Hank & Jean-Paul | Monday Morning

[x-quebecois.livejournal.com]

Jean-Paul has an appointment with Hank to make sure the concussive blasts aren't having a negative effect on him physiologically. JPB strategically doesn't mention Lykos.


Jean-Paul knocked on Hank's door and poked his head inside. "Bonjour, I am here for my appointment."

Hank looked up from his desk, his hand halfway into his doctor's bag clutching a otoscope. "Ah, I was just getting ready to head up to your room, Jean-Paul- I thought that it may be a bit easier on you." He motioned for the younger man to take a seat opposite of him.

"Non, this is fine," Jean-Paul said, stepping inside and closing the door behind himself. "I thank you, though, for the thought."

"While I'm aware that my colleagues are a bit, shall we say adverse, to making house calls- given the size of our little community, I see no reason why we in the medical profession can't make house-calls." Hank took a seat in his high backed chair, rolling it back slightly. "So what did you need to speak with me about? Your email was a touch on the cryptic side."

"It would be a long way for you to District X, mon ami," Jean-Paul said, quirking a rueful smile. "I thought it best to pay the visit to you, oui?" Seating himself, he pulled the prescription bottle that he'd come to the medlab with out of his pocket and put it on Hank's desk. "This, I think it is working. I have had fewer nightmares, at least. I am talking through things with a therapist, as you suggested. That is helping, also."

"I'm quite pleased to hear that the medicine is working- we were even lucky enough to get the measurements right on the first try. Are you sure there haven't been any side effects?" Hank knew it was all just a stop-gap measure and he'd need to wean the Canadian off the meds by this point next year, but there was no sense in causing him to panic now.

"Nothing that is too horrible. I get tired faster, I think, but I have been told that this could be because I am getting old," Jean-Paul said, shrugging with a small, rueful sort of smile tugging at his lips. "I have been keeping my sessions with Jean, also. There is no real progress with the blasts themselves."

Hank had read the reports that Jean had filed with him about the advances they had been making, "I thought she might be able to help, given that you were connecting the blasts with fear." The increase in the rubble output from the danger room was also a testament to how his Canadian friend was progressing. "Getting tired quicker though, hmmm." The doctor thought for a moment, "If you'd like we could try adding a stimulant."

"Non," Jean-Paul said, shaking his head. "I do not think that being tired faster is such a bad thing." And it wasn't like he was unaccustomed to dealing with the repercussions of using his powers more than was wise. "Jean and I, we have worked out that it is when I am, as you say, cornered that the blasts come, at least when I am awake. And the nightmares, they make me feel the same, oui? So."

"If that is your choice," Hank spread his hands out with his palms open. "I wanted to do a basic physical check-up too, just to ensure that your concussive blasts aren't harming your body."

Nodding, Jean-Paul then tipped his head to the side. "Here, in the office? Or one of the examination rooms?" He was fairly certain the exam rooms, at least, had tables and he'd have to put on one of those little gowns that everyone on the face of the planet hated.

Hank shook his head, "One of the examination rooms would be preferable- they are already set up for the tests we will be running." The doctor motioned for the door, "If you're ready, we can begin now."

Jean-Paul stood and moved through to the examination room Hank indicated, muttering quietly to himself in French as he changed into the examination gown. Hatred of the garment likely transcended language barriers, so he made sure he kept his muttering very, very quiet. "Oui, and so." The Quebecois settled on the table.

The doctor worked swiftly, checking Jean-Paul's reflexes, heart-rate, lungs and other various vital systems. Finally satisfied, he perched himself on the rolling stool by his medical supplies and smiled. "You are in excellent health, my friend. I can see no trace of any ill-effects as a result of your use of your concussive blasts."

Swinging his feet a bit, Jean-Paul nodded. "Merci - is this, maybe, because I have some resistance to impacting blunt things if I hit them at high speeds?" He could still hurt himself, knock himself out, in fact, but he wouldn't suffer any kind of lasting damage from something like that.

"It's quite possible that your reinforced skeletal and muscular structure does in fact lend you some resistance. I would imagine we could check your epidermal layers for further developed protection, but given that we have not seen any ill effects as a result of your new-found abilities..." Hank shrugged, "It hardly seems necessary."

"It was only a thought," Jean-Paul said, shrugging a little. "No more testing for now, s'il vous plaît." Then he grinned. "At least not until tomorrow, oui? I have met my limit for the day for the poking and prodding."

Hank smiled and nodded, "I think we are finished here- if you do start to feel any side effects, let me know right away so we can look into it."

"Oui," Jean-Paul said, standing up and preparing to put his clothing back on. He paused, though, with one leg in his jeans and said, "I like the new coffeemaker very much. It made a wonderful latte for me with caramel and chocolate."

With a chuckle, the Doctor nodded, "She does work well, doesn't she? Let's just hope she doesn't become hyper-intelligent and decide that robots should rule the world." Hank laughed a bit louder, albeit a bit more nervously.

Pulling his jeans on the rest of the way, Jean-Paul nodded. "Oui, I believe this intelligence... it could be an issue." Then he quirked a rueful smile and got rid of the gown so he could pull on his shirt. "I asked for an Americana. She told me I did not want that, I wanted something sweet."

Hank nodded, "I did program her with a rudimentary understanding of our population's personal food preferences. Actually, HB is hooked into the mansion's computer systems, before long I can probably come up with some upgrades to have her be able to start predicting peoples orders based on habits and routines." The doctor didn't add that this sort of technology already existed and was heavily used by both the Japanese government and Wal-Mart.

"I do not know about these things," Jean-Paul said, shrugging. "I know only that I did want something sweet, and so it was nice to have it." He finished getting dressed and laid the gown he'd worn over the table. "Merci, Hank. I will let you know if I feel any side effects, as you say."