First Session

Note from Tapestry: This is purely noncanon, as the character has been retired from the game, but Red and I went about speculating about what that threatened meeting between Haller and Manuel would have been like. And then the intellectual exercise sort of turned into a log. We had no clue what to do with it, so we decided to just call it fic and be done with it. So, yeah. Enjoy.

Set between Lost In The Woods and Bleeding.

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Manuel yawned as he waited for this new counselor to arrive. He'd had a long day yesterday, what with a full day of work and then being out until 2 at the clubs. It was a Friday, and Manuel had been good all week. He deserved a little relaxation. Besides, that _hot_ little girl from ... shit, he couldn't even remember where was there, wearing nothing much at all, and the way she moved should have been _illegal_. Manny grinned just remembering it. At least they were doing this meeting off-campus - he was so not up for putting up with the atmosphere at Xavier's. Just thinking about it made his heart ache.

Jim paused in front of the buzzer, lowering the directions to study the intercom. Sure enough, the name "de la Rocha" had been penciled in neatly beside one of the buttons. Not so very far from the school, actually, but then, the boy was still seeing Samson and the professor on occasion. Crumpling the paper into his jacket pocket, Jim buzzed the apartment Manuel was hopefully inhabiting.

Manuel nearly jumped out of his skull when the buzzer went off. He was really starting to hate that thing. He thumbed the door-unlock button while sending a short spike of "Hurry up and get in here already" impatience. While he waited he uncorked a fresh bottle of wine and poured himself a glass. Hair of the dog might make him feel better, and maybe this new counselor wouldn't have quite as big of a stick shoved up his ass as Xavier or Samson. He thought about some music, but this was business, not a seduction. Maybe later. He knew nothing of this new counselor, other than that he was supposedly an expert in traumatic psionic episodes. Snorting with amusement, Manuel curled back up in his chair to wait.

The unexpected surge of impatience did not go unnoticed; Charles had warned him Manuel lacked psychic etiquette when it came to his empathy. Jim took the time spent getting from the front door to the second-floor apartment to recheck his shields. He couldn't stop the fluctuations, but he could monitor them. And anyway, he wasn't one to judge on resorting to psionic communication.

He stopped at the boy's door. The empathic communication had made its sender's intentions quite clear, and Jim suspected it was best to follow his instincts with Manuel. Instead of knocking, he extended a polite telepathic warning and opened the door.

Manuel appreciated the courtesy Jim extended to him. Point to him. "You must be the new counselor. Manuel de la Rocha, and it's a pleasure to meet you." he said, standing and offering his hand to the tall lanky newcomer. "Won't you take a seat? Would you like a glass of wine, or would you prefer something else?" he asked, playing his role as host to the hilt. "Cigar?"

Jim kept his emotions professionally subdued, but unshielded. He wasn't confident in his ability to block something as inherently subconscious as emotions, and from what he'd heard of Manuel it was better to take the direct approach. "David Haller," he smiled, accepting the hand. "And no, thank you. Alcohol has an adverse effect on my coherency, although I may smoke." He patted a pocket absently. "I'll stick with cigarettes. The tea never really caught on with me, despite Charles' efforts."

Manuel nodded, and provided a cheap battered lighter for Jim's use if he saw fit. "So - you're the new counselor at Xavier's. What on Earth possessed you to take up such a thankless position?"

Jim laughed. "Everyone asks me that, and then they give me odd looks when I tell them it's to recover from burning out after a few years working with the mentally ill. Which I also am," he conceded, "which may be a better answer to your question."

Manuel couldn't help but wince at that. "I've done my own work with the insane." he said understandingly, then sipped at his wine. "Did you have any particular specialty? Mine was catatonics or other non-responsive sorts."

The telepath smiled. "The same, though skewed towards powers-related trauma, particularly psychic. Normally in children or young-adults." He shook out a cigarette and placed it in his mouth, nodding at Manuel before picking up the proffered lighter. "Was your experience before or after the school?"

"Before." he said. "Although my experiences were not entirely ... voluntary. I trust that Xavier has given you access to my file?" he asked, voice held _very_ steady. He didn't like talking about his past at the best of times, and he barely even knew this nutball sitting on his guest chair.

