Log - Jean and Haller

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Having heard that Haller is back, and not in great shape, Jean comes by to check on him, and (re)make him an offer. (Backdated cause timezones and yeah...)



Oh. Knocking.

Jim peeled the blanket away from him and slid off the couch, stifling a yawn as he stumbled to the door. He could move without the feeling that the slightest attempt at thought was going to tear his brain apart like overstressed cheesecloth again, which was a considerable improvement from the last few days. He really had to wonder what he'd talked to Betsy and Wanda about on the way home. As he'd been spending the majority of that time trying to remember how many people he was supposed to be, somehow he doubted it had been anything coherent. And really, really hoped Wanda's remarks on the practical use of a baggage cart for the barely conscious had gone no farther than the joke.

"Don't bother getting up," Jean's voice came as the door opened and she stepped inside. "You shouldn't... oh, too late. Hi."

"Jean?" The younger man blinked again, but between past hospitalizations, Amelia's regular check-ins and Lorna's unstoppable meddling in his few windows of consciousness there was only so much startlement he could muster for businesslike women inviting themselves into his room. The fact that it was this businesslike woman. It was more which businesslike woman it was. But Jean was g . . . oh! Back. Right! We pay attention.

Jim stepped aside hurriedly, ignoring how his foot grazed a stack of papers. "Jean. Um. I'm sorry. I meant to do a more personal welcome back than a journal post, but last week was . . ." he twirled one hand vaguely. "Emergency. How're you?" The disjointedness was a little obvious. Especially to another telepath, which he realized somewhat belatedly. Jim rubbed the back of his head, suddenly more self-conscious. "Um, there's a possibility I'm still just a little weird. And um. I'm sorry if we're loud. Psychically, I mean."

"No worries," Jean said, shooing him back towards the couch. "Sit, sit. Or lie down. You are out of it, yes, and a tad loud, but if nothing else, the complete stillness and quiet of Tibet taught me that, actually, loud's not so bad." Her smile and the general sense of calm about her belied the implication that Tibet hadn't been good for her, though.

The sitting was a good idea. Action balanced out the flusteredness. Jim automatically reclaimed the blanket while he tried to smooth out his thoughts. It was amazing how much having a reason to do so helped. "It's getting better. I'd still rather not be assaulting the fortress of your inner peace with all the screws that got pulled loose." He smiled again, the awkwardness subsiding a little. "I feel kind of better knowing the professor pulls the Buddhism on other people. Well, as a starting point. Mindfulness meditation borrows a lot anyway. Also I kind of think it's just what you do for crazy psis."

"Well, really, what other solution is there for us? Not like you can medicate us out of our crazy. So do you think Nate's up next or will Bets be getting the all expenses paid trip to monkhood?" she joked, dropping into a chair opposite the couch.

"Uh. Yeah, no. Although Betsy does have this weird focus when she stabs people in the head." Okay, Jim thought. Jean was here and he was here. He might as well go with the obvious question. For him, at least.

"Can I ask how it happened?" Jim ventured. "For you, I mean. When you were there. Did you just learn how to live with the rockiness, or did you really . . ." His hands began to work against the blanket in unconscious hesitation to the very personal subject, "Join?"

Jean hesitated a moment, eyes unfocusing as she searched for a way to answer the question. "It wasn't... I didn't go to Tibet to learn how to deal with her, I learned how to deal with me. All of me. We did really join." Her voice was soft as she focused back on him, knowing at least part of why he needed to hear the answer, and didn't want to. "Not in Tibet. Earlier. When Scott broke M-Mathews' hold on my mind I... I didn't know what to do, how to cope with any of it. But Jane... Jane wasn't going to let me get away with anything at that point. Not after everything I'd done to her, and even not after all she'd done to me. Coming back, re-integrating, it was punishment and penance and present, all wrapped up in one." Jean shivered slightly, although the room was perfectly warm.

Jim let her finish in silence, studying her face, taking in the hitching that still marked the older woman's voice even after all these months. Then, wordlessly, he gathered the blanket in his lap and slipped off the couch. The worn green of wool snagged gently on the auburn of Jean's hair as Jim draped the cloth around the older woman's shoulders. He smiled faintly as he returned to his seat, though some thread of emotion made it to eyes that had almost returned to their normal mismatched state, but still held odd dapples of color.

"It's cold," he said softly.

Jean smiled her thanks, tucking her hands into the warm fabric and making a concerted effort to not fidget. "So I went to Tibet. To learn to deal with that. To learn how to control my temper without denying it. And the sadness, and the pain. All the stuff that... that I'd just been ignoring and hoping would go away. That I was drowning in when it came back."

In the back of his still-jumbled mind, Jim found himself acutely aware of the strangeness of talking to this woman, who had been his rationale for so much irrational resentment -- things that the ugliest part of him still threw at Charles when any target would do, and for any excuse he could find.

"Hypocritical cripple piece of shit, with David it's 'stay, stay, stay' and then you all but buy her the fucking ticket?"

What she was saying only confirmed something he'd known even then, whether or not part of him had wanted to lose itself in outrage. For her it had been different. Just different.

Jean went looking for something. Jim just wanted to run away.

"Philosophy's good," he said. "But sometimes distance is better. Time, place. People. It gives you perspective." Jim smiled again in turn, more genuine now. "It's been a week and you're still here. So I guess the view's okay from where you're standing now."

