log: Haller/Rachel (backdated)

[x-eidolon.livejournal.com]

After weeks of avoiding Haller, a frightened Rachel finally caves and goes to her brother with her problems.



The whispers chased her down the corridors, dogged in their pursuit of her as she pounded through the hallways, flying over bannisters and over steps until she stood before a door breathing heavily as she jimmied open the lock. She re-locked the door behind her, hoping to bar the ghosts from her safe haven.

But if anything, they grew louder, mental barriers doing nothing to stop their assault on her senses. Every thought process she began was interrupted, by one voice or another.

With a quiet whimper, Rachel made for the bed, nevermind that its occupant was in a deep sleep when she entered. She crawled under the covers and up against his side, a tendril of telepathy snaking out in search of his mind; searching for some comfort.

The bed's occupant didn't thrash or flinch in surprise; he was simply awake. There was no need for a defensive response: the familiar touch to his mind had alerted him to exactly who was in his bed.

"Rachel?" Haller levered himself onto his elbows, turning on the lights with a flick of telekinesis. He made no attempt to move away. One hand instinctively went to stroke her hair, the gesture of a parent comforting a child in a nightmare.

"What's going on?" he asked.

She mumbled unintelligibly into his ribs, wrapping her arms around his too-thin middle and curling inwards like she was trying to crawl into his skin, mirrored by the probing thread of power that dove into Haller's surface thoughts and seemed to want to merge into his brain. There was a tremor of fear echoing down that slim link between them and though the physical trembling was slight, it was hard to miss in such close proximity.

"Full," she finally said audibly, cracked voice still muffled against his bare skin. "Brain isn't shutting up."

Haller returned the embrace and spent a moment focusing his thoughts, trying to pick the tendril of consciousness she'd extended from the fog of interrupted sleep. Though unable to reciprocate, he acknowledged her with a wash of calm reassurance.

"Slow down," he said, moving his hands slowly across her back; the skin beneath her shirt seemed too hot, almost feverish. "Tell me from the beginning. What do you mean?"

The calm helped, and her muscles lost some of the tightly coiled tension - enough that she stopped digging her face into his side in favour of resting her cheek against him instead. "My brain feels full," she repeated, inhaling sharply and taking her time on the exhale -- a sure sign that she was fighting a panic attack. "I don't know. Just full. It was okay at first but it's almost to the brim now and I just--" (Can't.) "It's spilling over."

That was not as enlightening as he had hoped. Haller stroked her short-cropped hair, hoping the physical contact would ground her while he processed the situation. Rachel had been somewhat clingy the first week or so of their return, which, after so long with only one another as company on the astral plane, was understandable enough. After that she'd disengaged somewhat, though he hadn't considered that particularly alarming. Rachel tended to appreciate a certain degree of space, and she was finally in a place where such a thing was feasible again. In retrospect, perhaps he should have made sure she was actually using that time to acclimate to the world and not going slowly insane.

"Full, but not in the sense of anxiety or racing thoughts?" It was only half a question. There was plenty of anxiety in her link, but it seemed to be a symptom, not the disease.

"Like physically full. Like it's going to burst. Like I'm an inflatable wading pool at the bottom of the Niagara Falls. (S'not just thoughts.)" Another half garbled, frustrated sound as she turned her head inwards again, knees coming up to dig into his thighs. "I think I'm going crazy."

Not just thoughts. Haller frowned. "How long has this been going on?"

She stilled, and some apprehension leaked through their temporary connection only to be covered by a wave of what could only be stubbornness. Fingers dug into his ribs (which should not be that visible, stupid man.) "A while." The whispers had started a few days after their return. But it had been manageable and "Charles said I was fine."

"Charles' telepathy is damaged," Haller remarked matter-of-factly. "Although he scanned you when we first came back, wasn't it? You said you felt okay at first . . . maybe whatever what's going on only happened afterwards." He considered for a moment, then gently pushed her away -- not hard and not far, just enough that he could look her in the eyes.

"I want to try to have a look at you," he said. "Keep up the link and drop your shields for me as much as you can, all right?"

