Haller & Namor | Consequences and Purpose

[x-submariner.livejournal.com]

Namor is summoned to Haller's office to discuss the day's events and what actions need to be taken.

There was a polite knock on his office door. Round two, right on time. Jim couldn't say he was surprised; despite his temper, by all accounts Namor responded well to structure and protocol. His upbringing, the telepath supposed. Crystal had been like that, too.

"Come in, please."

The door swung open slowly. The figure that entered was all crisp lines — Namor had changed into a fresh button down shirt after the incident. It was the details that were askew from his usual presentation: collar not firmly straight, the belt missing a loop, the shirt buttons not all fastened. His posture and imperious air were the same as ever, but some habits could become hardwired.

He cleared his throat, making direct eye contact. "I apologize for being late."

Jim glanced at the clock. It was two minutes before the suggested time.

"You're not late at all," the counselor said. He gestured to the chair at his desk. "Sit down, please."

Namor's own glance at the clock was testament to his own opinion on those two minutes. He stopped before sitting and held out a hand to greet the counselor. "I regret that we could not meet under other circumstances, Mr. Haller."

Jim accepted the young man's hand before returning to his own seat. "Me too, Namor -- Lord McKenzie. I'm sorry, may I call you Namor? I'm not used to the title."

"Namor is acceptable."

"Thank you." The formalities were largely meaningless, but given the nature of the meeting it was something Jim didn't want to skip. A little structure rarely hurt the proceedings. He resumed his seat, hands folded on his desk in front of him. "First of all, are you injured?"

"No." It was a quick and prideful answer. Namor had sat, and he was clenching his hands in a very controlled manner over his lap. "Is Miss Hayes alright?"

Jim nodded. "Molly's fine. There's very little that can physically harm her. I've already spoken to her and the professor about the situation; it won't be happening again." He studied the Attilani, gauging his reaction. "I would like to thank you for intervening . . . but we need to talk about the way you chose to do so."

His expression didn't flicker. "Yes, that is why I assumed I was here."

"I know a shot was fired before we got there," Jim said. "There was a delay of a few minutes between the first and second. Can you tell me what happened in the time between?"

The undergraduate stiffened. He has known this was coming, but it didn't make it easier. "Everything was mostly red at that point. The taller one, with the gun," and this was emphasized with the sort of verbal capitalization that implied Namor was still finding that hard to process, "Was being browbeaten by his friend who said some very disgusting remarks. The larger one then insulted me and affronted my dignity by both threatening me and aiming the gun in my direction."

By this point, Namor's tone had dipped from cautious control to out and out contempt. "I will admit that I threatened him after the first shot, but it was no less than he deserved."

Jim noted the shift, but didn't yet engage. "Molly tried to defuse the situation, is that correct?"

"Yes, but extremely clumsily."

"True. But she did at least try to reason with them." The counselor tilted his head. "Do they have many guns in Attilan? I don't know their policies on firearms."

"We keep very strict control over firearms," there was pride here, "That man was committing a crime. You must pass a psychological examination to carry a gun in Attilan. That man was drunk and in public."

"We have a very different gun culture in America. They're more accessible, and some see them as their only potential means of defense against a much stronger opponent -- like a mutant. The law allows those who qualify to own and carry a weapon. Some of them won't hesitate to use it." The counselor added, drily, "And yes, that man was publicly intoxicated, involved in an assault when you arrived, and discharged a firearm with the intent to intimidate or wound, but your assault and battery of him was equally illegal."

"I am aware," Namor stated with flatly, "that I lost my temper and made poor decisions. I am positive you are aware that this is not the first time."

Well, there was the emotion he'd been searching for. "Yes, I am," Jim replied, not bothering to reiterate the circumstances at Columbia which had led to Namor's residence in the first place. "I would like to ask you, though: do you regret losing your temper? Does it bother you? I'm asking for your honest feelings, not what you think the appropriate answer should be."

Namor was ready to balk at this, by reflex, but stopped himself before speaking. He would stay in control. "That is an unfair question with too many variables. Do I regret hurting that drunkard? No. Am I ashamed at losing my temper and defacing my reputation? Yes. I was taught better. I should be better than that. Am I afraid of what I might have done without intervention? Of course I am. Did this bother me in the moment? Obviously not."

He took a deep breath here, pausing to consider. "Do I regret intervening on Miss Hayes's idiotic escapade if only because it would save me from what I did? No. I would do it again."

"The truth isn't simplistic," noted the telepath. "Thank you for your honesty. And as I said, despite the results I do appreciate your impulse to intervene. If you hadn't we might not have found out what was going on until something much worse happened. On that we agree, at least."

Jim steepled his fingers. He sensed a lot going on beneath the surface, but it needed to be dissected into manageable chunks. He doubted Namor was the type of person who responded well to a frontal assault on his core beliefs. One thing at a time.

