xp_logs | LOG: [Haller, Bobby] (Backdated) Consequences

After Cain's little pep talk Bobby is in need of some comforting. Unfortunately, while attempting to do so Haller reveals exactly the wrong thing.

Bobby was curled up in a chair in the far corner of the sunroom, his iPod on the table next to him, unused. He stared out the window, his stomach churning from the gnawing guilt eating at his insides. But he wouldn't cry. Not again. Cain was right, he was an X-Man, not some crybaby little kid, and he'd made his own damn bed. With Jean in it. God...

He slumped, covering his eyes as fresh shame washed over him. He could never face Scott again, and what was he supposed to tell Terry? And if word spread as it usually did around this place, he'd be a complete leper by lunchtime tomorrow at the latest. Maybe he should just go. He wasn't fit to wear the leathers, not anymore. Not after what he'd done to his teammate, his leader, his brother, practically.

Jim, looking for a quiet place to sketch to settle his mind, paused in the doorway when he realized the sunroom was already occupied. Another occupant didn't automatically rule out the option, but it took only a split-second for him to recognize that occupant was Bobby.

Well, this is . . . um. He didn't know Bobby well, and what Scott had reported earlier that day hadn't exactly been conducive to casual smalltalk. However, Jim's immediate impulse to withdraw was thwarted by the boy's posture. Nothing about Bobby indicated he was 'okay.' He hadn't even noticed Jim's arrival. Surely Scott hadn't confronted him already, had he . . ? So if not that, then what?

After only a moment of misgivings Jim eased himself the rest of the way into the room. He took care to make a little noise before venturing, "Hey, Bobby. Is everything all right?"

Bobby looked up, misery and guilt writ large on his face in that initial glance. He struggled briefly and managed a small smile. "No, I'm pretty far from all right," he said quietly, then shrugged. "But it's my own fault." He tugged one of his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on it and closing his eyes.

The counselor took a seat in the opposite chair, laying his sketchbook on his knees. That was a clear 'I desperately need someone to talk to' if he'd ever heard one. "What happened?" Jim asked. It was safer not to jump to conclusions; if this was unrelated to the matter with Scott there was no need to embarrass him. Bobby's personal life shouldn't have been any of his business, anyway.

"I crossed a line," Bobby mumbled, his cheeks flushing with shame. "I betrayed the trust of someone who means a lot to me--a couple of someones," he corrected, his heart aching as Terry's image materialized in his mind, smiling at him. His eyes squeezed more tightly closed as a lump rose in his throat. "I fucked up, bigtime," he whispered hoarsely. And there was nothing he could do, no way to take it back.

That was . . . fairly obvious. Jim decided to eschew tact in favor of sparing Bobby the agony of elaboration. "Does this have something to do with Mr. Summers?" he asked as delicately as he could, hoping he hadn't misread the situation. At times the decision not to use his telepathy in normal sessions came at a risk.

Bobby flinched, his eyes opening at once. "Christ, does everyone know already?" he moaned. He'd better get upstairs and pack if the news was travelling that fast. He didn't move, though, just buried his face against his leg and mumbled, "I suck. Go ahead, say it." Maybe the staff could just line up and get it all over with at once, before the students got their share. Jean was beloved, and Scott, while a dick, was still the headmaster and their leader. Everyone would want a crack at him sooner or later, with very few exceptions, he was sure.

Jim smiled apologetically. "I think you can chalk it up to 'an excited utterance.' I doubt I'd have found out if I hadn't talked to Scott right after he did." He sighed and sat back in the chair. "I can't speak for who Scott chooses to tell," he said, though he had his suspicions after that email from Cain, "but the only other staffer I know for certain knows is Ms. Munroe, because I told her. Considering Scott's her friend as well as the headmaster, I think you can trust her to be discreet. And I can guarantee no one else has seen the tape."

At the word 'tape', all the color drained from Bobby's face. "...Tape?" he asked weakly, his stomach churning. There was a TAPE? Scott had SEEN them? Oh, this just kept getting worse and worse. "...I'm going to pack my bags."

It took every ounce of Jim's self-restraint to keep him from physically smacking himself in the face. Oh my dear god, why did I assume he KNEW? Stupid, Haller, stupid stupid stupid . . .

"It's gone," Jim said aloud, hoping it wasn't possible for the boy to tell he was seriously considering hari-kiri from his eyes alone. "No one saw it but Scott. He asked me to burn it. I did." He added, recovering a little, "Besides, do you really want to leave it like this? Leaving won't change anything. Guilt has no respect for setting. Trust me."

That was a small relief, but Scott had still seen, and oh God, how much did that have to hurt? Bobby couldn't even force himself to contemplate seeing a tape of Terry and someone else, despite the fact that he probably deserved such mental images. "Won't change anything?" he croaked, giving Haller an incredulous look. "Tell that to the lynch mob. They should be ready by tomorrow afternoon at the latest..." But he wouldn't leave. He'd face it all like a man. That much he could do. Had to do, if he wanted to be able to face the man in the mirror every morning. Hell, some physical violence would almost be welcome about now. God knew he had it coming, in spades.

