Power Swap: Learn How to Fall

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean put forth no resistance to the other man’s movements; thus, when he was tugged closer and then turned around, he found himself staring into Josh’s clear blue eyes, magnified by his glasses as they always were so close. He could see reflected in those eyes Josh’s determination, his worry, his caring, his affection. And he was grateful for all of those.

Unfortunately, he didn’t think that Josh understood; not for want of trying, but because he didn’t know what it was that Sean had in him, or didn’t have in the absence of such a large, immutable part of himself.

He set the pen and paper down, which allowed him to have use of his hands again. He snaked one arm around Josh’s shoulders to return the embrace, and the other dangled, prepared to be used for emphasis. “Of course I’ll cope,” he started, because he didn’t want the other man to think he would try anything; it was bad enough that Josh had thought, somehow – if he truly believed that Sean was the strongest person he knew than this was baffling – that he would commit suicide over less than this. “That doesn’t make it easy, and I’ll be miserable. And I’ll flounder, because I do use it for everything.”

Josh’s insistence had succeeded in bringing about some of his coherence, for which the younger man was to be lauded.

“But this isn’t the power going out.” He smiled sadly at that and brought his other hand to his temple, tapping lightly. “This goes to the core, and I need you to accept that. I don’t think that I’m only a telepath, but to take it away is to unravel me.”

It was the best explanation he could give without beginning to talk about how touching Josh was like touching a cardboard cutout. He didn’t think that would go over well.

[Joshua Bernstein]

"I didn't say it wouldn't be hard!" Josh protested fiercely. He hadn't meant to imply that it would be the least bit easy; he hadn't taken well to his loss of vision, had resisted admitting it was a problem for so long. And he was sure he would have difficulty learning to cope if he abruptly
lost his hearing or his sense of taste. Supposedly losing taste was as good as a death sentence for most people. He hoped the same couldn't be said of telepathy.

"I don't think that...I don't think that's right." He confessed, tightening his embrace briefly before pulling back. "I don't think one thing should unravel you like that. "

And then, taking a fortifying breath, he uttered one question he never thought would come from his own lips in their relationship, an entirely unexpected reversal of roles as he asked, carefully, "Do you want to talk about it?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“This isn’t a little thing; of course it’s going to unravel me.” The psychiatrist’s tone was even although his voice was soft as he made that admission. “You said you think I’m the strongest man you know, but do you know how I got to be that way? Trial by fire. Careful layers on the inside. Cut them away and I’ll fall just like everyone else.”

The crossword puzzle was long forgotten. Sean shifted up the bed, dragging Josh with him and being careful not to upset the tray. He didn’t want to have to do a load of laundry due to spilled coffee and chocolate cheesecake.

Once at the other end of the bed, he leaned back against the headboard, although he kept one arm around his partner, desiring the physical connection. This way he could lean his head back and ease the burden on his neck.

Then, wonder of wonders, Josh asked if he wanted to talk, and Sean looked at him in disbelief. However, he did want to talk, and he wouldn’t turn away this gift. If only he knew where to begin.

After a moment of quiet deliberation, he turned to look at the wall and said, “When we were first living together, I used to have this dream where I accidentally wiped your mind clean because I was too much for you; and in my dream, when I reached for your mind there was nothing to be touched. But I could always feel you the next morning and know that everything was all right because you were there with me.”

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “I don’t like being unable to feel you.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh allowed himself to be pulled back and up, rolling half-way onto one side the better to watch his partner. "I suppose we should move that." He jerked his head toward the tray; if Sean wasn't going to eat then there was no point in keeping it on the bed.

He listened to Sean's confession with consternation. Of course he knew very well that even the strongest could fall, and he knew very well that Sean was prone to depression, which he rarely shared precisely because he was trying to be strong for everyone else.

At least he was willing to share now, even if the admissions were less than encouraging. The fact that Sean had nightmares about wiping his mind clean was not disturbing to him; his dreams frequently saw the telepath falling to the zombie hordes, being dragged to the guillotine during bloody uprisings, being shot, being hanged....Sean rarely survived any of his dreams. He could understand the concern upon waking up, as well; he too desired confirmation that nighttime terrors were solely that, nothing more.

But for Sean those dreams were now coming true, in one sense, as his nightmares were contingent upon mental contact disappearing, not death.

"But I'm still here. You haven't wiped my mind." He just couldn't touch it anymore. Josh supposed he could understand how that would be distressing; he would miss if he couldn't reach out and touch Sean's hand, as well. "I'm still here." He repeated, softer, "And I want to help."

If only he knew how.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“We can move it later.” It wasn’t important right now, and the psychiatrist had already moved to the other end of the bed, away from the tray. He could be careful and prevent spilling; after all, he didn’t flail and thus they needn’t worry about his long legs.

