xp_logs | LOG: [Haroun, Haller] After class

Haller runs into the source of Alison's pre-matrimonial bliss. As it turns out, Nathan is not the only staff member who excells at inducing migraines -- but then, Haroun is talented like that.

There was probably some rule about the fairness of using telepathy to pin down the proper time to approach another staff member, Jim mused, but better to accidentally-on-purpose run into the man when he was sure nothing was being interrupted. It wasn't as if he was actually reading his mind, after all, just . . . following it.

And so it was that Jim just happened to be passing by as Haroun was exiting his class. Perhaps not strictly fair, but it beat arranging a formal introduction via email.

"Mr. al-Rashid?"

Haroun blinked and pulled his mind out of Aero and back to the regular three-dimensional world. "Yes?" he answered automatically, not placing the extremely tall lanky stranger who'd hailed him.

"I'm David Haller. We haven't met." Jim extended a hand, somewhat less hesitantly than he felt about doing so. "Sorry. I probably should have made more of an effort to introduced myself to the other staff, at least."

Haroun automatically accepted the handshake with one of his own. For a skinny guy, David had a half-decent handshake. Point to him. "Haroun al-Rashid." he said with a sudden smile, his memory dredging out the man's identity. "You're the new student counsellor, right?"

Jim nodded. "Still mercifully unharmed. But then, it's only been a few weeks. They're probably trying to lure me into a false sense of security."

Haroun couldn't help but snicker at that, just a little. "At the rate our psychotic little darlings go, you should be touched by Allah in a matter of weeks." he said with another grin. "But the hall is a poor place to talk. Please, come inside..." he said, gesturing to the now-vacant classroom.

Jim followed the other man into the room, a rather old-fashioned setup of the type he'd always thought of when picturing a high school classroom. "You teach flight, Nathan said?" he asked, glancing at the desks. They were of the type where the chair was attached to the writing surface. Jim was suddenly glad his public education hadn't made it that far; he didn't want to think about the amount of folding it would take to keep his knees under the desk.

Haroun nodded. "And Arabic." he said. "That's about as far as I'm willing to go in pursuit of broadening the minds of American children, leaving aside subbing for Scott's MechE class." he said. "But yes, I used to teach the Powered Flight class. Sam's got it now, since I went down a while back. Long story, and most of it is classified anyway." he said with a helpless shrug.

Jim's mouth twitched in smile. "Even so, maybe you should offer to mentor Nathan. He seems to have some trouble with the landing."

Haroun smirked that that one as well. "So many beginning students do. Gravity is a truly cruel mistress, and the enemy's gate is always down." he laughed. "You settling in all right?" he asked. Something about the other man was tickling his ear, but he couldn't quite put his finger on exactly _what_. Something about his voice...

"Everyone's been very . . . tolerant," Jim smiled. "Okay, I almost died of mortification when I was talking to Wanda, but I don't think that was intentional on her part."

"Wanda has that effect on people." he said with a grin. "One of her many charms. And ... I do not wish to seem rude, but where are you _from_? Something in your voice sounds familiar, faintly..."

Jim tilted his head. "New York. Though I did spend the last six years in the UK. Traveling tends to . . ." Then he remembered Haroun's other subject, and made the connection. "Oh. I was born in Tehran. English wasn't my first language, but I didn't think it showed. We left when I was only two."

Haroun ahhed. "I _thought_ I heard something in your voice." ~I myself hail from Morocco.~ he said in Moroccan Arabic.

His accent was definitely some branch of Maghreb -- even those few words were enough to bring to mind Zine. Zine had been a Tunisian, but Jim could recognize those tortured vowels anywhere. ~I'm . . . a little rusty,~ Jim replied haltingly. ~Khaliji was for home and friends. Haven't used it in a while.~

Haroun strained to catch the full meaning of David's words - the language was familiar, yes, but David talked like he was racing to finish, and he clipped -everything-. Very disconcerting. "Your accent is just awful." he told the taller man cheerfully. "Come to think of it, you do look Aryan. In the original sense, not the Nazi sense." he said.

"Israeli, actually," Jim said, gratefully switching back. He could still process Arabic well enough, but finding the words to form a response was difficult. "The accent isn't surprising. What I didn't learn at home I learned from other expatriots. Whatever you were before you came to the US, once you're here everyone's just another foreigner."

