Log: Matt & Haller | Tuesday afternoon

[x-daredevil.livejournal.com]

Tuesday early afternoon, Haller goes to visit the newest student at Xavier's in person and brings lunch. It turns out, Haller and Matt have a lot in common.



Matt was settling in alright, at least in his opinion. He hadn't met too many yet, including the other students, his roommate aside, but then there weren't any other freshmen either. The teachers though had dove right into the coursework and loaded Matt up with homework despite it being his first day here. He'd gone to classes in rehab too, but really, he hadn't been in class much since the previous fall. It had made things like homework today sort of strange.

He was sitting at his desk though working on it slowly on his computer, the lack of speed more because he was also still learning how to use his computer than out of a dislike of homework. Really, he'd rather just get it done and over with. Doing his homework like this though, in his room, was amazing. It was so quiet. Sure, he had some music playing softly, but there was nothing to hear except the music and a few other little noises. The constant onslaught of sound wasn't trying to club him like a baby seal. It was pretty sweet.

It was also, predictably, about to end.

Jim shifted the paper take-out bag beneath his arm and gently rapped on the door. With the level of sensitivity he'd heard the newest arrival possessed he doubted it was as soft for the newcommer as it seemed for him, but until he had a better grasp of Matt's needs it was the best he could manage.

"Matt?" he said, not bothering to raise his voice. "Are you around?"

"Who is it?" Matt asked, going to the door and opening it. He wasn't expecting anyone. His room was dark and even though it was the afternoon, there was no window to let in light. Normally, that might bother Matt, because while he was blind, that did not mean that he didn't like nature and whatnot, but it meant that all the walls were soundproofed. He suspected that there was a window behind the soundproofing.

"David Haller. I'm the school counselor." Jim made no move to enter, but held up the bag. The smell of still-warm Italian food wafted into the room. "Right now, though, I'm just here to bring you lunch. Can I come in?"

School counselor? Lunch? Huh. It did smell delicious though, Matt couldn't deny that, "Uh...sure," he agreed, moving out of the doorway and fumbling slightly against the wall until he hit the light switch. He assumed that this Haller guy wasn't blind and might appreciate some light.

With the light on, his room appeared almost the same as it had before Matt had moved in. The school-issued covers on the bed were made up neatly, a ratted pair of sneakers partially underneath, Matt's socked feet stuck out from under his baggy jeans. There were no pictures on the walls or personal affects anywhere, though there was a thick black leather covered book next to the bed with braille on it and a cross. The desk was barren other than the school books and the computer, both school-issued as well.

"Thank you," Jim said, stepping past the boy and making sure to leave plenty of room between them -- he wasn't sure how Matt handled physical contact yet, but he was going to err on the side of avoidance. The telepath glanced around at the scantly furnished room. "This should be pretty mild. Do you want the food on the desk?"

"That's fine," Matt went over to the desk, closing his books and moving them out of the way so that nothing would get messed up. It was better that he do it than let someone else so then he would know exactly where everything was and how it should be. In his room he was able to move about freely. His omnipresent white cane wasn't in his hand, but propped up in the corner next to the closet door. He wasn't quite as carefree in the suite living room, but he was getting there. He'd have the layout down in another day or so. "Uh...thanks."

"It's okay. Usually a friend of mine does the welcome-to-the-mansion meals, but she's gone right now and I can't cook. Fortunately I had to send something at the post office in town, and they have restaurants." Jim set down the bag. The case worker he'd spoken to had indicated Matt was a good student, but he was mildly surprised the boy was already into his school work. That was a good sign in many respects.

"I just wanted to say hello," Jim continued. He tapped his forehead, more for his benefit than Matt's. "How are the headaches?"

"Ah. Yeah," Matt wasn't sure if he was supposed to start eating now or not. "Not as bad in here," he didn't gesture or anything like that, but he meant his room. It was why he wasn't being all social. He'd rather be in here where it didn't bother him. "I sleep better," he added, which was actually a big deal. He hadn't laid awake for hours with a headache until he passed out, which was new and different. The sheets were still scratchy, but they were better than at juvie or the rehab center. "You sure I can't have anything to help with the migraines when I'm out?" he wheedled, "I promise, I'll not take too much!"

Jim raised an eyebrow. And there was the other thing the case worker had mentioned.

