JP and Callie: Why so sick?

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After hearing that Jean-Paul was admitted to and released from the medlab, Callie brings him magical soup, and they discuss what happened.



He hadn't publicly announced it, but Callie knew that something was wrong with her literature teacher. The mansion was small enough that word that he had been in the medlab made it to her eventually. Of course the brood of blondes that had informed her of this matter knew far little just that, but they had still made sound as if Jean -Paul was on his death bed.

Which, given their surroundings, would not be that unheard of. Especially since (if what had been told to her was indeed correct), there was a failure on his part to suffer any physical injuries. So whatever it was that had landed someone with a speedster's abnormally high body temperature ill, it had to be bad, Callie knew. Therefore, it was a great relief to hear that the French-Canadian had been released from the medlab, though this still failed to soothe her mind. So she decided to pay him a visit, and bring something that would hopefully aid in his recovery process, whatever that was.

"Knock knock," she called in cheerfully, her foot tapping lightly at the open door. The tray in her hands made it impossible for her to use her hands, so she was thankful that the door into the suite was open. "Mister Beaubier? It's me. I came to see how you are doing. I brought soup? May I come in? Please?"

"Callie?" Mister Beaubier's voice was fuzzy and his accent thicker than usual. "Yes, come in." When the door opened, he was sitting on the edge of the couch, combing his hair back into place with his fingers. He started to speak, then chuckled sleepily as he saw the tray in her hands. "That answers my opening question. So how are you?"

Well he didn't look like he was dying, which was good, but Jean-Paul still didn't look completely well. So it was a good thing that Callie had the foresight to cook up a batch of The Soup. Half of which now sat in the middle of the tray she was carrying slowly, and with great concentration, into the room, being extra careful not to spill any more. But the large bowl filled with liquid was heavy, and there were splotches of spillage dotting the tray, which Callie added to when she gently set the tray down on the coffee table.

"I heard you were in the medlab," she explained, using one of the napkins she had brought to wipe up the mess she had made. "I came by to see how you are?"

"I'm fine, just having a nap." He finally settled for tucking his hair behind one ear and regarded the tray with interest. "Though I am not going to complain about being fed."

"Are you sure? You look a little... never mind." She eyed him cautiously. "It's my grandmother's miracle soup. It's pretty much a cure-all. Though I warn you, asking what's in it or how much garlic I used is confidential information that you really don't want to know. But trust me, it works. And it won't kill you."

"It wouldn't be a fair fight anyway." Jean-Paul lifted the out sized bowl from the tray cautiously and tasted. "Mmm." His eyebrows rose and he offered Callie a smile. "It's good. And I won't even try to guess what is in it, how is that?"

His smile was reciprocated with one from her as she settled herself on the floor a few feet away. "My mom used to make it for me all the time when I was sick." There was a touch of sadness in her voice as she spoke. "The Stepfords made it out to sound like you were really, really sick."

"I have not had what could be called a fun weekend," he confessed, "but I will be fine. No missing class this time. You do not have to sit on the floor. I'm not contagious and there are no invisible students in the chairs." He set the bowl down. "So what else have the Stepford girls been saying?"

Callie nodded and pulled her knees up so she could rest her chin upon them. "I'm fine. Thank you. I like sitting on the floor." She knew it was a little weird, but that was her. "Well... they said that you were in the medlab dying and something about Cammie? I think?"

"How very dramatic." Jean-Paul shook his head. "Cammie did punch me and my system did not take well to sucking up a shot of toxins so close to the brain, but there's no damage to speak of. She got me to the medlab too quickly for that." Jean-Paul shrugged. "It is not worth getting bothered over."

A million questions rushed through her head, but many of them were inappropriate to ask and could probably constitute a further invasion of the girl's privacy. So instead of asking outright what had happened, Callie's brain jumped five questions beyond and she ended up with, "Was it because of what I did?"

"It was because of what I was doing, Callie, which was overly-aggressive questioning on a delicate subject. You had nothing to do with that part."

There was a part of her that couldn't, or rather didn't want to, accept this. She tended to blame herself for things she had no control over, this being one of them. But that thought was small compared with the other activity in her brain. Callie knew that Jean-Paul was right; she may have given him the information, but his choice on how to handle it was his responsibility. She sighed. "I know... I know. There's still that part of me that's like if I had ignored the flier none of this would have happened you know?"

"So long as we're imagining, what do you suppose might have happened if Cammie's past caught up with her and none of us knew what was going on?" Jean-Paul had switched to a somewhat lower key version his classroom voice; he didn't have the energy for the full lecture.

"Um...." Callie rocked a bit as she thought for a few moments. While she wasn't a scholar of the law, every scenario she ended up with something bad happening. If Inez had gotten into that much trouble for what had happened at the diner, she could only imagine what Cammie could have gone through. Theoretically speaking that is. "Yeah, you're right." Another sigh. "She's like really mad at me though. Like she yelled at me for invading her privacy and stuff. But I wasn't doing it to be mean or use it for blackmail or anything, I was trying to help."

"Good intentions backfire sometimes." He even managed to say the words and keep a straight face. "But even if we're sorry for the results, it is still worth attempting to help." He considered. "Most times, anyway."

"And what about those times? When we shouldn't attempt to help?"

"When the urge to help is more about ourselves than the other person. But I suppose I am not the best person to talk about such things -- I am not so much a reasonable judge."

She nodded and paused for several moments to take in everything that was being said. No one had all the answers, not even those who you think would. Life was about figuring out things as you went along, she decided. Life was one grand experiment, and when one method failed it was time to try something different. "Well... thank you anyways Mister Beaubier. For helping. With everything."