xp_logs | Nathan and Jack, Monday morning

Nathan's been a bit busy lately, hence he's missed a couple of sessions with his friendly neighborhood therapist. Jack's a bit concerned, and probably has good reason to be. Can you say backsliding?

A cup of coffee in either hand, Nathan stepped into the room. "Sorry," he murmured, extending one of the cups to Jack. "Had a student waylay me on the way up from my office." He sat down, making himself meet Jack's eyes for the simple reason that not doing so would be a) rude and b) telling. "Apparently the law final is giving them all nightmares."

"'Tis the season," Jack smiled wryly, taking a sip. "Though from what I'm told it sounds as if the past month or so has been fairly nightmarish on its own merits."

Oh-ho, Nathan thought a bit savagely, and gave his link with Moira a poke that elicited the telepathic equivalent of a yelp from his wife. "It's not been particularly enjoyable, no. What months around here are?"

"Valid point," Jack nodded. "However, it's been some time since our last session, so the lack of enjoyment has had time to culminate. At least, in so far as you and I and your mental health is concerned." He lowered the cup, giving Nathan an inviting nod. "Care to catch me up?"

"Well," Nathan said, "the last few weeks have been eventful." He explained, as succinctly and bluntly as possible, the events leading to Amanda's departure, the showdown at the Hellfire Club and the truth about Pete. It was a little harder to stay in 'briefing'-voice when he talked about Africa, but if a little pure hatred for Gideon slipped into his tone, at least the confusion about his mother didn't.

Jack listened patiently, his only movement to take the occasional drink of coffee. When Nathan finished he carefully set the cup aside. "I'd say 'eventful' is the perfect word for it. How are you handling it? I remember what you told me of your childhood . . . or, at least, what you believed to be true at the time. Even setting aside the rest of it, Africa must have been lead to a rather drastic reconfiguration of a large part of your life."

"How am I handling it... I've given up, I suppose," Nathan said neutrally, sipping at his coffee. "There's no chance of knowing the truth one way or the other, and the last time I believed in what a parent was trying to tell me, I started down this lovely long road of throwing myself out of skyscrapers and getting shot with tranquilizer darts. Admittedly," he said with a very tight smile, "my mother is supposedly dead, but who knows whether she's just yanking my chain from beyond the grave or not."

Jack nodded. "It's true," he said at last, "you may never know what really happened. All right." He folded his hands attentively and switched gears. "Tell me about Askani."

Nathan wondered briefly if his head had just spun at Jack's rapid subject change. "Um. Well, she's gone?" He stopped, shook off the uncertainty, and went on, his voice flat. "She would have had to go eventually, like I said. I suppose this way she went for a reason, rather than just fading away. I haven't-" He stopped, mastered the brief hitch in his voice. "Haven't told most people she's gone. Just mentioned it to Forge the other day, and told Moira, of course... I don't really feel like dealing with the questions."

Jack smiled thinly. "And you went from that to finding letters from your mother in Africa. Immediately."

Nathan gazed at him warily. "Yes. Kind of ironic, no? Especially since part of my mother's letter was in Askani." He shrugged. "Lucky her, not being around to answer why, I suppose."

Jack smiled again, without humor. "I'll cut to the chase, Nathan. Moira is worried about you." He raised a hand at Nathan's expression, shaking his head. "No need for recriminations, please. You know she only comes to me when she's truly concerned about you . . . and if you were in her place, I think you would do the same. She did tell me about Africa, and the Hellfire Club before that. I didn't ask you about the past few weeks to be coy -- it's important I have your perspective on what happened. What worries me here is that we've talked, and I still don't have it. I have a mission report."

"Maybe you do have it," Nathan countered. "I thought I was doing well, Jack. Rolling with the punches. Is it written down somewhere that I have to disintegrate into a nervous wreck every time my life takes yet another unpleasant turn? I mean, I should be getting used to it by now, right?"

"First of all, experience doesn't make the loss of a friend and mentor or having one's worldview turned upside down any less traumatic. Second of all, there's a difference between keeping it together and going into emotional shock." Jack sat back, and when he spoke again his tone was softer. "You told Moira about Askani's death the same night it happened. That was a good thing. Probably the best thing you could have done. Having done that, I imagine you thought you'd keep it private for a while -- to give yourself some time to recover before you had to deal with hard questions from the others. That, too, wasn't unreasonable. Sometimes it's best to give yourself the opportunity to grieve alone. The problem is what happened afterwards." He shook his head. "You were in a fragile state when you went to Africa. I understand the desire to get your mind off of Askani's death, but unfortunately the distraction you chose turned out to be too . . . personal. More personal than you could have anticipated. It didn't help you get over losing Askani. Instead, it only opened more wounds."

