LOG: [Ororo, Haller] By the lake

[x-legion.livejournal.com]

Unsettled after the encounter with Saul and his discussion with Lorna, Haller confides his reservations about the team in Ororo. His concerns aren't entirely laid to rest, but she proves a mercifully calming influence. In spite of the unwanted mental images.




There were no words to describe exactly how it felt when Ororo was outside, surrounded by the sky and trees and water that she loved. Though all she was doing was walking, her mind and body were busy registering the dozens of tiny changes, shifts in the air currents, the nuances in the earth and sky stretching out around her.

She was so wrapped up in this subtle, everchanging pattern that she almost didn't notice the still figure sitting by the lakeside. A slight change in the electrical field, though, was all she needed, and she cleared her head and stopped, looking down at Haller. "David, hello," she said, noting the pad and pencil in his hands and the slightly tired expression on his face. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No. Unfortunately." Jim lay the pad on his knees and smiled faintly. "Nothing's really coming out right today. Art therapy's a little counter-productive when you're frustrated. How've you been?"

"I'm well, thank you," Ororo replied. "I can imagine it would be a rather self-propagating cycle, to be frustrated and unable to express it."

Jim snorted. "Just a bit." He glanced down at the pad in his hands. It was only a landscape. After yesterday's conversation with Lorna he was too afraid to attempt anything expressionistic; he didn't want to see what was in his head right now committed to paper. He sighed and folded the sketchbook closed. "I heard you had an event Sunday," he said, rubbing the graphite from his hands onto the grass. "An ex-student, right? Old friend?"

"Yes... yes, a friend." Ororo nodded and took a seat next to him on a patch of grass, drawing her knees up to her chest. "I am glad that it ended as well as it did. Those missions are always tense, and more so when you know exactly who is in danger."

"It must be hard to keep your perspective when the danger gets personal," the telepath smiled wryly. "I never really thought about that possibility. That if I joined the team, one day someone I knew might be the person who needed help." He thought of Wanda, and Nathan's encounter with Saul. "Or be the threat."

"The world is too small," Ororo said, looking out over the lake. "And our friends can become our enemies far too quickly. I believe that can be true of all people, but in our case... the danger is much more life-threatening. And so it is much more delicate to handle."

"Yeah." Jim stared out across the lake, studying the eddies in the water. He rubbed his hands together, feeling the old scars on the right. "I . . . was going to ask. About joining the team, I mean. But after what happened with Nathan's father I'm not so sure anymore." There. He'd said it.

She wasn't surprised, exactly, though she certainly hadn't expected Haller to bring up the subject in such an informal setting. But then, it was surely something that was on his mind lately, and she couldn't blame him for wondering. "There are many factors that must be evaluated before someone can join the team," she said slowly, glancing over at him. "But prior incidents like... the one with Nathan's father would not keep you from being considered for the team, if you wished to join."

Jim laughed softly. "Yeah, I noticed no one seemed to mind that." There was no use in drawing this out. He dropped his gaze to his hands, the brief smile fading. He swallowed hard and said, "I wouldn't have minded, either, if I'd been the one punching him. But I wasn't."

It shouldn't have been so painful. It wasn't as if Ororo wasn't perfectly aware of his condition, after all. Yet, somehow, saying the words aloud hurt -- almost as much as the break itself. Not just because it might mean the end of any chance to work in the field, but because it meant admitting something he could hardly bear to admit to himself: I'm not safe.

Saying nothing, Ororo leaned closer, slipping an arm around his shoulders. She didn't try to hug him or pull him into any sort of embrace, but she was there, close and steady. Eventually she spoke, looking back out over the lake. "Everyone is ready in their own time. Some people are thrust into it before they are ready, and that is when disaster strikes. To know that you are not ready yet is not a bad thing, David. And it does not mean you will never be."

Her touch was unexpected, but Jim didn't have the strength or the will to do anything but accept the comfort offered. He laughed again, the sound tight. "I don't know what to think anymore. I was okay that night with Cthon. Not -- not okay, but I did it anyway. I stayed me. But Saul . . ." He broke off, his hands clenching in his lap. "I talked to Charles. Right after I got back. We worked out what set it off. It wasn't stress, it was a lot of very specific triggers, one right after another. Not the kind of things I'd probably encounter on a mission, but . . ." Jim swallowed hard. "I don't think we could be a part of anything that involved kids. Not directly. I" and he had to smile at the irony, "lose perspective."

"There is plenty for you to do without having to directly face those things yet," Ororo replied, wanting him to feel of at least some use. "And you know that you are very important here. We are lucky to have you."

Absurdly, Jim felt heat rising in his cheeks at her words. "I just want to help," he muttered, turning his head in what he knew was a futile attempt to hide the blush. "I'm tired of taking from other people all the time. I'm not a kid anymore. I just -- want to do something."

"You've done plenty so far. It was your help that allowed Wanda to regain control, and even more than that, you've helped the students immensely already." Ororo smiled and rubbed her hand on his back soothingly. "And you are always a pleasure to talk to." She had noticed the blush, of course, but thought that he needed the praise more than anything else.

It was funny how much of a relief it was to feel awkward. The talk with Lorna had left him -- uncentered. Now he welcomed the embarrassment that came of Ororo's words, because he knew it was David Haller's.

"I . . ." Jim closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating on the feel of her hand on his back. One breath, then two. Then he opened his eyes again and smiled at her, and said simply, "Thank you."

"Never doubt that you are an important member of the team," she said, smiling back at him. "Even if you are not wearing the leathers." She waited a moment before broadening her smile and adding, "They're not as comfortable as you might think, anyway."

This time Jim's laugh sounded far less strained. "Oh, man, I forgot about that . . . are those mandatory? Because me in one of those" he gestured at his lank frame "probably isn't something the world needs to see." And I sincerely hope those weren't the professor's idea, because I don't think our brain can survive the mental image of Charles Xavier having anything to do with black leather.

Ororo grinned and shook her head. "Mandatory? No, they're not, but so far most everyone seems to go along with it. Besides," she said, nudging him, "you would be surprised how much they do to help you look good."

Jim coughed and rubbed the back of his head. "Um. We'll see." Okay, the blushing can stop now. Ororo's close proximity combined with his psi-enhanced imagination was not helping the matter.

With a smile, Ororo turned back to the lake, her arm sliding back around her knees, though she stayed close enough that they were still touching. She seemed content to stay silent, enjoying his companionship and the way the wind drew ripples over the surface of the water.

Jim picked up the discarded sketchpad and turned to a new page with one hand, retrieving the stick of graphite from the grass with the other. For a moment he hesitated, hand poised above paper as he studied the far shore, searching with mismatched eyes.

Then, tentatively, he made one stroke. And another. And another. Soft, curving lines, shadows cast from negative space. Black and white, working in perfect balance. His hand gliding across the paper almost of its own accord, the movements quick and sure. Effortless.

And thank you, again.