Jean-Paul and Nate

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Nate collects Jean-Paul from the infirmary after the speedster's run-in with Wraith.



It had been uncanny timing; Nathan had shown up in the infirmary roughly five seconds after Amelia had told Jean-Paul that he was free to go back to his room, so long as he had someone to check in on him over the course of the night. Nathan had rather brusquely assured her that there would be 'less checking-in, more uninterrupted observation', and Amelia, after an approving (if sardonic) comment about 'reversal of roles', had shooed them both out of the infirmary.

Nathan's expression as he shepherded Jean-Paul upstairs could only be described as thunderous. Yet he seemed utterly uninclined to offer any editorial comments on the evening's events.

Jean-Paul wasn't looking any happier about events. Yes, he was lucky that he hadn't broken his neck, let alone gotten out of the fight without his trachea and larynx crushed. Yes, he was lucky that his throat hadn't swollen to the point that he'd needed Voght to put him under the knife. That didn't change the fact that trying to talk felt like someone was spooling barbed wire out of his throat, swallowing was just as bad, and enforced silence seemed somehow worse than the litany of injuries his powers had protected him from.

Almost as soon as they'd made their way into Jean-Paul's suite, the Canadian flopped onto the couch, a scowling sprawl of sulk with an icepack at its neck.

"Can I get you anything?" Nathan asked quietly, not looking at his friend. "Just think at me, if you want anything..."

Jean-Paul reached for a legal pad atop his coffee table and began scribbling. 'My thoughts are equal parts profanity and self-pity right now. They'll be worse once the pain killers wear off. Better if I write.' A pause. 'You're staying?'

Nathan paused, then came over to get a better look at the note. "Of course I am," he said gruffly, then sat down in one of the chairs, his face in shadow. "Tit for tat, Beaubier." He just had to not sleep, so as not to accidentally send all of Jean-Paul's worldly possessions flying around the room.

Jean-Paul wrote briefly, then tossed the pad back to Nate.

'Thank you.'

Some things did come easier when you didn't have to speak.

Nathan managed to stifle the disbelieving laugh. He was getting thanked, for letting the bastard slip away from him and go on to try and break Jean-Paul's neck. There's irony for you. He shrugged instead. "It's a good thing I've seen you recover from radiation poisoning, or you'd have scared the crap out of me." He'd sensed it happen, with his shields down to call out to Charles and the team leaders.

Jean-Paul sighed and went to go perch on the arm of Nate's chair so that he could get at his tablet again.

'At least I'll only be on baby food for a couple of days this time. And I'll be in a position to make my own. No strained pears. My fight record since I've gotten back sucks, though - one draw, one complete ass-kicking.'

"You didn't come back here to fight," Nathan muttered savagely, his eyes flickering away from the tablet.

'No, but it certainly helps to be able to in this job, even if my biggest struggle is supposed to be trying to make 18th century Germanic thinking accessible to modern youth.' Jean-Paul frowned and poked Nate's shoulder. 'So what fresh trouble is eating you? Don't make me think at you, Dayspring; if I have to expend the effort to think through the drugs, I'll make sure to give you a headache while I'm at it.'

Nathan took a deep breath and then let it out. Confession time. "I let him get away," he muttered. "Didn't realize he was a teleporter - I grabbed him telekinetically, thought I had him. Then he jumped away." And popped back in to take a stab at breaking your neck.

Jean-Paul scribbled a note and whapped the crown of Nate's head lightly with his tablet before handing it over.

'He got away from me too. It's not as if either of us were briefed on the bastard.'

Nathan's reaction to the light swat was disproportionate; he jerked away sharply, and as his head whipped around, the look in his eyes was briefly that of a trapped animal. Calm descended over his features again almost immediately, however, and he gave his head a little shake. "Still," he said, his voice low. "I'm sorry."

Jean-Paul blinked at that moment of near panic, tried to speak, and immediately thought better of that as the effort put barbs into his throat. The pain was enough to set his eyes watering, and he had to grit his teeth to hold back a coughing fit that would make it so much worse.

'I accept your apology for not being perfect,' he thought in Nate's direction, 'if you accept mine for whatever the hell it was I just did.'

Strangely, Nathan smiled, even if the expression was a little thin, and shook his head again. "I'm just jumpy," he said, the gruff tone back. "And if you try and talk again, by the way, I'm going to implant a telepathic suggestion to forget how for the next twenty-four hours. My ethics bend that far quite easily. I've developed a certain flexibility - I suppose that's progress."

'I am trembling and cowed,' Jean-Paul thought dryly, leaning against Nathan. 'Smug bastard showed up in the middle of my kitchen, too. If he'd surprised me in the shower, I'd be less annoyed.

Nathan just shook his head. "You're kind of impossible at times."

'I do try my best. But, really, at least I'd have an excuse for being off my game in the shower. Speaking of impossible things, I hope you don't think you are spending the night in my armchair. Just because you are not turning your stomach inside out every fifteen minutes now does not mean you get to start pushing yourself again.' Jean-Paul smirked suddenly. 'I could get used to communicating like this. I don't even have to stop for breath.'

Nathan rolled his eyes. "God help us all."