xp_logs | Jean-Paul & Hank- Concussive Blasts

Jean-Paul seeks help for suppressing the new powers he's been experiencing.

Jean-Paul wasn't sure, really, what good it would do him, seeing Doctor McCoy, but the Professor had suggested it, so he found himself making his way toward the doctor's office. Probably, this was better than the alternative. Jean-Paul was worse than reluctant when it came to letting a telepath poke through his mind, even one as skilled and trustworthy as Professor Xavier.

Reaching the door, he knocked.

Inside, Hank McCoy was hanging from the ceiling going over the results of his latest test in the laboratory downstairs. The second generation nanites weren't taking to their programming and, as for proper protocols, he'd been required to destroy them. This brought Hank back to the drawing board as far as his work was concerned. The knock took a moment to register before Hank said, "Enter."

Turning the handle and walking inside, Jean-Paul glanced upward and let his brows rise. "Bonjour." He waited a moment before asking, "May I speak with you, Doctor McCoy?"

"Bonjour, Monsieur Beabuier," Hank said closing the file and dropping it on his desk. With a slight flip the doctor dismounted and the ceiling and fell into the chair behind his desk. "Bien sûr vous pouvez parler avec moi, comment vous sentez-vous aujourd'hui?"

Quirking a small smile, Jean-Paul closed the door behind himself. "Merci. I am... not so well as I have been," Jean-Paul replied, answering in English simply because it was what he'd become accustomed to speaking these past few months. "That is why I have come to see you. The Professor, he suggested it."

"If you're not feeling well then you've come to the right place," Hank gestured to the empty chair on the other side of the large desk. "Tell me, what's on your mind."

"You see, that is the problem. I am..." Jean-Paul paused as he sat, frowning a little. "I think something is wrong with my mutation." He was old enough, had developed enough control over the years, that to admit that was something of a difficulty.

"Something wrong?" Hank asked, concerned. "While that's alarming, it's not entirely descriptive."

"It has changed. Again," Jean-Paul said, reluctant to discuss his problems despite the fact that he'd been the one to seek help. "Before, it was not so bad. It was the light, with Jeanne-Marie, that stopped working, oui?" He nodded to himself a bit, glancing at Doctor McCoy before letting his eyes trail to the side. "That began again, last year. But it has stopped again and something else has happened. It is... a force?" That was wrong. "Energy. It is strong enough to push people away, but does not happen all the time."

"The term you're looking for might be concussive blasts," Hank said, turning to his file cabinet and rifling through the multitude of folders there-in. "Invisible energy that moves objects indiscriminately?"

"Oui," Jean-Paul said, nodding as he watched the doctor shuffle through his cabinet. "I have never done this before. I cannot control it - stop it."

"Jean-Paul, you sound like a teenager, wanting to stop your powers. If this is the way your abilities are evolving, then you of all people should know that it can't be stopped." Hank smiled and pulled a file, "Concussive blasts, let's see, let's see..." he perused.

Lips thinning, Jean-Paul held his tongue for a moment. Then, carefully, he said, "It is that this is very different. In truth, I would like to turn this off. But as you say, it is likely that it cannot be stopped. This is why I am here." He wasn't entirely sure it counted as evolution of his powers, but he wouldn't bicker about it, lest it seem he was whining.

Seeing that his usually fantastic bedside manner had just failed him, Hank allowed himself a moment of confusion before sliding a piece of paper across the desk to Jean-Paul. "My apologies, I may have been a bit severe with my last comment. Take a look at this and tell me if it sounds a bit like what you're experiencing."

"Merci," Jean-Paul murmured, taking the piece of paper so he could read over it. "Oui," he murmured, looking back up at the doctor. "It is the energy that you said before, but I cannot direct it anywhere." There were quite a few different ways this power seemed to manifest, though. "As I said, I cannot control it." He frowned for a moment, then sighed, "It happens when I am having nightmares. And when people restrain me?" Reluctant to go into the circumstances that had lead to that discovery, Jean-Paul stopped, then finished, "But it is this, it seems."

"What sort of nightmares," Hank asked bluntly.

"Of what was done to me last year," Jean-Paul said, not sure whether the doctor had been privy to the information that came back after he'd been retrieved from Shrine's laboratory. It would have made sense for him to be, but there was so much from that time specifically that he couldn't seem to place properly. "Of being tortured."

"Ah," Hank thought for a moment. "Have you been talking to a psychologist about this? Not that I'm a stranger to the matters of the mind, but I'm no professional when it comes to areas that Doctor Samson usually deals with."

"Doctor Samson is on sabbatical," Jean-Paul said, concentrating on keeping his hands still where they rested on the arms of the chair. "As I said, I have spoken with the Professor." That hadn't necessarily helped with his problem, though.

"What did Professor Xavier recommend? Wait, let me guess..." Hank sighed and took off his glasses. "He told you to come to me with this."

"Oui," Jean-Paul said, nodding. "I am not sure what I should... do." Which rankled. "Have you any suggestions? I do not want to inconvenience you, of course."

"If the Professor has given me a vote of confidence, I can't really decline the opportunity to expand my medical expertise." Hank extended a hand, "Let's start with seeing if we can induce your ability in the danger room."

Taking the doctor's hand, Jean-Paul nodded. This didn't necessarily sound like the best of ideas, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't really be enjoying anything that might trigger one of the concussive blasts. It was better to go ahead and get it over with. "Merci, Doctor McCoy."