Nathan nearly choked on his coffee. "I didn't-I didn't go to Africa to get my mind off Askani! Dom was in trouble!" And he was not yelling at his psychiatrist. Really. He took a deep breath, then another, then went on. "It wasn't a distraction. I wasn't about to lose anyone else. Especially not to Gideon."

Jack gave him a half-smile. "All right, so you couldn't leave Domino. I'll accept that. But can you honestly tell me, as horrible as the situation was, that a part of you wasn't grateful to have something to do? Something that had to be done, clear-cut and without question."

Nathan tried not to grind his teeth. "No, I can't. Is that a bad thing? Better than sitting around here and having to put a happy face on all of it. Although I suppose I just delayed that..." His expression twisted a little as he thought of the conversations with Haroun. "At least it gave me a chance to get out and do something before I had to come back here and do all the required things again."

Jack eyed him patiently, calm and implacable. "Put a happy face on it?" he asked. "For whose sake? The team's? The students'? What you've been through and how you deal with it isn't about anyone but you. What do you think is required of you that's so important it doesn't even allow you time to recover?"

"I'm useless if I'm out in the quarry turning it to glass," Nathan snapped irritably, shifting in his chair. "They need me... they all need me functional. The team, the students, Moira, Rachel... I ought to be able to cope and keep going."

"The key word there is 'functional,'" Jack pointed out. "I'm going to be blunt. Right now, you're only functioning. That's not what they need. Not your friends, or your students, and especially not your family. Forget what you ought to be able to do. Right or wrong, 'ought to' doesn't stand up well against reality. And the reality is what you have to live with." Jack contemplated the contents of his coffee cup for a moment. "You've always approached a situation by looking at what's best for the bigger picture. That's where you place your priorities. The truth is, it's not either/or. What I think you've lost sight of is the fact that sometimes what's best for you is what's best for the bigger picture."

"Since when?" Nathan asked sharply, gray eyes hot with anger for a moment before he looked away. "My problems. My repetitive, neverending, tiresome problems..." There was something close to bitterness in his voice. "The bigger picture, and most people around here, don't give a damn anymore. How much went past me, these last few months? How much of what happened these last few weeks developed right under my nose and I had my head stuck so far up my own ass that I didn't even see it... I don't get the privilege of falling apart again. I don't deserve it. Pete... Pete can fall apart, because he spent eight months putting himself through hell to help the rest of us. Amanda, whatever the fuck she's doing now, can fall apart because she 'murdered' someone after we all neglected her and let her wander out into the metaphorical traffic..." His jaw clenched.

Jack shook his head. "Telepath or not, no one can dictate their mental state. And trying to discount your own problems by pretending they don't exist just because you don't feel like you're entitled to have them is a tremendously selfish thing to do." One piercing stare from Jack's blue eyes cut off his patient before he even had a chance to interupt. "When someone you love has a problem, that problem becomes yours. You know that. You went to Africa for that very reason. Now: think about your family. When you're in pain, Moira feels for you -- the same way you feel for her. Whether or not you think you should be in pain is irrelevant. Your wife -- all the people who consider you their friend -- want to help you. But they can't do that until you admit to yourself that you need it. And whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, you can't will away pain just because you think it shouldn't exist."

"I'm not shutting her out!" Nathan said almost wildly. His hands were shaking, and he set the coffee cup aside before he dropped it. "She and Rachel, they're the only people I can feel properly around..."

The other man nodded again. "I know. And in a way, that's part of what concerns me. Some time ago you said you felt as if you were split into different selves, each specific to a certain situation. As good as it is that your relationship with your wife and daughter is unaffected, it also indicates a certain amount of disassociation. Have you noticed anything like this?"

"Well, I'm putting Nate-the-teacher on the shelf," Nathan muttered after a moment. "He's wearing thin. And Nate-the-mentor can just fuck off and die whenever it's convenient. I think I'll stick to husband, father, X-Man, and roaming meddler in mutant affairs. At least none of them have screwed up too badly."

"Consolidating your concerns might not be a bad idea," Jack agreed. "At least until you come to a point where you can feel like yourself again around anyone other than your family. Right now, you have enough responsibilities of your own without taking on those of everyone around you." He smiled again, this time a little sadly. "I remember a time when you felt the most yourself around Moira and the students, but you've been through a lot. You need a little distance. For now it's best to concentrate on getting to where you can feel properly around yourself, not just your family."

"I'm not wearing my heart on my sleeve anymore," Nathan said, thinking about that conversation with Jubilee. "Stupid thing to have done, ever... it was never enough just to care for them. Didn't mean anything to them."

