xp_logs | LOG: [Haller, Xavier] Those things never told

During an attempt to decompress from yesterday's events a piece of Haller's ancient history is unearthed. OOC: Thanks to Alan for socking.

Pause, breathe. Quiet and slow, strangely loud against the distant chatter of passing students.

This looked bad. There was really no getting around that fact. The important thing was not to panic. The best defense against potential anxiety was to first determine if it was actually necessary.

Remain still, empty of judgement and expectation. Right.

His current stiffness wasn't just attributable to yesterday's ride. Smoothing the last of his disordered thoughts clean and seamless as newfallen snow, Jim raised his free hand to the thick, familiar old wood and knocked.

"Come in, Jim," Charles called through the door. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the particular rigidity of the other man's calm, but he simply waved an inviting hand toward Haller's usual chair. "Do I need to put the tea on?" he asked, just as simply.

The door clicked closed behind Jim, but he didn't take the offered seat, nor did he meet the other man's eyes over the desk. "Um, no," Jim said. His hand rose to rub the back of his head compulsively. "I mean, for the tea. Thank you. I just had a question."

Charles nodded and settled back calmly in his chair. "An important one, it would seem. Ask, of course; I hope I'm able to help."

Jim nodded, then hesitated trying to figure out a good way to phrase this. The anticipation involved in figuring out a gentle lead-in would only make this worse. For the sake of his sanity, Jim gave up and just asked the question.

"Professor, are you my father?"

The words wiped Charles' expression utterly blank, and he suddenly looked very old, and almost shrunken in his chair. "Yes," he said finally, his voice barely a whisper. "I always meant to tell you. When the time was right. I'm . . . sorry you had to find out on your own."

Distantly, Jim raised the beaten folder he hadn't seemed able to leave behind. There was no ambiguity to the form required by the state of New York: Acknowledgement of Paternity. Signed by the putative father -- and co-signed by the mother.

Even as he'd sat on his bedroom floor, staring at the baldly stated documents charting David's custody battle over ten years ago, he'd been able to hear only the obvious thought: this was insanity. No. Charles Xavier and Gabrielle Haller -- no -- David had parents, my parents died in Israel, this doesn't happen Nathan-Kurt-Lorna-Kylun but for David this can't be with the professor this can't it can't be--

But David was a high-order psi, and Charles had gotten him out of the hospital he'd been committed to in the three years after manifestation. He'd even effected the transferral of guardianship from David's grandparents to himself.

David had never wondered how.

"I just wanted to get rid of the boxes Moira sent. Last year." Jim wrenched his eyes away from the folder in his hand, mismatched eyes finally rising. "How long?" he asked. "How long did you know?"

"Gaby told me when she asked me to see what I could do to help David. She meant it as an additional inducement, I think . . ." A wan smile flickered across Charles' face. "Not that I needed any, but she was never one to do things by halves. And I couldn't tell David then--he was just a child, his world ripped asunder once already. Any shred of stability I could maintain, I did." He sighed heavily. "I'd meant originally to tell you when you turned 18. But that, as you know, proved . . . impossible. So I resolved to tell you when I thought the time was right." Charles dropped his eyes. "Perhaps I misjudged. I don't know. I only did what I thought was best."

Jim's nod was wooden. "Okay. So for as long as I've known you, you've known this. And I haven't. Okay." It wasn't. At all. Cyndi's commentary was rapid, the forced irreverence belying thoughts that were almost hysterical: Wow, finding out his therapist was his secret babydaddy after running through five guardians -- how much of a mindfuck would that have been? Well I don't know, how much of one is it now?

Both men knew what had made the telling impossible at 18.

The folder was starting to curl around his nails. Relax. Relax. "How?" Jim got out. "You and Aunt Gaby, I mean. How did that happen?" Part of his brain was unable to avoid focusing on the most unimportant factor in this entire revelation, which was sudden yet acute awareness that Charles hadn't walked since his accident in 1976. No, really, HOW?