Rachel shivered at the loss of contact, ruthlessly stamping down on her fear with the metaphorical heel of her boot (her ghosts helpfully providing a visual image of it, which she batted away). Her frown was heavy as she buried her fingers into his blanket in a death grip and tried to do as he said despite the urge to shut her eyes against the spike in activity in her head. The shields fell easily, her telepathy having never quite recovered from the damage dealt to it during her first trip down the spiral. Green met-- "(Dude, your eyes are weird.) Shit. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. This should only take a moment." Haller rested his hands gently against Rachel's temples, eyes locked onto hers. While he didn't have direct access to the power, David's telepathy had always been strengthened by touch and eye contact. He knew her well, and Rachel was inviting him in. He hoped it would be enough.

He "saw" nothing: no glimpse of her mindscape, no flash of her astral form. Nonetheless, he found himself left with a strange impression. Far from the chaotic fragmentation of madness, the mind behind those green eyes felt -- dense. There was no other word for it. It was as if all that she was had been packed into a space far too small.

Haller withdrew his hands, frowning.

"Well?" She demanded impatiently, arms crossing protectively over her core as she curled into herself and occupied as small a space as possible. The terror she had felt had ebbed away with David's telepathic touch, leaving her feeling apprehensive... and exhausted.

Haller shook his head. "I know what it's not. It's not mental illness, and it's not any kind of outside presence. Your mind's untouched . . . that is to say, I don't feel anything in there that doesn't belong to you. There's something going on, but without access to telepathy I can't get a grip on it."

The words were calmly spoken, but for the first time since his return Haller felt something like frustration. Rachel -- a girl who rarely showed distress, much less fear -- had come to him in the middle of the night like a child in the grip of a nightmare. She needed the kind of help that David should have been able to give, and it was beyond his power. It was something he had never experienced before.

She was quiet for a while, breathing still laboured but steadier. Then she sighed and folded fully onto the bed to press her sweaty forehead against the soft fabric of his sweatpants, taking comfort in David's presence where she could find little in his words.

"Well, if it's just me in here then I guess I'm really losing it," she said, resignation heavy in her voice. As if sensing her defeat, her ghosts had ebbed away a little. They were still there, she could tell. But at least their incessant yammering had slowed to the occasional stray (snarky) comment. "I tried meditation. Physical exertion. TP training. Got an MRI done... But nothing's wrong... (Just not right, either). I think-- might've gotten (more) damaged on the AP."

Well, she'd taken every precaution. On the other hand, knowing Rachel that was actually a fairly damning statement about the depths of her desperation. One long-fingered hand found its way back into her hair to gently toy with the auburn strands. "Aside from the feeling of fullness, are you experiencing anything else?" Haller asked.

Rachel knew better than to voice the thought that maybe she should have just shoved David back to the physical plane alone. But it didn't mean she wasn't thinking it.

"(Multiple)... ghosts(?) in my head." There was a half-hearted shrug. "Sometimes I voice what I hear. The other day, one of them -- (Soldier) -- hit me in the back of my head. Couldn't tell if it was physical or not. But it felt physical. And," Rachel hesitated and peered up him through her fringe, a little sheepish despite everything. "I had a vision. Of a Matt. Briefly." Not her old Matt or their old Matt or the new Matt either (as far as she could tell). Just 'a' Matt. "Sometimes I see images and have conversations with myself and... I know things?"

She took another steadying breath and shook her head wearily, not sure how to explain herself any clearer. "I don't know. It's just full... (too much) (too many) things up there."

Haller brushed the fringe from her eyes. "Well, you may be hallucinating, but it's not schizophrenia. Mental illness and atypical mental systems like DID have a very particular feel -- the brain has its own particular way of functioning, and yours is the same as it's always been." He paused, looking into the eyes so like her mother's. "There was a stretch of time where your dad was sharing brainspace with another psi. Her clan was able to use him as a conduit to interact with people. They could see them, hear them . . . or think they could, anyway. Without evidence of organic damage it could be something like that . . . although neither I nor Charles picked up on an outside presence, so I don't think that's what's happening."

"So basically, we're still on the square that says 'No Fucking Clue'," she summarised for him, quirking a wry, mirthless smile before ducking her head and closing her eyes. Rachel leaned into his touch, and sent a touch of gratitude down the strand of telepathy she had not yet withdrawn. "Dr. Reyes said she sent my MRI scans to a brain specialist so we're waiting on that. But, y'know. Seems more and more like I'm losing the plot and going cray cray. We may have to start discussing take down methods." (Kinda running out of options here, Red.)