"He did," Jim admitted, and he was grateful for that; it was clearly a touchy subject. "The voluntary aspect was why I wondered. The file was pretty basic -- I didn't know if you'd continued afterwards or not." He exhaled a column of smoke, smiling wryly. "Maybe I'm just jealous you could help people in the state you were in. It was almost ten years before I learned enough about my telepathy to use it for anything more than keeping myself in touch with the real world. Helping others was out of the question. I could barely help myself."

Manuel snorted. "Just for the time spent in the asylum." he said. "Prying secrets from secretive brains, making them want to talk, making them trust me ... love me, even. And if the guards felt cruel, they'd turn my powers on chemically then leave me locked up with the violent criminals for a few hours until the chemicals burned out." he said with just a faint undertone of bitterness. "And people wonder why I distrust anyone in a lab coat."

"Absolute violation. I remember that." Jim stared at the cigarette burning in his hand, but his tone -- and corresponding emotional state -- had barely changed. Years of therapy and clinical detachment had accomplished that much, at least. "It only happened twice, for me. The first time was when I suddenly discovered I could read minds. The second was when Charles had to force his way into my head to bring me back from it." He took another drag, closing his eyes. "The first time was an accident, and the second for my own good. Made no difference. It was the most horrifying thing I've ever experienced, before or since." He opened his mismatched eyes and fixed them on Manuel. "I can't imagine living that way."

"I did it for about six years. The last four or so of which had me being turned on and off like a light. One drug makes you big, one drug makes you small, you get me? And since I wouldn't swallow it and I wouldn't permit them to inject me, I'll bet you can just guess how they had to get the drug into my system. And you can't aerosolize lithium." he said with a harsh laugh. "At the end, I would have done anything just to feel again. To be taken out of the chemical fog. But I also knew that when the fog lifted it was because I had to go violate somebody. And I did it. What choice did I have?"

Jim nodded slowly. "To be safe, or to be alive. Knowing that if you come out, you can't help but hurt others. The ambivalence is what will kill you, in the end." He rolled the cigarette in his fingers in a gesture that was reflective, habitual. "And then there are times when what you want doesn't matter at all. It's easier, in a way. If it wasn't your decision you don't have to worry about the choices you made. All you have to do is deal with the consequences, and move on."

"At least I got a great deal of experience with madness and death from the inside. Have you ever been inside the mind of someone who doesn't feel along the same axis as normal folks do? Or been inside someone's mind as they died, felt a part of you rip away as the mind you were in winked out?" he asked, sipping from his wineglass again. "So what do you think _you_ can do for _me_, Mr Haller? What possible expertise do you bring to the table that can mean a damned thing to me?"

"The same again." The man's answering smile was lopsided, the emotional undercurrents stained red with old pain. "Six. The manifestation of my powers killed six people. I felt their bones shatter. Their organs boil. And I was in their minds with them, holding them, while the same power that put me there tore them apart. I was completely untrained, and terrified, and I destroyed them. Utterly." He looked up from his cigarette, again meeting the empath's eyes. "I've been that mind that doesn't think and feel along the same axis. I always will be. Some things you can't recover from. Not really." And now the smile curved with the barest ghost of bitterness. "It was a hard lesson for a ten-year-old."

"All that I can say that I've destroyed, discounting what you may or may not think about Amanda, is my parents' marriage." he said. "Emotional honesty from a twelve-year-old is a little more than most parents are prepared to accept. And I didn't know then what I know now, so I couldn't help but feel ... everything. Even the mutually-contradictory emotions, or the sex-linked ones. That was a real eye-opener, let me tell you." he said with a dry-as-dust chuckle. "And you haven't answered my question. Besides being the poster child for stability, what do you think you can bring to the table that will help me in the slightest? I already know what madness is, what it feels like. I know what it is to feel differently from everyone else. Quite frankly, Mr Haller, you're boring me. I understand that your manifestation was quite tragic. I even feel a degree of pity for you. But you're supposed to be the one who helps _me_, not the other way around. I'm very sorry to say that I don't give a shit about your troubles."

