Log: [Betsy, Haller] Waking up

[x-legion.livejournal.com]

After a psychic mauling, Haller wakes up to find someone waiting for him.



A light touch over his left hand. It traveled over his hip. The pressure lingered there, as if difficult to move on and then it was gone. There it was again, hovering oh-so-gently over his stomach.

A soft exhale and then it moved off again.

He was laying between own sheets. That was nice, though he would have preferred it be in his own room. Jim supposed he couldn't blame them for wanting to keep watch. He couldn't remember much after the initial reception by Charles and the beginning of the repair, and he could tell by the IV line and the thick feeling in his mouth he'd been out for some time.

And he had a visitor. Despite the phantom pain, he smiled.

"Hey, Betts," he croaked.

Her mind was so focused on the scars, Betsy startled when she heard her name. Instinctively, she pulled back her hand. The trauma so visceral, tears welled in her eyes and those eyes took him in, all of him, and she let out a broken exhale. "Hi."

"Hey." Jim sat up, alarmed enough by her tears that he ignored the stab of pain it brought. The path of her hand -- it hadn't been any real injury she'd been tracing, but the corresponding astral wounds. He reached up and took her hand in his, the gesture gentle and instinctive.

"Hey, it's okay," he repeated, trying a smile.

"No, no it's not." Betsy gripped her hand tightly in his, she leaned her face against his chest, finding comfort in hearing the low thrum of his heartbeat. "This is not okay - not by any means."

Jim grimaced. "Okay, correction: it will be okay." He wrapped his arms around her tighter than he'd meant to, but he'd been having .. . he didn't know. Maybe dreams. Maybe memories. Between Gambit's assault and the dimension's relentless exploitation of his insecurities it was a comfort to finally have something firmly, empirically real.

"I'll be fine," he continued, stroking her hair. "Dad stitched me up. It was an easy fix -- actually less invasive than the integration with Jem. I'll be okay in a few weeks."

"I am wrapping you in proverbial bubble wrap and then if I find whatever this thing is that did ...." Her other hand, clenched his arm. "I'll kill it and it'll beg me before the end. I promise. "

Jim kissed the top of her head. "It's dead already. It was a demon, mostly. Wanda can tell you more. The others dealt with it. But somehow when we crossed over into its dimension it got ahold of Gambit. Remy didn't want to risk leaving it behind with a demon's powers. It was just an imprint, so there was no mind to destroy . . . all we could do was put it back where it belonged." He gave her an apologetic smile. "Jean got pretty torn up, too. I was the only option."

"Lucky demon," Betsy grounded out. She hid her face as she wiped at it. "I'm sorry, I know I should ....with Jean and the others." She pulled back from him, and it was apparent. The sadness, the worry pouring off of her. Betsy was a wreck. "I thought the one thing we didn't have to worry about was you - involved in psychic combat - life and death."

"That makes two of us," Jim agreed wryly. He wiped at her tears the best he could. There was a limit to what he could do while attached to an IV, but he made the attempt. It was painful seeing her this upset. "The fighting was incidental. Don't worry. I'm not making a habit of it."

Jim hesitated. He could remember some of what Charles had said before he'd lost consciousness. There was something else, something he hadn't really had time to process yet.

"The professor said . . . he said the DID saved my life."

"I know," she said, leaning into his touch. Betsy forced herself to find center, to find her calm. To not think about how many pieces he was in..she had to fixate on something else, something innocuous. "You know, I don't think I've ever heard you call him 'dad'. Sometimes, you're so removed when talking about him, it's like I forget he's your family." She pursed her lips as the thought crossed her mind. "If we married, would he be my professor-in-law?"

Jim smiled. "Ha." Fatigue forced Jim to lower his hand, but he let it fall back across one of hers. Touching her helped.