It was also for the best that he wasn’t a dream walker. Trying to get through some of Josh’s nightly fare would be exhausting. But they could discuss Josh’s horrifying zombie horde and guillotine dreams at another time, when the psychiatrist was better able to focus.

“I know,” Sean said quietly. He knew that he hadn’t done anything because it wasn’t merely Josh’s mind that was quiet to him, but everything was. He was having a conversation with the other man who was as lucid and engaging as ever, who was holding him and most assuredly more than an empty husk. However, that did little to mitigate the fact that his primary method of assuring himself of that had simply disappeared in the night.

“I know you’re here but it doesn’t feel like you are in the way that I trust most. You’re here, you’re holding me, and you care; I know all of that. But I want...” His voice trailed off, and Sean shook his head to himself. Opening his eyes, he turned to face the other man and added, “And I can’t because it doesn’t feel right.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh sighed, pushing his glasses up his face to rub his eyes in frustration at this entire situation. He wanted nothing more than to help, but he felt as if nothing he did was working in the slightest.

"You want...." He repeated as he tried to fill in the blanks. What didn't feel right...? "Oh. Ah."

That was distressing, would he really prefer nothing at all over something only sans the telepathy? This whole situation was too difficult; he wasn't strong enough to support Sean like this, he didn't think he was entirely wrapping his mind around this concept, and his attempts to cheer Sean up had come to naught.

"I don't want to do anything you don't want to do." He said after several eternal seconds of silent contemplation, time spent studying the other man's face, trying to see if there was some way he could just magically turn back time, or reinstate his telepathy like rebooting a computer operating system.

"I want you to be happy and I want to help you cope. If you can't do something then I won't make you." Even if he wished that pushing Sean against the bed and kissing him with as much passion as he could muster would solve this problem he knew it wouldn't do anything more than cause problems. "If you want to finish the crossword puzzle, we'll do that. If you want to sit here and talk then that's fine, too."

He wasn't satisfied with the results of this discussion, but he was grasping at straws, hoping against hope that perhaps if they continued to converse about this he would be struck by inspiration and know how to make Sean happy again.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean couldn’t hear the mental question. If he could, he would try to explain his perspective, how intimacy had both a physical and a mental component to him, and that he didn’t know what to do with a purely physical act. That it felt somehow wrong and how he didn’t know how others coped with half the experience missing, how they could enjoy the disconnect when trying to be close.Then again, if he could hear the mental question, the underlying problem would cease to exist because his telepathy had returned.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sincere in that apology. He was sorry for leaning on the other man because it was a role reversal and thus wasn’t fair to him. He was sorry for withdrawing into himself, and he was sorry for not knowing how to fix the problem or properly articulate his needs. He was sorry because he knew that was upsetting Josh, but he couldn’t pull himself together. He was sorry that he blanched at kissing. He tried to convey the sincerity of his apology through his eyes, meeting Josh’s in a steady gaze as the other man stared into his face.

“I want to talk,” Sean admitted quietly. Talking made him feel better, even if it might appear otherwise. However, he knew that discussing feelings was neither Josh’s preference nor within his realm of expertise, and he didn’t want to further take advantage of his partner. Not when Josh had been trying so hard all morning for him. “But we don’t have to.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh shook his head as Sean apologized. "Don't. You have no reason to be sorry. This isn't your fault." He didn't know whose fault it was, but it definitely wasn't Sean's. And if there was a someone responsible, he would make them answer for this. He would sue them to the end's of the Earth for this fiasco.

"We have to." He stated firmly, reaching behind him to drag up one of the pillows he was resting on; it kept sliding down, which was annoying of it. His partner wanted to talk, which meant that as awkward and uncomfortable as this type of conversation was for him, he would do it. After all, Sean listened to him when he needed a shoulder to lean on, and while he tried not to take advantage of that fact, he knew that his partner actually enjoyed discussions about feelings. Or if not enjoyed, needed them. He could ask not to talk about his own feelings, but he didn't want to request Sean not talk about his, not in these circumstances when his primary occupation was preventing the telepath from crumbling before him.

"Ahhh. So," He let go of the other man with one hand, gesturing vaguely, because he wasn't sure what direction to take this conversation in. "Ahhh," He repeated, dropping his hand to rest on Sean's thigh. "What about this is bothering you the most?"

He was fairly certain they had already covered that subject, but he hadn't the least idea what sort of questions to ask.

"Or umm what do you....what do you want to talk about?"

That still sounded stupid. He hoped that Sean would forgive him for his inability to formulate useful questions.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Inwardly, the psychiatrist was aware of the fact that this wasn’t his facult, as nothing he could do (to his knowledge), either purposefully or accidentally would result in this outcome. But that wasn’t why he had offered his apology; he had apologized for the aftermath that Josh had to deal with, and the fact that he wasn’t shouldering his fair share. However, as Josh had absolved him, the remnants of Catholic inside him took that to mean he shouldn’t mention it a second time, as though that would wash it all away.