Jim shrugged. "And there's no reason you should. As you pointed out, this isn't about me. So, in response to your question: whatever you feel I can offer. I'm not an empath, and I haven't been through what you've been through. Some of it I can't even begin to imagine. What I do have is better equivalent experience in this area than either Leonard or Charles. If you think you can use that, we can give it a shot. If not, then I'll give you my card and be on my way." A sharper edge entered his smile. "I'm not Leonard. I only work on a voluntary basis. And quite frankly, wasting my time would bore both of us."

Manuel quirked an eyebrow. This Haller character had a backbone. How very entertaining. "How surprising." he said with a brief smile. "A therapist with a backbone." He shifted in his chair slightly to make himself more comfortable. "They sent you to me for a reason. Could just be the equivalent of a hazing prank, or they could honestly believe that you have something that could help me. Either way, I suppose we'll give it a try and see where it goes. It's not like I have to worry about your motivations." he said with a slightly cruel smile. "What would you care to discuss?" he asked after a moment and a sip of wine.

"I prefer to think of it as pragmatism. I may be his student, but Charles' saint-like benevolence didn't take. Much like the love of tea." Jim took another drag, leaning back in his chair himself. "As for what we discuss, that's up to you. I'm here to help you, after all. Like I said, I'm not interested in coercing the unwilling."

Manuel quirked an eyebrow. Very different from the shrinks of his childhood, or even that fool Samson. "It's refreshing that you're not envious of my empathic talent. It could be very useful for someone like yourself who deals with psych problems for a living." he said. "Why is that? Do you think that telepathy is really in the same arena of usefulness in cases like mine? Does knowing my thoughts help you formulate a better strategy?"

Jim arched an eyebrow of his own. "It's an interesting question. What's more helpful to know, thoughts or emotions? A person's thoughts can lie, even if they don't know it themselves -- but emotion alone can be difficult to decipher." He reached out to the ashtray and tapped the ash from his cigarette. "In this case it's a moot point. I only use my telepathy if I'm working with a patient who requires it. To explain, to demonstrate, to confront . . . necessary cases. Everyday life is different. As far as telepaths go, I'm functionally autistic."

Manuel hrmmed thoughtfully. "Interesting. So they send me a defective. Why?" he mused out loud. "I believe that emotions cannot lie. They can be obscured, difficult to tease out, but it takes a very specific sort of mental dysfunction to be able to thoroughly fake an emotion. Thoughts, however, are too easy duplicitious. Or so Nathan told me at great length." he said with a grunt. "So, to me, given a choice between thought and emotion, or between voice and emotion, I will choose the emotion every time. It's invariably more honest and more correct."

"I try to get by without either, if I can. I have enough conflicting signals of my own to deal with without adding anyone else's to the mix. Probably the reason why I can't say I'm jealous of your empathy." Jim fingered the cigarette thoughtfully. "I can't fake emotions, and my shielding isn't that good. But I've had to learn how to focus on certain ones over the years, calibrate the responses to what's suitable for the moment. I've never really thought about how I decide which is appropriate. Something in the voice, the body language . . . those can be faked, too, but I've found they can communicate more than the actual words."

"You sound like Doug." he said sourly. "And I don't have to worry about these mixed signals of yours when motivation shines as if written with a floodlight across the sky." he said. "But I will give you this - words are meaningless."

"We work to compensate for our defects," Jim smiled. "And I don't know . . . as a telepath and a therapist I've found a great deal of meaning in what words don't say, or how what they do is presented. Emotion to thought to word. Where do the changes happen, and why?" He shrugged. "The wonders of the human mind."

"Overly complicated, and there's too many steps where something can go wrong. Why bother with all the intermediary _crap_ when you can just get down to the root causes?" he said, and then sighed. "I shouldn't expect you to understand. You're no empath, as you have reminded me. As a telepath, you should be more comfortable with thought-to-word. Feeling-to-word is clumsy and imprecise."

Jim nodded his agreement. "It is. Frustratingly so, sometimes. But pure emotion can be even more difficult." He frowned thoughtfully. "Normally one response is informed by the whole, with varying degrees of gradation depending on the circumstance, but for people with my pathology emotional extremes can become . . . independent. At its worst, there are no degrees -- when a particular response is triggered it's all or nothing. Maybe that's why I have reservations about putting my faith in emotion. Sometimes they don't present the rational whole."

