"You were supposed to make room not more of a mess." Seated in front of her suitcase, Betsy regarded the mess that was Jim's room. Frustrated, she closed her suitcase and stood. "Why make a big stink about unpacking, if I'm to fight for space with the arts and crafts?"

"It's not like you gave me any notice you'd be coming," Jim retorted, unceremoniously dropping half a ream of sketches into the recycling bin in temporary residence. However, even he had to admit it was a bit much. His usual method of storage was "pile until it begins to slide"; it was a testament to his adherence to habit that he was more likely to set things on top of the flat-file Jean had given him than within it.

"I know but," Betsy crossed her arms to regard the space. "Perhaps we can hire a cleaner, take a bit of the load off of you, and still manage to see the floor in case of emergency?" She felt the corners of her lips rise at the her own joke. Shit, she was tired. "Now that I think on it, probably shouldn't have taken off my shoes."

A wadded-up ball of paper bounced off her head. "In case of emergency, I'm a telekinetic," Jim reminded her. "Though . . . point taken. The place could use a good vacuum." He picked a pile of files off the chair and sighed, unsure of where to put them. "I hate to say it, but maybe you should stake out your own suite. The more floor we find the more worried I get this will end in a fumigation."

Her hand went to her head, feeling the phantom hit but not seeing the perpetrator or paper ball. Suspicious and cutting her eyes at Jim, she opened her mouth when his words finally hit. Betsy lifted her foot, spying on the floor any possible threats. "You're joking, aren't you?" Shuffling closer to him, she added. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get rid of me."

The telepath teasingly bumped her hip with his own. "I'm trying to give you a non-terrifying option. And you have to admit the single can get a little cramped." Jim gave up and finally dropped the files on the bed with an irritated noise. "And this is going to take a while. Getting a temp-suite would mean you can unpack without worrying about my room's native ecosystem devouring your stuff."

"You are doing this on purpose," Betsy shot back. "You're cracking up." She motioned at him with her hand. "On the inside but I can tell. And no, I'm staying here until we get back from our trip. You're not planning anything for the hols, are you?"

"What, you think I'd intentionally creep you out just because your post-it trick took ten years off my life the other day?" Jim replied, his tone clearly marking the statement as rhetorical. "Shame on you. And no. Should I?"

"Such a git," Betsy said to herself, trying not to crack. The impetus to training had come from a genuine place, the mode in which she did so, entirely for fun. "Let it go, it's unsportsmanlike to hold a grudge. I got you, fair and square." She crossed her arms over her chest, regarded him for a moment, as if deciding his fate. She pursed her lips, decision made and retrieved the tickets from her trenchcoat and handed them to him. "Two weeks in Bali. Happy Christmas."

Well, she'd gotten him again, thought Jim as he automatically accepted the tickets. Growing up the only gifts he was accustomed to getting in December were wrapped in gold foil. While he made an effort to give gifts he often forgot he would also be on the receiving end.

"Thank you," he said, nonplussed. He looked at her. "Stupid question: where is Bali?"

"You'll have to wait and see what's inside." Betsy beamed, practically standing on her tip toes, hands behind her back, impatiently. "Well, go on, open it."

Jim flipped open the top ticket. Inside was a map of the world, with New York helpfully labeled and a dotted line leading to an X on a similarly identified Indonesia. An annotation stated "Bali is here." Betsy clearly knew her audience.

Behind the map was a little sketch of a cabin. In a bubble above it were the words:

This is our hut. It's lovely. It's located thirty miles away from the nearest human soul with fresh food and supplies delivered daily.

Or we can spend the vacation wherever you want if you don't terribly like the idea.

The silence was maddening. So much so that Betsy's smile slowly fell. "It was probably not the best idea to plan a solid holiday out of the country without telling you." Once she started her rant, it took off full steam. "You're right, I probably should've ran it passed you but between renewing your passport and applying for the visas, it became so much more than a few nights on the island." She exhaled, slightly irritated with herself. "And I wanted it to be special, you know, since it's the first vacation we'll take together in I don't know how long." Betsy reached for the tickets. "We can still go to Muir, if that's what you prefer....?"

"Betts." Jim folded the ticket closed and smiled -- not the usual half-quirk of his mouth, but one of his rare, full smiles. "Of course I'm going. Of course. I mean, two weeks on an island with no possibility of neighbors filing a noise complaint? I don't really see a downside." The smile became a grin. "Though I'd probably prefer not to know how you got my passport -- wait."

One urgent hand raised, Jim took a few quick steps to the closet and began rummaging around the top shelf. A moment later he withdrew a slim black box.

"I was going to wait," he said, holding it out to her, "but if we're doing this now . . ."

"Well," she hesitated at his command. "It actually can't wait much longer. Our flight leaves in thirty-six hours." Betsy winced at the timeline. "Or I could've drugged you and let the surprise be, you were in Bali. Surprise! But figured this was probably the best route for all those involved."

Jim laughed. "Considering you wouldn't have gotten your present that way, probably. Even though mine's . . . um, well, let's just say it's pretty firmly Hanukkah to your Christmas."

Her fingers trembled as she took the box. Something about this moment, this place and time, it meant more than all their years together, all the mishaps and misfires. For some reason above all, this holiday mattered. Betsy opened her giftbox and gasped. "Oh Jim."

"I had to get someone to do the actual work," Jim confessed, visibly relieved at her reaction. It was an amethyst and pearl Y-necklace set in silver, and since this had been his first foray into jewelery man, many drafts had gone into the design. As a gift it had combined the financial expense of custom work with all the anxiety of artistic self-doubt. He still wished diamonds had been in his price-range.

But much of his worry had evaporated when she'd given him the tickets. It wasn't so much the expense -- which, though she had the money, he knew had to be considerable. For two years their relationship had been stretched across an ocean, and what time they had together was largely one commuting to the other's current country of residence, and maybe a day trip or two once they were there. Something like this was . . . a commitment.

"No, no. I love it," Betsy whispered, her fingers gliding over the necklace before pulling it out and placing it on her neck. Eager, she turned her back to him and asked. "Help me with the clasp?"

"Sure." He fumbled it a little even though her hair was still short enough there wasn't much chance of snagging. He felt a little light-headed, though he wasn't sure exactly why.

When the clasp closed, Betsy found the nearest mirror and watched how the necklace lay. Her grin was wide and open, happy. She pulled up her shorter hair, the necklace helped elongate her neck and she eyed herself from various angles to get a feel for it. Hands still in her hair, Betsy turned back to Jim unable to contain her joy. "Thank you. It's perfect."

"Says the woman who provided an exotic getaway which hopefully won't end with us wanting to knife each other," Jim teased. He put his arms around her waist and smiled, serious now. "And thank you, too. Really. It's an amazing gift."

"Don't think you're getting off easy," she pulled back to stare at him but kept her hands over his, keeping him in place. "While this is a holiday, we will still be training until we get it right." She waited a beat before asking. "Still want to go? Before you answer, remember, thirty miles from anyone means, you have thirty miles to run away from me." She leaned forward to kiss him on the nose. "But I'll be gentle. Sort of."

Jim raised an eyebrow as he studied her face.

"No you won't."

"No, I won't." Betsy returned, nodding her head and smiling. "But if you get sick, I'll, at least, give you a running start."