Sean was grateful that Josh didn’t shy from the notion of this impending discussion. His willingness was more valuable than the fact that he had called in from work and that he was remaining with Sean in bed in an attempt to cheer him; considering how, at the moment, that was all Sean had, those three words were incredibly powerful. “Thank you,” the psychiatrist said, attempting to convey that gratitude. He moved one hand to rest atop Josh’s on his thigh.

He didn’t care about how Josh opened the discussion, because he needed the other man to listen. His partner wasn’t to be graded on this, as though it was a peer mediation exercise. Thus when Josh opened the door, Sean opened the floodgates. “You didn’t know me when I was in school,” he began. He didn’t go into too many details about the worst of his coping during his time at Hammel; he wasn’t supposed to have weaknesses because he was Sean Neville and thus he kept those memories to himself.

“But I struggled constantly. I was worse than this, and I was in constant pain. Robert said it was how the brain adjusted to telepathy and that it would get better. I believed him because he was Robert and how could I not?”

His relationship with his mentor had been one of utter devotion; Robert spoke the truth because he was Robert Hopkins.

Sean looked down at his thigh, at their joined hands, and his voice grew softer. “Did I ever tell you that I almost ended up in a mental institution?”

[Joshua Bernstein]

Fortunately, it seemed that Sean needed little help with direction, as he immediately began with recollections of his school days. He'd vaguely alluded to them before, to the fact that they had been difficult and scary, but only in passing. The telepath's time at Hammel was rarely discussed, and Josh had never pushed the issue. "No." He admitted, squeezing Sean's hand encouragingly as the other man continued.

He was aware of how much his partner had admired Robert. If there was one influential figure in Sean's life, it was Robert Hopkins. He'd heard the older telepath's praises sung constantly, had been aware early on in their friendship that Sean wished to emulate his trainer. Robert was mentor, guide, and idol, and his death, though inevitable, had devastated Sean in a way Josh had never seen before.

"Of course. He wouldn't lie to you." And he'd obviously told the truth; Sean had been quiet and gentle when Josh had first met him, but he'd had an undercurrent of steel that was obvious to anyone paying attention. Sean claimed even then that wasn't innate, but Josh had never seen him at Hammel, during his most vulnerable years, and imagining Sean without strength was impossible. Sean had overcome those hard times to become someone other people relied on instinctively.

"No, you didn't." He'd never heard this story before, a fact that bothered him a little; that should have been the sort of story shared between best friends. But now wasn't the time to be annoyed, now was the time to listen to explanations.

"I can't imagine that Hammel would allow that."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean wasn’t surprised to hear that he hadn’t; he didn’t discuss this with anyone. Kathleen didn’t know; his parents had never brought it up. Only Robert had known, and Robert had been dead for years. “I don’t suppose I did,” he replied, returning the squeeze to his hand, taking comfort in the touch.

“Hammel almost didn’t find me in time,” Sean admitted with a shake of his head. He was calm enough not to laugh bitterly at the memory. “I was asymptomatic for the longest time. I wasn’t in school for most of it, and the other power was masking the telepathy; everyone just thought that my imagination was getting ahead of me, and that I wasn’t emotionally stable, and then finally that I was hearing voices and having hallucinations. I broke down crying in front of my priest and he alerted Hammel; that’s how they found me. They had to be told I was out there and in need.”

The psychiatrist’s voice grew softer as he continued, not meeting Josh’s eyes. “My parents were going to have me committed.” He knew that, despite the fact that nobody had ever told him. That was the telepathy, providing him with that nightmarish insight. “I was only twelve years old, and it was 1969, and they still did lobotomies, Josh.”

He let that statement hang in the air. He’d long come to terms with that fear and how it was no longer a concern; he hadn’t been committed, he hadn’t undergone therapies to separate him from his powers. But he still felt as though part of his brain had been hacked away in his sleep.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Committed. Lobotomies.

Words that struck cold terror into the hearts of anyone who heard them. The idea of anyone undergoing either was enough to bring out Josh's righteous indignation; the thought of Sean living through them made him pull his partner closer with a shiver of horror.

"I thought Hammel always found everyone." Granted, they probably wanted people to think that they always found every meta ever. He supposed it was possible that students slipped through their grasp; he certainly wouldn't know.

"They couldn't commit you, not for that, someone surely would have found out."

He couldn't imagine a world where Sean had been committed, locked away from a society that needed his strength and peace and kindness. Locked a poor, scared young boy away from his support group.

It was awful from every perspective.

"You're not committed. You're here, with me, everything will be okay."

