Manuel & Jean Log midday

[x-empath.livejournal.com]

Jean and Manuel discuss his recovery. Jean exercises patience while holding her doubts back.

"Eight months, has it been?" Manuel threw the cane away from him angrily and it bounced off a chair before skittering to the ground. He was tired of therapy. "I am _still_ unable to walk," he quipped. "Paralyzed patients have more success than I do." He leaned against the table, the flat of his palms pressed into the surface and held him up in a standing position tense with frustration.

"Manuel, as with many things, pushing your recovery will only help so far, and then pushing further will hinder the process." Jean watched her... patient? Student? Definitely not friend; but it was still hard to decide just what they were too each other with these sessions.

"If I am hindered anymore, I will be going backwards." The weight pushed down into the heels of his palms forced a faint tremble in his tricep muscles and his fingers scratched along the steel surface, unable to ignore the fact that he was too weak to hold himself up. He was forced down into a chair before he did a free fall. "Joda este! When Jean? I need a date, time, anything that shows progress."

"You have made progress, Manuel," Jean argued as he collapsed back into his seat. "Four weeks ago you could not even have stood this long."

"Progress is walking without a cane, _Jean_." How he loved to call her that when he was avoiding the subject. But now, he needed an answer. No games. Just an answer. "Something is wrong if I am _still_ recovering. Is there not any more tests? Something to prove that there is nothing wrong?"

"You were run over by a truck and spent most of a year in a coma, Manuel," the stress on his name exactly echoed that which he'd delivered on hers, but that was as far as she let her aggravation show, because he certainly had every right to his frustration. "We've run scores of tests dozens of times. There's nothing physically inhibiting your recovery and, despite your frustration, it is not so significantly delayed that Amelia, Moira or I are worried."

"Yes, thank you. I was there, remember?" He tried not to be annoyed but it was increasingly difficult under such circumstances and he allowed himself this outburst of frustration. Most of the other times, he refrained from saying anything at all. "What would you consider alarming enough to be worried? I am in need of a time frame. I don't work well with the unknown."

"We've told you before, you just don't want to hear it," Jean said wearily. "Given the extent of your damage it could well be years before you're fully recovered, if ever. On that time frame all progress is impressive."

"No, there is something you're missing. I'm sure of that," Manuel snapped. His nostrils flared and his eyes tightened, attempting patience where it was not welcomed. The expression was worn when he opened his eyes and he was sure she could see rather than feel the inward war he waged. "You need to check again. There must be something you've overlooked." There had to be. He wasn't taking no for an answer.

"I cannot get water from a stone, Manuel," Jean said, a hint of her frustration coloring her tone. "If you insist we can find more specialists for you to talk with, but there's very little chance they will say anything other than what the first dozen or so have said. Time and patience will serve you better here than fighting against answers you don't want to hear and pushing yourself past your limits."

"Then so be it. Bring more specialists. I have no patience for time and time does not wait for me." Manuel was going to cross his arms but held back, considering that a childish finalization. He didn't have to hear the frustration because he saw it all over her. If it wasn't for her, he'd be taking more of it in and projecting his own, which would actually be hers. "Do you not push yourself past your limits?"

Taking a deep breath Jean reigned in her thoughts and emotions once more. "Yes," she said after a moment. "Which is why I'm trying to help you. But there are some limits which we just can't get beyond. Everyone has those. There may come a time when you're going to have to accept that. But today's not that day," she added quickly as he opened his mouth to speak. "There's still some hope, and while there's hope we'll keep trying."

"Acceptance is _not_ an option. This is not only about my physical discomfort, but my mental as well. My control is very _very_ limited and it is lost easily, at any confrontation." He laughed bitterly. "And I'm sure you can understand that animosity follows me around all over the mansion. I strive to _leave_ as I'm sure you can also understand the only person who cares about me _is_ me."

"Not true," Jean argues, voice firm. "I won't argue the animosity, but you're hardly the only one who cares about you. And you'd know it, if you weren't so caught up in the dark to be unable to see the lighter side."

"I _am_ the dark side. So naturally I wouldn't see any light. This is a waste of your time and mine. My own absurd faith in the failure of the system has been restored. Why I ever thought you could do anything Jean was my own fault."

Jean rolled her eyes. Manuel was raised with culture and almost always responded best to polite discourse, but that also meant that the fastest way to break him out of his funk was with bluntness. "Manny, be aware that I say this with much affection - you're being a dumbass. I do not believe it is a waste of anyone's time to work with you on your therapy and, moreover, even if I did, it's an important time sink. You are making progress, even if it isn't as fast or as much as you like, and I don't believe you've plateau yet. The only reason I mention the more unpleasant possibilities is because as your doctor I want to make sure you're aware that they exist. Not because I think we need to face them just yet."

"Then you suggest we wait to see progress before we bring in someone new, another specialist?" He didn't take the dumbass comment to heart. He felt like one for all his lack of control. "It is increasingly difficult to be around other people and not only absorb what they are feeling, but project it back. I can't tell my own feelings from another. Being a telepath, it's very similar to not being able to hear yourself think. It's distracting." More than distracting. It was damaging to any good reputation he was attempting for.

"No, I'll go ahead and look for another specialist. We'll have to range farther afield, though; you already have opinions from most of my and Moira's contacts." Only some of which had been helpful, and very few of which had been optimistic about Manuel's chances. "We may need to focus more on one aspect than another, though, Manuel. Splitting your attention between working on your shielding and working on your physical therapy may not be helping."

Manuel's gazed levelled with hers. "If this is an attempt to make me forget my physical hindrance and focus on my mental one, you can save your breath. I will focus on both until one or the other is back to what it was before the coma."

"Oh for crying out loud..." Jean sighed. "Manuel, I am not attempting to get you to forget anything, I am suggesting you consolidate your resources."

"Because I have exhausted yours?" he asked sarcastically. Linking his hands together, he pressed them to his forehead and spread the flat of his palms over his face, thankful for her shielding. His own frustration was enough, he didn't need hers too.

"No, nor my patience, though you do keep trying." And she just wasn't going to comment on how he had an endless wellspring of energy when it came to being down on himself and the world. Honestly, if he spent half that wasted energy somewhere useful... "However, my resources aren't going to help you push past your walls and limits. You need to focus yourself for that. And you know it."

Manuel sat up, turning in his seat. "I am _very_ interested in knowing how to focus on myself when I have trouble separating my emotions from other people's. Being a very power telepath, I'm sure you can relate to Empathy very well...and my situation. I can talk about this all I want however, I have not felt I’ve made any progress." Manuel pushed up from his seat and with his hands on the flat of the table, he rounded it until he was able to bend down and fetch his cane. "I trust you are doing your best and will continue to do so." Even though he knew he was not a priority.

Jean nodded. "I can understand that, yes, and we will continue to work on this. I promise you, Manuel, I'm not giving up."