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xp_logs In which Warren is peak Warren, Jessica is peak Jessica and Haller is .... definitely not Haller.
Read at your own risk and without liquid in your mouth. Writers cannot be held responsible for spit takes and/or face palming that may occur.
Warren had forgotten how wonderful the gossip mill was at the Mansion. Just from wandering around, lounging in one of the many rec rooms, chilling by the pool, he had learned so much useless information. It was fabulous. People thought he was a bad listener but that wasn't true -- it was that if it was boring, he had no interest in paying attention.
But learning that Suzy from down the hall was crushing on Joseph who was actually wanting Terrance AND Julie? Oh that was gold. Gold. He actually didn't know if those were the actual names but that wasn't the point. The point was, he lived for this shit.
And when he heard a very familiar name that he hadn't thought about in years, his interest was very much piqued.
Jessica. Wow. He had very fond memories of that woman ...and her body. He'd never again had the opportunity to truly test his impeccable abs like when they had sex on the ceiling. It was one of his peak moments of awesome, and because of that, there was no way he could dislike Jess. Even if she had disappeared off the face of the planet but really .... who hadn't?
He was a bit concerned when he heard she was laid up in the med lab though so naturally, he needed to do something about that. Heading downstairs with a loaf of chocolate espresso banana bread (along with some honey whipped mascarpone) he peeked into rooms until he found the right one. To say he was shaken was an understatement -- that beautiful face, marred with bruises of varying colours and shapes, an IV drip steadily dispensing medicine, machines with readouts .... ugh. Awful. Still. Warren was on a mission and nothing would deter him.
"Well. You've looked better," he said quietly, breezing in like he belonged. "I've definitely seen you better than this, but I don't know that I'm allowed to do that anymore. You might be on the no list...I'd have to ask Bobbi about that one." He sat down next to the bed and tilted his head at her. "All those blues and yellows on your face though ... not your colour. You should really stick to pastels."
Jessica - still in the hospital, laid low by cracked ribs and what the doctors described as an "enlarged spleen", whatever a spleen even was, and who cared how big it was? - well, Jessica stared at the intruder into her unwanted sanctuary, eyebrow twitching as her face tried to settle on an expression. There was too much stimulus: The douchey face atop what looked like expensive, ironed clothes; the grating air of absolute belonging; the references to things and people she didn't know and therefore gave no fucks about; and what was this bullshit about fucking pastels?
It took a moment for her to process all this, staring, outraged, at Warren, but she finally managed to find her voice to say, "And who the fuck are you?"
Warren blinked and leaned back in his chair. Opened his mouth and closed it. Brought his hand up to his chin and rubbed at the scruff before giving a nod. "Alright. Slight amensia obviously because there is no other reason for you to forget who I am considering I've actually been inside you before." He cleared his throat. "But since this is clearly a medical condition, I can't be too upset that you've forgotten my name. It's Warren. Warren Worthington the Third. You might know me from numerous naked encounters, amazing baked goods as evidenced by this lovely loaf, and a limitless credit card that will clearly need to be used for a new wardrobe."
If she squinted - which she did - he kind of looked familiar, but in that way where you sort of recognize the guy who played the second lead on a late-night rerun of an ABC Family teen drama you were only watching because it was on Netflix. Who the fuck even called themselves the Third? What even was that? Was there a possibility she was now just actively hallucinating? Or was the uneasy feeling in her stomach actually a sign of recognition?
What she finally said, the look on her face foretelling a distinct lack of patience: "What can I say, you can't have been that memorable, 'cause I don't have amnesia - " At least not total amnesia - "but I have no fucking memory of any of that."
There were very few times that Warren could remember being speechless. Once was after sleeping with Fi (but that didn't count because he was crying and that was obviously communication), and another was when his father semi-disowned him.
But this..this moment... it hurt. It really did.
"We fucked on the ceiling. That is the literal definition of memorable."
The uneasy feeling of recognition intensified. "Uh, sure. Are you down here to get some medication for those delusions, or what?" Jess shifted, uncomfortably and painfully, the better to level Warren with her most deadly glare.
