Lorna & Haller -- Infirmary

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After Haller's staff announcement, he decides to go for broke and finally sees Lorna for the first time in nearly a month. Neither party is in good shape, but they make it through -- and something, at least, isn't a mess.




It had been a month and that letter was the first thing she'd seen from Jim...David...Haller. As far as she was concerned it meant that Amelia could take her 'don't disturb my patients' glare and choke on it. She was tired, sleep-deprived and not a little cranky. Now was not the time to be challenging her right to see her friends. It turned out that it wasn't even a problem as the Russian doctor was nowhere to be seen and Lorna tried to pretend that she wasn't relieved by that as she snuck through the infirmary to Haller's room and knocked softly on the door, hoping he hadn't changed his mind since he sent the email. "Hello?"

He'd sensed her mind coming the moment she'd stepped out the elevator, so the word didn't take him by surprise. The fact it had been only minutes since he'd sent the email didn't surprise him, either; fortunately he'd taken the precaution of cleaning up well before he'd even written it. He'd put this encounter off for weeks. The least he could do was look presentable for it.

Okay. Here we go.

Jim took a deep breath and opened his eyes. "Um, come in."

Lorna looked around quickly before slipping inside and closed the door carefully behind her. Her hair was streaked liberally with brown, laying loose on her back. She turned back to him slowly, afraid she was going to be thrown out. "Hi," she said quietly, looking him over. He was still too damn thin and he needed a shave and a haircut so badly her fingers itched to do something about it. "Um, you look good."

"Thanks. Um, you too." Inwardly, Jim marveled that even a physical assault between them had no effect on their ability to tell baldfaced lies to one another perfectly straight-faced. He turned sideways to slide his feet off the bed to give her his full attention, keeping his hands on his knees. "How, um. How was your trip?" It's been like a month and that's what you've got? Jim, you loser.

Lorna shrugged one shoulder. "It was fine. Went to France, found Remy. Went to New Orleans, fought bad guys. I don't really like that city. It's too muggy." She hesitated a moment then crossed the room.

Relax, relax, she's only going for the chair. Jim managed to unlock his muscles as the younger woman settled in. His heartbeat was a little slower in normalizing. Despite past experience that told him it was a bad idea, he tried to cover his panic with conversation.

"Um. I've . . . never been." Smooth. Loser! Looooser! Cyndi, please . . . He couldn't unravel right now. He desperately didn't want this to become like that incident with Betsy, but he knew putting it off for so long had only made the pressure worse. If he wasn't careful-- The frig are you being careful for? Seriously, Jack whanged her head against a lifeguard station. How much damage you think you can do at this point?

"I'm sorry," Jim blurted. "About the beach. I'm sorry that Jack -- and, and I'm sorry I didn't say sorry sooner, I'm sorry, I wanted to, I just, I've been . . ." Too crazy to email? Avoiding you? A fucking coward? His hands clenched uselessly against his knees. "July was a bad month," he whispered.

Lorna knew that it was wrong to laugh but she couldn't help it, feeling the rough, weak laughter choke out, almost but not quite tumbling over the edge into tears. She leaned forward and propped up her head in her hand, helplessly. "It really has been. Oh god, has it ever been."

Laughter, even the borderline hysterical type, was so unexpected that for a moment all Jim could do was stare. Then, watching the green-brown of her hair spill across her face as her shoulders began to shake, he felt a manic smile split his face. "It, it really was, wasn't it?" Jim said. "I mean, San Diego blew up and I went crazy and Scott got kidnapped and Nate broke his brain and one student left and two horribly traumatized new ones came in and then for some reason there was France and New Orleans for you. It was bad when it was happening but you look at it together and . . . wait, why did I agree against Muir and the padded room again?"

"Nate lobotomized himself. And now Jean's leaving. And, oh God," she gasped as her laughter choked into sobs, shoulder shrieking in agony as she doubled over, trying to make it stop. "Christ in heaven, we're just...how can everything be so completely screwed up?"

His reaction was automatic. At the second harsh intake of breath Jim found himself off the bed and moving to her. By the time he registered what he was doing he was across the tiles and on to one knee beside the chair, one hand outstretched. He hovered over her dye-streaked hair for an agonizing instant, unsure if this would help or only make things worse, then swallowed hard and reached out.

"I don't know," Jim murmured. Her scalp was hot, the heat spreading through his skin into his fingertips. The hand that sank into her hair was shaking only a little. "We're . . . we're just special like that."

She sat up and clung to him, her arm wrapping around his shoulders as she wept, unable to keep it together any longer. She'd made it through the whole month. Had faced a city destroyed, her friends injured beyond imagining, her boyfriend vanishing and then facing down a city full of criminals. Between had been moments of joy. Times that stood out like lamp light, casting ugly shadows all around them. Lorna couldn't cope anymore. And though it was unfair to Jim, she had no one else that she dared let see this.