"Well, as you know, Gaby, Erik, and I shared an apartment during college. Gaby and I had a brief but . . . memorable relationship during that time." Charles smiled slightly, remembering. "We parted afterward; she wasn't as invested in the mutant cause as Erik and I were, and had her own dreams to pursue. We both became very busy, and drifted out of contact. I had my accident, and the rather lengthy recovery that followed, and Erik and I began the school. Then, in 1981, we chanced to meet at a psychological conference in London. I was merely attending, but Gaby--who was already beginning to concentrate on her political career, but was well-known as an expert on survivor counseling--was presenting what turned out to be a fascinating paper." He shrugged. "I stopped to congratulate her after her presentation, we went out for drinks that evening to catch up . . . and one thing led to another, as they say."

"Oh." What was he supposed to do with this? What could he do with this? Jim was used to operating on multiple levels of once and now forming coherent thought was trying to assemble five different jigsaw puzzles. That had been thrown against a wall together. Then partially run over with a vacuum. After the pile had been gnawed on by a dog. So what he's saying this man who took you and trained you and gave you a job and home who kept you here even when everything you built collapsed and you begged to leave it's son your entire life your mother and your father it's all a lie that happened because of the right time and right place friendly drinks and a psychology conference over trauma and that's -- wait --

That's how we started seeing Betsy.

Jim lifted a hand to his head and said, "Ow."

Charles gave him a concerned look. "I . . ." He hesitated. "I'm sorry, Jim, I didn't mean to portray it as . . . but I suppose I did strongly imply it was a casual encounter. It . . ." He sighed. "The truth is, after my accident, I went through a period where I believed that no one would want me again, except out of pity, and that if they did, I . . . wouldn't be able to enjoy it. Gaby showed me how wrong I was, that night. On both counts. It was something of a revelation. I was surprised, when I found out that a child had come of it, but . . . if it had to happen, I'm glad it happened that night. There was love there, and a profound level of intimacy. It wasn't a half-drunken fumbling hotel-room tryst." He chuckled softly. "Or at any rate, that's not all it was."

It was rare that every part of Jim would converge on anything at all. Now they all did for one thought as he gaped at the professor: Charles, what are you doing to me?

Separate from the shock was the struggle. The part of him floundering to bring himself level with the man he'd known for years, but never really -- whom he realized had been intentionally keeping himself back, for David's sake. Now he was reaching out to them. Or maybe the door had been kicked open so wide he no longer had a choice.

"Acceptance can be a panacea for self-loathing," Jim whispered, "or the most addictive drug. I think you told us that a long time ago. I remember." A long hand dragged down his face, pulling clammy skin taut behind it. "I remember that even though it was transference, sometimes you let Davey call you 'Dad'."

"Not my most ethical decision," Charles murmured ruefully. "And it nearly gave me heart failure the first time, wondering if Davey had sensed something. But the whole situation was so irregular, and it seemed to give him comfort . . ." He bowed his head. "And though it may be unconscionably selfish of me to admit, I liked hearing it. Even if none of you were ready for it to be true yet."

"So you'd get to decide when that was?" Jim said softly. "Right. Because what the hell, everyone David ever counted on either got dead or kicked him over to the next warm body. He'll take whatever he can get. Anything's a step up!"

The folder struck the far wall, showering paper. The color in Jim's mismatched eyes went patchy -- blue, green, brown and grey showing in turns, flashes of the facets shifting in the mind behind them. His hands were shaking; he clenched them and tried not to scream. or to burn or to smash and break and break

"I only wanted to protect you," Charles said quietly. "I did the best I could. It seems I've been overzealous, and for that--for all my mistakes--I am sorry. I hope one day you'll find it in you to forgive me."

You were trying to protect your son. He's always been your son. Pain spidered through old scars like a brutal heartbeat. The world throbbed. This was no longer about the secret Charles had kept from him. Now the betrayal had passed to something cold and sharp between them: a razor in the dirt. Dirt already disturbed weeks ago with nothing but a touch.

You did what you did to us to your son.

And so did I.

Color bled in his eyes: the blue, that was so like Charles', and the brown, that was not.

But those eyes weren't what met Charles' gaze when the young man next met it. A different face looked out now, grey and merciless, and his mouth twisted to form one word.

"No."

Every piece of glass in the room shattered.

Jack turned from the wreckage, paper and shards scattering from every step. Without one touch the door of the study wrenched open and slammed behind him.

Alone in his office, Charles slumped in his chair, head bowed, pain in every line of his body. After a moment he straightened, and the broken glass crunched under the wheels of his chair as he went to get a broom.