Haller and Jean-Paul: backdated to Monday

[x-cynosure.livejournal.com]

Haller follows up on his curiosity about Jeanne-Marie's DID by questioning Jean-Paul.



Classes had gone well -- Jean-Paul was feeling almost normal and the mark on his face had just about faded. He hadn't gone light headed. He hadn't even forgotten any of the topics he'd meant to cover, so the fact that his bloodstream had been a temporary hazmat zone had apparently not damaged any important parts of his brain. All the same, he was glad to be back in his suite. 'Almost' up to snuff still meant that the idea of getting off of his feet and losing himself in a book had been more than a little appealing. Recent journal discussion had left him nostalgic for old favorites, and he'd elected to settle in with Melville's collected short stories.

Jim knocked a little tentatively on the man's door. His office had been empty, so he was making an educated guess that Jean-Paul probably wasn't up to a lot of activity just yet. The only good thing about the incident with Cammie was that it gave Jim a chance to engage in the time-honored tradition of Food As Excuse. Of course, Jim had learned that from a professionally trained chef, and since the only personality who had more than a passing acquaintance with a stove was Jemail this might not have quite the same effect.

Jean-Paul looked up from his book curiously, slipping his glasses off and into his shirt pocket before hailing his visitor in. He looked at his visitor warily for a moment before hazarding a guess.

"David Haller, I presume?"

"Yes." Jim stepped into the room, then decided to just do it. Jean-Paul was familiar with the concept, if not his specific condition. And, theoretically, he was supposed to be working on getting more comfortable with people. He readjusted his grip on the tray and cleared his throat. "Um, you can call me Jim, though. I go by that. In private, I mean. I still use David in public because it's less confusing for people, and especially with the kids . . ." He bobbed his head vaguely.

"Jim it is." Jean-Paul gestured toward the coffee table. "Set that down and have a seat. I am starting to understand what Jubilee and Crystal meant about food brigades. I've been in no danger of starving to death since I took to bedrest. Not that this is a complaint, mind you."

"It's some form of cooperative survival mechanism -- one half of the school's gotten used to feeding because the other half never remembers to eat," said Jim, a man constructed entirely of angles. He set the tray on the coffee table and gestured at the contents. "The covered thing is kateh. Um, rice cooked in butter. It's supposed to be good recovery food. There's garlic and feta on it. But since that usually horrifies people I brought the salad as backup."

"It sounds interesting." As Jean-Paul was already setting aside his book and rising to find plates and utensils, "interesting" seemed unlikely to be just a politeness. He'd expected a discussion -- dinner was a welcome bonus, especially given that he doubted the subject matter would be especially easy to get through. "So we are to talk about Jeanne-Marie and her...condition. What was it you wanted to know?"

Jim laughed, a little nervously. Despite Jean-Paul's agreement to the conversation, now that he was actually here Jim was having a hard time finding a balance between clinical interest and group therapy nostalgia. Additionally, there was no tactful way of saying "So, your sister. How nuts is she?"

"The basics first, I guess," he said as Jean-Paul retrieved flatware. "The cause and initial presentation, if you know it."

"She first presented at age thirteen -- mental fracture caused by acute physical and psychological distress." The words were rote, but Jean-Paul's gaze was dark as he sat again, bringing a pitcher of juice with the dishes, and began dishing up the food. "She'd lived at a government subsidized school for most of her life, as far back as she could recall. The nuns who ran it were great believers in beating the devil out of abnormal students, and the other girls took their upset out on anyone who could not defend herself." Jean-Paul's frown deepened. "My sister was a shy and quiet girl, and we share the same physical mutations. She was tormented from both sides. When she was thirteen, she decided to kill herself by jumping from the roof of the school. She flew instead. You can guess how well that went over with the Sisters. It was after that beating that the Aurora personality emerged."

"I see." Jim felt a pang of depression that his initial response to this information was relief that, in a disorder frequently developed in response to sexual abuse, Jeanne-Marie's experience hadn't been worse. But then, he remembered what life had been like with the people he had thought were his grandparents. From the point of view of a sensitive kid alone and without allies, "worse" was relative.