"Sorry, I'm just a telepath, not a medical doctor -- Dr. Grey-Summers and Dr. McCoy are the only ones who can prescribe medication. But hopefully once your nerves aren't as raw the need for it will decrease." Noticing Matt's hesitance with the food, Jim gestured to the bag. "By the way, go ahead and eat if you're hungry. Sorry there's only water, I wasn't sure what works for you, and the idea is to cause you less pain, not more."

"Water's fine," Matt went back to sullen teenager now that he wasn't getting what he wanted. They said he had an addiction and they said he had a problem with medication, but the truth was he had needed it to function! He still did if he didn't want to end up with the migraine from hell. Torturing torturers. "Yeah, well...whoever did did," he moved a hand vaguely to indicate the room, "to make it sound proof forgot that I have four senses. They took care of one."

Ah, there was the defensiveness -- but it wasn't unexpected, especially right after rehab. Jim just nodded. "I think you may be the first resident we've had with this degree of sensitivity, so it's a learning process for everyone. Do you have any ideas on how to improve your room?"

"The bed," Matt replied automatically, surprised that his opinion was being sought. He was expecting to be told that that was the best they could do, tough. That's what he'd always been told before. Opening the Styrofoam container, Matt found lasagna and two garlic rolls wrapped in foil. A little plastic packet held utensils and a napkin. "The sheets and blanket are itchy. Not soft."

Jim leaned over and glanced at the pillowslip. "Oh, those look like the standard ones -- okay, we'll see if we can get you something with a higher threadcount." The counselor thought for a moment, then remembered one of the problems Logan had once mentioned. "What about smell? Would you like us to look into carbon filters or anything?"

Matt had never thought much about smells...but now that he was, he realized his room was rather devoid of most of them. Huh. Normally, he sort of just ignored a lot of them, because they were just always there. "There's a filter thing," he said, reaching out and finding a little box on his desk. He'd been told it was some sort of PETA filter, which he did not understand what it had to do with animals or whatever, but if it worked he was not complaining. "Apparently the filters have to be changed every few months."

The counselor nodded. "We already have a resident with airborn powers with a filter like that in her room to keep the air outside clean when she's relaxing." Jim gave a half-shrug. "Ideally we'll get you to the point where you don't need special equipment, etc. and so forth, but it's still nice to have a space where you don't have to worry about control."

"Ah...yeah. Never had my own room. This is really good. Thanks." he added.The idea that people would do this this much for him...yeah, sure his foster parents had tried to make him feel welcome and all, and this place certainly wasn't home, but at the same time, with a few things, this room was more relaxing than any other place he'd been. And these people acted like it was nothing. It was disconcerting.

"No problem. When you're up to seeing Salem Center I can take you to the restaurant. They seem like nice people." Jim paused. This was not normally a step he would take with most students. It wasn't even one he'd take with most peers. But Matt's case was . . . different. Different in that it was intimately familiar. Though the boy seemed to be settled enough at the moment, there was still anger there. Jim knew where anger like that could lead.

The loss of a parent was a poisonous thing.

"I'll leave you to lunch in a minute," the telepath said, "but first, full disclosure. I wanted to meet you because, though seeing me isn't compulsory, I wanted to let you know I'm around." He paused again, then said, "Without going into too much detail -- my parents died, my grandparents didn't want me, and the last person who did was killed next to me. After that, it was institutions until adulthood." He studied the boy's milky eyes. The skin around them still bore faint mottling from the accident that had blinded him. Jim shook his head.

"I apologize if that was too personal," the older man said. "I just didn't feel it was fair that I should know about your background without you knowing a little of mine. Maybe I'm projecting -- I just know that I never liked that strangers got to know everything about me when I knew nothing about them."

"Institutions?" Matt asked, turning to face Haller, lunch momentarily forgotten. "Are you crazy?" That was the only reference he knew to 'institutions.' That this man would tell him this though, that meant a lot. Because yeah, he had a whole file about him, that not only he couldn't read because he was blind, but he wouldn't be able to read regardless, and it was passed around just like him so that people could make judgments and decisions about him without ever getting to know who he was or anything about him. He doubted that his file talked about his hopes or dreams, what his father wanted for him or the bond they had. Not at all. "And are you gonna give me some song and dance about how you found a new home here?"

The telepath smiled faintly. "I'm a little crazy. I had a serious powers-related trauma when my guardian was killed, which is a little hard to come back from. I ended up in the traditional sort of institution for a few years until someone figured out I was a mutant. Sometimes I came here for treatment, but otherwise I lived at Muir Island, with other people with powers problems. As for home . . ." Jim snorted. "In a way, yes. I live here and I have friends, and people who understand. That's more than I had for most of my life. But no. It's not like the home I lost." He paused, then added, "But since there's no way to go back, I'm glad I came here. Nothing can ever be exactly like what's been lost."

