Pull the Trigger: Simon and Jean-Paul
Jun. 11th, 2015 02:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
om_touchstone posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
om_mainJean-Paul and Simon deal with the aftermath of the attack. SFW, Cuddling Only.
BACKDATED: June 11th, 2015
When Jean-Paul returned to the room, Simon was shivering, but had managed to change his shirt at least, and had burrowed under a blanket with Moira's help. He had a line in his arm for a transfusion to replenish the blood he'd lost, but his eyes were closed, the pain and nausea from his head not helping matters.
Jean-Paul bit down on the rush of anger that Simon had endured more handling without him.
"Hey." Very quiet as he turned down the lights. He approached the medical bed. "River's not hurt. She and Faiza sent me back in here with some herbal tea. And it looks like you could use the warming up."
Simon looked up, breathing out a sigh of relief as he took the cup in both hands, careful not to let it shake too much. He wasn't sure at this point whether he was shaking because of the cold, the concussion, or because of what had happened. He knew. He knew better than any of them how close to death he'd been, and yes, that scared the hell out of him. But it scared him more that he'd left River alone. "Thanks..."
Jean-Paul sat as close as he dared; what he wanted to do was climb into the bed, hold on to Simon, and never let go. He smoothed his fingers gently through Simon's hair, taking care not to brush his scalp.
"I invited River to stay with us for a bit when Moira lets you out of here. I didn't think you'd mind."
Simon's gaze slid toward him. "No. I don't. Did she agree?"
"She's thinking about it. She'll probably say yes. Don't worry, all right? No matter what, she's safe. She's not hurt. She practically chased me back in here to look out for you."
Grunting softly, Simon closed his eyes and brought the tea to his lips for a slow sip. "I'm alright. Faiza does good work."
"Hey. Don't bullshit a professional, all right?" But it did make Jean-Paul smile a little that Simon would even try.
Simon hummed under his breath. "Severe blood loss, concussion symptoms, possibly scrambled brain signals. We don't know how her power fully works. Is that better?"
Jean-Paul kissed the top of Simon's head. "Merci, but I wasn't speaking of that. Just...I am glad you're alive. That's all."
Looking up at him, Simon sighed softly. "So am I. I'm sorry I worried you. I think I can see now, why Scott doesn't want me out in the field."
"You know it's to do with you being too valuable behind the scenes," Jean-Paul murmured against his hair. "Please don't run yourself down right now."
Simon let it go, mostly because he was too dizzy and disoriented to do anything else. Jean-Paul's breath felt good against his scalp, warm and comforting and easy. He forgot about the tea, leaning into the touch and the warmth. "Okay."
"Think Moira will kill me if I climb on this bed and keep you warm like a boyfriend should?" He didn't think he could press close enough to be as near as he wanted to Simon. "God, I was so glad to see you when I walked through that door. Xavier told me everything, but still...I had to see it."
"I think Moira can't say much about it if you do," Simon smiled. "Besides, she needs me. She'll overlook it."
More than once, Jean-Paul had used his gravity-defying powers to slip into bed carefully enough not to wake Simon. Now he simply had to do it gently enough to keep from jostling his IV line and a cup of hot tea. Piece of cake.
"Are you OK for skin-to-skin contact?"
"I suppose we will find out," Simon tipped up one side of his lips in a half-smile. "I don't know."
"Ask a stupid question..." Jean-Paul spooned behind Simon as best he could, making sure his hands found cloth and not skin. He went as far as resting his head on a corner of the narrow hospital pillow. "I don't want to rattle your brains any more than they have been. I can wait a while to paw you."
"Appreciated," Simon breathed, fumbling the tea cup to the nightstand before sinking back into the warmth and safety of his boyfriend's arms. "When did they tell you?"
"Not until you were out of danger." Jean-Paul hooked the blanket with one finger and pulled it up over both of them. He could feel Simon relaxing a little more with each breath and cuddled him closer. "I guess they didn't want me in the way."
Eyes sliding closed, Simon let the solidity of Jean-Paul stabilize his dizziness. The heat was very nice too, and his muscles slowly uncoiled. "Perhaps. They were efficient." He paused. "The men saw River's face..."
"Agent...Phil and Betsy were involved in the clean-up. I'd trust them to be thorough as humanly possible."
Betsy...Simon relaxed further. She would do what she needed to. "Thank you."
"Thank her when you see her." Jean-Paul sighed against Simon's neck. "I guess I would have just complicated things. Stopping an angry speedster from committing homicide does that."
"Jean-Paul," Simon sighed, but he knew it was the absolute truth. And, secretly, he was glad JP hadn't seen him like that.