Warren answered that with an immediate huff and a pout. "Delusions ... I don't have delusions. Delusions are for people who haven't had anything interesting happen to them. What I have are memories of things people wish could happen to them. Now eat some banana bread and at least remember something about me." And to ensure that she did, he cut her a piece, slathered it with the cheese spread and handed it to her. "And if you don't take it, I will feed it to you. Slowly and sensually." He was quickly learning that this Jessica was obstinate and seemed to not want to picture him naked.
Jessica accepted the banana bread with the air of someone accepting a dead rat covered in mystery goo, only doing so because she probably could break his hand if he tried coming anywhere near her face with those - ugh - manicured hands, but she was deeply aware that she did not have health insurance. She was still contemplating whether her plastic cup of ice chips would do any damage when she smelled the banana bread, which was enough to divert her (still deeply suspicious) to taking a bite.
She chewed, staring at him over the bread, and even managed to swallow the bite before she said, eyes narrowed, "This is pretty good."
"Obviously." Warren was still not very impressed with her, but he was willing to overlook that for a moment. Curiousity was always his downfall. "Do you remember XFI? The chinese food dinners bonding with your fellow private investigators, all led by yours truly? I bought you all matching trench coats." He thought for a moment. "We also had sex on a desk there and it was partly the reason Jean and I broke up." Warren shrugged. "Sorry, we weren't really friends, so I don't have many memories with you clothed. We were friendly but not friends if that makes sense."
Did Jessica ensure that her banana bread was safely out of his reach? She did. Did she also have a look on her face that foreboded death and destruction upon this incredibly, superlatively annoying man? Yes. "First of all," she said, "I absolutely do not accept that this ever happened. Second of all, we are neither of those things now. Third - matching trench coats like you're putting on a sixth grade production of Encyclopedia fucking Brown? Are you some kind of idiot?" She had to stop to catch her breath - goddamned ribs - giving Warren an unfortunate opportunity to reply before she was done telling him every single thing she hated about this conversation, and by extension, him.
"I'll have you know that no one had to wear the trenchcoats at the same time. It just gave the right energy so I refuse to apologize for that. Also, since you asked, yes, I am an idiot. A very rich idiot. I'm fine with that. I only wanted to make sure you're okay and it looks like you're not and probably need help." He scanned the room and frowned. "I can see that you have a chip on your shoulder the size of Alaska, so don't worry about asking for help -- I'll give it to you anyways. Where are your things? Do you even have clothes?"
"I have fucking <>i>clothes," Jessica snapped immediately, her gaze going from deadly to flat out irate. She didn't know where the medical team had put them, or whether they were in any shape now to be called clothes, but she owned them. And, if she could get to her apartment before the end of the month, she could probably manage to fill a box or two with whatever else she had. "I don't know what let's play detective therapy circle you escaped from, but it has not prepared you to leave psychiatric care."
Out of everything Jessica could have thrown at him, the audacity of accusing him of mental health issues was too much. "Excuse me, my mind is in pristine condition. It's not my fault that you can't remember things and have to start your spank bank from scratch. I know I would be devastated if mine was empty."
While the headache was still significant enough to make his thoughts sluggish, Jim was alert enough to pick up on the sound of voices from Jessica’s room. He welcomed the concept of a visitor in theory – she must be tired of the medical staff by now. A distraction would probably be welcome.
Then he'd gotten close enough to identify who it was.
Jim, a man equally cursed by not only knowledge of acts performed under the influence of a sociopathic telepath but also of Warren's general personality, found himself frozen on the doorway in sheer horror. He had only one thought:
ABSOLUTELY NOT.
Options flashed through his mind. Be polite? No. Warren didn't respond to polite hints. He didn't even respond to impolite ones. If Jim tried to handle this tactfully Jessica would have an aneurysm before he could get the man out of the room. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Cyndi put on her best Jim-voice and broke into a broad smile.
"Warren! Man, I've been looking all over for you!"