"If you're willing, we might be able to help you with your temper and the associated risk." Jim regarded the younger man with his odd-colored eyes, hoping he wasn't going to be hanged by his coworkers for this suggestion later. "For many of us power is easy, but restraint is not. We have a number of staff members who are experienced in self-defense and general combat. Would you be interested in working with one of them to concentrate on that area? I don't mean the generalized training we offer everyone -- I mean a program specifically concerned with calm and control."

"That would be preferable," Namor admitted, "I have found the general classes less than helpful. I have been training with Mr. Wilson in addition, but I assume that you know how much calm that involves."

"Mr. Wilson is . . . unconventional," Jim said, understating the issue massively. "I have someone in mind. I'll discuss it with him and let you know." It certainly couldn't be him. Jim wasn't even going to attempt to convince the Attilani the assailants hadn't deserved what they got. His head knew it was wrong to overpower and cow the weaker into submission, regardless of their character, but the corner of his heart that was manifested by Jack didn't feel it. Hypocrisy tended to emit a certain odor.

"All right," said the telepath, leaning back in his chair. "We'll work something out and consider that our disciplinary action. I don't see another lecture being beneficial; as you said, you were taught better. You already know. All I'm going to do is remind you that Xavier's has a code of conduct for its residents. Accidents happen, and we are aware you're a work in progress. However, we have many residents here with no other option but to be here, some of them minors. We can't risk anything that directly or indirectly threatens their safety. If you continue to engage in high-risk behavior, we'll have to ask you to leave. Understood?"

"Yessir." That wouldn't be his last punishment of the night, but Namor would keep family business private. He sighed. "I would prefer that knowledge of this be kept to a minimum, but I know that is too much for one man to handle in a house like this. I sit assured that you will sort the Miss Hayes situation in a similarly diligent manor." His pride and formality were his shield.

"Have you already contacted my parents?"

"Not yet, no. I wanted to speak to you first." Namor's expression hadn't changed, but here was something in the way he'd said it that signaled . . . something. Trepidation, perhaps? It wasn't difficult to tell when the young man was holding back, but he didn't know him well enough yet to make a guess at what, nor did he know the details of his family dynamics. Still, if the issue was impending parental disapproval, Jim could relate.

Haller got a nod for this. "I would ask that you hold off until I can speak to them first."

Jim eyed the slight imperfections in Namor's usually immaculate dress and thought of what he'd been able to discern of Namor's emotional state so far. The policy talk had triggered the knee-jerk pride reaction, but he had gone quieter once the subject of family had come up. At least some of Namor's priorities were becoming more clear to him.

"All right," said Jim, "Let me know when you've called them. It will give me time to work out the details of your training so I can give them some concretes." He regarded the Attilani's closed expression for a moment.

"This isn't Attilan," said the counselor, not unsympathetically. "The United States has a different history with mutants, and there's a broad range of acceptance and opinion on us. There are some who'll treat us fairly, but we still get insulted and discriminated against more often than we should. It's not right, but it's a fact we have to live with -- at least for now."

Namor's expression hardened at this. "Living quietly isn't living. The people here detest us. I know that I should expect as much by now, but it makes me so angry. It is unacceptable."

"I agree. But when fear is involved, the only way to earn respect is to proactively prove them wrong -- not react and prove them right." Jim smiled faintly. "I admit I have trouble with it sometimes. Not everyone can play the long game, but those that can are the ones that change the world."

"Mr. Summers had said something along those lines. Most of what I see here is an isolated community desperate to only help when the problems are too large to ignore." He sighed, breaking eye contact. "I like to feel useful, Mr. Haller. I do not have the patience for the long game, and I'm unconvinced that one day I'll wake up with that particular mutation. I feel worthless." This particular confession was tough for him, but the intensity in his eyes bespoke that feeling worthless was not the same as being worthless. "I loathe feeling worthless."

Ah. Now Jim thought he was beginning to understand where some of the rage might stem from. On top of everything else, Namor felt the drive to do something, but had no outlet.

Just like Molly.

"We're associated with a number of programs besides the X-Men," the telepath said thoughtfully. "You already have experience with Red X, and X-Corps deals with mutant rights and welfare. Both groups can always use more hands. I'm sure Columbia has programs of its own, too. If none of the existing options appeal to you, ask yourself what you're passionate about and make your own." He watched the young man's expression. "It's hard to accomplish change on your own, or even figure out how to start. Still, you'd be surprised at the help you find if you have passion and a good cause on your side."

"Yes," Namor replied politely, "I will look into it." He let the statement hang underscoring that the it was more ceremony than promise.

Jim nodded. He hadn't expected the him to leap at the suggestion; Namor seemed the sort who needed to come to things on his own terms, and Jim respected that. He hoped, though, that Namor might find something he was passionate about. He had a feeling that would resolve a number of issues.

It was amazing the difference having a sense of purpose made.

"I think that covers everything we needed to discuss," the telepath said, rising from his desk. "Thank you for meeting with me. I'll speak to the professor and see about those arrangements. Please let me know the most convenient time to contact your family."

Namor stood as well, extending a hand in a parting gesture. "Thank you for extending that courtesy, Mr. Haller." There were no goodbyes on his part — Namor had consequences to face elsewhere.