xp_logs | LOG: [Cain, Haller] Monday night (Reply)

When the new counselor meets the groundskeeper, there was never really much of a chance this encounter would end anywhere but the pub.

Cain lifted the sofa over his head effortlessly, whistling as he swept the vacuum cleaner back and forth over the carpet. Cleaning was easy when most of the kids were busy in classes, and even more so when the weather outside kept the majority of them OUT of the mansion with a snowball fight, ice skating, or as he could see from the large bay window, construction of a multi-tiered snow fort.

Frowning at one of the smaller children dangling from a tree branch, Cain opened a window, sticking his head out and bellowing "HEY! IF YOU KIDS FALL AND BREAK YOUR NECK, DON'T COME RUNNING IN HERE FOR SYMPATHY!" before setting the couch down gently.

"That's what I always liked about this place," came an amused voice from the doorway. "The gentle, nurturing environment."

Flipping the switch on the vacuum, Cain turned to see the new counselor - David? - standing in the wide double doorway to the lounge room. "Kids are gonna be kids," he answered gruffly, "better to see them running around than putting down roots in front of the TV."

Jim smiled. "True," he said, giving the sofa in the man's hand a cursory glance with mismatched eyes, "although given the type of kids we've got here that might be the safer option. Or at least less expensive." He brought himself into the room fully, only slightly hesitant about crossing the freshly-vacuumed rug. This was Xavier's. There were certainly worse things that could happen to it than simple foot-traffic. "Cain the groundskeeper, right? I'm David."

Setting the sofa down, Cain nodded. He was mildly amused by the fact that the new guy was one of the only other people in the mansion he didn't have to crane his neck down to talk to. Much, anyway. "Hear you used to be an inmate here. What in the world brings you back? Better not be problems setting things on fire. Don't look too kindly on that here these days."

Jim laughed. "Just needed a change, I guess. Too bad I don't think anyone's ever going to let me live down the fire. Especially not after the lawn. Fortunately, Bobby was around by that point." He shrugged, rubbing the back of his head (which was getting decidedly spikey -- he really did need to look into that haircut). "But like I said, not an issue anymore. Charles may encourage control over suppression, but even he draws a line when you start setting the entire room on fire with your brain."

Cain shuddered visibly at the implications there. Just another sign, as far as he was concerned, that everyone's faith in Charles' impeccable ethics and self-control was eventually going to be dashed. "You should talk to Nate sometime. I could build a guest house here with all the pieces he's blown out from his room."

Jim snorted. "I have. Although I'm finding his daughter much, much more frightening. Nothing that maniacally adorable should be endowed with the power to fling woodland creatures with her mind."

"Good god, do I ever understand that one. I ain't much one for people creeping around in my head. Even if they're only the size of a bread loaf." Cain grumbled, easing himself down into one of the overstuffed chairs, the few in the house that fit him comfortably. "But she's giving Nate something to live for these days. Guy's had a rough spot of it. So what about you?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at the children outside. "What's your big schtick?"

The younger man grinned. "Technically? Creeping around in people's heads. But only in a professional capacity. I'm quite possibly the most insensitive sensitive on the planet."

Cain snorted. "Well, consider there to be a big KEEP OUT sign on this noggin, kid." He shook his head, leaning towards David. "Long as you don't go tryin' to poke around where you don't belong or psychoanalyze me or nothin', we'll get along fine. So long as you ain't the type to trash the place. I'm a mite protective of it."

Jim smiled, untroubled by the reaction. It wasn't exactly an uncommon concern in regards to telepathy. Or his history with property damage, come to that. "I don't think there'll be much of a problem. Damage isn't really my style when I have any say in the matter." He eased himself onto the newly-replaced sofa. "So, what's your schtick? Super-strength aside, obviously."

"That's most of what you need to know," Cain said, a serious look crossing his face. "Can't be hurt, can't be stopped. That's the gist of it. Don't go pressing for any else right now."

Slowly, Jim nodded. "I'm okay with the bare minimum of details as long as I know all I need not to get hurt. Sometimes the fine details just . . . complicate things." He gave Cain one of those lopsided smiles. "I've had some experience with that problem."

