Jean and Jake, in the medlab
Jun. 10th, 2009 12:47 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsJake goes to see Jean about the troubles he's still having with his arm.
Jake hesitated, then stepped into the medlab. He'd never liked hospitals or even Xavier's medlabs all that much, and now that he had mad scientists haunting his nightmares, he was even less thrilled at having to walk into the austere room. It occurred to him belatedly that he could have probably asked Jean to meet him somewhere else in the mansion. Too late now, though. He looked around the main room, not seeing anyone. "Hello?"
Jean heard the call faintly from down the hall and it was only a few moments before she made it back into the main room. She'd been working in her office and lost track of the time, although she was pretty certain Amelia had stuck her head in and told Jean she was leaving for a bit. Smiling at Jake Jean said, "Oh, sorry about the wait, was in back. What can I do for you, Jake?"
He'd been ten seconds from leaving when Jean emerged. "Oh. Um..." He rubbed at his mouth absently, not sure if he should try to explain. "I...need some painkillers."
"'Kay," Jean said after a moment's hesitation to see if Jake was going to elaborate on that statement. "I'm assuming you didn't come down here for Tylenol, so... What's up?"
He sighed. "My arm was stolen by some crazy mad scientists, and they've been doing...things to it, and I can feel it. And it hurts. And I can't make it stop hurting." He shrugged uncomfortably. "Unless I take something."
There was a slight pause before Jean said, "Ah. I see. I think. Well then, what's the average pain, on a one to ten scale, and what's the high spike?"
He shrugged again. "It depends. Some days it doesn't hurt at all. Some days..." He paused. "Some days they're cutting it open without anesthetic," he said quietly. "They cut off two of my fingers."
Jean froze slightly at that, her eyes widening, and then she said, "Stay here a sec," and vanished back into the supply cabinet, emerging with a trio of small bottles which she set down on the table next to her prescription pad. Holding up the first one she said, "For 'aspirin's not cutting it but I really need this soreness to go away for a bit' pain. One to three pills at a time, but not more than six in twenty four hours." The next bottle got handed over as she explained, "For 'holy shit this hurts but I have to be coherent' pain. Two pills at a time, please keep it under four doses a day." The last bottle she shook slightly before handing it over, and it clearly had only a few capsules. "This would be the 'I don't have to be conscious for the next eight to ten hours and it really needs to not hurt this much' set. You take more than one of these a day and you don't get anymore."
"I can't actually overdose, you know," he said petulantly, accepting the bottles. "But I'll be good," he amended before she could say anything.
Jean simply arched an eyebrow at him. It seemed to say, 'yes, I know, I did your blood work and compiled your medical file, and your point is?' It was a very eloquent eyebrow. "Somehow I'm having trouble putting the ideas of 'you' and 'being good' together in the same thought."
"It happens," he protested with a grin. "Like right now--I could totally have taken the chance to make some sort of sly comment about how I can be very good." He sobered somewhat, fingers of his left hand flexing absently. "Thank you."
"Yes, but I hit harder than you do," Jean said, smiling faintly back at him. "You're welcome, Jake. I hope it helps. And, you know, let me know if I can do anything else..." Like help with the destruction of whomever was torturing him, inadvertently or otherwise. "Like a lollipop. I'm afraid the cookies we keep down here aren't up to par with what we had when Hank was still here, but we do excellent lollipops."
"Tragic," he replied grandly, one hand over his heart. "You should get the pink girl to rectify that for you. Callie, I think?"
"There's an idea. It's definitely been a while since we've kept a store of fresh-baked anything on hand..."
"She makes excellent tiramisu," Jake replied with a grin that was, perhaps, slightly too wicked for the discussion of baked goods.
Jean laughed slightly. "Have I mentioned lately that you're a very strange man, Jake Gavin?"
The grin grew wider. "Not lately, no. But I'll take that as a compliment."
"As, indeed, it was meant."
Jake hesitated, then stepped into the medlab. He'd never liked hospitals or even Xavier's medlabs all that much, and now that he had mad scientists haunting his nightmares, he was even less thrilled at having to walk into the austere room. It occurred to him belatedly that he could have probably asked Jean to meet him somewhere else in the mansion. Too late now, though. He looked around the main room, not seeing anyone. "Hello?"
Jean heard the call faintly from down the hall and it was only a few moments before she made it back into the main room. She'd been working in her office and lost track of the time, although she was pretty certain Amelia had stuck her head in and told Jean she was leaving for a bit. Smiling at Jake Jean said, "Oh, sorry about the wait, was in back. What can I do for you, Jake?"
He'd been ten seconds from leaving when Jean emerged. "Oh. Um..." He rubbed at his mouth absently, not sure if he should try to explain. "I...need some painkillers."
"'Kay," Jean said after a moment's hesitation to see if Jake was going to elaborate on that statement. "I'm assuming you didn't come down here for Tylenol, so... What's up?"
He sighed. "My arm was stolen by some crazy mad scientists, and they've been doing...things to it, and I can feel it. And it hurts. And I can't make it stop hurting." He shrugged uncomfortably. "Unless I take something."
There was a slight pause before Jean said, "Ah. I see. I think. Well then, what's the average pain, on a one to ten scale, and what's the high spike?"
He shrugged again. "It depends. Some days it doesn't hurt at all. Some days..." He paused. "Some days they're cutting it open without anesthetic," he said quietly. "They cut off two of my fingers."
Jean froze slightly at that, her eyes widening, and then she said, "Stay here a sec," and vanished back into the supply cabinet, emerging with a trio of small bottles which she set down on the table next to her prescription pad. Holding up the first one she said, "For 'aspirin's not cutting it but I really need this soreness to go away for a bit' pain. One to three pills at a time, but not more than six in twenty four hours." The next bottle got handed over as she explained, "For 'holy shit this hurts but I have to be coherent' pain. Two pills at a time, please keep it under four doses a day." The last bottle she shook slightly before handing it over, and it clearly had only a few capsules. "This would be the 'I don't have to be conscious for the next eight to ten hours and it really needs to not hurt this much' set. You take more than one of these a day and you don't get anymore."
"I can't actually overdose, you know," he said petulantly, accepting the bottles. "But I'll be good," he amended before she could say anything.
Jean simply arched an eyebrow at him. It seemed to say, 'yes, I know, I did your blood work and compiled your medical file, and your point is?' It was a very eloquent eyebrow. "Somehow I'm having trouble putting the ideas of 'you' and 'being good' together in the same thought."
"It happens," he protested with a grin. "Like right now--I could totally have taken the chance to make some sort of sly comment about how I can be very good." He sobered somewhat, fingers of his left hand flexing absently. "Thank you."
"Yes, but I hit harder than you do," Jean said, smiling faintly back at him. "You're welcome, Jake. I hope it helps. And, you know, let me know if I can do anything else..." Like help with the destruction of whomever was torturing him, inadvertently or otherwise. "Like a lollipop. I'm afraid the cookies we keep down here aren't up to par with what we had when Hank was still here, but we do excellent lollipops."
"Tragic," he replied grandly, one hand over his heart. "You should get the pink girl to rectify that for you. Callie, I think?"
"There's an idea. It's definitely been a while since we've kept a store of fresh-baked anything on hand..."
"She makes excellent tiramisu," Jake replied with a grin that was, perhaps, slightly too wicked for the discussion of baked goods.
Jean laughed slightly. "Have I mentioned lately that you're a very strange man, Jake Gavin?"
The grin grew wider. "Not lately, no. But I'll take that as a compliment."
"As, indeed, it was meant."
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