Crash Landings

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Out late for some air, Jim spots Nathan flying. Nathan proceeds to demonstrate that he doesn't have a good grip on the whole concept of landing, but thankfully telekinetic exoskeletons are tough things. He and Jim walk back to the mansion and talk, and Nathan unintentionally touches upon a very sensitive issue for the younger man. Thankfully, he also handles Jim's subsequent mini-breakdown well.


He'd been on the porch when he first saw it. He'd gone out with nothing more in mind than a vague desire to take some air before he turned in for the night, but one glance across the lake and Jim forgot all of that. A light, moving in the darkness.

He didn't know if it was curiosity or some kind of sympathetic nostalgia that made him go to the lake's edge, but now that he was closer Jim could distinguish details. What he'd taken as a coruscating blur of light was a bird, gliding across the water on wings of flame.

Jim watched the bird curve skywards, suddenly struck by an unexpected pang of loss. It's . . . beautiful.

Nathan didn't sense his audience. The exoskeleton was taking most of his concentration, and flying with it was taking the rest. It hadn't taken very many of these nighttime flights to discover he didn't see normally when he was flying like this. He saw the lines of force, the patterns of energy that underlaid the world, and that was how he flew, traveling up and down, along and through...

He reached the top of his upward curve and dove again, the wings of the exoskeleton spread wide as he glided inches above the water. The more he did this, the faster he could fly... and damn, the shore was coming up fast.

Jim winced as the bird skimmed over the shore and into the treeline, which was terminally reshaped by the ensuing impact. Jim tore open his shields even as he ran towards the fallen trees, probing for signs of pain or fear. Finding none, his heart rate slowed to something more managable; in the absence of an obvious injury, Jim tried to concentrate on making his way over and around the uprooted trees. Spraining his ankle trying to get to the unhurt flier would have been embarassing.

"Are you okay?" Jim called, squinting his eyes against the light. There was a figure in the center, but he couldn't make out who it was.

Aw, crap. Cain was going to kill him. Nathan heard someone - Jim, he realized, asking him if he was okay. #Nothing hurt but my pride,# he projected back, and then concentrated on turning off the exoskeleton. It was a strange feeling, still, to have it collapsing back down into his body like that. Very different from the transitory firebird-effect he'd sometimes gotten while Askani had still been in residence. That had just been light. This was substance.

He sat up slowly, shaking his head as he looked around. "I am so dead," he said ruefully.

"I'm thanking God you aren't," Jim said, and meaning it now that he knew who it was. Moira didn't need another funeral. "There's a two-foot-deep furrow from here to the lake."

Nathan looked. "So there is." He sank his head into his hands for a moment, a stifled laugh escaping. "Sorry. I know this isn't funny. But it's new. Still getting used to it. The first time, I came up with it instinctively, used it for about ten minutes, then blew a sizeable crater in northern Canada."

Jim snorted. "Okay, I'm starting to understand what all the jokes were about." But he smiled, too. It was good to see the man seemed to be feeling better. Jim shook his head and offered Nathan a hand. "Maybe you can put the trees back. Or what's left of them, at least."

"People? Joking about me? No, not me..." Nathan took the hand gratefully. "Leaves me a little light-headed, still," he said as he got back to his feet. "I've only been at this for a few nights..."

The trees. Nathan eyed them. "You know, it looks like I pulled all but one up by the roots," he said, and the trees that were largely intact slowly raised themselves back into position, earth returning to its place around their roots. The stump of the broken tree yanked itself up out of the ground, it and the trunk and branches chopping itself neatly into firewood. To top it off, the furrow on the shore started to fill itself in.

"That's a handy skill," Jim observed, grinning. "I don't think I would have minded breaking things so much if I'd been able to fix them again afterwards. I doubt anyone's going to notice the lack of grass for a month or so anyway."

"I'll confess to Cain and he can keep an eye on them. I'm not sure how much damage I actually did," Nathan said. The last few pieces of wood piled themselves on top of the impromptu woodpile, the whole stack levitating itself in the direction of the boathouse. "Didn't mean to disturb your... walk?" Nathan ventured.

"No disturbance. I just saw you from the porch and got curious about the giant flaming bird." Jim gave him a wry half-smile. "I may've spent most of my life here or on Muir, but I'm still picking up on all the individual powers. You're only the second glowing person I've met so far."

"It's a new trick," Nathan said, taking a deep breath and rubbing at the back of his neck. The exoskeleton had cushioned the landing but he had landed at an odd angle. "I'm not absolutely sure how useful it's going to be, because the giant flaming bird is alarmingly obvious, but the flying's been fun thus far."