Cain shook his head, returning the smile. "Don't worry. I ain't smacked another staff member around since Rasputin brought the Russian Mafia into our business and didn't tell nobody. And unless you're in deep with the PLO or something, you don't quite strike me as the organized crime type."

"No, not really." It was hardly organized. "Okay, you're unstoppable. That's useful to know. Why are you here? Don't tell me Charles tempted you away from a life as career siege weapon with the promise of a never-ending renovation project . . ."

"Because it's my home," Cain said matter-of-factly, gauging Haller's reaction. "Simple as that."

Jim lifted his eyebrows, mildly surprised by the answer. "Were you a student here?" he asked. Cain didn't look much older than he was -- if he'd been a student surely Jim would have at least heard of him during one of his sporadic visits to the school . . . no, wait, he was thinking too linearly. Most mutants came to Charles when they manifested their powers at puberty, but not everyone did. Jim of all people should have remembered that. And although it'd only been three years since he'd last seen Charles, it had been six since he'd last been to the school. Plenty of time for the other man to have made a home for himself here.

Cain snorted in laughter. "Suppose you could say I lived here when I was a student. Westchester High, class of '58. Empire State University, class of '62."

Jim blinked. Charles aside, those dates put him older than everyone else in the mansion even if Cain had been some sort of child-prodigy -- but if Cain hadn't said something he'd never even have suspected. "You . . . lived with Charles back then?" There wasn't really any other option. Charles had told Jim once that the school had been his home all his life. The only person he'd ever mentioned sharing it with was the man who would eventually become Magneto. And he Jim had already met.

Lowering his voice, Cain leaned forward. "It ain't common knowledge, especially to the students here. Yeah, I might only look a year or two older than you, but there's more to it than that. I'm sixty-five years old, sixty-six this March. Started living here when I was seven years old, when my dad married Sharon Xavier." He paused a while before Haller had time to interpret that. "Yeah, that means I'm Chuck's stepbrother. Keep it under your hat."

Jim sat back for a moment, processing this information. It was -- startling, but then, Charles had never discussed his family overmuch. That hadn't been surprising. Jim knew, too, that certain positions made it necessary to draw a line between the personal and the professional. And his relationship with Jim had definitely been one of them.

"I'll keep it to myself," Jim said at last. "It's like my problem. I discussed it with Terry and Bobby because they were around the last time I was here, but generally it's not something most of the students need to know about. As long as it isn't a problem, no need to bring it up." He smiled. "Again, complicating details."

"Keeping the playing field level, eh?" Cain nodded sagely. "I found people tend to believe what they see. These kids here think I'm in my twenties, they don't ask questions. Sure, it'll probably pose a question in a few years if I stay looking like this, but hey - burn that bridge when we get there, yeah?"

"Yeah," Jim agreed, "in some things it's better to beg forgiveness than force understanding." He rubbed his hands together reflectively. "So your power . . . you can't be hurt, don't age . . . it essentially means you can't be changed? That's useful." But also, somehow, almost sad.

Pondering that, Cain shook his head. "Everything changes, Haller. Live as long as I have, you'll see it too. Hell, still surprises me now and then."

Jim's lips twitched in something that wasn't quite a smile, thinking of his first meeting with Charles. "Only said you couldn't be changed, not that you don't. You're right: everything changes. It's the only constant in life."

"It's practically the motto here," Cain said, returning the smile. Checking his watch, he looked up at Jim. "Well, that's the expected deep conversation over and done with. Up for a brew down at Harry's?"

Slightly nonplussed by the invitation, Jim bit back the impulse to demur. Try to be social, Haller. You'll find something to talk about. "Uh, okay." The approximate smile was a little awkward, but warm enough. "I'll grab my wallet. And try not to think too loudly about this place promoting substance abuse unless I want Charles asking for elaboration when I see him tomorrow morning."

"Good idea," Cain said, pulling himself out of the chair and clapping a large hand on David's shoulder amiably. "Time to introduce you to the honored tradition of New Guy Buys The First Round. Lemme see who else I can drag along, hah!"

And with that, Marko rumbled off down the hall, laughing to himself.

Despite the inevitably impact on his bank account, Jim couldn't help the answering laugh. "So this is what it's like to have a social life . . ."