In the kitchen of Lorna and Ali's suite.

[x-polarisstar.livejournal.com]

Saturday evening, Jamie makes French toast for Lorna. Food, Alex and Batman are discussed.



While his dupe set a carton of eggs, a jug of milk, a loaf of bread, and some various odds and ends down on the counter in the suite kitchenette, Jamie knocked quietly on Lorna's door. "Lorna? Can I come in? Or you can come out, either way."

Lorna tugged the door open and peered at Jamie. She looked immeasurably tired but her eyes were clear. She was done with crying, at least for the moment. “What do you need?” she asked softly, leaning on the door frame.

Jamie shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Wanted to see how you were doing, after--well, you know. See if you wanted to talk, or anything." He smiled slightly. "Also, the kitchen's lonely."

“I’ve been better. Haven’t felt much like cooking recently.” Or eating really. She’d dug out her chromium tablets again. There didn’t seem to be any point in fighting it. She sighed and slipped out of her room, closing the door behind her. “There isn’t all that much to talk about. I’m a total idiot.”

"Are not," Jamie said automatically. "The communication thing is just tough. And scary sometimes. I'm sure you guys can work it out, though--I mean, if you want to?"

‘What communication?” Lorna replied sarcastically. “Our version of communicating is just not talking about anything unpleasant. Which works really well until it doesn’t.” She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she wasn’t going to cry anymore. “It doesn’t matter what I want. He’s never going to talk to me again.”

"Yeah, funnily enough, it turns out skipping the scary parts is bad in the long run." Jamie smiled wryly. "There should be a handbook, or something. 'Not Screwing Up for Dummies.'" He shook his head. "C'mon, let's go sit down. I'd be willing to bet you're wrong. Heck, I'd be willing to bet he's saying the same thing to Shiro, or somebody."

She followed him obediently, “Optimism,” she observed, “I remember optimism. I hate optimism.” When he led her into the suite’s kitchen, she stopped cold, “I’m really not hungry.” Lies, rehearsed and kept in reserve, sprang easily to mind, “I just had a muffin and some fruit not too long ago.”

Jamie gave her a not-born-yesterday sort of look. "Even if you did, I wouldn't call that a meal. French toast is a meal. With syrup and/or powdered sugar. Don't make me break out the puppy-dog eyes."

Lorna went a bit white. 350 calories, 8 grams of fat and that before syrup. “Jamie, I can’t eat that.” Her mythical muffin and fruit would have been not even half of that.

"Yeah you can. It's french toast, it's good for you." He cocked his head. "Tell you what, though, I won't try and get you to have seconds if you eat all your firsts. And I won't go overboard on the firsts. But you _have_ to eat something, Lorna, I can't--" He paused, frowning. "Well, for one thing, it's a lot easier to deal with stuff when you're not making yourself sick. And--and you just started fitting back into all your clothes. Do it for the wardrobe."

She sighed heavily. “What’s the point?” She sat down at the tiny table they’d crammed into the small kitchen. “Christ, Jamie, I said such horrible things to him.”

Jamie took the other chair. "That tends to happen, in fights," he offered. "And it's not like either of you are lacking in issues. You still love him, though, right?"

“Of course. That’s not the problem. It’s not enough for me to love him. Not when he doesn’t trust me.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have pushed him.”

Jamie winced. "Boy, am I the wrong half of this problem for this conversation. Well . . ." He sighed. "Okay. I don't know exactly what's going on. I mean, I can probably guess, but . . . see the thing sometimes is, it's not really a lack of trust. Or, it isn't . . . supposed to be, I guess, even though it comes out to the same thing. It . . . sometimes, when it gets bad, you don't--you think, it's better if the one you love the most isn't touched by it. Like you feel trapped, but as long as you can look up and see them _not_ trapped, at least one of you is better off." He smiled sadly. "It's dumb, and I learned better, but maybe Alex hasn't."

“It doesn’t matter. He didn’t want me to know and now that I do, he doesn’t want me at all. It’s over now.” Except for the pain which she didn’t think would ever end. She mustered up a smile of her own. “He’ll find someone better for him, I know.” It was an effort for her benefit not Jamie's. Lies could be most effective when told to one's self.

"Right. He doesn't want you, which is why he's been wandering around the last couple days looking like somebody peed in his cornflakes. Never mind what you think is good for him. Do you _want_ him to find somebody else?"

Because of her. But she couldn’t say that so she just shook her head, “I want him to be happy. He’s not. Not with me. He needs someone he trusts.” She dug her nails into her hands, “And I need someone who trusts me.”

"Yeah, you do. But give him some time to decide if he's happier with you than without you, huh? Sometimes it takes us a while to wise up. If he can't bring himself to trust you . . ." Jamie shrugged. "That finding someone better thing works both ways." The dupe put a plate in front of Lorna. "Now c'mon, french toast is, like, three different food groups."