Jean nodded. "I needed the space, the quiet, because I wasn't coping and... it was dangerous. I was dangerous. But I always wanted to come back. This is home. I just... I couldn't be here until being here wasn't going to hurt anyone. Or wasn't going to hurt them more than being away." Leaving Scott, especially then, had been so painful, even when both of them knew, intellectually at least, that it was for the best.

"Yeah. I can understand that. Like being a loaded gun without a safety. And around people who don't deserve a bullet through the arm. I still . . . mostly we have a handle on myself, but I . . ." Jim stopped, and just shook his head. "Yeah. Sometimes it's just hard."

Jean nodded, tucking her hands more firmly into the blanket. "Yes. I've talked with Scott, and Charles has cleared me. I still need to talk to Ororo." Who hadn't come to see her since she'd been back, and who she hadn't gone to see. There was something there, Jean knew that much, but pinning it down was hard and she was a little afraid to find out what, exactly, it was that was keeping 'Ro at arm's length. "I'm in pretty good shape these days, so I don't think it will be hard to get back to it."

The younger man grinned. "That's good. That's really good. They've been so short-handed. I think they'll appreciate the sound body and sound mind. Or um, okay . . . so the standard's more like sort-of-sound. Still." Fingers laced as he paused, strangely hesitant about voicing the decision he hadn't even told Charles yet, but . . . Medlab, teaching, and now the team. Cyndi, in that aggressively exaggerated New York accent that had finally begun to differentiate itself from the almost incoherent babble of the last few days, said, Yeah, talking to pretty much the last person who's not gonna get it. Jim snorted softly at himself and opened his eyes. "If they're open to one more, I'm going to shoot for filling that last Crazy Psi slot."

"Hey, sort-of-sound mind seems to work for everybody else, I figure I'm allowed in under that listing." Jean's eyes widened at his announcement, and then she smiled - a real, solid smile. "Oh, wow. Yes, I'm sure they will. We can always use more Crazy Psis. Always."

Jim laughed. "Yeah, and we get to make the awesome suitability pitches, too. 'Hi, I'd like to come back to the team. If you're okay with the chance of occasional freak-out I think we could be really useful.'" He added, more quietly this time, "But I'm not as worried about that as I used to be, either."

There was certainty in those words now. Not because of successful contact with that alien presence after five months of staying carefully out of harm's way -- but because of what he had learned before the mission had even started, and what was not his to tell. Not even to the professor. Thank you, Dr. Essex, for forcing me to see we can be more than Jack. I wish I'd thrown that lamp at your face.

Jean smiled. "Which is progress. Which is very, very definite progress." She paused, then added, "And I've recently been reminded of a offer I made you and then completely failed to follow through on, owing to mind alterations, kidnappings and so on. This seems like a good time, though, to offer to train with you, telekinetically."

She had offered that. All the way back before the field-trip to DC. Jim had the impulse to add 'when they'd both still been one person,' but in retrospect it was obvious that hadn't exactly been true. "That would . . . that would be really good," Jim said, burying the surprise. "And we need it. Cyndi comes out to practice, a lot, but with Jack there's, um . . . alpha male issues." Polite way of saying you're too chickenshit to let it out around Natey. Oh, was that fun. How many weeks could Captain Lobotomy not even remember the beach? Jim winced at the memory of bones breaking under his mind. Confidence in his stability was still young and fragile. There were some places best not gone. "Um. Yeah. It would maybe be better to try me on the macro-TK with you. For a while, anyway. At least with you the living on Muir means Jack has kind of learned to respect the red hair."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Yeeees," she said slowly, "I could see that being a problem. But so long as he knows at least some respect for the hair, I'm sure we'll figure something out."

Jim nodded. "If we could set something set up after I get the other stuff worked out and figure out what pronoun I'm supposed to be using . . . I'd really appreciate it. It's just that thing that went wrong with Jack, that made the professor lock my TK -- it still is. David made the personality to be aggressive. Now he'll push anybody standing close enough just to shove us."

"Well," Jean said, her expression wry, "I can fairly honestly say that I have experience dealing with that. Personalities who make it their life's goal to make life hell for everybody? Check."

"Yeah. And that's disturbing. 'Hi, we synced on our emotional disturbance! TRAINING BUDDIES!'" Jim sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose again. "Argh. I've got the heart of a little child, and Lorna won't stop giving it sugar."

Jean couldn't help a little laugh, although she covered it badly with a cough. "Indeed. Well and, honestly, the same could be said of easily half a dozen other training sets in the X-Men. Surely it's human nature to get on somewhat better with someone who actually understands what you've been through, at least to some degree."

"It is," Jim conceded with a solemn nod. "Natural and understandable. Meditation is great, but if you need someone you can relate to this is definitely the place to be. Because here at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, we do trauma. A lot."

"We could make it the new school advert. 'You've got trauma? Come to Xavier's. We have it, too.'"

"Shouldn't we be trying to recruit some healthy people? Although that's ultimately not going to make a lot of difference. I mean, if that new guy doesn't already have some horrible secret it's only a matter of time before he catches one by proximity." Jim blushed a little and scuffed again at his uncombed hair. "But um. Anyway. Thank you, for the offer. Really. It means a lot."

"You're welcome," Jean said simply. "Just let me know when your up to starting and we can figure out where to begin." She smiled, standing up and carefully folding up the blanket. "But I should let you get back to resting. You still need it."

"Yeah. Rest might still be a little necessary." Jim smiled after her. "Oh well. At least this time trauma came with cookies."