Log: Jean and Haller

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

After seeing Jean's post to the journals, Jim takes the obvious invitation to talk to her, while avoiding the equally obvious invitation to let her make a martyr of herself. Haller, of course, is uniquely qualified to talk about all of this.



How much of his life, Jim wondered, had been spent trying to work himself through conversations that hadn't even started yet? Standing in silence as he took pains to commit every grain and swirl of wood in the door to memory, the telepath decided it must have been a lot.

He'd thought on this long and hard on the flight home. Played it over from every angle in his mind. It hadn't been necessary. He'd known all along what he had to do. Not for Charles, or for Scott. Not even for Jean. For himself. David Haller. All of him.

We can do this, he told himself. Steady breathing, in and out, slowing his quickening heartrate. You know we can. It's just like the conversation with Lorna. Just the same. Distance without numbness. Perspective without disengagment. Balance, and calm. Just like that.

Okay.

I'm ready now.

Releasing a slow, even breath, Jim knocked on Jean's door.

Jean looked up from the book she was reading, somewhat startled anyone had come so soon, and repressed her first impulse - to go hide in the closet. She had to start dealing with... with everyone soon. And whoever had decided to come here now, they were going to be first. And that was how it would be. Really. She wasn't even going to scan and see who it was, because there were definitely conversations she would avoid if she knew they were coming, and that wasn't fair.

Forcing herself to put down the book, she stood and moved to open the door.

Blue eyes greeted her, direct and sincere. Jim took a small step back and smiled. "Hey, Jean."

"David. Hi." Haller. Surely she could deal with Haller...

Jim tucked his hands in his pockets. "I thought I'd just . . . see how you were doing. May I come in?"

How she was doing... it'd take hours to scratch the surface. But the prospect of talking about it with David didn't seem nearly as bad as, well, anyone else other than Scott and Charles. "Yeah, sure. Of course." Jean stepped back, holding the door open. "Have a seat. Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm okay." Jim settled himself in a chair, long hands resting on his knees. "How's the . . . unevenness? From the reintegration, I mean." The question was simple, matter-of-fact. It was nothing Charles had had to tell him she was experiencing; Jim had lived that all on his own.

Jean had seated herself, which was good, because otherwise she'd likely have fallen. As it was, she stopped breathing for a moment before forcing herself to continue. "It's... unsettling, still. The worst emotional roller-coaster ever, times about a thousand." She tried to smile, but it completely failed to materialize.

"It's going to be rough for a while, but things settle. After a month or so there will be whole stretches of time when you don't notice anything at all." Jim paused, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. You'd think I'd know how to do this better, but I don't really . . . treat things like this. I can't offer professional advice. All I know is that when it was happening to me I would have given anything to know that there was someone else had gone through what I was going through, and there wasn't. I thought maybe we could just . . . talk. That's all."

Jean wondered how something could be both so very and so not reassuring. Although given the topic, she guessed it made sense. "I... Talking would be... would be good. It's been, well, confusing doesn't even begin to cover it. Overwhelming. Terrifying."

"Yes. It's that." Jim clasped his hand in his lap, staring at the floor. "Having your own mind turn on you is . . . terrifying. It's being out of control. And being in control. Both at once. It's . . ."

He had to say it. To put a name to something gave it power, but to refuse to identify it at all -- that was an opening for attack, too. If the crime had been an unwillingness to acknowledge, meaningful euphemisms and lowered voices only gave the terrible thing you were denying that much more power. He knew that. It was a mistake he'd made once before.

With a final hard swallow, Jim forced himself to meet the woman's eyes and said, "Mine was named Jack."

Jean breathed in sharply, realizing how hard this must all be for David. But she had to know. Biting her lip slightly she asked, "What happened?"

The younger man said nothing for a moment, hands kneading slowly in his lap. If he didn't do this just right this could go so bad so very, very quickly. I am David Haller, he thought, blue eyes sliding closed. I am, and always have been. That is the truth. Right now, that is the only truth.

All else falls away.

"The last time I was here to see Charles I had a major psychological event," Jim said, opening his eyes. "My mind had to be restructured. In some ways it was good. In some ways it . . . wasn't. The DID had created alter-personalities as part of the old system. That was okay. Not normal, but natural. When my brain tried to utilize the same survival mechanisms after a complete reconfiguration . . . that's when things started going wrong."