Manuel waved off that objection. "Pah." he said, warming up to this back-and-forth. He was, it seemed, still a sucker for a nice cut-and-thrust intellectual conversation. He stood for a moment to dig out one of his treasured cigars - on his salary, he couldn't afford them too often, but it seemed to be a good time for one. Expertly cutting the end off and lighting it, he puffed a few times to really get the smoke going. Ahh, perfect. "Pure emotion is the only honest reaction a human can ever have. And that's because it comes from a primal place deep inside and only gets gunned through the prism of the intellect imperfectly at best, and not at all in some cases. If you wish to know a man - or a woman, but women are such _simple_ creatures, wouldn't you agree? - know their emotions."

"People in general are still indecipherable to me," Jim admitted with a smile. He'd almost burned through the cigarette; he got out his pack again so he could light another without pausing. "Emotion is primal, and visceral. There's an honesty to that. But we don't choose how we feel. We do choose how we handle those feelings. That's the distinction that interests me."

Manuel nodded. "It is endlessly fascinating, is it not? A pity my early efforts in understanding that phenomenon were spectacularly unsuccessful." he said with a gesture of his cigar. "I cannot abide being lied to, did my dossier mention that? I can tell instantly, and it's like a slap in the face when I see one thing and hear another."

It had, as a matter of fact, which was one of the reasons Jim was glad his natural tendency ran to the contrary. "When the truth is obvious, being told the opposite is insulting. Even comforting fictions, like 'everything is going to be all right.'" He stubbed out the spent cigarette and lit the new one. "It's hard to trust people when they ask you to believe a lie."

Manuel nodded. "Finally, someone agrees with me!" he said with real surprise. "And I have been lied to so very often. I will admit, I tried to play it the mundane way. To sit on my instinct, to ignore the voice in the back of my head that said that she ... it ... was nothing but a pack of lies. And if you're read my dossier you know how well that turned out." he said, closing his eyes for a moment as he felt the ragged edge of his emotions, the best of him that was in Amanda when she cut the link. After all this time he still hurt inside, and he steadfastly _refused_ to let Charles or Nathan or _anyone_ poke around to either mask the pain or to repair his so-called "damage".

"Sometimes they don't know it's a lie," Jim said after a brief pause to give the young man a moment. "Other times, they want to believe it's true themselves. In the end, though, all that matters is your reality." He rolled the cigarette again, glancing at the ashtray. "But strange as it is . . . after a while I found the reason behind a lie could be comforting. Not that someone thought I couldn't handle the truth, but that they cared enough to want to spare me. For as much good as that did, in the long run." He exhaled smoke, shaking his head. "The best intentions."

Manuel scowled at that. "I have no liking for such falsehoods." he said with another frown. "And she knew damned well what she was doing. It was cold and calculated on her part. Every step of the way, she tried to keep me off-balance, to keep me from Seeing what it was she was doing." he said with a full-blown scowl. "If she was here right now I would stab her in the neck."

He still hadn't named her, but Jim knew who he meant all the same. "I'm sure what she did made sense, from her point of view. It always does." Another careful study of the burning end of his cigarette. "Everyone walks in their own world. That's the only thing you can trust. They'll do what makes sense to them. And sometimes we pay for it, even if they think they're doing it out of love."

"I could have fixed it." he admitted. "I should have. Spared myself and everyone else a great deal of pain. The greatest good for the greatest number, isn't that how it goes?"

"In theory. But I've dealt with the acceptable casualties." Jim inclined his head. "I don't believe anyone has the right to force their reality onto another person's mind. Or deserves to have someone else's forced on theirs. I've gone through that. So have you. The best we can do is prepare ourselves, and mitigate the damage." He shook his head. "Never trust they won't hurt you. Only that they won't try. And sometimes, not even that."

Manuel quirked his head. "An interesting stance for a counselor to take." he said thoughtfully. "I am not sure I agree with you - after all, I have the power so why should I _not_ defend myself appropriately? But I can see where you're coming from. A very refreshing change-of-pace from the exultations to trust my fellow men." he said with a grimace. "My fellow men are a barely-controlled bundle of lusts and emotional trauma papered over with a thin veneer of society and notions of masculinity. And don't even _get me started_ about women."