"It certainly looked impressive," Jim grinned. "Could be useful if you need to cause a panic. Or do some quick landscaping."

"I've got to buckle down and get some proper testing done," Nathan said as the furrow he'd unintentionally dug finished filling itself in. "How much I can lift with it, how much pressure it can take... it's a telekinetic exoskeleton, basically."

"So essentially you're saying that dropping things on yourself and then trying to pick them back up again is a training exercise. Makes sense to me." Jim watched the frozen soil rearrange itself, fascinated. Given his past experience, the chance to witness a controlled display of telekinesis was a rarity. He shook his head again. "I . . . never got that far."

Nathan gave him a thoughtful look, wondering... but no, he wasn't going to be pushy. "It's usually a little more complicated than that," he said with a crooked smile. "Although Haroun dropped a grenade on me once, while we were testing my ability to multitask..."

Jim made a choked noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh bitten back at the last minute. "Uh, how did you do?"

"Fell on my ass," Nathan said cheerfully. "Threw a temper tantrum. Generally came across as being about five years old... Haroun brings out the worst in me."

"I don't think I've met him yet," Jim said, tilting his head. "He's staff, isn't he? What does he teach?"

"Flight and Arabic." Nathan inclined his head towards the house inquisitively, then started in that direction when Jim nodded. "You'll have to meet Haroun. He's unique." Nathan smiled again, almost mischievously. "I mean that in the best possible way, of course."

Arabic? "Of course," Jim grinned back. He thought for a moment. "Artificial flight or personal flight?" It helped to clarify in an institution with a large concentration of mutants.

"A little bit of both, I suppose, if you want to get technical," Nathan said as they walked. "Haroun's mutation is powered flight, but it's maladaptive - he's not immune to his own power. He's walking around under his own power thanks to some pretty advanced cybernetics."

That evoked another arched eyebrow. "Cybernetics? That's new. Wonder what his neural process looks like . . ." Jim realized how that sounded and coughed. "Or something that sounds a little less creepy. Sorry. Kind of a psionics nerd."

"He was injured on a mission this fall," Nathan said. It wasn't as if it wasn't common knowledge. "Necessitated a rebuild of his cybernetic systems..." He paused, his eyes gone distant. "I was in his mind a few times, trying to keep him focused and with us while the work was going on. It was strange."

Jim nodded. "I imagine it would be. Was he . . . huh." Jim scratched his ear, intrigued. "Was there any type of psychological integration with the machine parts going on? If you could tell, that is. I assume cybernetics would fall under the area of the nervous system and motor skills, so maybe it wouldn't have been so obvious if you were actually speaking to him at the time. The whole conscious/subconscious area can get a little complex, so . . ." He broke off and gave Nathan a sheepish grin. "Uh, sorry. I haven't gotten to talk shop with another telepath for a while now. Clearly there's some giddiness."

"He's... still working on the integration aspect of it," Nathan said after a moment, not wanting to get too in-depth - he wasn't one of Haroun's doctors or anything, but on the other hand, this was pretty personal stuff. "Actually, I resorted to some pretty drastic steps at the beginning of the month to try and get him over this block he's now got on consciously using his powers. His powers raise his body temperature. So I kind of left him out on the steppes in Kazakhstan so that he'd either have to turn them on or freeze. Not," Nathan corrected hurriedly, "that I'd have let him freeze."

Jim, who had not forgotten the anecdote about the grenade, kept a straight face. "Of course not." He rubbed his hands together thoughtfully, distantly acknowledging the smoother scartissue on the right. "I'd like to talk to him about the cybernetics. Maybe the issue with his power, too, although I probably won't be much help there. Charles tells me I've put blocks on mine, too, but I can't even see them." He hesitated, then sighed. It wasn't as if it was something he particularly cared to keep a secret. "But to be fair, that might be because I don't want to."

All right, that was more of an invitation. Nathan tilted his head, thinking about a graceful way to broach the subject. "I blocked anything more than communications-level telepathy - or at least, had one heck of a psychological inhibition until Charles worked me through it. Similar situation with you, or something else?"

"Similar. Well, aspects of it." And explaining it wasn't going to be easy, but he could at least give it a try. The fact that the man was another psi might help. And -- he liked Nathan. It had been a long time since Jim had felt comfortable enough around someone to discuss the situation in a non-clinical context. Jim sighed and tried to arrange the story in the simplest terms possible.

"When I was ten I was caught in a hold-up in a convenience store," he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I was there with Andrew, my guardian. I was in the bathroom when they showed up, heard shouting and went out to see what was going on. One of the men panicked and opened fire." It was an old story; the telling of it barely even hurt anymore. "Uncle Andrew was in front of me. He got the worst of it. I only took a bullet in the arm. Then the other customer decided to rush one of the robbers, and he started shooting." He gave Nathan a lopsided smile. "That's when my telepathy and telekinesis manifested. Simultaneously."