Not for me it doesn’t. I couldn’t give him up even though I almost died. She scowled at the plate. “Only if you’re Clarice and consider fat and sugar food groups,” Lorna muttered, stabbing the helpless food viciously with her fork. “You really don’t expect me to eat all of this, do you?”

"Bread, eggs, and milk. That's three. And yes. You're not allowed to dress up like Calista Flockhart for Halloween, she's too scary."

She frowned again, “I was never that thin.” Reluctantly, she cut a piece of the bread and nibbled at it. It was very good; Jamie being one of the few people she trusted in the kitchen without worrying about food poisoning. “I haven’t even begun to think about Halloween. Though Terry and Clarice were talking about Batman the other day, that’s an idea, I guess.”

"I don't think you could pull off the ears," Jamie deadpanned."

She rolled her eyes at him, “Not actually Batman. But a comic book character. Like the plant chick who kills people.” Talking meant she didn’t have to eat. “Or the crazy jester.”

Jamie grinned. "Or the new Batgirl, who doesn't have a mouth-hole on her cowl? More bites, c'mon. I'll be all sad if you let it get cold."

“There’s a new Batgirl? What happened to the old one?” Lorna ostentatiously cut another bite and put it in her mouth. She wasn’t even halfway done with the plate of food he’d given her. She made a face.

"Joker shot her, she's in a wheelchair now, does information brokering for superheroes, has for years, and either you know this already and you're trying not to look like a geek or I need to have my mom send me the rest of my comic book collection." He paused at the face, then very seriously stuck his thumbs in his ears and waggled his fingers while sticking out his tongue.

She smiled a bit wearily at him, amused in spite of herself. “I’ve seen the movies?” How much different could it really be? “And that cartoon. I’ve an ex who liked the cartoon.” She shrugged, “I know that there is more than one Robin.”

"Comics it is, then. The cartoon was pretty good, but the movies pretty much all suck. Want anything to drink with that?"

“Just coffee. Black.” She pushed the French toast around her plate, pretending to eat. “I liked the movie with Val Kilmer. The cartoon was rather dark.”

"Like I'd dare taint your coffee." Jamie paused. "Again, anyway. And I did the deceptive food-pushing a lot better when I was eight and it was brussel sprouts. A guy could get the idea his french toast was no good, and since it's here, spend the next several days in a morose funk and/or start an argument on the journals."

“You fight dirty. I’m out of practice in my food pushing.” She set down her fork altogether. “It’s very good, Jamie. I like the touch of nutmeg and cinnamon.” She accepted her coffee from the dupe and took a long drink, ignoring the way it scalded her throat. “Please don’t sulk on the journals. It will give the rest of them ideas.”

"Oh, they'd get ideas anyway. Leave these people alone for five minutes and bam, next thing you know you can't cut the angst with a chainsaw. Which is too bad, because if we could cut it with a chainsaw we could stack it out behind the shed for those cold winter nights." He smiled. "Grandma always says you can't go wrong with a little cinnamon in the toast batter. 'Course, she had to underline 'a little' after the first time I tried making this."

Lorna rolled her eyes, “Why does that not surprise me?” She continued to drink her coffee. While she didn’t actually believe the French toast would vanish if she just ignored it hard enough, it didn’t hurt to try. “My mother used vanilla ice cream in the mix. Seven years of cooking school and it’s still my favorite recipe.” She smiled. “I haven’t had it in years. It’s terrible for you.”

"Now, see, I wish I'd known about that, because it sounds delicious and you use this 'unhealthy food' excuse way too often. You are allowed to have your favorite recipes once in a while."

She pouted, though she’d never have called it that. “It’s not an excuse. I’m probably remembering it better than it is anyway.” She drained her coffee and gave the empty mugs a gloomy stare. “And I’ve been known to have unhealthy food every now and then. Alex and I had ice cream…” she trailed off and bit her lip. “Christ, how could this have happened?”

"Trouble is sneaky like that. Apologizing works pretty well though, and then hopefully you move on to whole new kinds of mistakes. I mean, now you know better than to not tell him about the painful stuff, for example, if you'll forgive the optimism implied by me assuming there'll be a future for you guys in which that issue may crop up."

“I don’t think so. I’ve screwed up too badly this time.” She stood, running one hand through her hair. “Thanks for the food, Jamie. It was good.”

"Sounds like you both screwed up to me." He sighed. "And you are both in so much trouble if I find out you were competing in the thousand-yard mope instead of talking and working things out." He shook his head, then grinned. "Now shoo, I have a kitchen to clean. I'm gonna try that ice cream thing tomorrow, y'know."

She frowned at him, “I’ll give you the actual recipe if you promise to try it on Kitty and not on me.” She circled around the table to give him hug. “And, yeah, thanks.”

"Kitty gets the test run." Jamie returned the hug. "But it's your favorite, so I'm making it for you at least once."

She made a face at him, "Joy."

Jamie snickered. "Only you would be that underwhelmed by the prospect of one of your favorite treats. I should make you go for seconds just for that."

“I’m walking away from you now. Because you’re a diabolical madman.” But she smiled anyway.