The smile on Warren's face could only be described as beaming. "David! Now this is a greeting that I can fully appreciate and get behind. This one here is not reciprocating and I don't know what to do about it. Didn't I bring you delicious baked treats, Jess? And a lovely walk through memory lane?" He rolled his eyes and leaned back, his body instantly relaxing. "She doesn't remember me and I feel so bad for her."
Cyndi waved a dismissive hand. "Don't take it personally. She has a traumatic brain injury. That sort of injury can cause memory loss, disorientation, changes in personality, et cetera. Try not to stress her out if she can't remember something, it's just the brain damage." She winked at Jess with one green eye. Don't say Jim never did you any favors.
Jess's mouth dropped open, her heightened ire turning to the more familiar face - though there was definitely something wrong with him, too, because she could have sworn the man didn't have 'jaunty' in his repertoire. "Don't listen to him," she said, with a fair attempt to glower at them both equally, "It is personal."
Warren shook his head. "No, this all makes sense. And he is a trained professional, after all. We should listen to what he says, which I suppose means rest and laying in bed, but for less interesting reasons than one would like."
"And I needed to talk to you," Cyndi continued blithely. "I didn't want to say anything in my office because the walls have ears here, but since Doc Grey is out right now I can finally tell you my secrets."
Oh sweet merciful Lord, thank you, Warren thought as he crossed his legs and gave a nod in the other man's direction. "There can't be secrets between friends. Open communication is the only way to move forward and build those important connections."
The alter nodded seriously. "I absolutely agree. But really, the secret of my success is pretty simple. Women love being listened to, but when it's by a man with the raw sexual magnetism of a dead bat? Catnip. It's the whole nonthreatening vibe. Nothing's more attractive than a man who cares, but isn't trying to bang you." And then, because Cyndi had done the math on what would capture Warren's attention while also providing her personally with maximum entertainment, she decided to double down. "That's phase one. Once you've reeled them in . . . you show them the joys of telepathy and the long-distance orgasm."
Jessica choked on a bite of banana bread.
Warren on the other hand was digesting this information, slightly annoyed that he had never learned of a telepathic orgasm. "I can see why you're good at your job. I am a very intimidating individual full of masculine energy. It's a lot." He shrugged and sighed. "It's difficult being me some days."
"That's why I keep my awesome sexual prowess a secret and commit to living the life of a sexless dork. The world's just not prepared to accept that kind of raw erotic power. It's a burden, actually. You need some water over there?" This comment was aimed at Jessica. She was enjoying the bit, but if Jessica managed to cough the IV out of her arm she'd have some explaining to do.
Was this even happening? Jess waved Cyndi off, taking a belated drink from the melted ice chips on the tray; who knew what this absolutely insane person would say or do next, to the other absolutely insane person. Where was she? What was this? She was in so much pain, and only half of it was physical.
Warren was half-tempted to take out his phone and write a note. 'sexless dork'. Not a phrase he'd ever wanted to hear but it made perfect sense. "You are incredibly beige," Warren agreed. "It's a good look for you. It works. I'm glad we had this talk. I feel like we've reached an important level in our friendship and now, we can both help Jessica accept that she also needs me in her life."
"See, you get it. When you're as potent as me, good camouflage is a must. The world must never suspect what lies beneath these chinos." Cyndi congratulated herself on a successful strategy. Sex, she thought with an internal snort. People were so weird about sex. It did make some things easier, though: when it came to dealing with one-track minds the simplest solution was to keep shoveling coal into the train until it blew right past the station. Plus the real Jim was actively trying to will himself out of existence, which was an incredible bonus.
"We should definitely get going, though," Cyndi said aloud, magnanimous in victory. "I should get out of here before Doc comes back, and the patient needs her rest."
"The patient?" Warren glanced at the bed. "Right, Jessica is a patient." He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. "Feel better, Jess. I'll bring you some more baking later. David and I can talk about your post-care -- we really need to ensure she's as comfortable as possible when she gets out of here and obviously no limit to the expenses." He smiled at Jessica. "We'll get through this together. You'll see. It'll be amazing."
"I - " Jessica's voice was raspy and her ribs hurt so, so much, and she had to choose: Tell Warren to fuck off, again, or . . . "Wait. Leave the banana bread."