"If you haven't tried the Box yet, we can set you up there for a while -- if nothing else it will confirm or deny external influence or anything you might be picking up." Haller tapped the crown of her head. "Or we could discuss why you decided to spend a few weeks avoiding me so you could go slowly insane. Were you afraid I would accuse you of plagiarizing?"

Rachel huffed, a sound of vague discontentment, but as bland as David's current personality was being, she knew that there was a thread of concern to be made out (because, hello, kinda in his head right now). "You have your own shit to deal with, especially since you're not being Jim right now," she finally said, stalling any response he might have had to that by jabbing a warning finger into his thigh. "Plus it wasn't so bad that I couldn't handle it (at first). Figured it was an adjustment period of sorts after the whole... y'know."

Frankly, it was surprising she hadn't been more crippled by the amount of power she had expanded just getting them both down. And she knew that he knew it too. "They're quieter now. (Almost.) They kind of back off when I do this." She wriggled the telepathic strand a little, tugging on it a little as though contemplating removing it. She should definitely try the Box. (Maybe.) (Doubtful it would help.) (Shut up.)

Haller idly returned her jab to the thigh with a light flick of her ear. "I will never have that much shit to deal with, Ray. Though if it backs down when you use your telepathy . . . could be a matter of grounding, or maybe it's something to do with taking you out of your head. You feel -- crowded." He rubbed the back of his head, considering. "You're right, it's hard to put into words. It reminds me of -- well, Xorn's consciousness stretched across the astral plane in no way I'd ever seen before. Doug processes information entirely unlike a normal mind. I wonder if yours is adapting somehow, too."

Rachel didn't bother retaliating, just curled up into a tighter ball. "It's not stretched. It's crammed." (In my head.) (Fuck you, it's not your head.) "If it's adapting, it better adapt before my brain explodes." Now wouldn't that be a sight. "Fucking Xorn," she added, just for good measure.

"We could find that helmet he wore. You know, contain the shrapnel." He countered his wildly unreassuring words with a marginally reassuring backrub. "But I don't think it'll come to that. The worst part is not knowing what you're dealing with. The more possibilities you eliminate, the closer we get to the cause. Besides, I'm not entirely convinced you wouldn't survive a direct nuclear strike. I don't see the astral plane being what takes you down."

There was a pause that spanned a heartbeat or two, then: "Did you just call me a cockroach?!"

Because of course that was what she would focus on.

Rachel thumped him on the thigh hard once, and then twice for good measure. "That helmet is fugly as shit, dude. And if anything, I think the astral plane is exactly what would take me down," she said thoughtfully. "I spent more time on it than on this plane, after all. Maybe it's telling me to go back. (Maybe this time there's no fixing me)."

Well, she hadn't meant to voice that thought. Bloody peanut-crapping ghosts. The redhead scowled at David's blanket.

"Maybe." The response was mild, and equally as thoughtful. "You're a third generation psionic. Maybe you're more suited to an existence on the astral plane. Or maybe taking me in, then taking me out -- someone who's never adapted to the plane like you did, who would have ceased to exist there if you hadn't intervened -- is what did this to you. Maybe expending that power caused irreversible damage." Haller turned his too-pale blue eyes on her again. "Or maybe it's not damage at all. Maybe it's just change, and this is just the first step of many." He brushed the sweat-damp fringe from her eyes again. "My point is, it could be a lot of things. Let's narrow it down before you decide you're being rejected by an entire plane of existence."

She was fairly certain that given enough time in the astral plane, she would (probably) dissipate into the cosmos just as surely as he would have. Unless she really had been fundamentally altered during her multiple trips down the Spiral. But the redhead kept that thought to herself too and tucked it away as a backup plan."'kay," she mumbled, arms now wrapping around his thigh the way she would a bolster pillow. "Worth it, though."

Haller didn't argue with that. It didn't matter whether he valued her life over his own. Saving him had been important to Rachel. He wasn't going to insult her by arguing with what had been her choice to make.

"We'll figure it out," he said instead. "Would you like to go to Charles or the Box right now, or would you rather wait?"

"Later. M'comfy." The ghosts were definitely calmer now, and nights of restless sleeping had worn her thin - she really didn't want to move when it was this peaceful. And if she woke up swinging, well, her adopted brother knew how to deal with stray TK attacks better than Clint did. "It's ridic o' clock. Your dad's most probably sleeping too."

"Charles doesn't sleep. He only waits. But okay, we'll wait until morning." Haller leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "Get some sleep. I'll be here."