Jim raised his hands to rub his face. Concentrate on the essence of the truth, he told himself. Not the details. The details didn't matter. "I created Jack to be a repository for aggressive, negative emotional responses. When everything was working right he would . . . protect me. Feel or do things I couldn't. He scared me sometimes, but I could depend on him because he was a part of me. When everything was working right. When my system changed it was like trying to use the same components for a completely different engine. Some parts could make the transition." He lowered his hands again, and knew there was no amount of self-control that was going to save him from the words that came next. Six years, and it was still a knife to the heart. "Jack . . . broke."

Jean pulled her legs up to rest her feet on the chair, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I... How did you... How do you survive that?" she asked, voice little more than a whisper. Because it was different, different situation, different words, different choices. But it was so very, very the same.

"Just . . . one step at a time. I was lucky. The issue was forced with me. I told you about the TK fits, right?" So many months ago, now. "Jack was the one with the TK. His attacks were . . . direct. I couldn't hide that something was wrong. He didn't let me. I guess I should thank him for that much, at least." Jim ran a hand through his hair and realized it was shaking. It's okay, it's okay. Relax. Just maintain. Just for a little longer. "I finally called Charles. He took care of the immediate threat by locking down the TK. Once I wasn't a danger to myself and others anymore I didn't have any excuse not to deal with why he done what he'd . . . what I'd done to myself."

"That's it, really," Jean said, looking away into the distance. "I did all this. Did it to everyone. Did it to me. Matthews just helped."

"Yes," Jim said quietly, "you did."

The nice thing to do would have been to tell her she wasn't to blame, that it hadn't been her fault -- but what was nice wasn't the same as what was true. Comforting lies like that had always angered and offended David in the aftermath of his most violent episodes. How could you hold yourself accountable for your actions if no one else would let you? If that was all anyone ever saw you as, how could you live your life as anything but a victim?

"That was the worst thing about Jack," he said at last. "It wasn't what he did, it was that he showed me how much . . . hate I had. For others. For myself. Everything he said and did was just symptomatic. The real problem was me."

Silent tears spilled out of Jean's eyes and she burried her face in her knees for a moment, nodding in agreement. She didn't make a sound, though, and in a few seconds she took a deep breath and looked up again, somewhat composed. "I never even tried to deal with everything," she said. "I came back and I wanted so much to just take my life back, for everything to be normal. I didn't want Canada to have happened, so I pretended it didn't. But... But I wasn't unhappy there. I wasn't blissfully secure but it was a good life. And I just... I thought I couldn't be Jean if what that, if Jane, had mattered."

"I don't know. Trying to deal all at once isn't always a good idea, either." Jim pushed up the sleeve of his right arm, revealing the too-slick pitting of old burn scars that travelled up the back of his hand and past his elbow. "When things with Jack started getting bad I tried to push myself. I just wanted it all over and done with, to just be . . ." and at this Jim couldn't stop his lips from twitching in a sad smile, "normal. I was impatient. I was determined to get through it on my own, and I couldn't wait the time it would have taken to do things the healthy way. The right way. So I -- I tried to use my telepathy. To fix myself."

His face was burning even as he said it; it was a shameful misuse of his power and the stupidest, most reckless thing he'd ever done, then or since. How many times over the years had Charles told him it just didn't work like that? He hadn't listened. He'd been too desperate to care. Jim had gambled he could cheat the system. Later, too late, he'd found out how wrong he'd been.

"I tried to force an integration with a less dangerous alter. The next thing I knew ten hours were gone and I was somewhere else, and everything around me was burning. I still don't know what happened or how I got there. I can't get at the memory. All I know for sure is that trying to force things made the schism even more profound. I alienated that personality. I lost all co-consciousness with another. And I had to move back to Muir, because even though no one but me was seriously hurt I knew it was only a matter of time." Jim dropped his hand and looked back up at Jean. "I don't know what you could have done better. I don't know if trying to take everything on when you came back would have helped, or just made things worse. But . . . it doesn't matter anymore. This is what you have to live with. Maybe it's true that you're to blame for what did happen. That's enough. Don't punish yourself over what didn't, too."

"I know, I know, and I'm not. Not much," Jean amended. "It's just... I have to know how this happened. I need to know what I did, and what I didn't do. I have to be able to... If I don't understand it I can't control it." She sounded lost - looked it, too, curled up and miserable in the chair.

