Post by Pyro on Sept 5, 2006 3:13:47 GMT -5
In which Professor Charles Xavier proves that even the very great can sometimes get it very wrong
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“Bobby said you wanted to see me, Professor.”
Professor Charles Xavier looked up from his book and smiled at the gawky, awkward boy standing before him. “Yes, John, thank you for coming. Please – take a seat.” He indicated the bench that was the only furniture in the rose arbour and watched John as he sat down.
Awkward, anxious, angry.
All of these emotions were easy to sense coming from the boy. He’d been at the Institute now for four months and although he seemed to have begun to settle down, the Professor was keenly aware of John’s mental plight. He had felt the terror emanating from him in the small hours of the previous morning and had been surprised at how difficult it had been to soothe him down into sleep again.
“How are you settling in?” Small talk usually helped open the pathways for deeper conversation, and the Professor was a damn sight better than most at manipulating conversations round to the point.
John ran his fingers nervously through his hair.
“OK I guess,” he said, with a nonchalant shrug. He’s still too thin, too undersized. The Professor knew, from Storm, that John had been caught several times raiding the kitchen in the dead of night, still unused to the fact that he didn’t have to steal any longer. There had been no reprimand issued, only a gentle reassurance that it would be alright, that he didn’t have to worry.
“And your roommate?” Charles had been pleased at the friendship he’d seen forming between John and Bobby Drake. They complemented one another well; Bobby had a strong sense of what was right and wrong and helped steer his new friend down the right path, whilst John had an easy arrogance and confidence in himself that was strengthening Bobby.
“Yeah, he’s cool. Literally.” The simple joke referring to Bobby’s abilities made Charles smile and he sensed a wave of pleased surprise from John that he’d induced that response. Then the suspicion and uncertainty returned. The boy’s mind jumped around like a Mexican Jumping Bean and Charles gently steered it down a single path of thought.
“Bobby talked to me about your nightmares,” said Charles, carefully and was again rewarded with the nonchalant shrug that meant he was encroaching on territory that John would rather he didn’t. He had to, though. He couldn’t constantly afford to replace curtains whenever John set fire to them. “I can help you,” he added.
“They’re just dreams.”
You don’t believe that.
“I know that they’re just dreams. I can handle it.”
You don’t believe that.
There was a long, uncomfortable pause.
“I always had bad dreams,” said John, trying to fill up the silence. Some of the old tricks when having a conversation were undeniably the best. “But they’ve got worse since I got here.” The hand raked through the hair again. He had any number of physical nervous habits that gave away his feelings. Charles fixed him with look of sympathy.
Never take up poker, son, you’ll be out after three rounds.
“Your ability to control flame appears to be psionic,” he said, gently. “That is, you use your mind to will the strength and form of the fire to the shape you desire. This leaves your mind sensitive t psionic and psychic vibrations, particularly when you are at rest. I’m sure you’ve realised that there are more psychics here at the Institute than just myself.”
“Jean Grey,” came the prompt reply. “It’s her dreams I’m having, isn’t it?”
Ten out of ten for perception. This boy has good potential.
“Why do you say that?”
“I – couldn’t tell you.” John stood up and moved away slightly, fingering one of the roses as he formulated an articulate sentence in his mind. “You know how sometimes you wake up in the morning and you know you’ve missed the alarm clock? Or how you sense it’s going to rain seconds before it does? I just…know. Instinctually.”
He was rather surprisingly articulate and literate, something that the Professor had been pleased to note. A mind as active as John Allerdyce’s needed to be constantly challenged, otherwise he would settle into brooding. It was not so dissimilar from the way a certain Scott Summers had been when he’d first arrived at the Institute.
“I can help you deal with the nightmares, John,” said Professor Xavier softly. The boy’s surface thoughts were complicated, filled with the memories of the life he’d known up until now. Many of his students were survivors, John Allerdyce was no exception. However, there was something else there. Something…dangerous that Charles wasn’t sure even the boy was aware of. “I can help. But you have to be prepared to help yourself as well.”
“I am prepared to help myself. I came here didn’t I? I’m ready.” A lie? All the years of loneliness and brooding have made it difficult for you, John. I know this, I can sense it. But I am here to help you.
The boy swatted vaguely at the side of his head as if to get rid of a buzzing insect. He really was surprisingly receptive to psychic vibrations. The Professor made a mental note to work on that first.
“Would you do me a favour, John? Do you see those yellow roses over there? They need pruning back a little.” He pointed at a pair of secateurs and smiled. “The problem with my condition is that caring for my rose garden is no longer so easy. Perhaps you would be good enough to do this small favour for me.”
The boy’s brow furrowed, then he gave off that same easy shrug and picked up the shears, pruning back the thorns as directed. As always, it worked. Concentrating on the physical task meant that the barriers erected around his mind were temporarily lowered, allowing Charles Xavier the opportunity to touch John’s mind.
Some of the memories ran extraordinarily deep – they would require many sessions to deal with. But Charles sensed it again, that something…terrible locked far away in the back of John’s mind. He knew it for what it was: early signs of serious mental collapse. He’d dealt with such things before – successfully. With careful work, he could keep the beast at bay possibly for years. Intricate ‘caging’ of such mental states was one of the things that he was best at, after all.
The boy was actually whistling as he worked. This gladdened Charles’ heart. He had seen enough unhappiness, had cried himself to sleep enough nights. That he was able to reach through that and bring the boy’s happiness to the fore was just another example of why he did the things he did.