Weight against him, a woman's weight, and that was too much. Dampness trickled down the cheek that pressed against his forehead, and Jim was helpless to stop the answering warmth leaking into the cloth of her shirt. Against the darkness of his closed eyes all he could see was the stricken look on another face, painted in the sharp reds and oranges of flame as the echoes of cold, sick horror settled into his soul like slow poison. The only thought he could form was: Please don't leave. Over and over again, like a skipping record. Please don't leave me. Not you, too. Please. Please. She already left. Please, she's gone . . . His arms tightened around Lorna, one around her good shoulder, the other curled around her waist beneath the nylon of the sling, and no matter how hard he tried to keep still and steady he couldn't keep his breath from hitching on a sob. Betsy--

It should have been comforting. That's what crying did right? You felt better after a good cry and... Lorna sobbed harder, slipping out of her chair so she could cling more closely. She didn't know if she could ever cry enough to drown this month. All of San Diego had been spared and that demanded payment. How could there be that many tears? Yet that was only the beginning. "Jim." Her hand twisted in his shirt, his name not much more than a whimpered plea for the pain to stop.

"Jim." At the sound of his name he began to shake. She knew him. Someone knew him, someone outside the universe of him and Charles and Moira. Betsy had run when she'd seen it, all the dirty, broken things that made him up, just like anyone would. Lorna couldn't really know, not without being inside his head to see, and he knew then she'd have run, too, but with her arm around him like this he could pretend he had her acceptance. He had to. Because if he didn't . . . if he didn't, then he had nothing.

Then he was nothing.

"I'm here," he whispered as she slid to the floor. Her body pressed against his, racked and heaving, and Jim pulled her to his chest so tight it almost hurt. He buried his face in her hair, tears trickling through the mass to burn her neck. "I'm here."

Every breath hurt, every shudder shot pain through her shoulder. And she couldn't stop. She tried to take a slow breath, tried to bite down on the next wracking sob and only ended up tasting blood. "Oh God." Lorna moaned and rested her head on his shoulder. "I can't do this. I can't. I can't face any of this anymore."

"I know." The words were barely audible. "I know." He barely noticed the rocking start. Back and forth, back and forth, gentle but irresistible as the tide. There was hair in his mouth; Jim didn't care. He was in another white room, physically and mentally. Ten years. More than ten years of this, and now he was back almost to the beginning. Again. Again. "I . . . I'm so tired."

Lorna gasped as she realized what she was doing--falling apart on him when he was the one who needed her. She managed to stifle the next stop, bit her lip again to stop the weeping and forced herself to focus on something other than her own selfishness. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have...god, I'm sorry, Jim."

She eased back just a little. Just enough to look him in the face, her eyes red and sunken, skin blotchy. She blinked rapidly, tears caught in her lashes. "Is there anything I can do? I'm, I'm sorry I'm a mess right now. Just everything coming together at once and I'm tired."

The rocking stopped as the younger woman pulled away. For a moment Jim just stared at her with red-rimmed eyes, blank and uncomprehending. Then, ridiculously, beneath skin already becoming stiff with drying tears he felt a slow smile beginning to work.

"Dork," he said softly.

Lorna sniffled, staring at him in surprised then giggled. "Am not. I'm just saying. You've had a bad month. And I'm dumping all over you." She hugged him anyway, curled up on the floor facing him. "Amelia and Moira would beat me up if they knew."

"Are too." Jim scrubbed at his eyes, then at his nose. There was really no unobtrusive way to wipe the back of his arm on his shirt while being leaned on, but he tried anyway. He smiled wryly.

"Don't worry about it," the young man continued. The crying had left him empty, but calm. "Trust me, there was dumping all around. I don't believe in playing 'Who's more deserving of Trauma Time' anyway. It's exclusionary. Don't need Amelia and Moira to carry out the beatings anymore, either. The Crazy gives me that, at least." Yet . . . he hadn't switched, or felt the urge to switch. Not since the start of that conversation. Four years ago I would have, but . . . I stayed.

The Crazy. His alters. She'd known for a while that there was something there and now with his journal explanation, she was a little bit clearer on how that all worked but that had just piqued her curiosity not assuaged it. Tentatively, she decided to ask. If he said no then. Well it was just no. "I read the, uh, explanation. And...I mean. Is that the only time they come out?" TK meant Jack, she now knew. And so he was the one who had reacted badly to being called Jim and David on the beach. "Can I apologize?"

Jim stared at her. "Apologize? For . . . for what? Having your shoulder dislocated?"

"For calling him Jim. That's you, right?" Lorna curled smaller, her heart jumping into her throat, wondering if she'd just made a mistake. "So, I...thought I should say I was sorry. It won't happen again."

Jim's hold on her tightened infinitesimally as he felt her shrink. "No. No, I'm Jim. You can just, um, say it to me. Jack and Cyndi are pretty much co-conscious with me. Even if I'm not always with them. They hear." And it was beyond unreal that he was telling her how she could apologize to the alternate personality that had viciously attacked her, but Jim knew from experience that Lorna-logic was not earth-logic. And trying to insist otherwise wasn't likely to get very far. He ignored his sprained sense of reality and pushed on. "They, um. They will come out. For powers training or sessions or if they have a job to do. If you're not sure who's out just call me David. Cyndi and Davey don't like it much but Jack doesn't get as pissed off. He . . . doesn't like me."