"Hush. I'm not making you reassure me. Just letting you know I'm not going to sulk." Another light hug. "I'm going to work on getting you back on your feet, though. You're going to want to be rid of me by morning."
"I won't. But at this rate, I may want to stay in bed for the next three days," Simon breathed. "My head is killing me. Additional swelling, probably."
Jean-Paul tensed a bit. "That's dangerous, isn't it? Should I get Faiza?"
Simon lay a hand on Jean-Paul's without thinking about it, stopping him from moving. Then he had to readjust as he took in Jean-Paul's information, breathing out a sigh as he was greeted with the familiar litany of his boyfriend's physiology. "It's normal," he murmured finally. "And Faiza has done enough. The swelling will go down on its own."
"Mmm." Jean-Paul squeezed his hand. "Everything OK in there?"
"Yes," Simon breathed. "I'm used to you. It's a bit like eating crackers when you're nauseated. Easier to take than others."
"That's me: white, salty, and brittle." Jean-Paul kissed his cheek.
"You are hardly brittle," Simon smiled vaguely.
"I do snap easily." But God, that smile looked good on him.
Simon choked a soft laugh at that, because, oh god, bad joke, but he couldn't help himself. It was true. Besides, it felt good to laugh when he knew that once he could think straight again, he was going to freak out.
"See what kind of man you're stuck with?" Jean-Paul ran his fingers through Simon's hair. "Trust me, you'll beg Scott to take me away after a few hours."
"I would never beg Summers to take you away from me," Simon mumbled. Mostly because he was a little afraid JP would go.
*****
Moira had let him out of the infirmary six hours later, when he'd regained some color and was capable of walking on his own. He'd continued to suffer from headaches and mild vertigo, but that was perfectly normal for a head injury, especially one healed by telekinetic biological energy (or whatever it was that powered Faiza's healing.) Faiza was extremely talented, but the brain was a mysterious place; a complete nervous system filled with neurons, glial cells, and blood vessels, wrapped in neural tissue and suspended in cerebrospinal fluid. In short, even Faiza couldn't put everything back into place exactly as it had been before, and Simon's brain had suffered an extreme trauma.
He was fortunate that all he was experiencing were the symptoms of a grade three concussion. It could have been much worse. Amnesia, language issues, hallucination, epilepsy, stroke, or coma were also extremely likely, which is why Moira had entrusted Jean-Paul in keeping an eye on his boyfriend for any strange behavior. She might not have let them leave at all, but she recognized that psychologically, Simon needed to be in a more comfortable environment than his workplace, especially since he kept trying to sneak scans of his head or peruse the medical files himself.
Which is how he found himself curled up in his and Jean-Paul's large bed in the middle of the night, safe and whole, and yet terrified. He jolted violently as he came awake, soaked in a cold sweat, River's name on his lips. His hands clawed at the sheets, his breath coming in rough pants.
"Simon." Jean-Paul reached for his shoulder, his own heart pounding. He hadn't slept, only stood guard against Simon's dreams as best he could. But even he hadn't expected the sudden wrench into wakefulness.
Simon didn't hesitate. Hearing his name, he whipped around, his fist coming up to catch his assailant's jaw, blind to the reality of where he was or who he was with.
There was no restraint to the blow and Jean-Paul hadn't seen it coming. The force of the punch knocked him clear of his hold on Simon and sent him back against the headboard. Rattled, he brought his arm automatically to block any other incoming blows and barked out a sharp, "Hey! Knock it off!"
Simon had been twisting around to continue the attack when the shout caught him off guard and he stilled in place, his eyes clearing slowly. He sucked a breath, then shoved a shaking hand back through his hair, still trying to pull himself out of the nightmare.
Jean-Paul sat up slowly, every sense focused on Simon. "Hey," he said again. "It's me. It's Jean-Paul. River's safe. So are you."
"I'm sorry," Simon breathed, scraping a hand down his face. Only, that didn't help, and he suddenly felt sick. Stumbling off of the bed and out of the sheets, he disappeared into the bathroom, the door shutting soundly behind him.
Jean-Paul gave him a few minutes, just as happy to have the time to clean the blood from his lip. Simon really didn't need to worry about that on top of everything else. But after a bit, he did tap hesitantly on the door. "Simon?"
"It's open," Simon answered from where he sat on the bathroom floor, his back against the wall. He'd got his face washed and teeth brushed, but had kind of lost the energy required to go anywhere after that. He had a bottle of Listerine sitting beside him, but had yet to actually pick it up.
Jean-Paul shut the door behind him after he entered, then came to sit down beside Simon. He leaned against Simon a little, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Nice punch."
"I'm pretty sure my hand is broken," Simon joked deadpan. "I'm sorry."
"You'll make it up to me later." He stroked his thumb gently along Simon's temple. "Shitty dream, huh?"