Jim snorted. "I'm living proof the defense can be worse than the attack. And maybe you're right, that people are the sum of their wounds and baser instincts, held together by the artificial constructions of morality and society . . . but then what does it say when someone tries to rise above that? That in spite of all that, they try to be something better?" He flashed Manuel an ironic smile. "But then, I'm fundamentally cracked. Maybe I just want to believe there's something more to me than the sum of my damage."

"Everyone should have a dream." he said bitterly. "Me, I prefer to deal with the cards I've been dealt. It's been known to keep me alive when things get ... difficult." he said. "Adaptivity is key."

"I adapted. My psyche compensated to protect me from the damage by disassociating the person I was from what I had done. My telepathy compensated for the traumatic exposure by cutting me off from reality. Where did it get me?" Jim flicked more ash into the ashtray. "I was safe in my mind, but my mind was still broken. By the time Charles found me the wounds had healed wrong, and the damage was permanent." His gaze flickered back to Manuel. "Instincts can be wrong. Sometimes 'adapting' is the worst you can do."

"Perhaps. But given all the other choices, it's the best of a bad lot." he said. "What other choice did you have but to protect yourself? A man who can't protect what's his - be it so fundamental a thing as his own sanity - is no man at all." he said, in a fine display of machismo. "I have the power, I have the right, you're damned right I'm going to use it."

"Maybe, but there's such a thing as appropriate force. The easiest defense can turn on you. Save the power for when you need it, and to the exact degree that you do. Only then." The telepath lowered the cigarette and smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "But you're right. I may have saved my own life, but I failed anyway. I can't call myself a man after that. Or much of a person at all. You'll understand why I'd rather you didn't have to find out what that's like."

"You think I don't? From about age 14 on, I've lost my own claims to that particular title." he said with a wave of his cigar, Taking a deep drag on it, he exhaled the smoke through his nostrils. "All I can do now is do the best I can given what little I have left. If you've read my dossier, you know that my father was assassinated." he said with a deep breath. "And my father's killer calls the Mansion home. And I could not do a damned thing about it." he said, gritting his teeth.

The dossier had mentioned Manuel's father was deceased, but not the circumstances. From Manuel's words, Jim suspected there was only one reason for this: it was classified. "It's a slap in the face," Jim said quietly, "for a child to have the one who's supposed to protect him taken away. Whatever the relationship actually was, and however it happened. It's not supposed to be that way." He held the cigarette away. The nicotine suddenly tasted sour in his mouth. "Worst is the finality of it. It's a failure the parent will never be able to make up for. The chance was taken away."

"The death of a line two _thousand_ years long. An unbroken line stretching back to mighty Rome herself. Broken in an instant. My father and I, we did not always get along. He was the one who sold me to the secret police, and he who made sure that my talents were suitably ... molded." he said with a quick sip of wine. "It was also he who disinherited me. More the fool him, as when he was killed he had no heir, no means of passing the name down." he said. "And so a proud name finally fell. She never understood that - she had no concept of family, of history. Probably because she herself had none. Do you have a family, Mister Haller? Children, a name that stretches back?"

Jim smiled slightly. "Children? I'm not that old. But no, not really. My family was nothing important. My aunt and I are all that's left of my father's side, now. My maternal grandparents disowned me." He contented himself to holding the cigarette, watching it smolder. "My parents were good people, but they died a long time ago. For nothing, really. They were in Israel to visit my grandmother."

"A pisshole part of the world." he said dismissively. "My father poisoned my mother, and then he in turn was assassinated. There are no legitimate de la Rochas. A lot of bastards and myself, but no direct heir." he said. "I imagine that all of my family's possessions, the history, the house, all the records - they've likely been sold off to the highest bidder by now."

"In the end, family's just a word," Jim said, closing his eyes for another drag. "Bloodties don't really mean much, outside of the importance we're taught to place on them. They're just people, like everyone else. They have their own concerns. Their own worlds."

"I couldn't disagree more." he said, taking another hit from the _very_ potent cigar. "Family is the connection to the past and the hope for the future."

Jim laughed. "I'll agree that it shaped who I am. But being who I am, I prefer not to think of myself as my family's legacy to the future."

"Why not?" Manuel asked, puzzled. "How can you be anything else but precisely that?"

