Jean and Haller: Heal Thyself

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Jean talks with Haller on the back porch about what it means to be a staff member at the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters


The back porch had been a popular haven for the mansion's smokers for some time now. It hadn't changed much over the years, save for the occasional new coat of paint. And when it wasn't used by the smokers it was often populated by those who wished to be left alone with their thoughts.

And sometimes those people were one in the same, or in this case, five.

Jean knew she'd find Haller here, or at least one of the places. He tended to try to retreat into himself when he was stressed, something they often had in common. Slipping into one of the patio chairs, she spent a few moments taking in the scenery.

"I always liked it out here."

"Yeah. I guess if we're going to smoke in exile we should at least get a nice view." The porch's occupant had been availing himself of both purposes. Jim exhaled a slow cloud of smoke before removing the cigarette from his lips before turning to Jean. His brown and blue eyes were tired. "Hey."

"Hi," Jean said with a soft smile, drawing her legs up onto the chair so that they leaned against the arm rest. She never really 'let her hair down' anywhere else but the mansion, and even then not as much around the students. For some reason she always felt she had to be an example of professionalism. When the students graduated, moving up to the big bad adult world, she relaxed a little, showing that she was indeed a flawed human being just like everyone else. But sometimes she had to remember to do that and so it fell into routine.

With Haller, he had a special insight into her, and vice versa. Psis tended to share a special bond, most particularly when they'd been in each other's heads. They could often tell when something was amiss.

"Are you okay?" Jean said. It was rhetorical, though. She knew he wasn't.

"David just got back from talking about disappointing his father again," the counselor replied in the detached, vaguely matter-of-fact tone that indicated he wasn't actively experiencing what he felt at the moment, which wasn't uncommon after a difficult therapy session. Most of them had been difficult recently. Jim sighed and tapped off the cigarette ash. "David needs to stop talking in third person because it's unhealthy. I hate when Allen and the professor overlap."

"I'm sure Allen also told you that disappointment does not mean Charles loves you any less," Jean said, watching the wind blow through the trees. She rested her head against the back of the chair.

"You've all had a rough few months. It always seems to happen like that, doesn't it? Feast or famine."

"Yeah, but the feast carries over into the famine. It's like some kind of trauma-tapeworm." The younger man leaned back in the chair, unconsciously mirroring and exaggerating Jean's posture until his head draped over the back. "Sometimes I wonder why I'm even here."

Jean laughed mirthlessly at the analogy, finding it quite apt. "What would you do if you weren't?"

"Work on Muir. Set up something full-time with my city patients or District X. Go back to volunteering at psych institutions like I did before. A number of things, really." Jim stared up at the porch overhang. "I like being a counselor. It's just . . . sometimes I think we do more harm than good here. For the kids, I mean. Yeah, a lot of them came with baggage, but how many times have they been kidnapped or attacked since they came here? I've lost count of how many incidents there've been, and there never seems to be anything we can do to stop it."

"And yet, they're still here, and so are we," Jean said, the statement neutral, not with pride nor with regret. She shook her head. "I would give anything to make sure those kids never had to worry ever again. We do what we do so that some day there will be peace. And some day is not here yet. Will it ever come? I don't know. Will it get better? Perhaps. The loudest voice in the room is the one who everyone looks to. And if that voice speaks of changing things for the better...then those who would like things to stay the same will gravitate toward it and try to stifle it. The world can be a horrible, horrible place. We've seen it, they've seen it. But I do believe we are doing good. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

Jean sighed. "Yes, we draw attention to ourselves doing what we do, and the students happen to get in the crossfire. And it tears out my heart, every time. I don't have an answer for how to protect them. I wish I did. But for some of the children this is the closest thing to a home they've ever had. I can only imagine what might have become of some of them had we not been here. I don't think there will ever be a way to completely shield them. We just have to do what we can."

Jim dragged his head back up to contribute a weary nod. "Yeah, I know. And I'm not coming up with any good alternatives, either. We can't just turn people away -- and I'm not convinced severing ties with the X-Men would help. Some of what happens is just a consequence of having so many mutants in one place at once time. And that's excluding the kids with magic." He looked at the cigarette in his hand with a sigh of his own. "Still, the fact is they're getting hurt. They've been hurt. Tandy still has nightmares about D'Spayre. Rachel lost her whole world, and since that thing with Essex she's just been adrift. Molly -- I can't believe we haven't had more kids like Molly. Every time something happens they lose a little bit more power over their own lives. Helplessness is a poison. It's natural to either numb it out, like Tandy, or be like Molly and actively try to take that control back." The telepath's two-colored eyes fixed on the smoldering end of the cigarette. "It's my job to help, and I don't have anything to give them."

"Don't you?" Jean said with a soft smile. "I remember a man that burst through a bathroom door to help a bewildered teenage girl navigate the world that barged in her head because he knew exactly what she was going through. Or the one that helped a girl realize that using her powers to numb people emotionally was not the way to cope. The man that is always there to pick them back up when they fall down or they're broken, when he thinks he's broken himself. No, we can't always protect them, but we can give them the tools they need to protect themselves. Physically, and emotionally."

