xp_logs | LOG: [Xavier, Haller] Advice

After Haller's interview with Yvette the former counselor goes to consult with Charles. It results in support unexpected, but far from unwelcome.

Over a decade had passed now, and still they did it like this. Why? Jim sometimes wondered. Courtesy, maybe. Or custom. The professor certainly didn't need the cue. Nor, after all this time, did he. For two men with the ability to sense the mind of the other, in substance if not content, physical action was unnecessary. Jim could feel his teacher's presence behind the door of the study, as warm and steady as the sun.

Unnecessary. Yet Jim still knocked, and Charles still waited. Every time.

"Come in," Charles' voice carried through the doors. He looked up as the doors opened and Haller's head poked inside. "Ah, yes. Do have a seat. I understand you've spoken with Miss Petrovic already. How is she?"

Jim moved to assume his regular seat, leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees as one hand rose to pinch his nose. "Confused. In shock. The normal reactions to being taken from your home, losing six months of your life and waking up among strangers. She'll do okay, I think . . . but the faster we can find her mother the better. She needs some kind anchor to the reality she's used to, and right now that's the one thing Xavier's can't give her."

"I will contact her mother," Charles offered, "and arrange perhaps for Yvette to return home if that is what she desires. Should she accept the offer to remain as a student here, however, I believe her family should be involved in the decision. Such things she has lived through, at so young an age..." Charles trailed off, resting his chin on his hand before looking up at Haller. "An unfortunate burden the both of you bear, I realize. Perhaps that is why you were able to communicate with her so well."

"Yeah. Um." Jim lowered his hands to rub his left with his right, fingers running over the old scars. His next words were uncertain, hesitant. "Professor, can I ask you something? About that."

"Of course," Xavier replied with a smile. "You're wondering why I asked you to help her, since you had removed yourself from the counselor position months ago."

"Yeah. That." Jim stilled the fidgeting hands and forced them onto his knees, raising his mismatched eyes to the other man's blue. "I guess I just wanted to ask . . . why. You asked me. I mean, I know Ororo's been overworked, and Scott's still easing back into it. I'm, I'm really happy to help with the announcements, and anything anyone can use me for, but . . ." Jim paused, then shook his head helplessly. "You didn't need me for this. I know you didn't. The situation with Yvette wasn't anything you couldn't have handled yourself."

A memory came back to him then -- David's, from so long ago now. Sitting in a quiet room, bright with new paint, listening to the gentle explanation of the man seated across from him at the table, staring at hands grown long and thin from the passage of years that were just . . . gone.

Yes. I know you could have. Because you did the same thing for us.

"Perhaps it is not a matter of need," Charles said, wheeling himself around his desk to place one hand over Haller's. "Ororo could have made an announcement, Scott could have spoken to Yvette, I could have gone myself to see to her welfare. Perhaps you simply needed to be shown that you still have the ability within you to heal, Jim. You always have."

"I . . ." The word faltered as a slow heat began to creep up his neck and across his face. He had no idea what to say. He'd spent so much of these last few months feeling helpless, useless. Unable to pierce the aching blankness that followed Davey taking control. Trying his best to ignore as Cyndi tore into every little thing he thought or did. Listening to Jack's poisonous certainty that he couldn't help anyone, because how could he when for all these years he'd been trying to help himself -- and failed?

Jim's eyes fell to the hand on his, then raised again to Charles'. The man had once been his doctor, and there were some aspects of that relationship that could never change. He would never know Charles, Jim thought as he met the man's gaze -- those blue eyes that kept so much back, and always had. As they always would.

But they had never lied to him.

Charles believed. Jim felt it, wholly and completely, with a sense beyond mere telepathy -- and at the moment the only voice in his head was his own.

"Thank you," Jim whispered.

"Welcome back, my friend," Charles said, squeezing Haller's hand once with his. "We have work to do."