Read at your own risk and without liquid in your mouth. Writers cannot be held responsible for spit takes and/or face palming that may occur.
Warren had forgotten how wonderful the gossip mill was at the Mansion. Just from wandering around, lounging in one of the many rec rooms, chilling by the pool, he had learned so much useless information. It was fabulous. People thought he was a bad listener but that wasn't true -- it was that if it was boring, he had no interest in paying attention.
But learning that Suzy from down the hall was crushing on Joseph who was actually wanting Terrance AND Julie? Oh that was gold. Gold. He actually didn't know if those were the actual names but that wasn't the point. The point was, he lived for this shit.
And when he heard a very familiar name that he hadn't thought about in years, his interest was very much piqued.
Jessica. Wow. He had very fond memories of that woman ...and her body. He'd never again had the opportunity to truly test his impeccable abs like when they had sex on the ceiling. It was one of his peak moments of awesome, and because of that, there was no way he could dislike Jess. Even if she had disappeared off the face of the planet but really .... who hadn't?
He was a bit concerned when he heard she was laid up in the med lab though so naturally, he needed to do something about that. Heading downstairs with a loaf of chocolate espresso banana bread (along with some honey whipped mascarpone) he peeked into rooms until he found the right one. To say he was shaken was an understatement -- that beautiful face, marred with bruises of varying colours and shapes, an IV drip steadily dispensing medicine, machines with readouts .... ugh. Awful. Still. Warren was on a mission and nothing would deter him.
"Well. You've looked better," he said quietly, breezing in like he belonged. "I've definitely seen you better than this, but I don't know that I'm allowed to do that anymore. You might be on the no list...I'd have to ask Bobbi about that one." He sat down next to the bed and tilted his head at her. "All those blues and yellows on your face though ... not your colour. You should really stick to pastels."
Jessica - still in the hospital, laid low by cracked ribs and what the doctors described as an "enlarged spleen", whatever a spleen even was, and who cared how big it was? - well, Jessica stared at the intruder into her unwanted sanctuary, eyebrow twitching as her face tried to settle on an expression. There was too much stimulus: The douchey face atop what looked like expensive, ironed clothes; the grating air of absolute belonging; the references to things and people she didn't know and therefore gave no fucks about; and what was this bullshit about fucking pastels?
It took a moment for her to process all this, staring, outraged, at Warren, but she finally managed to find her voice to say, "And who the fuck are you?"
Warren blinked and leaned back in his chair. Opened his mouth and closed it. Brought his hand up to his chin and rubbed at the scruff before giving a nod. "Alright. Slight amensia obviously because there is no other reason for you to forget who I am considering I've actually been inside you before." He cleared his throat. "But since this is clearly a medical condition, I can't be too upset that you've forgotten my name. It's Warren. Warren Worthington the Third. You might know me from numerous naked encounters, amazing baked goods as evidenced by this lovely loaf, and a limitless credit card that will clearly need to be used for a new wardrobe."
If she squinted - which she did - he kind of looked familiar, but in that way where you sort of recognize the guy who played the second lead on a late-night rerun of an ABC Family teen drama you were only watching because it was on Netflix. Who the fuck even called themselves the Third? What even was that? Was there a possibility she was now just actively hallucinating? Or was the uneasy feeling in her stomach actually a sign of recognition?
What she finally said, the look on her face foretelling a distinct lack of patience: "What can I say, you can't have been that memorable, 'cause I don't have amnesia - " At least not total amnesia - "but I have no fucking memory of any of that."
There were very few times that Warren could remember being speechless. Once was after sleeping with Fi (but that didn't count because he was crying and that was obviously communication), and another was when his father semi-disowned him.
But this..this moment... it hurt. It really did.
"We fucked on the ceiling. That is the literal definition of memorable."
The uneasy feeling of recognition intensified. "Uh, sure. Are you down here to get some medication for those delusions, or what?" Jess shifted, uncomfortably and painfully, the better to level Warren with her most deadly glare.