The telepath's lips quirked at Manuel's confusion. "Speaking as a defective," Jim smiled, "I'm a terrible contribution for my family to have made to society. As for carrying on the name . . ." He raised the cigarette for another pull. "Lines end. Considering the type of parent I would make, it's the lesser of two evils."

"Two thousand years. And you're only a defective because of your manifestation. Were it not for that, I am given to understand that you'd be as strong as I am, and far more versatile." he said without a hint of condescension. If there was one thing Manny knew, it was how strong he actually was.

"And I should pass it on, so my children can run the same risk of having what happened to me happen to them?" Jim smiled again, with a brief shake of his head. "No. I would never do that to a child. Safer for the genepool, safer for society."

"Your choice." he said in agreement, swirling his wine in his glass before finishing it off. "I am not the first mutant in my family, but surely the only one studied in such - depth. But we are ranging far afield from the purpose of your visit, I suspect. Do you think that you'll be able to "help me" solve my "problems"?" he asked, making little quote-mark gestures with the hand that held his cigar.

Jim laughed at that. "Sorry. A fractured mind wanders. But that really depends on what you think your problem is. I've heard people sling around phrases like 'unethical use of powers,' but that's a little subjective. I don't know. Maybe we can figure out a way you can protect yourself that the rest of the world can't find too objectionable. Sometimes compromise makes things easier in the long run."

"You'll have a great deal of convincing to do. My way works and when properly applied is almost impossible to defend one's self against. That's a winning combination in my book. And the last time I had a chat about the ethical use of my power Headmaster Summers threatened me with the boys and girls in black leather. So you'll forgive me if I banish that phrase from these discussions."

Jim spread his hands. "Socially expedient, then. That method might work, but you have other options. The indirect approach among them." Jim gave him another lopsided smile. "You've got a choice now, you know."

"Elaborate?" he said, honestly curious as to where David thought he was going with this. "Are you referring to subtle tweaks or to something else entirely?"

"Subtle . . . if you must," Jim sighed, not bothering to conceal distaste for the idea. "I heard you broadcasted apathy your first day here, for example. If you're going to discourage someone from bothering you, I can think of worse ways than simply removing their interest in you personally. But I was actually thinking social cues. Yes," he added, "as transparent and contradictory as they are."

Manuel grinned. "I have a little trick that I do. I call it social invisibility. I remove the will to see me from everyone around me. It's great. Loki taught it to me." he said with an amused chuckle. "Yes, as in the Norse God."

Jim's mouth quirked. "Don't feel compelled to impress me, Manuel. My life before the school has seen more than enough 'impossible' to render me virtually impervious to the shock and awe techniques. And anyway, I've already been apprised of the trip to Asgard. You'd be amazed at how often it comes up." The telepath recrossed his legs and settled into a more comfortable position. "I will admit that's a useful trick. However, Loki is a god. You aren't. What if something happens to your power? What do you do then?"

Manuel smiled thinly. "Unlikely in the extreme." he said. "I'm very, very strong. But I'll humor you. In the extremely unlikely event that my power is unavailable to me and I wish to remain unseen - I don't bother. Go the other way, be as conspicuous as possible. No one looks twice at conspicuous people." he said, finishing off his glass of wine. Hair of the dog seemed to be doing the trick, and his cigar was magnificent. Well, as magnificent as he could presently afford. Nice benefit to working at Eris - small trivialities like trade disputes were nothing.

The counselor shook his head. "Yet either extreme leaves you isolated. And for any psi, that's a terrible thing. You understand people because your powers force you to -- but powers alone aren't enough to let you know them. The things that are said, the public face -- those matter, too. Maybe more, for people like us. More importantly, understanding them doesn't mean they understand you. And that's a paradox that can eat away at any sensitive, because, inevitably, we're the ones that feel the consequences."

Manuel shrugged. "Those are, quite frankly, mostly immaterial." he said, waving his cigar to punctuate his point. "Opinions can be molded, changed, corrected. Speech is merely the outlet." he said with a firm nod. "The Askani taught me -that-."