"We all make mistakes," Jim pointed out. I only hope I can make up for mine. Jim settled back and spread his hands. "Let's look at this rationally. Even if Scott was the type of person who'd want to spread it around you'd slept with his ex, which I think we can both agree he isn't, what could people do to you? Honestly? I doubt Charles would stand for a lynchmob on his property. It was -- not the smartest thing you could have done, but you already know that. And when it comes to bad judgement, it's not as if you were the only person in that room. Jean made a decision, too." We'll think about that one later.

Jean had been making a lot of the decisions that night, now that he thought about it, but that didn't reduce his own culpability, he knew. The word 'no' was simple enough. "We were just supposed to have dinner," he said quietly, covering his face.

Then that was one hell of a main course. --Shh. "'Supposed to' doesn't really matter anymore," Jim said, not without sympathy. "Focus on dealing with what happened rather than worrying about what should have happened. Still, you can accept responsibility while still acknowledging there are limits to the scope."

"How in the hell do I 'deal' with what I did?" Bobby shouted, then took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I just...god, I don't even know how it happened." One minute she'd been rubbing his shoulders, telling him in a sympathetic voice that he was too tense, and the next thing he clearly remembered was that comment about Terry, the one that tore him open and made him flee. Speaking of, "...God, how do I tell Terry?"

First Scott, now Bobby. There was something deeply wrong with this scenario. Why do people keep asking me for relationship advice? Jim wondered, chagrinned. He was beginning to wish he'd dated more. Or at all. "Like I said, don't fixate on 'should haves' and 'what-ifs'," he said, sounding more assured than he really felt. "You screwed up. You admit that. You know telling Terry is going to be bad, but the more time you give yourself to agonize over it the worse you'll feel. I suggest you get it over with quickly. It'll hurt, but it'll be less painful in the long-run -- for you and for her." He tried not to think about whether or not that would mean he'd up having this conversation with her as well; he was already going two-for-two.

Bobby nodded, but there was no way he was going to be able to tell Terry. Not yet. He knew the longer he put it off, the greater the risk of her finding out from the rumor mill, but...he just wasn't ready for that confrontation. He needed comfort right now, however little he actually deserved it, and if that made him selfish, well...then he was selfish, but he wasn't going to tell her yet.

He bit his lip and asked in a small voice, "D'you think Scott's going to be okay?" Forgiveness wasn't even hoped for, but if he had to hate him to get over this, it'd be worth it.

No, Jim thought hopelessly, but that was a viciously unfair thing to tell to Bobby now. "He's in rough shape," he said, holding to the truth, "but it wasn't all your fault. Or even mostly. It was Jean's bad judgement as much as yours . . . and it wasn't your choice to send him the tape. Or make it in the first place." His thoughts on that matter were less than tranquil, but all thoughts on Jean Jim set aside for later.

"I don't understand why she did that!" Bobby burst out. "...Then again, I don't know why she did any of it..." He took a deep breath and looked Haller in the eye, even though it took some effort. He didn't want to look anyone in the eye at the moment. He was too ashamed. "If there's anything I can do for him--he doesn't even need to know it was me, just anything to...to..." Atone. He closed his eyes, jaw trembling faintly as he swallowed a few times, choking back his tears, his emotions.

Jim gave the boy a few moments to compose himself. 'Boy,' he thought wryly, I've only got two or three years on him, and he's already team. It didn't really matter. He needed someone to talk to. That was reason enough for Jim.

"Don't worry about Jean," he said after a moment. "What was going through her mind when it happened isn't your responsibility. As for Scott . . . well, for now the best thing you can do is give him time. And that advice applies to everyone, not just you. If he wants to talk, he'll talk."

That wasn't enough, though. Bobby needed to do something, although everything he could think of seemed almost insulting in its inadequacy. "I never meant for this to happen," he said, desperate for someone to believe that much, at least. "I did it, I'm guilty, but it wasn't...it wasn't malicious. It wasn't intentional. It--" He stood up abruptly, scooping his iPod from the table as he did. "I--gotta go," he choked out, determined to escape before he broke down in front of Haller.

"Hey." Jim rose, gently but firmly grabbing the boy's sleeve before he could escape. "This isn't all on you," he said quietly. "You made a bad call. You understand that now. The important thing is that don't make the same mistake twice. You feel like you let them down -- show them that you'll use the experience to change for the better. That's how you make it up to them. It's hard, and it hurts, and it won't seem like much now, but in the long run it's worth a lot." He released Bobby's arm and smiled faintly. "Nothing's all bad if you can learn from it. Not even mistakes."

Bobby nodded, not listening anymore, and tugged his arm free of Haller's grasp. "Later," he whispered, blinking furiously, and fled.

Jim exhaled slowly and sat down again, letting him go. Bobby had taken all he could handle right now. The pain was fresh; right now he needed time to process. In that respect, he and Scott were in the same place.

The telepath sighed and opened the sketchpad to a fresh page, fishing a pencil from his pocket. Bobby had made a mistake. He admitted that. All that remained to be seen was how he chose to deal with it.

We learn from our mistakes. That's what being an adult is all about.