"That's something Jane can do for you. I know it's hard after all that happened, but don't -- don't hate her for what she did. Something was really wrong, and your psyche was trying to express that the only way it could. You hold some of the responsibility here, but you have to acknowledge that you were sick, too. One part got twisted into something it wasn't and shouldn't have been. What you can do for yourself now is listen to that part, and remember the things she said and did so the problems never get so bad it comes to that again."

Jim studied her face, pale skin framed by the auburn fall of her hair, and felt himself ache inside. If he could have, he would have reached out to show her it was okay, and that you could come out of this whole and intact -- but he couldn't. There was just too much she could see. Too much she would have seen that would only do more harm than good, because there were still times he didn't feel he really had survived. Not really. Instead, Jim kept his shields up and his mind quiet. There could be no psionic cheat for what she was going through. Just words. Only words.

But Jean isn't me. He kept repeating that simple fact to himself, over and over again. Jean was Jean, and Jim was Jim. It was different with her. Clean. Perhaps that didn't mean much, but it was something he held to nonetheless. Watching as Jean struggled with herself, Jim had to believe there was a way she could come back from this. He had to have faith.

Jean nodded shakily, then paused. "I'm sorry, by the way," she said, "for... for the things I said to you. At the post office." David was hardly the one most hurt by what she'd said and done, but she had to start somewhere.

The younger man bowed his head slightly at the apology. Not refuting or demurring, just accepting. "I'm sorry I didn't -- sense it," he said quietly. "At the post office. At . . . at the hotel." In many ways that had been the worst realization. I was right there. I was right next to her. How long have I lived with this? I would have seen it if only I'd looked . . .

"Don't beat yourself up about that," Jean said, frowning slightly. "You ought to know as well as anyone how good Jane had become at hiding. If you had realized, I really don't know what I'd have done. She..." No, what had happened with Scott wasn't really appropriate for this conversation. Jean continued with only the barest of pauses, "slipped up with Jay, really. I'm glad. Er, obviously, I mean, because it means I'm back. But... if she'd realized what had happened, Jay probably wouldn't remember that evening. If he had come back." Given the guards she'd been assigned that night, there was no promise of that.

"I know. What's done is done." Jim took another deep breath, steadying himself. Self-recrimination was unproductive now. Relax, and let it go. He gave her a small smile. "I wonder, though. The subconscious doesn't only sabotage. Maybe she didn't mean for the slip, but it could be she also didn't not allow it. Sometimes you have more control than you think."

Jean considered a moment before answering, "Actually, I'm really not sure. I... I think those last few weeks she was getting, well, tired. And neither of us could have broken through M-Matthews' cage." There was only the slightest stutter on the man's name. "It's possible."

There was nothing he could do to stifle the visceral surge of rage at the mention of Matthews. She should have torn out his fucking heart, came the inescapable thought, all the more impossible to deny because the sentiment grew from more than one source. For an instant he foundered, the shift of his thoughts apparent in texture even if the substance was not, then set the anger aside. A blink, and the darkening of his left eye had again receded to blue. Hatred, too, is unproductive now.

"There are ways to take control even if you have none," the young man said, the tightness in his jaw slowly subsiding. "If you can't reach out a hand, sometimes it's enough that you can allow yourself to take someone else's." He hesitated, not sure if he was overstepping, but too concerned not to ask. "How -- how are things with Scott?"

That got a little smile out of Jean. "Good, I think. We're, we're trying to be sensible. Well, Scott is. I don't really have a handle on sensible most of the time these days. But I think... if I didn't have him, I don't know what I'd do. Which seems unfair to him at times."

Jim had to concede a smile of his own at that. "I'm . . . not sure Scott would know what to do, either. He missed you. In spite of it all."

"Which I don't understand. I'm incredibly greatful and lucky for it, but I don't understand it."

"Human emotions can be inexplicable," Jim grinned, spreading his hands. "At times it's better to stop questioning and just accept some things as immutable fact. I'm glad, though. That it's good. For both of you."

"Can be?" Jean arched an eyebrow at David. "Are they ever not?" Sighing she shrugged. "Is it, though. Good for both of us. I don't know. I'm worried I'm asking too much of him."

The twitch to Jim's mouth was sardonic now. "True. As for Scott -- I'm not sure it's possible for anyone to ask more of him than he asks of himself. But where you're concerned, at least . . . I don't think you're taking anything that's not freely given. He -- needs to give. It's what keeps him going, I think."

