xp_logs | Saturday Night: Monet and Gail Collins

Monet and Gail find some common ground at Mr Jones' place.

Chaos, with a side of 'we're so totally not organised' more or less described things at Angel's dad's place right now. Monet was curled up on the couch, scanning a newspaper and trying to look as though it was just boredom, rather than exhaustion that had her sitting there. And definitely as though it wasn't legs that buckled at odd moments or hands that just weren't trustworthy right now.

"Tea?" came a voice from the doorway. It belonged to the blonde woman standing there - one look told you this had to be someone related to Laurie, and a second told you she'd recently been seriously ill - her attractiveness had a fragile edge to it, a slight transparency of the skin, a certain sharpness of the chin and cheekbones, a hint of dark circles under her eyes. In her hands she was holding two mugs of tea. "I seem to remember hearing Australians worshipped the nice hot cup of tea almost as much as the English, and you look like you could use it."

Monet smiled. "Cheers." She took the cup, carefully cradling it between her hands - with the loss of co-ordination had gone the loss of hard-won control over her strength. She'd been doing exercises and ... not breaking the water balloons was far harder than it looked. At least the mug was solid. "Look, I hate to ask. Are you related to Laurie at all? You look just like her."

Gail smiled, heightening the resemblance. "I'm her mother," she said, taking a seat herself and trying hard not to flop too obviously - she still got tired sometimes, and it wouldn't do for Juanita to notice and confine her to the couch again. "Gail Collins. And you'd be Monet, yes?

Monet hadn't missed the part where Gail had flopped. "Yeah. Laurie's told you about how fantastic I am? And, look, are you okay?"

"I'm getting there," Gail replied wryly. At Monet's look, she elaborated. "I don't know how much Laurie told her friends, but I'm undergoing treatment for cancer at the moment. They tell me I should recover fully, but the radiotherapy wears me out a bit." She glanced around conspiratorially. "But no telling Laurie or Juanita. I've had it up to here with bed rest."

Monet winced. "Ouch. That kind of really sucks. Let me guess. They're all treating you like you're made out of glass or something, eh?"

"A bit. They're worried, and they want to help. They can't make the cancer go away, but they can make me casseroles and insist on me putting my feet up instead. It makes them feel useful, and I'm not going to take away from that." Gail chuckled a little. "Except when I stage the odd escape. I've been looking after Laurie and myself for so long, it's hard to let go."

Monet had had more than enough of the same treatment two days after getting back from Sydney. "Screw 'em. The whole made of glass thing just gets so old so quick and honestly, bed rest is so boring. So screw 'em. It's not like you can't look after yourself, right?"

"Well, like I said, it gives them a sense of helping, so I can't begrudge them that. And they fuss because they care." Gail blew on her tea before taking a sip. "Once you're well, things will go back to normal."

Monet gave a bitter laugh. "I'd rather they get used to me. I'm better, I'm just not recovered yet and I've had enough of it. I don't need them fussing over me as well. I feel shithouse enough as it is without them rubbing it in all the time because I can't be trusted to tie my own shoes."

"You haven't been sick very often before, have you?" Gail asked quietly, watching Monet with keen eyes, her thin hands wrapped around her tea mug. "You're used to looking after yourself, yes?"

"No..." Monet paused for a moment. "I'm perfect. That's my mutation. I don't get sick, I don't get tired and I don't get hurt. Ever." I go catatonic sometimes but that's not the point because I'm always, always fine after that."So, yes, I am used to looking after myself and I can still do that, because I'm ... mostly fine, as long as you don't want me to handle the good china." She wriggled around on the couch for a moment, drawing her legs up so she cross-legged.

"Laurie's father left me when I was pregnant," Gail told her. "I raised her on my own, pretty much, since my parents died. All that time, looking after the two of us - to suddenly not be able to even walk a block hit me like... a very heavy thing." She gave Monet a small smile. "It was difficult and I've never been so frightened and frustrated and angry in my life. I can only imagine it's ten times worse for you, having never experienced anything like it before."

"Kind of. I just... I want it to be over already, you know? I'm sick of this." Monet shook her head and shoved a clump of hair out of her eyes. "I need to get Yvette to give me a hair cut. It's the downside of being perfect."

"It will be over eventually - you're in one of the best places you could be, and there's a lot of people who will help." Gail spoke with quiet conviction. "Even if they drive you crazy in the process." She tilted her head at the last. "The little red girl? I take it normal scissors won't do the trick?"

"No... it got the invulnerability, too. Nothing works on it, so it's a good thing that it was fantastic to start with." Monet gave a cheerful smile, trying for normal again in the conversation.

"It's certainly not something that you think of when you're talking about mutations, invulnerable hair," Gail chuckled. "But if any hair was going to defy anything thrown at it, it would definitely be yours, Monet."

Monet burst out laughing. "I should totally test that one day, Gail. See just how much it will stand up to. The only problem is the risk of actually damaging it."