Jim managed to curb the instinct to dismiss the encouragement. He attributed the impulse to poor self-esteem; Cyndi called it the desire to be miserable. Since Cyndi was the incarnation of bald truth her assessment was probably the more accurate.

It was difficult not to be hard on himself. He had a minimum of two vocal critics before the thoughts even left his head. Still, Jean didn't just talk to hear the sound of her own voice. She was kind, but she didn't coddle, and she certainly wouldn't lie just to salve a wounded ego. He could take her words for what they were and accept the compliment.

Finally straightening in his seat, the counselor stubbed out his cigarette. "You're right," Jim conceded. "I'm feeling sorry for myself. Win some, lose some, and then keep trying either way. That's how it always goes. Sometimes I just get tired." He gave her a crooked smile. "I wish I could be like you and Dr. Reyes. When you set a bone or stitch a wound, it's fixed. Tangible problem, tangible solution."

"Cecilia and I pick up the pieces and sew them back together. It's up to the person to do the healing. We merely set them up with the means in order to get there. It's the same with the mind. Sometimes it takes a guiding hand to set things right after a trauma. We heal the body, you heal the mind. Can't have one without the other," Jean said, shrugging.

"So yes, you're feeling sorry for yourself. You feel like you failed. You care what happens to people. Recognize it, wallow in it, accept it, and move on. It means you're doing your job. Unfortunately, both our jobs, yours and mine, are not just to prevent harm but to also be there in aftermath. We try, and sometimes fail. It's going to happen. It's life. And yes, you also have very right to be tired, or sad, or heartbroken when things happen, not just to the students but to you as well. You're human, David. You're not a machine. Sometimes you have to take the time and heal yourself."

"I'll try. Taking care of myself has never been our strong suit, is all." Jim leaned forward to rest his chin in his hand. "And yeah. I knew I was accepting triage duty when I started out. Most of the time I'm okay . . . I just wish I could give them more options. Or at least a sense of control. I feel like the New Mutants program helps them deal with the immediate crisis -- it's just the stuff after that." He shook his head. "I have to think about it."

"Even the adults have those problems. The children, they're innocent...but resilient. Sometimes I think they come out stronger than we do," Jean said. She glanced him over. "And it's not just you. We're in this together, all the staff. We teach them, we're responsible. We'll find a way, together."

"Yeah." Jim briefly met her gaze, then nodded. "Yeah, you're right." It was a simple answer, but also the only way to look at it. Regardless of how he might tear himself apart, at least he had consensus that the students' welfare was non-negotiable.

"And speaking of which, I did have another purpose coming out here to find you," Jean said, untangling herself from the mess of long legs and arms that she'd twisted herself up into.

"Charles asked me to bring you into help with Hope."

"Hm?" The seeming non-sequitur caught him by surprise, but at the mention of the student Jim visibly regained some focus.

"We think she's ready to start to move to the next level when it comes to the astral plane. The first time she manifested it was by accident, but she's been reading up on it a lot lately," Jean said.

"And since you've worked with her before on her emotional control, I think it would be a good thing to be there again as a tether, something to give her focus. Since she learned it the first time through you."

"Oh, right . . . in Avalon you had to show her back to her body." He hadn't been there, but he, Jean and the professor had discussed it briefly after the incident during the Red X assignment. Jim rubbed the back of his head, considering. "Well, I'm not that great outside of individual minds, but if she needs the security of an anchor spotting her shouldn't be a problem."

"It'd give me one less thing to have to worry about," Jean said. "If you're up for it."

Jim nodded thoughtfully. "Sure, I can do that. I like Hope. Besides, nobody ever argued with a little less stress in their lives."

"Thanks," Jean said with a smile. It'd gotten better to be around Hope, and she could've managed it, but both she and Charles agreed that Haller needed something to work on, to keep him going.

She squeezed his hand. "You want a beer? I know where Logan's stash is."

Jim winced for reasons that had nothing to do with the squeeze. "Jesus, no. Lorna brought over vodka Monday night and I'm still hungover. I think she got it from a chef friend with connections through customs because I'm positive that proof isn't legal in the United States."

Jean laughed. "Well, now I know where to come to if Scott needs something that will take the paint off a car," she mused.

"Fair enough. I should probably head down to the medlab. It's pretty close to time for my shift. I'll let Hope know about our intent for training, see if we can set up a good time."

"Okay. Just let me know." Jim watched the doctor as she rose. "Um, Jean?" he ventured. "Thanks."

Crossing to the door, Jean paused to smile. "You're welcome," she said affectionately. Over the years she'd come to think of him as the brother she'd never had.

The younger man watched her go. For a moment he pondered another cigarette, then decided against it. He'd been out long enough.

It was time to get on with life.