Jim couldn't bring himself to add: And the reason he hit you and Nate as hard as he did was because you're my friends.

"Okay, well, um, Jack. I'm sorry I didn't know. I'll try not to let it happen again." This felt so strange, talking to the man who she knew was her friend but who was also these people she didn't know. And yet did because they were all him after all. She shivered and looked down, focusing on the metal d-ring on her sling. "It's hard to know people all the way. Even when you think you do."

"You don't want to know anyone all the way." And you would know, wouldn't you? Soak it up, Jemmy. How long do you think she'll want to know you when she finds out? Jim's mouth twitched at Jack's words, but he gave the alter no reply -- only held Lorna a little closer.

"Jack heard you," Jim said at last. "There's . . . other things. Things I can't tell yet, because I can't get them right in my own head. But we'll tell you when we do, okay? I promise." And if you never want to see me again after that, it's okay. Just . . . let me pretend for a little while longer.

Lorna looked back up at him and nodded solemnly. "All right." Right now, she wasn't looking to push. She'd had too many revelations in the past few days, had too many things change her world then change it back. If he wanted to keep something to himself, right now she would let him. Right now, it was a mercy.

Lorna sighed. "We should get off the floor. When was the last time you ate anything?" Sure, it was an illusion of normalcy but illusions were comforting. You could control them.

"Um . . . I had dinner." Last night. "I ate it all," he said, with a slight edge of defensiveness. He retracted his arms. "Um. Thanks for making me food before you left."

She smiled and patted his cheek. "It was nothing. Just something to do. If I'd had more time, it would have been better." Some part of her brain was already busily planning what to make for him now. "I haven't had dinner myself. Would you mind sharing with me?" After that maybe she could talk him into shaving and letting her trim his hair.

Jim's brow creased slightly, then he smiled. "Okay," he said, keeping to himself his observation that the situation was normally reversed. Turn-about was fair play, he guessed . . . and anyway, if he was eating with her, she would be eating with him. He didn't know what had happened in New Orleans, nor did he think it was a good idea to ask, but Jim still had enough of his faculties intact to realize that if Lorna was stressed enough to break down on him in this condition it couldn't have been good. Making sure that Lorna was taking care of herself even in that small way wasn't much, but it would be a step.

A step was good enough for him.

"Okay," Jim repeated with a decisive nod, stronger this time, "lets have dinner. It'll be good. We can pretend to be functional human beings. No one will ever know."

"Wouldn't that be a nice thing?" Lorna laughed shakily. It remained a laugh, didn't sneak into a half-sob like it wanted to but it was a near thing. She leaned forward and hugged him tightly, one-armed, then used his shoulder to stand. "Okay. Want me to bring it back down here or do you want to come help the poor invalid cook?"

That was evil, guilting him into leaving isolation, and he twitched a little remembering the conversation with Marie a few days ago -- but this time he'd have Lorna between him and everyone else, right? And if anyone bothered them she could threaten them with pointy objects. Right. "I'll, um, go help, I guess," Jim said, pointedly keeping his eyes off the sling. Evil, evil, evil. The taller man levered himself off the floor, wobbling a little as he did. Blackmail or not, it really was time to eat. Automatically his hand sought out Lorna's good shoulder to steady him against the headrush. "Do I need to comb my hair?"

It wasn't nice or fair of her to manipulate him like that even if it was for his own good. Perhaps she'd been spending too much time with Remy because she just didn't care. She stepped in and wrapped her arm around his waist to steady them both. "Um, probably not but maybe we should give it a trim later. Before it achieves sentience and tries to take over a third-world country."

Jim made a face. "Oh. It's doing that thing again. Yeah. Trimming would be . . . good." He should have known; he'd been aware it was getting out of control before they'd left for San Diego. Funny how easy it was to miss little things like that when you were trying your best to live life without the benefit of reflective surfaces. The telepath scuffed the back of his head and sighed, glancing at Lorna's brown-streaked green. "Oh well. We'll just be the Weird KitchenHair Duo tonight. The kids've seen weirder. Not like I got to worry about their opinion of me professionally anymore." He swirled one finger in the air as they made their way to the door. "Yay sabbatical."

"There you go." Lorna nodded. No Amelia still. Hurrah. Now to hope that Moira didn't mind her stealing her patient and they were all in the clear. "With any luck we won't have to deal with any of the kids. It's past their bedtimes anyway."

"Okay. Maybe after we can sneak up to my room and just watch cartoons until we pass out. We can get through Mulan without trauma, right?"

It wasn't okay again. He was still a wreck, and he wasn't the only one. There was still the rest of the school to face, staff and students, and once he was out of the Medlab he'd have to figure out what he was going to do about the therapy he needed, and the work he'd been doing for his degree, and the patients he volunteered with, and the friends that were hurting, and two unpredictable alters able to touch the world again.

But, Jim told himself as they made their way down the hall to the elevator, that was later. For now, all he needed to worry about was dinner.

Possibly dessert.