There was hope for John Allerdyce yet.
---------------------
“Bobby said you wanted to see me, Professor.”
Professor Charles Xavier looked up from his book and smiled at the gawky, awkward boy standing before him. “Yes, John, thank you for coming. Please – take a seat.” He indicated the bench that was the only furniture in the rose arbour and watched John as he sat down.
Awkward, anxious, angry.
All of these emotions were easy to sense coming from the boy. He’d been at the Institute now for four months and although he seemed to have begun to settle down, the Professor was keenly aware of John’s mental plight. He had felt the terror emanating from him in the small hours of the previous morning and had been surprised at how difficult it had been to soothe him down into sleep again.
“How are you settling in?” Small talk usually helped open the pathways for deeper conversation, and the Professor was a damn sight better than most at manipulating conversations round to the point.
John ran his fingers nervously through his hair.
“OK I guess,” he said, with a nonchalant shrug. He’s still too thin, too undersized. The Professor knew, from Storm, that John had been caught several times raiding the kitchen in the dead of night, still unused to the fact that he didn’t have to steal any longer. There had been no reprimand issued, only a gentle reassurance that it would be alright, that he didn’t have to worry.
“And your roommate?” Charles had been pleased at the friendship he’d seen forming between John and Bobby Drake. They complemented one another well; Bobby had a strong sense of what was right and wrong and helped steer his new friend down the right path, whilst John had an easy arrogance and confidence in himself that was strengthening Bobby.
“Yeah, he’s cool. Literally.” The simple joke referring to Bobby’s abilities made Charles smile and he sensed a wave of pleased surprise from John that he’d induced that response. Then the suspicion and uncertainty returned. The boy’s mind jumped around like a Mexican Jumping Bean and Charles gently steered it down a single path of thought.
“Bobby talked to me about your nightmares,” said Charles, carefully and was again rewarded with the nonchalant shrug that meant he was encroaching on territory that John would rather he didn’t. He had to, though. He couldn’t constantly afford to replace curtains whenever John set fire to them. “I can help you,” he added.
“They’re just dreams.”
You don’t believe that.
“I know that they’re just dreams. I can handle it.”
You don’t believe that.
There was a long, uncomfortable pause.
“I always had bad dreams,” said John, trying to fill up the silence. Some of the old tricks when having a conversation were undeniably the best. “But they’ve got worse since I got here.” The hand raked through the hair again. He had any number of physical nervous habits that gave away his feelings. Charles fixed him with look of sympathy.
Never take up poker, son, you’ll be out after three rounds.
“Your ability to control flame appears to be psionic,” he said, gently. “That is, you use your mind to will the strength and form of the fire to the shape you desire. This leaves your mind sensitive t psionic and psychic vibrations, particularly when you are at rest. I’m sure you’ve realised that there are more psychics here at the Institute than just myself.”
“Jean Grey,” came the prompt reply. “It’s her dreams I’m having, isn’t it?”
Ten out of ten for perception. This boy has good potential.
“Why do you say that?”
“I – couldn’t tell you.” John stood up and moved away slightly, fingering one of the roses as he formulated an articulate sentence in his mind. “You know how sometimes you wake up in the morning and you know you’ve missed the alarm clock? Or how you sense it’s going to rain seconds before it does? I just…know. Instinctually.”
He was rather surprisingly articulate and literate, something that the Professor had been pleased to note. A mind as active as John Allerdyce’s needed to be constantly challenged, otherwise he would settle into brooding. It was not so dissimilar from the way a certain Scott Summers had been when he’d first arrived at the Institute.
“I can help you deal with the nightmares, John,” said Professor Xavier softly. The boy’s surface thoughts were complicated, filled with the memories of the life he’d known up until now. Many of his students were survivors, John Allerdyce was no exception. However, there was something else there. Something…dangerous that Charles wasn’t sure even the boy was aware of. “I can help. But you have to be prepared to help yourself as well.”
“I am prepared to help myself. I came here didn’t I? I’m ready.” A lie? All the years of loneliness and brooding have made it difficult for you, John. I know this, I can sense it. But I am here to help you.
The boy swatted vaguely at the side of his head as if to get rid of a buzzing insect. He really was surprisingly receptive to psychic vibrations. The Professor made a mental note to work on that first.
“Would you do me a favour, John? Do you see those yellow roses over there? They need pruning back a little.” He pointed at a pair of secateurs and smiled. “The problem with my condition is that caring for my rose garden is no longer so easy. Perhaps you would be good enough to do this small favour for me.”
The boy’s brow furrowed, then he gave off that same easy shrug and picked up the shears, pruning back the thorns as directed. As always, it worked. Concentrating on the physical task meant that the barriers erected around his mind were temporarily lowered, allowing Charles Xavier the opportunity to touch John’s mind.
Some of the memories ran extraordinarily deep – they would require many sessions to deal with. But Charles sensed it again, that something…terrible locked far away in the back of John’s mind. He knew it for what it was: early signs of serious mental collapse. He’d dealt with such things before – successfully. With careful work, he could keep the beast at bay possibly for years. Intricate ‘caging’ of such mental states was one of the things that he was best at, after all.
The boy was actually whistling as he worked. This gladdened Charles’ heart. He had seen enough unhappiness, had cried himself to sleep enough nights. That he was able to reach through that and bring the boy’s happiness to the fore was just another example of why he did the things he did.
There was hope for John Allerdyce yet.