The honesty was unexpected. Matt had heard the little 'I understand what you're going through' in various ways from various people at various times, but all ended by telling him that things would be different now, he just had to give it a chance. This truism, that it wouldn't be the home he lost, but could still be something good, that was different and appreciated. The admission that he was a little crazy though wasn't entirely reassuring though, especially if the was the school counselor. "If you can't go anywhere else, at least go forward," he finally replied.

"Exactly." This felt like an awful thing to dump on the boy, but he had never known sugarcoating the truth to help. Not to build trust. It had certainly never helped him.

Jim gave Matt another faint, unseen smile. "So . . . yes. It's not easy. But messed up as you may feel sometimes, just remember that no one who cared about you would want you to be unhappy, and different doesn't have to be bad. So you might as well give it a shot, right?"

"This is my fifth placement in two years," Matt replied, "If this doesn't work and I get kicked out, there isn't anywhere else for me to go, really. It's not about being happy or not. I fucked up being with a foster family and got sent to juvie. You ever do solitary, Mr. Haller?" he asked, "You ever be blind and in handcuffs? I fucked up the group home I was sent to after that because my head hurt so bad and I got sent to rehab. You ever been to rehab?" he continued, "There is nothing else. I'll just go to another group home or back to juvie at this point. End of the line."

There it was: the anger at everything and everyone, including himself. Combativeness, daring people to challenge, to reject. Yes. Matt would be a difficult case. But not, Jim thought, an impossible one.

"No, I haven't done solitary or rehab," he agreed. "Or been to juvie, or a group home. But remember, we know now that your actions were influenced by your powers. Just like mine landed me in restraints and a padded room for three years, yours put you in pain, and that pain affected your state of mind. That -- that we'll do our best to help you with. As for the rest, the choices you make on how to deal with what comes next . . ." Jim shrugged. "That's up to you to fuck up or not. It's your life, and I think that's fair enough. But if you make a mistake, if you fuck up and don't know how to fix it . . . we'll help. Just ask." There was a definite tone of dryness in his voice as he added, "This isn't exactly an organization run and managed by saints, but if there's one thing we do know, it's what it's like to make mistakes."

Help? Really? Matt did not believe that for an instant. People didn't 'help' they discarded what was broken. He wanted to though. He had no doubt in his mind that he would get kicked out of here within six months. Tops. There was no way something wouldn't happen. Snorting softly, Matt nodded, "Sure," he agreed, "Everyone makes mistakes. To err is human and all that," Matt wasn't a dumb kid, even if he wasn't a great one, "Forgiveness is divine too. So...I don't see any priests around here. Just a bunch of people."

"Yes. A bunch of fairly normal people, really, in that we're each dysfunctional in or own special way." The doubt was clear in Matt's tone, but Jim didn't blame him. Trust had to be earned. Especially with someone who'd learned the less trust to give, the better. It made the inevitable disappointment easier to bear. Instead, he turned his gaze to the Bible by Matt's bedside. "Why, would you like to talk to a priest?"

He shrugged, "One came to the rehab place for Ash Wednesday," he replied. It was a non-answer, Matt was good at those. It was better not to answer directly when discussing things he wanted. Then if he didn't get it, there was less disappointment. "But I haven't been to mass since I was sent to rehab." The church was one of the few consistencies in his life and it didn't matter if he believed or not or agreed or not, the familiarity was comforting. The ritual. He'd gone to a church near his apartment in New York for almost his entire life, but it was too far away now.

Jim silently blessed Lorna's friendship. In addition to providing some much-needed bodyfat, it had given him an acute sensitivity to Catholic understatement.

"There's a church in town, though I'm not sure where it is," Jim said, matching Matt's casual tone with one of his own. "I think we've got one or two people who go to mass on a regular basis, so I doubt it'd be a big deal if you wanted to join them."

"I'll look into it," Matt agreed, grateful for the information. He turned back to the food, which he'd forgotten. It wasn't so warm now, but he didn't care and started to eat again anyways, "Thanks," he said around a mouthful of pasta. "This is good."

"Don't worry about it." He'd thrown enough at the boy today; Jim decided to take this as a dismissal. He turned to leave, flicking off the light switch as he did. "Anyway, I'll get out of your way. I'll talk to you later -- right now, I'm going to see about those new sheets."