Nathan's ghosts from the future, Jim thought. Well, he had known the man had attempted to help Manuel. "Speaking as someone who uses telepathy on an almost daily basis," he said, "there are times when simply having a mutant power can render us fundamentally stupid. You're right, it's easy to change minds. Too easy. What's the point of seducing if we can rape?" He shrugged. "I'm sure plenty of people have pointed out the parallels between the aggressive use of empathy and what was done to you, so I won't bother. It'd be hypocrisy at any rate. Fine. But looking at it from another angle . . . you said it yourself: you're powerful, and you've had the training. No matter how many times you win, sooner or later betting on the sure-thing is boring. I would think you'd enjoy a challenge, at least every once in a while."

"To answer your question about seduction - for the challenge. The sport. The thrill. You've said it precisely. Some things are too important to leave to the vagaries of Fate, while others are not. Women fall into that category. Men, too, come to think of it." he said with a grin. "I have been challenged plenty. Nathan challenged me, and ultimately he won. Isn't that enough for you people?"

Jim raised an eyebrow. "To what?" He smiled. "Enlighten me. Believe it or not, I was not presented with a Bible of your life. Only the cliff-notes. Colorful though those may be."

"He did his best to mold me into one of his Askani-worshipers. They all did. They offered training, but with it came constraints, restrictions, limitations. I did my best to abide by them, but we all know where it got me. Broken, left for dead, and threatened with death if I should misbehave." he said, taking a puff on his cigar. "Some of the Askani were individually extremely pleasant." he said, making a gesture with his free hand to a white rose in a vase on his kitchen table. "And her I will remember forever for what she gave to me. And honor my word."

The smile widened, just a little. "Let me guess:" Jim said, "understanding."

Manuel smiled at Jim. "You grasp the essential nature of it, yes." he said, taking another pull from his cigar. "A precious gift, and one I'll never forget. I know the real thing, and I know false understanding now. A little gift I suppose I should thank Amanda for." he said, managing to suppress his wince or the thudding in his heart when he spoke her name.

Jim didn't need to extend his telepathy to see the flicker. "No matter how powerful you are," he said, "you can't control every contingency. And in things like the human mind, it's healthier not to try. For you. Because once you think you have all the bases covered, one of those little vagaries of fate is going to swing back and bite you. It's better to accept it, and let it come." He took another contemplative puff. "Interesting you should bring up the false understanding, because that's just what projective empathy promotes. Invasive telepathy, too. You can sway someone to your point of view, but they don't really feel it. It's implanted, and on some level the mind knows it. And because they do, so do you." He gestured with the cigarette. "Self-perpetuating cycle. Personally, I've come to prefer the hard route. Cuts out a lot of needless tension."

"Are you familiar with the concept of inflection points?" he asked. "They are the points of thought in which a minor change can have a profound effect on the underlying emotional - or thought, I suppose - mesh. Where the smallest of modifications can have startling results. I've always been fascinated by their existence." he mused. "There's nothing in the literature, it being universally written by deadhead morons."

Jim chuckled. "If you ever have the urge of enlightening the world, feel free to contribute. Psychic phenomena is still an underdeveloped field. But yeah, I'm familiar with the concept, if not the actual term. A slight shift of perception, the suppression of a certain memory . . . it can have a drastic effect on the psyche."

Manuel nodded and extended his senses outwards, into Jim's mind. "Yes, I believe you would know all about it." he said, not even suppressing his shudder. "That is a _vicious_ case of MPD you have there - it _is_ MPD, isn't it? I've never felt someone who has fractured that completely before into distinct shards."

Jim nodded. "The current terminology is Dissociative Identity Disorder, but yes. One shatterpoint, dozens of fragments. Like I said, the defense was worse than the attack. And I've improved over the years."

Manuel waved the terminology away. "It's fascinating. There's a strong emotional component that channels the thought, if I'm seeing this right. Fascinating." he said, quirking an eyebrow in a now-unconscious parody of a certain famous Vulcan. "And they sent you to me? Someone must hate you."

Jim snorted. "Many have attempted to interpret what could possibly have compelled Charles to offer me this position, MPD or not. I don't dwell on the details. As for the emotional components . . ." he shrugged. "Each personality embodied a specific perceptual extreme. The emotional aspects are correspondingly concentrated. I've pulled them together as best I can."