Warren answered that with an immediate huff and a pout. "Delusions ... I don't have delusions. Delusions are for people who haven't had anything interesting happen to them. What I have are memories of things people wish could happen to them. Now eat some banana bread and at least remember something about me." And to ensure that she did, he cut her a piece, slathered it with the cheese spread and handed it to her. "And if you don't take it, I will feed it to you. Slowly and sensually." He was quickly learning that this Jessica was obstinate and seemed to not want to picture him naked.
Jessica accepted the banana bread with the air of someone accepting a dead rat covered in mystery goo, only doing so because she probably could break his hand if he tried coming anywhere near her face with those - ugh - manicured hands, but she was deeply aware that she did not have health insurance. She was still contemplating whether her plastic cup of ice chips would do any damage when she smelled the banana bread, which was enough to divert her (still deeply suspicious) to taking a bite.
She chewed, staring at him over the bread, and even managed to swallow the bite before she said, eyes narrowed, "This is pretty good."
"Obviously." Warren was still not very impressed with her, but he was willing to overlook that for a moment. Curiousity was always his downfall. "Do you remember XFI? The chinese food dinners bonding with your fellow private investigators, all led by yours truly? I bought you all matching trench coats." He thought for a moment. "We also had sex on a desk there and it was partly the reason Jean and I broke up." Warren shrugged. "Sorry, we weren't really friends, so I don't have many memories with you clothed. We were friendly but not friends if that makes sense."
Did Jessica ensure that her banana bread was safely out of his reach? She did. Did she also have a look on her face that foreboded death and destruction upon this incredibly, superlatively annoying man? Yes. "First of all," she said, "I absolutely do not accept that this ever happened. Second of all, we are neither of those things now. Third - matching trench coats like you're putting on a sixth grade production of Encyclopedia fucking Brown? Are you some kind of idiot?" She had to stop to catch her breath - goddamned ribs - giving Warren an unfortunate opportunity to reply before she was done telling him every single thing she hated about this conversation, and by extension, him.
"I'll have you know that no one had to wear the trenchcoats at the same time. It just gave the right energy so I refuse to apologize for that. Also, since you asked, yes, I am an idiot. A very rich idiot. I'm fine with that. I only wanted to make sure you're okay and it looks like you're not and probably need help." He scanned the room and frowned. "I can see that you have a chip on your shoulder the size of Alaska, so don't worry about asking for help -- I'll give it to you anyways. Where are your things? Do you even have clothes?"
"I have fucking <>i>clothes," Jessica snapped immediately, her gaze going from deadly to flat out irate. She didn't know where the medical team had put them, or whether they were in any shape now to be called clothes, but she owned them. And, if she could get to her apartment before the end of the month, she could probably manage to fill a box or two with whatever else she had. "I don't know what let's play detective therapy circle you escaped from, but it has not prepared you to leave psychiatric care."
Out of everything Jessica could have thrown at him, the audacity of accusing him of mental health issues was too much. "Excuse me, my mind is in pristine condition. It's not my fault that you can't remember things and have to start your spank bank from scratch. I know I would be devastated if mine was empty."
While the headache was still significant enough to make his thoughts sluggish, Jim was alert enough to pick up on the sound of voices from Jessica’s room. He welcomed the concept of a visitor in theory – she must be tired of the medical staff by now. A distraction would probably be welcome.
Then he'd gotten close enough to identify who it was.
Jim, a man equally cursed by not only knowledge of acts performed under the influence of a sociopathic telepath but also of Warren's general personality, found himself frozen on the doorway in sheer horror. He had only one thought:
ABSOLUTELY NOT.
Options flashed through his mind. Be polite? No. Warren didn't respond to polite hints. He didn't even respond to impolite ones. If Jim tried to handle this tactfully Jessica would have an aneurysm before he could get the man out of the room. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Cyndi put on her best Jim-voice and broke into a broad smile.
"Warren! Man, I've been looking all over for you!"
The smile on Warren's face could only be described as beaming. "David! Now this is a greeting that I can fully appreciate and get behind. This one here is not reciprocating and I don't know what to do about it. Didn't I bring you delicious baked treats, Jess? And a lovely walk through memory lane?" He rolled his eyes and leaned back, his body instantly relaxing. "She doesn't remember me and I feel so bad for her."
