xp_logs | LOG: [Lorna, Haller] Evaluations

Lorna's mental health is finally cleared to allow her to resume active duty on the team, so she decides to feed the new guy to celebrate. Haller proceeds to choose the worst topic of conversation he possibly could have, and, unfortunately, his many talents do not include the ability to take a hint.

Time is an illusion. Lunchtime, doubly so. Okay so maybe it wasn't exactly an original thought but it certainly fit the way Lorna was feeling right now. She wasn't sure how she'd managed to spend what felt like an eternity with the Professor and then another with the new doctor and still have had enough time to make lunch. But since she had and since she did, Lorna wandered off to find Haller to make sure that he'd eaten and, if she decided to gloat just a bit about being cleared for team duty, that was fine too. Or so Lorna rationalized as she knocked on Haller's door.

Jim paused in mid-stroke, half-turning towards the door. "Come in," he said, setting down the charcoal and wiping the hands on a paper towel. He was suddenly smelling food, so he had an idea of who could be knocking. Privately, he was impressed. It had been a few days since she'd insisted on feeding him. Lorna clearly understood the need occasional need for personal space.

The nice thing about her mutation was that she never really needed a hand free to open the door. Which was good since she didn't currently have one. The door swung open obligingly to let her in, a plate in each hand. "Hi. I'm not interrupting, am I? I made some chicken sandwiches and I didn't know if you'd eaten." Her voice was chipper even as her gaze darted around in a quick, curious survey.

Jim smiled. "It's usually safe to assume I didn't. Come in." He moved to the sink to wash the rest of the black from his hands.

There wasn't much to survey. Lots of notebooks and casefiles, a few texts on psychology -- and art. Many, many piles of art. Some in charcoal and pastel, some in paint, some no more than loose sketches in pencil, all in varying stages of development. They were piled more or less at random on any available flat surface.

"Just shove something out of the way," Jim advised her, toweling off his hands. "Sorry, I don't entertain much. Usually I just come in to collapse at the end of the day."

"This is about what my room looks like right now, so you know, glass houses and stones." Lorna looked up from the marker drawings on the coffee tables and smiled, "Though I'm not the artistic sort so there's less random paper. I really am reluctant to buy anything for here though. Since I probably won't be around much and all." She walked over to the kitchen and held out a plate. "How are you?"

"Better, thanks," Jim replied, accepting the plate with an ironic smile. "How's your plague? I'm guessing you're feeling better if you're delivering roomservice again."

"Plague is all gone, thank god. Spent the morning with Amelia and Xavier so they could knock on my brain and stuff. Both of them gave me a pass to get back to the team. Now if Berkeley would just let me know about this program I can negotiate what terms I can be back on." Lorna grinned. The check-ups hadn't been easy on her, either of them. She was weak and shaky all around but wasn't about to let that stop her. "So where should we sit?"

"Um. Well, theoretically there's a couch somewhere in the living room. Hang on, I'll clear some space." Jim set his plate down on a visible part of the coffee table and began to relocate some of the piles. The fact that he serenely relocated some of them to cover Davey's latest attempts at art was purely coincidental. "So it's official now?" he asked, shuffling some of the piles into something resembling order. "You're back on the team?"

"Well, no, not official." Lorna walked back over and noticed the vanished marker drawings but didn't comment. "It's more that now I can actually ask the leaders to let me back on without having that request immediately denied because I can't cope. Hazard of quitting under the circumstances I did." She shifted another couple of piles of art and set her own plate down then tucked herself onto the couch.

Jim settled down at the other end. Normally he preferred being able to face the other party, but he wasn't even going to attempt excavating his chair. "Can I ask what exactly those circumstances were?" he asked, picking up his sandwich. "I didn't hear much in the way of details . . . some kind of mind-control? You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Jim added, hoping belatedly that this wasn't too invasive a question; he'd heard only bits and pieces of the account, and only brief ones at that.

Lorna shrugged, "Matter of record, really. Magneto and Mystique caught me at LAX when Alex and I were supposed to be flying to Hawaii. They put a collar on me that had the...oh, I don't know what you would call her really. Maybe the personality? Something like that. Anyway, it was basically all that was left of a telepath. She--Malice--had control most of the time. Bad things ensued." She leaned over and casually took a potato chip, wishing she really felt as blasé as she sounded.

The . . . Whatever answer he'd been expecting, it hadn't been this. Jim froze in mid-chew, then purposely made himself finish before swallowing. "Most . . .? How long?" It was the only thing he could think of to say.