Nathan was silent for a moment, his attention on the snowy trail in front of them. "Now I think I understand why you react the way you do to my daughter," he said quietly.

It was as if the bottom had abruptly dropped out of his stomach. Now the cold feeling that filled his chest had nothing to do with the weather. "And why is that?" Jim asked softly. Staring directly ahead, his voice giving away nothing.

Nathan gave him a long look, then turned his attention back to the way ahead. "Because she has the chance to grow into her power," he said very quietly. "Because it's the most natural thing in the world to her. Because she looks at the minds of the people around her and sees dancing light, and it's such a beautiful thing to see that it hurts." He smiled a little, his eyes on the trail. "Six months, and there are times I still look at her and can hardly breathe."

Jim's jaw clenched spasmodically, so tightly it hurt. He'd tried so hard to be careful around Rachel, but somehow Nathan had seen it anyway. The shame of being caught out wrapped around his heart like a fist, and still it was nothing compared to the knowledge that Nathan had only hit half the mark.

If only it was just that.

"It . . . hurts," Jim whispered, and his cheeks were cold. He realized he was crying, and hadn't even noticed the tears fall. His jaw spasmed again, and he spent a moment fumbling blindly for his cigarettes before realizing he'd left them indoors.

"I'm probably generalizing," Nathan said, laying a hand very lightly on Jim's arm. "But. You made an impression, you know. There have been a couple of times these last few days that I've had her out and around, and she's sensed you. She likes you. She knows when she... touches people, for lack of a better word."

"She likes you." In a way, that was the worst thing the other man could have said. Jim let out a harsh laugh that was half-sob and had to throw his hand out to a nearby tree for support. This is insane, he thought, gripping the cold, chalky bark so hard it scoured his hand. It was one thing to fall apart in front of Charles, but Nathan was almost a stranger -- and over what a six-month-old girl thought of him. Damn it, why can't I stop crying?

Nathan took a deep breath and then let it out, chagrined and a little more upset than he was letting on. Okay, Dayspring, lesson number five hundred and sixteen in why it's sometimes better to just not open your idiot mouth...

"All right," he said, almost managing the light tone, and much more successfully managing the calming projection. Whatever was behind this, the suggestion said, it was all right. He wouldn't push, hadn't intended to hurt. "Clearly I am digging a hole, here," he said, shifting his hand to Jim's shoulder and squeezing gently. "Should we just back the conversation up a couple of minutes?"

Despite the increasingly disjointed jumble of thoughts crowding his mind, Nathan's words reached him. Jim shook his head, managing to force out something closer to a real laugh at what was no doubt alarming behavior to the other man.

#I'm sorry,# Jim sent, unable to avoid noticing the parallel to his first meeting with Charles after his arrival. Even his telepathy felt a little vague. He was almost glad of the other man's hand on his shoulder -- it gave him something to focus on. The younger man levered himself away from the tree, still feeling a little unsteady on his feet. #I'm a little . . . messed up.# There was the understatement of the decade. #Not your fault. I'm just not -- normal.#

#Remember our first conversation and who you're talking to?# He wished Askani was here. A little of that hundred-and-twelve-year-old insight would go over real well right now. Nathan concentrated on projecting steady reassurance, relatively sure that he could trust his impression that the younger man needed it right now. #I'm sorry if what I said upset you.#

The other man's use of telepathy startled him -- or would have, had Jim been in his normal state of mind. At the moment all he could register was a kind of dull, disbelieving wonder that someone else besides Charles was offering the support. The act was unexpected, but no less calming.

#It wasn't your fault,# Jim repeated, stronger this time. He remembered what Charles had always said about the importance of putting his thoughts into words and tried to switch back to normal speech. "It . . . I wasn't upset about you. Or Rachel." His voice sounded odd, distant, but at least he could focus enough now to use it. "I just . . . I have to be very careful." The statement had a tight, strangled lilt to it, and Jim forced himself to pull it back. The last thing he wanted was to fall apart again.

Nathan kept projecting reassurance. "You'll let me know if I should be careful, too?" he asked steadily, if still gently. "If there are topics I shouldn't broach... places I shouldn't go. Trust me when I say I can sure as hell respect that."

"No, I . . ." Jim shook his head violently, struggling for some way to explain. Now that it was out, he had to tell Nathan. Nathan of all people. "I don't care in therapy, I can control the exposure there, and adults already know, but she's -- Rachel's just a baby and she can see my mind and if she . . . what if she thinks it's normal?" He was scaring the man, he had to be, but nothing Jim could do could suppress the sheer horror in his voice. "I never -- oh, god, what if she tries to copy it?"