Cyndi waved a dismissive hand. "Don't take it personally. She has a traumatic brain injury. That sort of injury can cause memory loss, disorientation, changes in personality, et cetera. Try not to stress her out if she can't remember something, it's just the brain damage." She winked at Jess with one green eye. Don't say Jim never did you any favors.
Jess's mouth dropped open, her heightened ire turning to the more familiar face - though there was definitely something wrong with him, too, because she could have sworn the man didn't have 'jaunty' in his repertoire. "Don't listen to him," she said, with a fair attempt to glower at them both equally, "It is personal."
Warren shook his head. "No, this all makes sense. And he is a trained professional, after all. We should listen to what he says, which I suppose means rest and laying in bed, but for less interesting reasons than one would like."
"And I needed to talk to you," Cyndi continued blithely. "I didn't want to say anything in my office because the walls have ears here, but since Doc Grey is out right now I can finally tell you my secrets."
Oh sweet merciful Lord, thank you, Warren thought as he crossed his legs and gave a nod in the other man's direction. "There can't be secrets between friends. Open communication is the only way to move forward and build those important connections."
The alter nodded seriously. "I absolutely agree. But really, the secret of my success is pretty simple. Women love being listened to, but when it's by a man with the raw sexual magnetism of a dead bat? Catnip. It's the whole nonthreatening vibe. Nothing's more attractive than a man who cares, but isn't trying to bang you." And then, because Cyndi had done the math on what would capture Warren's attention while also providing her personally with maximum entertainment, she decided to double down. "That's phase one. Once you've reeled them in . . . you show them the joys of telepathy and the long-distance orgasm."
Jessica choked on a bite of banana bread.
Warren on the other hand was digesting this information, slightly annoyed that he had never learned of a telepathic orgasm. "I can see why you're good at your job. I am a very intimidating individual full of masculine energy. It's a lot." He shrugged and sighed. "It's difficult being me some days."
"That's why I keep my awesome sexual prowess a secret and commit to living the life of a sexless dork. The world's just not prepared to accept that kind of raw erotic power. It's a burden, actually. You need some water over there?" This comment was aimed at Jessica. She was enjoying the bit, but if Jessica managed to cough the IV out of her arm she'd have some explaining to do.
Was this even happening? Jess waved Cyndi off, taking a belated drink from the melted ice chips on the tray; who knew what this absolutely insane person would say or do next, to the other absolutely insane person. Where was she? What was this? She was in so much pain, and only half of it was physical.
Warren was half-tempted to take out his phone and write a note. 'sexless dork'. Not a phrase he'd ever wanted to hear but it made perfect sense. "You are incredibly beige," Warren agreed. "It's a good look for you. It works. I'm glad we had this talk. I feel like we've reached an important level in our friendship and now, we can both help Jessica accept that she also needs me in her life."
"See, you get it. When you're as potent as me, good camouflage is a must. The world must never suspect what lies beneath these chinos." Cyndi congratulated herself on a successful strategy. Sex, she thought with an internal snort. People were so weird about sex. It did make some things easier, though: when it came to dealing with one-track minds the simplest solution was to keep shoveling coal into the train until it blew right past the station. Plus the real Jim was actively trying to will himself out of existence, which was an incredible bonus.
"We should definitely get going, though," Cyndi said aloud, magnanimous in victory. "I should get out of here before Doc comes back, and the patient needs her rest."
"The patient?" Warren glanced at the bed. "Right, Jessica is a patient." He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. "Feel better, Jess. I'll bring you some more baking later. David and I can talk about your post-care -- we really need to ensure she's as comfortable as possible when she gets out of here and obviously no limit to the expenses." He smiled at Jessica. "We'll get through this together. You'll see. It'll be amazing."
"I - " Jessica's voice was raspy and her ribs hurt so, so much, and she had to choose: Tell Warren to fuck off, again, or . . . "Wait. Leave the banana bread."