Haroun grinned at that. But then he frowned. "Wait. I thought you said you were from Iran, then you moved to New York when you were two. When did you live in Israel?"

Jim suppressed a grimace. "Never. It's just where my parents were from." And where they died.

"So your Israeli parents were living in Iran, where they fled when you were two - that business with the Shah, or for some other reason? to New York." he said, trying to peace it all together. "Interesting life you've led."

"That was their life, not mine." Jim rubbed his forehead and decided it was easier to take the conversation to its logical conclusion and sort it out later. "My parents were Baha'i. They emigrated to New York because things were getting difficult with the Shi'a."

Haroun whistled. "Yeah, that would do it. The Shi'a have little tolerance for anything not Shi'a." he said with a wince of sympathy. "They don't have much traction in North Africa. Wrong kind of howling desert fanatics, really."

Jim shrugged. "I don't really have anything against them. I'm not Baha'i, and I was too young to remember any of the persecution." And it wasn't the Shi'a who killed my father.

Haroun nodded. "Generous of you." he said. "I'm Sunni, or close enough as to make no difference." he said. "I spent a great deal of time pissing off the Wahabbis and their ilk. They have little love for our kind."

Jim's mouth quirked a little at the 'our kind' remark. "I tried pissing off people for a while. Just in general. It wasn't very productive. The opposite, actually." He reminded himself that he wasn't going to light up indoors, let alone in a classroom. No matter how much he could have used a smoke right now.

Haroun grinned. "I was probably a little more militant about it than you were." he said, but left it at that. "Besides, swine like that had no business calling themselves human."

Sighing, the younger man rubbed the back of his head tiredly. "Can't say I'm not familiar with that state of mind." Those days were not among his proudest memories.

Haroun nodded. "I've backed off on that quite a bit since then." he explained hastily, lest David draw the obviously correct conclusion. "I work on a bigger scale now."

Jim smiled slightly. "We live and learn. Fortunately for us." Learn. He blinked, suddenly -- and mercifully -- remembering what it was he'd wanted to talk to Haroun about in the first place. "Ah, I actually had a favor to ask. Nathan tells me you have cybernetics, and I was wondering if I could do a telepathic scan one of these days. Non-invasive to your actual thought processes. I've never met anyone with that level of advanced prosthesis before . . . well," he ammended, "aside from Forge, but he's a student. I know it's a lot to ask, but it falls under my area of interests." He shrugged, smiling apologetically. "I'll understand if you aren't comfortable with it -- I realize I'm basically a stranger. But maybe some day, in the far-flung future."

Haroun paused to think about it. "I agree, but I have some conditions." he said. "First, you share any insights that you have as to the MMI and the its psionic function. Second, you keep whatever you see in the strictest confidence. Third, if Nate or Charles does overwatch. I don't much feel like dying or being a cripple because you got adventurous."

Jim winced. "As a rule, I don't force or change things without the explicit participation of the person whose mind I'm in. Not even when I'm treating patients. But I'm on your side -- I don't want any accidents. I'll ask Charles." There was scant possibility of a mistake, but now that Haroun had broached the subject Jim would definitely feel better with Charles monitoring the situation -- it hadn't occurred to him that scanning something as unfamiliar as cybernetics might yield unexpected results. He gave the other man a lopsided smile. "Don't worry about confidentiality. I'm pretty paranoid about the sanctity of the human mind, even for a psi. And I'll be sure to pass on anything I find. After all, it is your brain."

Haroun nodded. "Best to get it all out on the table. Besides, the MMI is, shall we say, alpha-grade hardware and software? Forge built it, Doug programmed it. Long story." he said with an embarrassed shrug.

"I'm probably not going to be much help on the technical side," Jim confessed, "but I'd like to study your psychological integration. How the brain has adjusted to the cybernetics, basically. If you've been having problems in that respect, I may be able to help you." No need even to bring up what he'd heard of the man's self-imposed barriers around his power; if Jim noticed something while he was in there, he would tell Haroun. For now, he wasn't going to worry about it.

"That's where the integration has been, shall we say, less than ideal?" he groused. "But hey, I'm running late - I have a lunch date with Alison and it's not wise to keep the lady who can laser-etch her name across your retinas waiting." he said, then grinned to show he was joking. "Pleasure meeting you, Mr Haller." he said.

Jim smiled. "Same here, Mr. al-Rashid." Regardless of the headache.