Oh, shit. The shocked reaction wasn't for the idea, but for the pure terror in the younger man's voice. "Hey," Nathan said firmly. "Look at me. Now." He reinforced it telepathically, and it had the desired effect. "You remember me talking about my ghosts?" he asked, his eyes locked on Haller's, absolutely unflinching. "Psionics were an art form, to them. These people who lived two thousand years in the future. Babies developing psi in the womb were... well, not common, but not the rare thing they are in our day and age. Askani taught me how to teach Rachel. Patterns... it's all about patterns, David, and Ray's been learning since the day she was born." He spoke with the calm assurance of someone who'd been drilled in this particular subset of psionic theory by two masters of the craft. "The fundamentals of her mind are set, and stronger than that of most adult psis."

Jim tried to force himself to listen, to be calmed by what the other man was saying. What Nathan was telling him made sense, he knew it, but--

But patterns can be broken.

Jim's hands twitched again for the absent pack of cigarettes, then fell still. "I just," he whispered, "I don't want to . . ." ruin her "hurt anyone. For being how I am."

"I think," Nathan said, the physical contact plus the other man's unsettled state making him very aware of the underlying thought process going on there, "that you would rather go over there and throw yourself in the lake than hurt anyone. And doubly so, on my daughter's behalf." He squeezed Jim's shoulder gently. "But if you feel it's better to keep your distance, then you do what you think is best. And thank you for caring enough about an evil little megalomaniacal baby you just met to want to do that."

Jim took a deep breath. "Intent and effect are two different things." He was so tired, and the feeling extended far beyond the current situation. As long as Rachel lived in the school, no amount of distance would be far enough anyway. Jim could still sense her presence on a level that scraped only the barest edge of consciousness, even when he wasn't reaching out -- an awareness he suspected cut both ways. Jim had never experienced that awareness with anyone other than Charles and Moira. "If anyone tries to hurt her," he said abruptly, his voice gone hard and flat, "I'll kill them."

"You'll have to take a number," Nathan said with a perfectly straight face, deciding to risk... well, not a joke, because it really wasn't, was it? "There are a number of people who've reserved a place in line if it ever comes to that." There was a flinty glint in his gray eyes for a moment, even in the moonlight. "It won't come to that. Ever."

"Good." The rush of ice-cold calm suddenly drained away, leaving him weak and slightly ill. Jim wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve, exhaling shakily. "Sorry. I'm not normally like this. Really. I just . . . I don't know. It's been years since I last lived here, and suddenly I'm not out working the clinics all the time . . . I guess the transition is throwing everything off."

"You don't need to apologize," Nathan said. "You seem a little burned out." Okay, so that was possibly an understatement. "I hope being back here, doing what you're doing, will give you a chance to catch your breath."

Everyone keeps saying that. Jim managed a smile. It was more pained than he'd meant it to be, but at least it wasn't another crying jag. "That was the idea. Although I'm starting to remember why I wasn't giving myself the opportunity in the first place." He laughed weakly. "Clearly being alone with my thoughts is the worst thing I can do to myself."

"Come on," Nathan said, inclining his head in the direction of the mansion again. "It's cold out here, and if my favorite wolf catches us standing out here in the snow smelling upset, she'll chase us back inside for hot drinks and oatmeal bars. Not," Nathan amended firmly, "that it would be an awful fate."

Jim snorted. "It's obviously too late for the staff, but I'd like to keep my Crazy away from the students. Not that I deny it, but actually seeing it out there in the open does not inspire confidence." He rubbed his arms, half against the cold and half against his own indecision. He wasn't sure this was a good idea, but after that conversation it couldn't be any worse than what he'd already told the man. He looked away from the path and said, "I, uh . . . I go by Jim, sometimes. You can call me that."

"All right. Jim, then," Nathan said, not sure what this meant but suspecting that there was more significance to the offer than met the eye. "You know, it is damned cold out here. That hot chocolate would probably go over well." He smiled suddenly, crookedly. "I actually make a very good Mexican hot chocolate, even if I can't drink it myself anymore. It's something I did with the little kids back in the spring while I was running the cooking class."

Amazing, he thought, how that simple exchange seemed to lift a weight he hadn't even known he was carrying. "I wouldn't say no to a lesson," Jim smiled. "Fortunately I excell in circumstances that require the mental state of a small child. Also, it'd be just my luck to follow up a cathartic breakdown in the middle of the woods with a case of pneumonia."

"Let's make sure we avoid that. Moira would have my head."