Jean nodded, smiling somewhat wryly. "Well, that's certainly true enough. I'm kind of afriad he'll burn himself out, trying to take care of me, and the school, and the team. He's not allowed to do that, you know. I made him promise he'd take care of himself." Which, really, this was Scott. It wasn't that the promise would mean nothing, it was just that he couldn't promise to look after himself. He kept forgetting.

Jim nodded. "He pushes himself too hard. He can be worn down, though. Eventually. He actually put himself on vacation a few weeks ago. Mental health break." Granted, it had taken physically assaulting a coworker to do it, but from what he'd heard of Logan's current track-record with his teammates Jim wasn't entirely sure how good an indicator this was.

"Really? Just some time off or did he go to Alaska or somewhere?" Alaska. Alaska would be nice. Or... but no, Jean wasn't ready for that, she thought. Soon, maybe.

"Alaska. To visit his grandparents. I think it was good for him. He needed the break." Jim refrained from mentioning the precise factors that had contributed. He didn't know whether or not Scott had told her about his lost evening, and like hell there was going to be a repeat of that incident with Bobby and the tape. The contents of the tape itself didn't even bear thinking on right now. The last thing Jean needed right now was the specifics of her self-abuse dredged up again by an uninvolved third party. "Um, although then he found out he had an ulcer. I think that was unrelated to the vacation, though."

Jean's eyebrows shot up. "Scott's got an ulcer? Somehow that didn't get mentioned. God, and he certainly doesn't live a life conducive to preventing that from flaring up..."

Jim suppressed a wince. Maybe I just shouldn't be allowed to make small-talk. "It was a few weeks ago. Amelia made him get it taken care of at the hospital. He didn't tell many people. There was a lot going on. Like always."

"I can imagine, " Jean said somewhat wryly. Sighing, she shook her head. "I'm glad Amelia could take care of him, that she and Moira were here. God, they must have been so much busier - Maddie and Hank gone, and then me..." Moira had said as much when she ran into her in DC. And Jean was going to have to appologize for that, too, she thought with a little wince.

"There was some excitement last month, but nothing they couldn't handle," Jim assured her. He raised an eyebrow. "So, um. Does that mean you're thinking about going back to the medstaff? After everything's -- settled, I mean."

Jean's eyes widened. "I'd... I'd assumed." Which raised the question, did she want to go back? And, if she did, would they be willing to let her.

Jim gave her a reassuring smile. "Take your time. There's no immediate crisis, and no one's going to have any problems giving you a little time to decide what the next step is. Right now getting better's the important thing. I think they'd be more than happy to have you back, but I have a feeling they'll agree with me on that point."

"It's just... I haven't thought about it, and that's really the problem. I never thought about anything, I just assumed and hoped, and that's no good. I... I don't know what I really want."

"It's okay. This is the time to decide what that is. It's not a bad question to ask every once in a while, if only because sometimes you find the answer's changed -- or else you get to better understand the one you already have."

Jean nodded faintly. "Yes, I know. Or I ought to."

"If it was really that easy to sync up what you feel with what you know, I'd be out of a job," Jim smiled. "Just -- give yourself time to catch up to yourself. That's all."

Jean laughed slightly at that, becoming aware that at some point she'd relaxed back into the chair, not being curled so tightly on herself. "Well, time I have, I guess. Just have to remember that I have it."

"Don't worry. We'll be here to remind you. Charles and Scott and I, and everyone else." The younger man pushed himself to his feet, self-consciously rubbing at the back of his head again. "If you ever want to talk, just say. I'm no Charles, but . . . I know how it is. And, um. When we're in private you can call me Jim. I mean I, I still use David for work. I am David. I'm not an alter. I just changed. After the restructuring. I felt I should -- honor that." It was babbling, but it was the good kind of babbling, because he could say it without feeling he was being split in two. Yes. Because David is Jim. And that's . . . not wrong.

Jean cocked her head, looking at him, chewing slightly on her lip, then nodded. "Jim. Ok. Someday I'm going to ask about that, maybe. Right now I'm still too self absorbed to even try to understand the answer, but someday. Just, you know, a warning." She smiled faintly before standing herself.

There was perhaps a flicker of unease in those blue eyes as he made his way to the door, but Jim answered the smile with one of his own nonetheless. "Okay. Maybe by then I'll be ready to answer."