"I guess I . . . hope people forget," he admitted quietly. Memories of the fears made manifest by the hotel came back to him. "I don't want to be compared to him. Scared I wouldn't live up to it, that people would wonder how someone like him could be related to me . . . dumb, insecure kid shit." Unconsciously, he traced the site of his injury with his free hand. "But being sick saved me. My brain compartmentalized the damage. I remember getting ripped apart, but I .. . wasn't. I didn't feel like it. It's like some outer wrapping got torn, but it didn't touch the core. It should have been a killing blow, but even the damage I took is going to heal. The professor said it would even have healed on its own with enough time" He dropped his hand and gave her an awkward smile. "Sorry, I don't really know where I'm going with this. I'm just . . . it was confusing in there. I've spent so long hating the DID I don't know how to feel now."

She wanted to talk about all of it, to push him to accept the truth, but he needed time to heal. "Comparing children to their parents is always an adventure in folly. You are not this dumb insecure kid, you are... everything." She smiled, turning her gaze to the door. "I don't think I've ever truly thought of the DID as a disease, I always saw it as you, even when I knew it wasn't exactly right, a part of me acknowledged it as the whole of you." She let out a heavy breath. "Does that mean I'm damaged too?"

Damaged. The ghost-memory of her speaking with Charles returned to him. The scenario had been a lie, but he even then he had known she did truly believe that of herself -- just as he believed it of himself.

With a deep breath Jim moved to bring his other hand over hers. "I think -- we're all damaged," he said. "You'll find cracks in anyone if you dig deep enough. There's no point worrying about why we feel how we feel. It's just part of who we are." He dropped his eyes, throat suddenly thick as his hands tightened around hers. "'Everything.' You. . . you aren't nothing, Betts."

She kept her eyes on the door, avoiding his scrutiny. "I should let you get some rest, love. You need it and your dad has insisted I quit hovering."

Evasion. Every time he started to insinuate that maybe he wasn't the only one in this relationship worth something, she ducked him. Jim sighed.

"Yeah, well. We'd all like a lot of things." Jim moved over to make room on the side opposite the IV cords.

"You've watched me sleep enough," he said. "Lay down for a little bit and get some rest yourself. I'm still -- processing. AMA or not, I need to get some things straight and a little reality . . . helps." Maybe it was a lot to ask, but he didn't need telepathy to know she hadn't been sleeping. He doubted leaving would change that. At least here he'd know if she was getting any rest.

And he wasn't going to pretend he didn't also want her company right now.

"Well, Mr. Haller, I knew you had a problem." Betsy said, with a small smirk. "You are completely fixated on keeping me in bed. Even at a time such as this, you are doing it now. You are incorrigible."

Jim snorted. "Not that incorrigible. Do you know how many tubes they insert when you're unconscious for more than a few hours? Because I do. Intimately. Besides, tired."

"Well, you're no fun," she added, keeping her hands clasped. The urge to touch, to see, to confirm was overwhelming.

He was tired, but his mind's natural reaction to trauma was to draw into itself; dampening his presence in her mind was not difficult. Jim patted the empty patch of bed next to him. "In," he said when he was sure his injuries wouldn't grate on her senses. "Your putative professor-in-law doesn't need to know. And stop looking at my sexy psychic battle scars. You know picking at it only makes it worse."

Elisabeth grimaced, her stomach rolled as she quickly looked up. Caught. The first time she'd felt her condition since Jim's returned and it reminded her of her inattention. "Well, telling me not to pick at it now has made it a damn compulsion."

Jim smiled crookedly. "Blah blah, something about making you forget it . . . blah. Did I mention tired? Get in and lay down. I'll have a one-liner for you when you wake up."

Betsy stifled a smile, exhaled and climbed on the bed. She sat higher than Jim and his head leveled by her chest. She cradled him, rubbing her free hand along his back, losing herself in the sensation. After a few minutes, she admitted with a tremor to her voice. "I'm happy you came home." To me was left unsaid but hung in the air. "So happy."

"Me too." With a sigh, Jim rested his head against Betsy's chest. He took her hand in his and gripped it tightly.

Me too.