The Prodigal Percolator

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Jamie drops by Lorna's room to return her poor abused Mr. Coffee, and manages to escape death. They then talk about subjects serious and silly.



Jamie knocked on Lorna's door, coffeepot and two largeish bags of gourmet beans under his other arm, poised to duck any flying metal objects. "Hey, Lorna? You in? Think I've got somebody here who wants to see you . . ."

Lorna's eyes narrowed as she recognized Jamie's voice and she curled protectively around her most recent mug of coffee. Moira's borrowed coffee-maker brewed happily away at another pot and it probably would have concerned the medical doctor types to know how many times it had performed that function since coming to reside in place of her poor abused and descrated Mr. Coffee. "Come in," Lorna said warily, wondering why on earth he would be risking almost certain peril in talking to her right now.

Jamie let Mr. Coffee lead him into the room. "I figured you would've been beating down my door wondering where he was days ago, but you didn't, so here he is back all safe and sound, plus nice coffee for the emotional damages don't kill me Kitty won't like it?"

Lorna didn't have quite the control to actually fly across the room but given the speed with which she was in front of Jamie, seizing Mr. Coffee back, one might have suspected she did. "Darling! Are you all right? Did the bad man hurt you?" Lorna crooned, petting the sleek black coffee-maker.

Jamie manfully restrained a snicker. "Nah, the bad man kidnapped him and substituted his evil Canadian cousin Monsieur Cafe. With hidden supply of Folger's Crystals. Didn't even scratch the finish on the real one, I promise."

Lorna shot him a deathlook and cradled Mr. Coffee to her protectively, "You're a vile vile creature, James Madrox. Folger's Crystals are one thing but you gave me decaf. For that...oh I wish I'd gotten you a taffeta and tulle dress with sequins and lace. And feathers."

"Oh, were they decaf? Gee." He grinned. "I had to run almost naked through the halls. And you'll recover." He waved the bags. "These aren't decaf. These are award-winning. I didn't know they had coffee awards, but they do, and these won some."

"That's not my fault. You could have put on the dress. Then you would have been clothed. Quite fashionably and flatteringly at that," Lorna retorted while studying the packages of coffee in his hands. Then she squealed, "Christ....Jamie, where did you get this?" She carefully set Mr. Coffee down and reached out to take the bags with reverence.

"I Googled, found a coffee fan page, and asked around. Some very helpful people up very late at night, presumably from this stuff. It's good?"

"Is Hank blue and furry?" Lorna managed to say. He was pretty much off the hook for the messy death scenario, though covert revenge later on was still not out of the question...freeze dried decaf couldn't be forgiven so easily.

"Oh good." He grinned. "I figured I'd need something special to avoid sprouting forks from places no fork should be. I didn't figure I'd fool you this long."

Lorna gave an absent-minded "mmm, hmm" while she wandered off with her coffee. No need to disabuse him of the notion that she hadn't known who was responsible. "Do you want some coffee? I'm afraid it's not freeze-dried but it should be good enough for your sophisticated tastes." She gestured at Moira's coffee-maker.

"Nah, I tried some once and decided it smells a lot better than it tastes. You have fun."

"Not a problem. Coffee never was part of things I sacrificed to the anorexia demons."

"Everybody needs a vice." Jamie tilted his head thoughtfully. " . . . How's that going, I mean, if it's okay to ask? You look better, some."

"I weigh 102," she responded matter of factly, "Hardest six pounds of my life." She shrugged, "It goes. Better some days than others. At least I'm getting back to cooking."

"That's a good thing. Anything I can do to help? Apart from not kidnapping your loved ones anymore?"

"Support is good. Most of what I'm fighting is in my head but outside encouragment always helps." She drummed her nails on the counter. "Also, if I ever tell you I'm not hungry, please feel free to call me a damned liar."

"Aye-aye, ma'am. . . . And you've always got my support. You can beat this."

"I'd damned well better. It's been beating me for too long." She made a face. "I haven't managed to tell Mom and Dad yet."

"You will. It's a tough thing, talking to your parents sometimes. I still haven't told mine everything about after the hurricane. Almost, but . . . yeah."

"I don't want them to know. They didn't while it was happening."

"Well, then, maybe you won't tell them. The point is what's best for you . . . it was best for me to talk to mine, so that's what I did, eventually. Won't say the Prof didn't have to convince me first, though."

"I think I'm just being a coward. And possibly bitter." She laughed. "I'm sure that's very surprising."

"Well, there's blood in your caffeine system. That'll do things to a person."

"Not anymore there isn't. Moira's machine is a hardy little thing, you know. Most coffee makers give out after ten pots in a row."

"It's used to that motor oil of hers. Probably thinks it's on vacation." Jamie grinned. "I can hear it now. 'No! No! Don't send me back!'"

"Hey now," Lorna said mock-severely, "You have no coffee bashing rights, at the moment. You're on coffee approval only mode. Or else Mr. Coffee with come after you in the night. He knows where you sleep."

Jamie shivered theatrically. "Coffee is good! Up with coffee! Viva la bean!"

She applauded, "Excellent. You do not have to fear the wrath of the Coffee Ninja this night."

"Oh good. Last thing I want is to be on the other end of a sword from somebody with caffeine jitters."