"You don't care about someone because it'll mean something to them. There's nothing rational about caring for another person. Just like being in pain." Jack smiled slightly. "You can only worry about taking care of yourself. That, at least, is under your control."

"Taking care of myself... I focused on that, and look at what happened." Nathan leaned his chin on his hand, struggling to keep his expression level as he stared in the direction of the room's tall, thin window. It was snowing. "There's Moira and Rachel, and there's the job... or whatever needs doing, right then and there. And everything else is... terrifying," he forced out, doggedly, his jaw clenching. "Everything gets ripped out from under me, and I can't talk about it without sounding... like I've lost it, again."

"People are made to be broken," Jack said. "It sounds like a conflict of interest coming from a psychologist, but it's true. Life isn't predictable or regular, even for those of us who don't have to worry about global crisies or psychic conditioning. Sometimes it gets to be too much. We fall apart, and we put ourselves back together again. At times, that's the only way we can fight back." He sighed, sloshing the contents of his nearly-empty cup. "As for what happened while you were focusing on yourself . . . people make their own choices. Could you have done things differently? Maybe. But what happened with Amanda wasn't caused by any one thing -- and she had her own problems long before she met you. We may be mitigating factors in the lives of others, but ultimately the only one you can hold accountable for your actions is yourself."

"It's so quiet in my head," Nathan said, almost inaudibly. He was resting his head in both hands, now. "I can't stand it. It's like there was a whole world there, and now there's nothing." He swallowed, his throat tight. "I kept my mouth shut. That night. Let her save Amanda from herself, and I don't regret doing it... but I hate them both for it. Not all the time, but... I didn't get to say goodbye. I never do. The people I love die in front of me, and I just have to keep going. Always. I hate it."

"And you should," Jack said. "It's never right when someone is taken from us. As terrible as death is, the dead are luckier than the living in the respect that once it's over, it's over. Yet when someone we love dies, we're left feeling it for the rest of our lives. But the world doesn't stop for us, does it?"

"No. The world doesn't give a damn either." Nathan stared down that emptiness inside his mind, ignoring the growing numbness. "Maybe I don't want to feel things properly anymore, maybe that's the problem. Maybe it's just safer that way."

"Safer isn't necessarily better," Jack said. "I believe the void Askani left in your mind is real. She was a major part of your life, and losing her so suddenly must have been . . . unbearable. However, I suspect part of that feeling of nothingness has to do with the emotional shock caused by her loss and your discoveries in Africa. You've been so overloaded you no longer want to deal with what you're feeling. There's no way to tell until you start processing again -- and even then, working through the initial stages of the healing process will probably make you wish you hadn't. There's no way to find out until you recover, and there's no way to do that until you try."

Nathan rubbed at his temples for a long moment, not answering. "I'm not breaking down," he finally said, stubbornly. "I'm tired of breaking down. I have to find another way to process. Something that makes sense. Why can't I think my way through this? What's wrong with that?"

Jack smiled. "Because that would imply people make sense. We don't. It's hard to accept sometimes, but human beings aren't purely intellectual creatures. The mind generally recognizes the problem long before the emotions are fully prepared to deal with it. I'm not saying you'll necessarily break down, but you do need to sort through what you're feeling. If it turns out the only way to do this is through some kind of catharsis . . . don't fight it. The longer you delay it, the harder it will be."

"I haven't touched my paper journal since before Pete put me in the hospital," Nathan said, looking up finally. He looked tired more than anything else, the look in his eyes dull. "Would that be a place to start?"

"I'd say so," Jack nodded. "Speaking from my own experience, there are times I'm not entirely sure what I feel until I have to write it down. And at the very least, there's no need to worry you're burdening others."

"I'll do that, then." Nathan watched Jack for a moment, his expression still weary, sapped of anger, but there was a flicker of black humor there for a moment. "And I'll write it in Kazakh or something. Just to make sure no one needs to read it."

"You could do that," Jack said, then smiled. "Although if you're really worried about privacy I think I may still have a few of those lockable diaries my granddaughter likes so much. Providing you don't mind writing in a diary covered in purple ducks and little hearts, that is."

"Now you're making fun of me." Nathan leaned back in his chair, finally, some of the tension draining from his posture. "When Moira was telling you about the last several weeks, did she mentioned Rachel deciding that she liked flying? Straw, camel, etcetera. All of this, and then my daughter decides to be prodigious. Is it any wonder I'm feeling a little frayed?"

"Oh yes, I can see how that would be stressful. However, Moira was laughing a bit too hard during the explanation for that argument to be entirely convincing. I've already started stocking the liqour cabinet in my office in anticipation of the Terrible Twos."

(OOC: Many thanks to Tap for socking Jack. :)