xp_logs | LOG: [Hank, Haller] Prelude

With no improvement in Jean's condition, Hank and Haller discuss the next step.

Rooms in the Medlab had the same antiseptic smell of every hospital room: sharp disinfectant mixed with that particular brand of hypo allergenic laundry detergent. The door was open, and Jim didn't bother rapping on the door frame to announce his entrance. One of the occupants was accustomed to it, and the other wouldn't even register his presence.

"Hey, Hank," said the telepath, nodding to the man tending to Jean's still form. "How's it going?"

The doctor had been looking at his touchpad before David walked in, oblivious to the young man's presence until he spoke- and perhaps oblivious to himself as his matted fur and hair suggested. "Ah, Mister Haller, how are you today?" The blue man managed a weak smile, which faltered slightly beneath tired eyes.

The telepath smiled faintly, the circles beneath his eyes dark under the florescent lights. "About as well as you, I think," he replied, glancing around. "How did you get Scott out of here? Did you have to drug him?"

"I told him I was not above the idea," Hank chuckled lightly, a slight rasp escaping his throat- it had been days since he'd slept- when he did, the nightmares came back, and Dark Beast was in a dock-house, torturing his young students. "He's currently sleeping in the room next door, which is locked from the outside. While I have no doubt he could, if he wanted, blast the door open, he knows that I would be rather cross if he did."

The doctor waited a beat, "What brings you down, David?"

The telepath moved closer to Jean's bedside. Her skin seemed oddly translucent, the blue veins seeming darker than usual in the lighting. He sighed. "The professor's getting some sleep. Or at least, he took a break and it turned into that. I decided not to wake him for the evening check. I would've locked his door from the outside if I could've, too."

Hank smiled and stood up, rubbing his eyes and walking to the opposite side of the bed. His friend's red hair seemed all the more brilliant against the paleness her skin had slowly accepted in the dim light of the recovery room. "That would be for the best, I would rather he didn't start to accidentally project hallucinations to us all due to sleep deprivation." Once had been enough, years ago, when he was a student. "You'll be doing it yourself then?"

Jim nodded. "The scan's simple enough. It'll only take a minute -- hang on."

Closing his eyes, Jim held his hand a few inches above Jean's face, careful not to come close to the feeding tube inserted in her nose. The motion cast a shadow across her taped eyes. They'd opened when she cast out Matthews. She'd never closed them on her own.

The probe was diagnostic; gentle. Leery of aggravating her defenses, he made no effort to enter her mind, only probe for areas that might offer entrance.

A few quiet moments passed. Then Jim withdrew his hand.

"Still no change," said the telepath, still looking at the sleeping woman. "Not physically, not psychically."

Hank sighed and nodded, he knew the inevitable truth of the situation, even if he didn't want to be the one to say it. "That makes three weeks without any change. I don't pretend to understand it, David- she's physically fine- better than ever if only with a little muscular atrophy." Hank ruffled his hair, "Damnit, Jean, wake-up."

Jim looked up at Hank. He'd had always envied others for their apparent ease at forming attachments, and the support they brought -- and then something like this happened. Hearing the suppressed emotion in Hank's voice as he stared at the form of one of his oldest friends made Jim think that maybe it was better to just stand outside. The less you held, the less you could lose.

"Before you make any decisions," Jim said aloud, "like moving her elsewhere, or anything . . . wait at least one more day."

Hank nodded, "I see no problem with that. One day won't make much of a difference in the long run." The doctor ruffled his hair and flopped back into the worn sofa chair he'd moved in earlier for Scott. "To use the vernacular, 'This sucks.'"

"Yeah. It does." Jim hesitated. Usually when he tried to comfort someone he would appeal to their specific concerns, but he didn't know Hank well enough for that. Or as well as he should have at all.

"You have helped," the younger man said abruptly, with unexpected vehemence. "Hank, you kept her alive. Maybe she can't or won't come back, but you gave her the chance to stabilize, and that's important."

"A small comfort, I'm afraid. Given that there is no possible way for me to help her..." Hank sighed. "There has to be something I'm missing, David."

Jim shook his head. "I don't think so. When psis take too much damage they shut down -- locking out the world is how they protect themselves. I was in that state when I first met the professor . . . and so was Jean." The lanky man set his chin and glanced at the still form in the bed. "We couldn't do anything when she first shook Matthews. Her defenses were up, and her mind was too unstable to risk any more interference. But you bought her time to recover. She's still locked in, but now she's stable enough to give it a try." Jim turned back to the doctor. "It's been long enough. Tomorrow, we'll go in after her."

"I take it that this is also Charles' opinion on the matter?" Hank raised a blue brow and crossed his legs, his fingers steepling before him as his elbows came to rest on the arms of the chair.

"Yes. The first choice was to wait for her to come back on her own, but . . . there's a limit." The younger man's two-colored eyes shifted back to Hank. "The last thing she experienced was the dreams Matthews gave her, and you. Sooner is better. Trust me."

Hank shut his eyes for a moment, then remembered who he was and started breathing again. "Yes," he opened his eyes and managed a poor smile, "I couldn't agree more."