Pouring himself a drink to disguise some of his tension, Jim moved on. "You said her disorder became evident shortly after her first manifestation. Did that affect her power? I mean, is it accessible by both personalities? -- Are there only the two?"

"Only the two," Jean-Paul echoed. "Jeanne-Marie is the base personality, Aurora is the split...the wild one. Jeanne-Marie is as she wished to be; she does not fly and is a very meek woman. Aurora is the one with access to their powers, but she can be...flighty. Under stress, she is likely to retreat and leave only Jeanne-Marie."

Reflexively a small, self-deprecating smile tugged at the corner of Jim's mouth. "David was baseline normal, too. For people like us . . . when you have a bad manifestation, I guess separation is the most logical defense." He spooned some kateh into a bowl as he sifted through what little information Jean-Paul had offered at Harry's. "You said she convinced her boyfriend to alter her powers. Why? Was it Jeanne-Marie who asked?"

Jean-Paul's stomach knotted and he set his plate down without reaching for the rice dish.

"Ah, no." He managed a quiet, bitter sound that bore a superficial resemblance to a laugh. "That had nothing to do with Jeanne-Marie's loathing of Aurora. Jeanne-Marie was frightened of Langkowski -- that was Aurora's lover. Another Alphan. She would run to me to protect her from 'the beast'. The experiment had to do with Aurora loathing her brother. I had...an upsetting ordeal. She kept me from doing something foolish in response and I lashed out at her for her trouble. Made some...distasteful accusations. After that, she went to him and asked that he make her something other than my twin.

"I still don't know precisely what he did. Both of them said it was not my business. At the end of it, her mental state seemed much the same, but her powers were occasionally in a flux state. The constant was that if we touched at all, we would cancel each other's powers for a time. The length was variable. I think the longest stretch was about a day." He sighed. "Sorry. I don't know if that helps so much."

Jim shook his head. "No. It does help."

It makes me feel . . . lucky.

There was more he wanted to ask, but it was impossible to ignore Jean-Paul's visible discomfort. The younger man rested his elbows on his knees, glancing down at his bowl. "I've never met another multiple who was also a mutant. Even in group therapy, I always had problems no one could relate to, even there." Jim let his odd-colored eyes briefly meet Jean-Paul's. "So just hearing about someone else, and the problems they had . . . it helps. But I also know it's hard to talk about. So thank you."

"De rien." When Jean-Paul spoke again, his voice was careful and controlled. "Understand...I miss her terribly, Jim. Even just talking about her...it somehow makes it seem more likely that she is not lost. So if it is helping you as well, then this is doing twice the good. It is not...happy to talk about, exactly, but I do not mind. Truly."

Jim gave the man a faint smile. "I don't think it's happy to talk about for anyone. But . . . yes. I understand." The younger man toyed with his kateh for a moment, considering where to go next. "You said you two were linked. I know some studies argue the phenomena sometimes shows up even in non-mutants -- mostly the odd flash of intuitive stuff -- but the only one I've ever met who shared one is a telepath herself. How closely did that go for you two? Do you think her disorder had an impact on you?"

"It was variable, actually." Jean-Paul finally dished up food for himself. "We were not so much aware of it, even once we were reunited." He laughed again, and this time the sound was closer to genuine. "We did fall into some cliches once we were in proximity to each other -- finishing sentences, walking in step, that sort of thing. It drove people crazy. We did not think there was more to it until the first time Aurora gave way to Jeanne-Marie before the others, near the end of our training. She went non-combatant in the middle of a live exercise and I...just knew she was in danger. I am not certain about the last, though. I did not hear voices in my head, but...I am not sure, really. Aurora did not like to speak of Jeanne-Marie, and Jeanne-Marie would not speak of Aurora. I suspected, though. I could not get exact dates from her, but around the time Aurora would have manifested was when I ran away from my foster family. It was an argument that turned physical. I could be a brat, but that was a first for me. Maybe I was responding to her trauma, maybe not." He trailed off with a shrug.

