Laurie & Jean-Paul, Early Sunday Afternoon

[x-quebecois.livejournal.com]

Laurie cooks, Jean-Paul tries really hard not to have a breakdown.


The refrigerator in Jean-Paul's suite wasn't working. He didn't know why, but he decided not to bother with it for the time being. That was why he'd walked into the main kitchen, pulling a prepackaged deli sandwich from that refrigerator. He had a package of cookies and one of potato chips in one hand, the sandwich in the other, and a bottle of soda tucked into the crook of his elbow. This was not his ideal meal. Not by any stretch of the imagination. He just hadn't been able to complete a single recipe he'd attempted in months, so this was about as good as it got for him these days. Unless he ordered take away.

Laurie breezed in, humming a popular tune slightly off-key to herself as she headed straight for the rack of pans that hung above the kitchen island. It wasn't until she'd pulled down an iron skillet that she noticed Jean-Paul, and what he was holding in his hands with a small frown. For such a wonderful cook, he seemed to be eating pre-prepared meals a lot these days.

"Couldn't be bothered cooking?" she asked, placing the skillet on one of the cookers and turning it on with a flick of her fingers.

Glancing over his shoulder, Jean-Paul shook his head. He'd almost made it to the door before her face slotted into place in his mind. He'd seen her around the mansion before. He knew her name.

That wasn't the thing that popped to the forefront of his mind, though. "No."

Laurie frowned, pulling the makings of a fry up from various places in the kitchen, sometimes she just felt like cooking greasy food, and the residents of the mansion were usually appreciative of whatever leftovers she packed away in the fridge.

"No?" she asked, not sure what else to say.

"No," he repeated, fingers tightening on the packaged sandwich, making the plastic creak as he tried to suppress the memory he could feel creeping up on him. Nostrils flaring, he swallowed and then turned to put his back against the wall. The memory was false, untrue. He knew that. But it was the first thing that came to mind after seeing her, recognising her.

Pressure, his chest was tight, heart racing - she stood there laughing.

He needed something to follow it, something real.

Laurie eyed him with concern, recognising the signs of oncoming panic from her training and dropping into professional mode almost without thought.

"Jean-Paul, you need to sit down now," she ordered, staying where she was. You didn't approach a startled animal, or human lest they either retreat or attack. "I can't possibly let you eat that when I can cook you something much better."

She hoped the combination of her tone, and something to do would help him, as she certainly had no idea what was setting him off.

Jean-Paul did not want to move.

Panic. If he could make her stop laughing, the panic would go away. He'd be able to breathe.

He shifted, back literally pressed against the wall now, and shook his head briefly. This was controllable. He could manage this. He simply needed a moment to find the right memory.

Fist connected with flesh once - he heard bone break. She wouldn't stop laughing. He hit her again.

"Pini - Wendy. Richard." He was grasping at straws, but he looked back toward the young woman, utterly certain that there was something involving the Pinis that pertained to her and did not make him want to hurt her in retaliation for something she had never done.

He wanted to hurt her. Wanted to break her. Wanted to keep her from ever laughing again.

"Elfquest?" Laurie asked, slightly bemused as she watched a man she'd always known as very together very quickly losing it in front of her. "You gave me the entire collection when I was sick, that one time."

"Oui," Jean-Paul said, fingers relaxing on the sandwich even though his shoulders were still tense. It wasn't quite enough. The other memories were still there. "Remind me. Who was your favourite character?" He remembered enough of the stories to be able to piece bits of them together. They weren't whole, of course, none of his memories really were, but it might be enough.

"Skywise," Laurie answered easily with a smile, "I liked that he wasn't afraid of the new land, even at night."

The package of potato chips crinkled as he shifted his grip on it, but Jean-Paul nodded slowly as the vestiges of those false memories finally faded. "Good, yes." Then he let out a slow breath and, very quietly, said, "I am sorry."

"You should never apologise for things you can't help," Laurie noted softly, walking around the kitchen island and pulling out a chair. "How about you sit down, and I cook you that meal. You look like you could use something home cooked."

She wasn't entirely sure what had just happened, but she wasn't about to browbeat the poor man for having a panic attack. It could happen to anyone, and the people in the mansion had more reason then most to be having them. Frankly, she was always somewhat surprised they weren't all gibbering maniacs.

There was no reason for her to understand that Jean-Paul was apologising for what he'd nearly done, what that false memory had made him want to do. He sat, though, movements exaggeratedly slow for him. "Merci."