Lorna made a face, not liking having to figure it out. "About half the time, right at first. I think Magneto hoped she'd rub off on me and I'd start helping of my own volition. Then as time went on and things got...more confused," Lorna rubbed her neck. "it was more often. After she left Remy to die, they never turned the collar back to my control. At least...I don't think they did." Those last couple weeks were little more than a blur. Most of the three months she was in the collar she remembered. But there were things missing...she just didn't know what they were. "Anyway, I wasn't trying to be depressing. How's your sandwich?"

"It's . . . good." He could stop staring at her any time now. Jim forced his eyes away and took a deep breath, fighting sudden nausea. Whether or not he liked the sandwich was irrelevant; right at this very moment food was the last thing he wanted. "But you're okay?" he managed, looking back up at her. "You're -- you're clean?"

Lorna shrugged, "Well enough to join the team. Malice was a computer program really so since I don't have any circuitry the Professor thinks there's not really any chance that she's hanging around." They could stop talking about this any time. Really. "Physically, I'm in the best condition of my life, plague aside. And my powers are just...there's not even a comparison to where I was before." Powers talk. That was distracting.

"Wait," Jim said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. She was a computer program? I just -- I'm a little confused." Because we're so focused right now.

It was her own fault for bringing it up. Haller was just displaying a natural curiosity. That didn't mean Lorna had to like it. "It was...It's not really simple. Malice was a woman. Her name wasn't actually Malice but she didn't remember what it was. When she died they...I don't really know exactly because they never explained it to us, but I think they sort of half-programmed and half-transplanted her consciousness into an inhibitor collar. While it was turned on, Malice was...almost a person. Except that she didn't think of herself as dead and didn't...really separate herself from me. As far as she was concerned we were the same person. She loved the way I loved and...I loved as she did. She could only do things that I would do." Lorna really hated talking about this but incomplete explanations tended to be even more confusing. "So after a while it became confusing as to how much of Malice was really Malice, how much was the controlling programming and how much was me."

"Oh. I . . . oh." Why did I ask? Jim's jaw clenched at the sudden stab of pain behind his eyes, a spasm that narrowly avoided becoming a flinch. Why do you always have to ask? "I -- I'm sorry," he said, helplessly. Sandwich back on plate. Plate on table. Slowly. Focus, and control. "I shouldn't have asked. That must've been . . . I'm sorry."

Lorna stared at her hands. She was good at not thinking about what she was saying. Letting the horror of it just pass over her. Pretending that someone else...except that it was someone else. And not. All at the same time. "The Professor thinks that nothing is wrong though. That's the best I can do." She glanced up at him, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"No. It's not your fault." Jim let his eyes drift to the nearest pile of sketches. It was like looking at something drawn by a stranger. It's not your fault. "Trust the professor," he said, his voice remarkably steady against the agony in his head. He raised his head to look at her again. "It may not feel right, but if something was wrong, he'd know."

Lorna bit down on the honest reply. That things hadn't felt 'right' for so long that she wouldn't know it if it hit her in the face. "I don't intended to find out, actually. If Malice is...not gone, it means I didn't kill her. If she is...then it's another murder and I have enough of those on my soul. This doesn't interfere with my place on the team and that's good enough for me."

The telepath stared at his clenched hands for a long moment, his face impassive. When at last he spoke again his tone was soft, neutral. Empty.

"Sometimes," Jim said, meeting her eyes with his own, "'good enough' is the most you can hope for."

Lorna didn't quite understand the look in his eyes but was afraid that she knew all too well what it meant. Slowly, without breaking the connection, she nodded. "Yeah. I...I've noticed that." Her lips quirked just slightly. "It's kind of like the genie in Aladdin. Phenomenal cosmic powers. Itty bitty living space." She leaned over and patted his hands. "I should go."

"Yeah, there's been enough sharing today, I think." Jim rose to show her out. "I'm sorry I ruined lunch," he said apologetically. "At some point I'll learn to leave well enough alone." His mouth moved to smile around a head full of broken glass.

At the door, Lorna paused and turned back to him. "I...I don't know what happened to you. But I really am sorry." She hugged him, hard and quick then backed away into the hallway. "I'll see you later."

"Don't worry about it." The hand raised in a half-wave was as reflexive as the smile. "See you later, Lorna. Thank you for the food."

As she turned to leave Jim gently shut the door, locking it behind him. Then, with perfect calm, he went into the bathroom and threw up.