Manuel enjoyed his cigar a little more before answering. "I noticed." he said, exhaling a smoke-ring. "Could be better, but things feel so fragile in there that forcing it would probably just break you all over again." he noted. "Not that I'm in any particular hurry to find out." he said in what was probably supposed to be reassuring but came out more as sinister.

Again the shrug. "Do so at your own risk. The first to break would probably be the less pleasant fragments. They were the hardest to integrate. Their powers may be locked down, but I doubt that would stop them. Back in the day, my head was not a happy place."

Manuel nodded to Jim. He was enjoying dealing with a therapist who had a backbone. Made things _far_ more enjoyable. And he hadn't asked about his mother yet. He had a Rule about therapists - ask about his mother is also asking to get mindraped. "Now that we've examined the size of our genitalia and found them satisfactory ..." he said with a laugh. "Is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

Jim considered this. "On those occasions you do refrain from using your power -- why is that? Just the fear of retribution?"

Manuel shrugged. "Sometimes it's just because I don't want to bother. Other times it's disadvantageous for me to do so. As you say, there are always unanticipated variables and some folk I must deal with regularly." he said as he thought it through. "Some just aren't worth the effort."

"So it's not just whimsy. Comforting thought." He tapped another column of grey into the ashtray. "More typical question. If you aren't interested in change, why bother talking to me?"

"I am not a whimsical person by nature." he said with a showing of teeth that might be construed, somewhere, as a smile. "And I'm interested to see what you can offer me. Trained psis, even broken ones like you, are still rare. It's a pleasure just to talk shop without being condemned every third feeling." he admitted. "And I am really not in a position for the men and women in black leather to come pay me a visit if they feel I'm shirking my duty. And I gave Xavier my word I would."

"Smart decision. Charles would swat you like a fly. I speak as one who knows." Jim smiled slightly. "And who'm I to condemn you? I agree, it's refreshing to talk to another psi. Empathy may not by my area, but it's close enough to make the differences interesting. There are worse things than being a harmless diversion." He took another drag. "I had a rule I would only stay for two cigarettes. I'm trying to cut back. Anything you'd like to know before I make my strategic retreat?"

"I know." he said with the Wince of Experience. "We're matched on strength, but he's forgotten more than I ever knew. A pity his teachings were so unsuited to the way I operate..." he said ruefully. "No matter. Despite my intellect telling me otherwise I think I like you, Mister Haller. Set up a schedule, you simply _must_ come by to visit again. And bring better cigarettes, those American Marlboros are simply _awful_."

Jim blew one final column of smoke before stubbing out the cigarette. "No deal. It's a matter of principle. These I've been smoking for over ten years, and you're not that entrancing." Jim gave him another one of those dry smiles that had become so frequent over the latter course of their conversation. "My schedule depends largely on Charles', but maybe we can set up a time in the evening." He rose, extending a notecard to Manuel as he did. "Here's my email and extension number. Drop me a line about your hours and we'll see what we can work out."

Manuel took the card and then sighed. "You're going to insist on those foul things." he said, making it not-a-question. "That is unfortunate. Your principles need to be more ... flexible." he said with a laugh, then stood up to show his guest out. "I'll get you that information you had asked for." he promised.

"I think you'll find my principles conveniently inconsistent," Jim smiled. "Hazard of the disorder. But by all means, let's do this again. It was astonishingly untraumatic." He paused at the threshold and extended one hand. "The conversation was . . . interesting."

Manuel accepted the handshake, but not before thickening his shields. "In the Chinese curse sense of the word, I'm sure." he said. "And if it was trauma you wanted, you should have asked me about my mother." he laughed.

Jim raised a sardonic eyebrow. "You think Charles would've trained a Freudian? Please. Give us both a little credit." He nodded at Manuel. "Next time, then."

"It wouldn't surprise me. He hit me with Jung once." he smirked. "That didn't go well."

Jim half-smiled. "I see the topic of the next conversation already. You're talking to Amfortas' wound." He gave Manuel a backhanded wave as he headed for the stairwell. "See you around."

"I'll be sure to sharpen my rhetorical sword." he said, already looking forward to his next session with a certain degree of fiendish delight. He had some reading to do. ~Safe journey.~ he said softly in Castillian as Jim departed.