Jim gently tapped his fork against the side of his bowl, thoughtful. "Hearing voices and the presence of distinct personalities are only the most visible aspects of the disorder," he said. "Sometimes one ego-state can be influenced by the other without even being aware of it. Mostly, though, it's the compartmentalization of memory and mood. It could be that's what you were sensitive to." He thought back, touching the empty fork tines to his lip. "But it makes sense. DID is a defense-mechanism, and you didn't have the experiences Jeanne-Marie did. I was inside for years, and David's switching never felt like much more than standing in a greenhouse watching the seasons change in time-lapse."

"But you are aware of the others?" Jean-Paul's interest was keen. "I was never sure with Jeanne-Marie. Sometimes it seemed as if she knew of what one personality had done and disapproved, and other times it was as if she was wholly in the dark." There were certain confidences that he had made to Aurora that Jeanne-Marie claimed no knowledge of, and he had never been certain if she'd been honest about that, or simply in denial. "Do the others keep secrets, or is it all a matter of...courtesy, I suppose, in not speaking of them?"

"It depends on the individual. Some of David's alters have always been co-conscious, but originally there were some pretty strong divisions -- missing time and memories. I've gotten better, so mostly it's not a problem anymore." Jim shook his head. "Early on it was frustrating. I could talk to anyone, but David always knew the least. Like most hosts. Self-defense. He was a kid. His brain tried like hell to keep him that way."

"Self-defense." Jean-Paul appeared to mull the words over. "Yes...that would make sense." He was quiet a moment. "What you asked before, about the link...there was one time when we seemed to consciously feel each other through it. During the incident I mentioned. She went into Jeanne-Marie's persona and was taken hostage. I was the frightened one that time, desperate to find her. And then I knew where she was, what she was doing, and that she was Aurora. It was only a flash, but it was a more complete picture than before. I suppose it took both of us at the end of our emotional ropes to unlock that." He flicked back to the present. "You said 'was'. Despite trying to insulate himself, David did mature mentally?"

Jim nodded, slowly. "Yes, but it took -- a while. My catalyst for full-blown DID was manifestation, like Jeanne-Marie, but it was complicated because I'm a telepath, and I . . . killed some people. The experience created additional problems." He sat back, leaving his fork in the bowl. "I was catatonic for three years until the Professor found me. Most of the alters had had time to become distinct by then, assume different aspects of my power. In a way, I guess it was almost a necessity. I couldn't -- be me anymore."

Jean-Paul nodded. "But your personas co-exist, to an extent, non? One does not subsume the others completely."

"No. Some multiples prefer co-existence, but a lot of therapy has been geared towards integrating, not eradicating. I've consolidated a lot of alters over the years. But if you want to integrate, the problem comes from making yourself want it. When the entire disorder is basically centered around needing to be someone else because there's something they want to get away from, or feel like they can't handle, it's hard to make yourself really want to. And you can't lie to your brain. Trust me."

Jim rubbed the faded scars on his right hand. The next look he gave Jean-Paul was hesitant. "That your sister's ego states have different feelings about you . . . you shouldn't let it get to you. Healthy people can be angry at someone for the moment, but still remember that they love them. People like borderlines can only see love or hate in turns. Multiples like us . . . if we can't deal with a particular emotion, sometimes we have to create another person to take it. There's no chance to find a balance. I knew the Professor saved my life, but for a long time I -- hated him. For bringing me out, and how he had to do it. But David couldn't have those thoughts, so Jack did." He gave the other man another small smile. "But -- I've had massive amounts of therapy, so now I can actually bring myself to dislike him sometimes and Jack lays off the physical assault. It takes some effort, but it is possible to find a middle gear."

Jean-Paul shook his head, resisting the urge to touch the scar at his throat. "I can't say that it does not matter, but I am used to it." He snorted quietly. "It helps sometimes to think of myself as the oldest of triplets. I don't know what to think about the rest of it any more. Doctors seem to do little good, or even to make things worse and I don't know what more I can do for her, even if I ever see her again."

"Like I said, she has to want to get better. Until that point, there's not a lot doctors can do. But that's up to her, not you." Despite how draining this conversation was, Jim managed another smile. "A lot of helping someone through mental illness is waiting for the other person to move forward. If you're there for her when she needs you, you've done all you can. You'd be amazed at how much that matters."