He couldn't promise that Sean's telepathy would manifest again, but he could promise that he would do the best he could to banish these feelings of helplessness his partner was expressing, even if it took years.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean didn’t require his telepathy to know that he had struck a chord with that admission. Josh’s sympathetic horror was plain on his face and evident in his touch, in the shiver that went through him, in the way that he pulled Sean closer and tightened his embrace. He slid down the bed slightly, enough to allow him to rest his head against Josh’s chest. He had never discussed this with another soul, save for Robert. He was supposed to be past this, these lingering fears. He hadn’t been committed; he certainly hadn’t been lobotomized, and if these memories and concerns influenced his advocacy for Hammel’s programs, then that was to be expected. The same way he was more sensitive about the pejorative use of the words “crazy” and “insane”, for reasons beyond his work as a psychiatrist.

Nobody had sliced into his brain and cut away his telepathy in an effort to make the voices stop, to make him normal; whatever caused this loss, his childhood fears hadn’t been realized. He reminded himself of that.

He also knew better than most that Hammel didn’t always find everyone, although they found mostly everyone. Some children took longer to find than others, like James Campbell. And him, because his powers had been disguising themselves. “It was different back then,” he admitted, which was true. There were more staff members now, more trackers, more meta sensors, more recruiters, greater global communication, cheaper airfare... “I wasn’t meta; I was Schizophrenic.”

That was another difficult admission.

That he had stayed up at night as a boy, long after Hammel had found him, wondering what the scar would have felt like and weeping with joy that he had Robert and a physical affliction instead of simply being poor insane Sean Neville.

“Someone might have found out,” Sean agreed, which was also true. A blood test could have confirmed his meta status. “But all it would have taken is my non-responsiveness to other treatment. And I wouldn’t have responded to ECT; my symptoms would have been worse, surrounded by the minds of other people in pain and experiencing delusions. Then off to surgery, and what would it matter if they found out after that?”

And he was rambling. He shook his head to himself in an effort to clear away this baggage and bring about focus; it was largely unsuccessful. “I’m sorry.” He had apologized multiple times this morning and there was no end in sight. “I know I’m here with you, and I’m not worried about being committed, not anymore, not for a long time. I won’t have a breakdown that will warrant psychiatric attention.”

That was a promise; that was a mantra. They both needed to believe the truth of those words.

The psychiatrist closed his eyes. “It’s like the lake after a storm; all the baggage has been churned up from where it was buried, muddying the waters.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

"You're not schizophrenic." Josh insisted, his voice soft but firm. "You were never schizophrenic." That wouldn't have changed the diagnosis; for once, he too was glad that Hammel had found Sean before such a miscarriage of justice could have occurred, because the telepath was correct that it wouldn't have mattered if they had discovered he was meta after lobotomizing him.

When the other man dropped his head against his chest he lifted one hand to stroke his hair, a gesture he was always conflicted about when it was used on him, but which felt appropriate to use on Sean when the other man needed reassurance and protection from his fears.

"Don't apologize." He was horrified to hear of these possibilities and fears, even if they were no longer a danger, but he didn't regret knowing them. He wanted to know Sean's secrets, wanted to know what his fears were so that he could banish them. Especially now, with his partner acting uncharacteristically vulnerable. "This isn't your fault, you have nothing to apologize for."

The analogy was apt, given how the other man was behaving, and as much as he wished that he could clean the lake back up, and as much as talking about feelings was uncomfortable ot him at the best of times, he didn't want Sean to think he blamed him for it.

"It's understandable. I'm sure I would feel the same."

He was, however, worried about the qualifier that he wouldn't have a breakdown that required psychiatric attention. "Please don't have a breakdown. Lean on me, let me help."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“I know. I’m not anything right now.” He wasn’t insane, of course, because he hadn’t been even then, although he had been on his way to a complete and utter breakdown. He also wasn’t a telepath right now. He was only trying to cope with that loss.

Sean closed his eyes when he felt the other man’s fingers in his hair, brushing through the strands, lightly stroking his scalp. The touch was soothing; he’d always found it soothing, which was one of the reasons he so naturally - often without conscious thought - engaged in that gesture with Josh on the receiving end. With his head positioned where it was, he could feel the rise and fall of Josh’s chest, could hear his heart beat, and he focused on those as a means of calming himself. It was an old exercise, making himself match Robert’s calm rhythm; without Robert, there was Josh and he was a fine substitute.

“You are helping,” Sean murmured against his chest, his breathing a bit more even now. He didn’t lift his head, didn’t open his eyes, but he was adamant regardless. “Robert used to hold me like this and touch me this way; it’s comforting.”

Not that his relationship with Robert had ever been typical; the touches were far more appropriate - as far as outsiders were concerned - when done by a lover, as they were now. “And I’m trying to calm down.”

As evidence of that, eyes still closed, he reached for the hand not buried in his hair, brought it to his heart to demonstrate that his heart rate, while still elevated, wasn’t as rapid as it had been earlier.