Laurie & Jean-Paul, Early Sunday Afternoon (backdated)

[x-quebecois.livejournal.com]

"Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most." - Mark Twain

Laurie drops by Jean-Paul's suite in an effort to help him be social and possibly conquer his issues with cooking.

He was forgetting something.

Not the way he'd been forgetting things for months - Jean-Paul knew that much, at least. This was something entirely mundane. Something that had nothing to do with hurting people or hallways where he couldn't recall the middle bits.

Frowning, he took a rather vicious bite of celery and chewed almost contemplatively, trying to figure out what he was meant to be doing that he wasn't.

The doors and windows were all locked. The curtains weren't drawn, but he was laying on the couch so if an inquisitive purple kitten decided to peer inside, she wouldn't see him. He was eating. He had his books.

But there was something... Jean-Paul just couldn't put his finger on it.

Laurie whistled brightly to herself as she walked down the hall to Jean-Paul's suite, bags of ingredients tucked under each arm. She figured she had enough to make several batches of whatever sort of baking they might feel like making, and they could feed the mansion on any left-overs that should eventuate.

It had taken something of an underhanded campaign on her part of simply suggesting it any time she could, but Jean-Paul had finally conceded defeat. Which was just as well, considering the next step was to involve Yvette and Catseye and the cuteness offensive. She wondered if such tactics were banned by the Geneva convention, but noted to herself that she could use the 'it was all in a good cause' defence.

He'd meditated - that hadn't worked very well. He'd avoided the kitchen - achieved marginally more success in this department. Jean-Paul continued frowning and finished off his celery. His eyes shifted to the side, though, toward the door. John was not supposed to stop by.

The niggling certainty that someone was supposed to arrive wouldn't go away though.

And then he realised what he'd done. He hadn't stomped on Laurie's hints about baking. She'd said something about baking today. Surely she hadn't been serious, though. God only knew what would happen if she actually turned up. He'd probably blow up the mansion - more of it than he'd already blown up, anyway.

It was on that thought that the door opened, and hurricane Laurie breezed inside, her movements efficient as she placed all the bags down on the center table in the kitchen.

"So! Baking," she said with an impish grin, glancing over at Jean-Paul as he lay on the couch. "Come on, lazybones. You didn't say you wouldn't bake with me today, after all."

Raising one finger, a piece of green bell pepper held carefully between his thumb and middle finger as he did, Jean-Paul didn't move another muscle as he - very reasonably - pointed out, "I did not say I would bake with you either, Miss Collins."

"I liked to think of it as silent consent," Laurie noted, unpacking ingredients and placing them carefully on benches. "You could always say no now, though. I'd leave, if you wanted me too."

Laurie gave him one of her best 'could you really say no to something this pathetic looking?' faces.

"Not saying 'no' does not imply a 'yes,'" Jean-Paul said, though he could tell this was a battle he was losing. "It is... in pamphlets. And things." He still hadn't moved, really, though he did let himself munch on the pepper while he eyed the things she'd brought with her. "Many pamphlets."

"Well, yes," Laurie conceded, pulling out a large container of organic flour that she'd brought at a local farmer's market. "But I didn't think that would apply to something like baking. You could always give the cookies a shot and then stop if you don't like it."

"They will not turn out well," Jean-Paul said, forcing himself to sit up. Fatalism was one of his many traits, it seemed, and no amount of reverse psychology or nattering about self-fulfilling prophecies would stop him from believing with all his being that he was going to burn the kitchenette down. Or at least do a great deal of smoke damage to it.

"They'll be fine," Laurie said, looking at him curiously as she hunted around for his baking equipment. "You're not the only one doing this, after all. I'll be right here."

She wasn't sure what it was about cooking that had Jean-Paul so spooked and gun-shy, but she did know that avoiding things would only work for so long. If she could help him, she would, it was what she did.

Mentioning that he'd blown up a potato in the microwave while someone else was there probably wouldn't help his case - and thus far, it seemed Kevin had been disinclined to inform Lorna of his knowledge about the potato, so Jean-Paul wasn't too keen on the idea of letting the information slip. Supervision was not the issue, not really. The quality of the food when it was finished wasn't even necessarily the problem.

But he wasn't going to tell her that. "Bah," he said instead, standing up and walking through the kitchenette to the refrigerator so he could store his vegetables.

Laurie grinned and pulled out the A4 book she kept her store of recipes and notes in. She'd long ago graduated from simply following recipes as they stood and had started experimenting and keeping notes on the things she liked. It had led to her keeping her favourite recipes in a more ready to access form, rather then simply noting page numbers in a series of books.

"I figured we could start out with some of people's favourites, those are always easier to move. Peanut butter cookies to start with, and then maybe something chocolate."

"Bah," Jean-Paul repeated, but he was losing what little bit of steam he'd had. This was a bad plan. An incredibly bad plan. For a multitude of reasons.

Leaning his shoulders against the refrigerator, he crossed his arms and stared at the young woman in front of him, her enthusiasm and good intentions obvious. "This - this is not so good, this plan of yours. It is well meaning, oui? I understand this. I thank you for it, even. But it will not end well." And things that didn't end well, these days, had a tendency to end in horrific crashes of epic proportions.

"Why do you think it won't end well?" Laurie asked, curious now as she laid out the cookie cutters and the cookie trays, plus pulled out a glass mixing bowl from a cupboard where it had been shoved to the back and hidden behind several other implements.

Jean-Paul considered her question, thought back to the rush of false memory he'd had the first time he'd seen Miss Collins in the kitchen downstairs, the fact that he'd very nearly done unspeakable things to her based on those false memories - and that he couldn't remember simple things now. "Things, they have changed. This is obvious, oui? They have changed a great deal. In unhappy ways. I cannot think of a better way to say it. For this, I apologise. But... it is dangerous for others to be so near."

"It is, obvious, that is," Laurie said, facing Jean-Paul fully now, ceasing her preparation. "Is there...I understand if you don't want to talk about it, but wouldn't it be easier to become less sensitive to people? I mean, if that's why it's dangerous for us to be near."

"It is the things... that I think," Jean-Paul said, the words reluctant. "That I remember or do not remember. This is the problem. And these things, they are easier to avoid."

She frowned then, concern written in her eyes, and she stopped herself from reaching out to him, trying to comfort. She got the feeling that it wasn't what he needed at the moment.

"I'm no expert, it's not really the type of medicine I'm interested in," Laurie began slowly, picking her words carefully. "But sometimes, the more you avoid bad thoughts, the more they stay. You build them up in your head, till the only way to avoid them is to avoid life."

How to explain that he would rather avoid life than hurt people? "This is what I want, for now." His arms were still crossed, body language completely closed off, but his eyebrows were up, expression open.

"I understand," Laurie said, turning to pack things up again. "You'll let me know though, when you want something else?"

She could only offer help, she couldn't force it. If he didn't want to be around people, then she'd respect that.

"Oui," Jean-Paul said, watching all of the things she'd brought with her go back into their bags. "Et je suis désolé."

"Aucun besoin d'être désolé," Laurie replied, having to think for a long moment.

She hoped she'd gotten those first few bits right, considering she hadn't done more then listen to a few French for beginners tapes in the past few weeks. It was part of her attempt to be a better eventual doctor. Knowing several languages seemed like a good idea, especially if she wanted to join something like Medecins Sans Frontieres once her education was complete.

"Friends don't ever need to say sorry for needing to be alone."

"Merci, Miss Collins," Jean-Paul murmured, pushing off of the refrigerator and moving slowly through the suite toward his bedroom. He had disappointed her, that was obvious. Would there ever come a day when he did not disappoint someone?