Jean-Phillipe and Marie-Ange (Backdated)

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Backdated to February. After the events of The Times They Are a Changin', Marie-Ange comes to visit her cousin in the Medlab and brings him takeout, and almost suggests she might be worried about him overdoing things with his powers.


The medlab beds were comfortable enough, though Jean-Phillipe would naturally rather be up in his own bed than at the tender mercies of Amelia Voght. Not that the severe doctor knew much about the word 'mercy'. She was businesslike and distant. Jean-Phillipe conceded she was quite good at her work, but it didn't mean he liked the woman. But he was mostly in for observation, after the way his powers had been drained. He'd gotten a bit of an earful about the effects that might occur long-term, but at least this time hadn't been his fault. And Scott's commending him on his attempt to talk the young man down did quite a bit to blunt his annoyance at Dr. Voght. And so he settled back against the pillows propping him up like a good little patient, ensuring that the polished walnut of the cane he'd demanded was close at hand in case he had to use the facilities. At least Voght hadn't tried to inflict a catheter on him. Thank heaven for that.

Marie-Ange had assumed that since she did not have any text message saying "Save me from hospital robes!" that she need not gain access to his wardrobe and bring him a set of pajamas. Which was good because that would require going into his underwear drawer and that was best left to people not related to him. His suitemate, for example. Instead, she had food, because Jean-Phillipe plus exhaustion meant he would be hungry, and while the doctors would bring him food, it would cause complaint. Better then, she thought to forestall complaint and just get him an entire bag of take-out for himself. She'd eaten in the car on the way over.

She'd avoided the entire "convince Dr. Voght to let her visit" issue by managing to avoid the doctor entirely, and ducked into the room where Jean-Phillipe was recuperating with a only slightly furtive look on her face.

At the sight of the bag in Marie-Ange's hand, Jean-Phillipe levered himself to a more upright position. "I take back every terrible thing I may have ever said about you, cousin," he told her, with the barest trace of a slur still slowing his voice. Medical attention had helped, but he was still clearly only partway through the recovery process.

"Even the time you called me a fat cow?" Marie-Ange asked as she set the bag down on the table and began unpacking it. "I was not quite sure what you might be in favor of eating, so I took the most expedient route and simply ordered half a dozen things I know you quite like." The bag was large, and there were really more containers than room on the small table. She had to stack. "I assumed given your normal appetite you would not object, no?"

"Even the time I called you a fat cow," Jean-Phillipe parroted, one of the containers already open and food on its way to his mouth without any of his usual politeness and refinement. "Besides," he murmured around his first mouthful. "I called you that to try and snap you out of whatever spell that Caliban cul had you under." He made a noise of pleasure at the taste of the food that would not have been out of place in a bedroom. "And my appetite is far from normal at the moment."

"I rather noticed." Marie-Ange arranged herself in the visitors chair, somehow with one leg pulled up, and watched her cousin make food disappear like magic. "What I am also noticing is that you are gripping that fork as though you are afraid you may drop it, and actually chewing your food even though you look as though you might prefer to shovel it in with both hands." She gave him a stern look, and then continued on. "So why, if I may ask, are you afraid you are going to drop your fork or choke on your food?"

Jean-Phillipe gave her a rather eye-rolling look, as if he were expecting her to know the answers to the questions she was asking. His cousin was a spy, after all. Information was her stock in trade. "Why am I in the Medlab in the first place?" he asked her rhetorically in return. "Powers mishap."

The look that Marie-Ange gave back was equal parts exasperation and concern. Which on her face just appeared as more exasperation. "Powers mishap? If I understand, you were at that rally and there were FOH members who developed powers!" She snorted, entirely unladylike. "That is quite a bit more than a mishap!"

"One of theirs reacted badly with mine," Jean-Phillipe elaborated between mouthfuls of food. "Drained me completely." More than completely, really, as if he had been a bucket of water that had been turned inside out by the emptying process.

"Slurring, numbness in the extremities, loss of balance, I have read your medical files from the hospital when you manifested." Marie-Ange said, with a glare. "I know what myelin is, and I know what it is for. I took Psychology 100. I did actually go to university for two semesters." And then had to actually do the work to get the architecture degree that she supposedly had. "Is it going to be permanent?"

Jean-Phillipe would have bristled at Marie-Ange's glare, but he rather supposed it was the closest she might come to admitting worry about him. "The side effects? Non," he replied. "My body will adapt to the status quo, and I will retain a bit more capacity after I have recovered." He shrugged. "But I think the doctors would prefer if I were to not continue to push my limits quite so thoroughly."

Understatement of the week, certainly. At least this time he was not panicking or leaving hospital with strange terrorists men without a word to his family. Which she did assume most of the guilt in causing her cousin to not believe he would've been welcome to call her. "The doctors are not the only ones, no?" Marie-Ange uncrossed her legs, and took one of the napkins from the table, and spread it on her lap before opening one of the containers of food. "I am quite certain your suitemate will be beside herself trying to make sure you take care of your health."

Jean-Phillipe snorted. "Laurie the doctor in training. She absolutely has already gotten the stereotypical physician 'god complex' perfect." He pursed his lips. "But the attention is nice sometimes when I am feeling poorly, I suppose. It would just be nicer if she could be a good-looking man paying all that attention to me..."

Marie-Ange took out her phone and tabbed through the contacts. "Most unfortunately for you, I do not have the phone number for the individual who switched the sex of several of us a few years ago, and I am not certain that Laurie would really appreciate an unexpected y chromosome." She certainly had not appreciated hers.

"Eh bien," Jean-Phillipe agreed. "I do not suppose I would handle a second X with much grace myself."