The X-Project

Jean-Paul finally finds a chance between crises to discuss the matter of Catseye.


Jean-Paul reported to Haller's office just after wrapping his dawn work-out and showering down. Part of his promptness was motivated by actual concern, but there was a significant element of simply wanting to get it over with. The latter had nothing to Haller personally, but counselors fell into the same category as doctors and psychiatrists so far as Jean-Paul's instincts were concerned -- inherently untrustworthy. Even though his head knew better, experience kept saying that this was a bad idea and that he should go back to his earplugs and ignoring the problem until it went away.

Jean-Paul gave himself a mental shake and knocked on the door.

"Monsieur Haller?"

"Wh-- oh, Jean-Paul? Come in."

The office was presentable, but the desk showed signs of a man waging a constant battle with his natural tendency toward sprawl. The counselor had pulled a chair up to a cracked window and was in the process of smoking a cigarette, though he lowered it when Jean-Paul entered.

"Sorry," the man said, stubbing out the cigarette in an ashtray and waving the remainder of the smoke towards the window. "I try not to smoke inside too much . . . the kids with enhanced senses and everything. I've been bad lately, but the more I leave the office the more likely I'll find an excuse not to come back." He gave the other man a faint smile with mismatched eyes that bore the haunted look of a man still recovering from a traumatic number of calls from equally traumatized parents. "Anyway, if you want you can sit down . . . you wanted to talk about Miss Smith?"

Jean-Paul considered standing for a moment, but reminded himself that this was not supposed to be an adversarial meeting. Haller knew more about the girl than he did and was likely essential to resolving this situation. After a moment, he lowered himself onto the short couch opposite the window with a nod.

"I do. I do not know how much time you have had to follow the journals as of late, but, in short, Mademoiselle Smith came in through my window as a cat a week or so ago. I made it clear that I did not want her company, but she hasn't been inclined to take no for an answer." He folded his arms, if only to keep his hands from fidgeting. "I do not believe she meant anything untoward by her entry; from what I can tell, her intentions seem very innocent. I wouldn't be surprised if she thinks I am simply stubborn about allowing her access to a hot water bottle with thumbs. It bothers me, however, that she cannot seem to grasp the most basic reasons why a young woman shouldn't be climbing into strangers' beds uninvited."

Jim rubbed the back of his head. When he'd arranged the meeting he hadn't realized the other man was so much older than him. Getting used to Leo addressing him as a peer had taken months; in his head, Jim had never quite grown out of feeling like the one to be talked down to rather than talked with.

"I guess you weren't here when Catseye came to the school . . . neither was I, but I did have a little experience with her before she went to stay with her brother. From what I remember she didn't exactly get the traditional upbringing. It seems like she's had her power since birth, and she grew up among cats basically as a cat. She's very intelligent, but since a lot of the unsaid rules of behavior and conduct tend to be picked up through socialization during the formative years. Without that . . ." The telepath spread his hands. "She probably really doesn't understand what's wrong with climbing into random beds."

"It is one thing to be unaware that you're venturing where you're not wanted, but another to insist that you belong there even once that has been made clear." One hand flipped in a dismissive wave, regulating his specific encounter with the girl to the sidelines. "But beyond this incident, do you think it is wise to allow those rules of behavior to remain unsaid? Surely she is not expected to live her entire life here where most will be accommodating of her particular view of the world."

"It's true, although it raises some deeper questions." Jim leaned back, forehead creasing as he thought back to his first encounter with her, years ago. "It's not just her upbringing -- psychically, Catseye's unusual. She doesn't register with my telepathy when she's in her other form, which means there's an actual change in brainwaves happening. Her mind is actually set up differently, which may be one of the reasons why she's resistant to some changes." He raised his hands. "I'm not saying that she doesn't need to understand how to function in society -- there's a lot of diversity in how brains work even without the issue of mutancy, and most people can learn to adapt. I'm just wondering how to approach it. Shapeshifter psychology isn't really a well-documented area yet."

"I considered a squirt gun," Jean-Paul remarked dryly, "but then thought better of escalating a turf war with someone who can turn into a puma. But that is the problem; to approach it as if she is a cat is demeaning to the girl, not to mention it reinforces the idea that she should behave as an animal, but that she does not grasp the human approach is the root of the whole thing. There is always the blunt approach, I suppose -- spelling things out explicitly."

"Since we've established subtle social cues don't work, I think the blunt approach is the only one likely to make an impact," Jim said, equally dry. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with long fingers, scrolling through his options. "I'll talk to Dr. Samson, see if he has any ideas. Although . . . I have to say, my instinct is to avoid treating her like a cat or a child. Sitting her down as an equal and treating her as such might have better results. If the problem is a lack of understanding of the social drawbacks, she needs them explained for her. And she's smart. A firm 'no' like you're disciplining a dog or something isn't doing it for her." The younger man shrugged with a wry smile. "And anyway, nobody likes to feel like they're being held to rules that've been made without them."

"Treat it as culture shock instead of deliberate pig-headedness, you mean. I do not think it could possibly make things worse." He grimaced inwardly; backsliding into hostility again. "Sorry. It is a good idea."

"Don't worry about it." Jim's tone tilted towards the sardonic, almost subconsciously mirroring Jean-Paul's mood, albeit for different reasons. "I'm sorry. I wish I could be more definite, but I have some personal baggage about awkward attempts to fold kids into traditionally acceptable shapes, so I can be a little overly cautious when it comes to deciding an approach. But still, thanks for letting me know . . . I don't usually work on referrals, like Dr. Samson, so unless I'm approached by the kid or someone worried about them I don't usually hear about it."

"It is nothing. Someone had to know, if only for the sake of my sanity. Is there anything else?"

"Um, no. Not unless you've got anything else, I mean." Jim winced at himself. If social intercourse was math, for Jim talking to Jean-Paul was like trying to solve a calculus equation with a first-grade education.

"I think not. Thank you for making the time for the meeting, monsieur." The older man rose to his feet and headed for the door.

"Thanks," Jim echoed as the other man left. It was the only thing he could think of. As the door clicked behind Jean-Paul, Jim pinched the bridge of his nose.

I'm going to teach Catseye about social skills.

. . . I really need to talk to Leonard.