Simon leaned against him, curling up into his arm to lay his head against Jean-Paul's shoulder. "It was just my body translating the turmoil of my injuries into a neuropathic response."
"Like I said. Shitty dream." Jean-Paul slid his free hand into Simon's and gave it a squeeze, letting him concentrate on the ebb and flow of his lover's lifesigns instead of his own.
Simon closed his eyes, listening and feeling Jean-Paul, ignoring his own vertigo. "Are you alright?"
"Little bloodied, a little bruised. I'll be fine in a couple of hours. How about you? The head doing any better, nightmares aside?"
The young med student could see for himself how much damage he'd done, but at least Jean-Paul was right. He would be fine in a few hours. On the other hand, he could ruin his own career if he didn't stop letting himself punch first and ask questions later. There was a reason he'd chosen swordplay as his sport. "Moderate concussion still, but I will be fine. My stomach is blessedly empty now."
"Mmm. Words to worry your boyfriend." Jean-Paul kissed the top of his head. "Do you want me to try setting up my anxiety cure? Aroma therapy and trashy TV might be good for both of us."
The tension in Simon relaxed a notch as he glanced up. "Yes...I think that might be nice."
Jean-Paul guided him off the floor, heroically resisting the urge to swoop Simon into his arms and carry him. It was a stupid impulse, but he couldn't just push it away. He didn't want to be further than arm's length away from Simon after he'd come so close to losing him; just the thought of it tightened his throat and set panic scratching at the back of his mind.
"Want me to get you some soup or something?" he murmured.
"Tea?" Simon requested, leaning on Jean-Paul until they got to the bed. "Peppermint or ginger."
"Sure." Jean-Paul got him settled (fussing perhaps a bit more than need be, but wasn't that his job?) and lit a cinnamon candle. A pot of ginger tea followed a few minutes later, delivered with Simon's favorite bed warmer: his boyfriend. The Food Network was switched on a moment later, and Simon nestled in Jean-Paul's arms, surrounded by the scent of spice.
A minute after that, Simon switched it to the History Channel, his lips twitching slightly where he had pulled the mug up to his lips to breathe in the scent of ginger and the heat of the steam.
Jean-Paul gave his boyfriend a look of mock-outrage. "You really would prefer to watch Hitler's Alien Abduction over Alton Brown putting the dignity of the overworked and underpaid up for auction?"
"I might even prefer Finding Bigfoot," his boyfriend smiled into the mug.
"I'll blame it on the concussion, so take full advantage." He gave Simon a little squeeze. "Can I at least get some suggestions for the menu tomorrow, or do you leave yourself entirely in my hands?"
The television switched over to Animal Planet, and Simon leaned into him. "Do I actually have to eat?"
"You're not going to replenish the blood you lost with tea and determination." Jean-Paul stroked Simon's chest idly as he considered. "What about butternut squash soup? I know you like that. Warm, nutritious...?" And out of season, but Jean-Paul was willing to violate some culinary tenets for Simon's sake.
Simon hummed, closing his eyes and relaxing into the warm caress. "With grilled cheese?"
Jean-Paul laughed softly, all relief. "The fanciest grilled cheese I can put together. With tomato, even."
"You know I love you," Simon murmured, tilting his head to look up at his boyfriend with a small smile, "But I don't need fancy right now."
"You know me." Jean-Paul leaned in for a kiss; Simon's lips tasted of sweetness and heat. "Fancy is how I show I love you."
Carefully, Simon pulled away from the kiss, not wanting Jean-Paul to smell his breath. "River might want some too. Have you heard from her?"
"I think she needed some distance from all the emotional upheaval," Jean-Paul admitted. "She knows I'll come get her if anything goes wrong with you."
Simon stared at the television for a minute, hating the fact that his and River's powers mixed so terribly with one another. "I'm fine. It's her I'm worried about."
"It's a setback," Jean-Paul sighed. "And I still don't have the first clue how she took those men down by herself."
"Neither do I," Simon murmured. "I swear to you, I fought. They were considerably stronger and clearly had training themselves."
It was only the cup of hot tea that kept Jean-Paul from hugging Simon as hard as he could.
"Simon, there's no one in this school stupid enough to think you wouldn't fight to protect River."
"And I still failed her," he murmured, staring down at the liquid still steaming at the bottom of the mug.
"Against three-on-one odds," Jean-Paul reminded him. "I have the flashy powers and I've gotten my ass handed to me in fights more weighted in my favor."
"Two-on-one," Simon corrected him, then leaned his head back staring straight ahead. "I want to be able to protect her, but I can't."
"I'm sorry." Now wasn't the time to speak of his own frustrations of Jeanne-Marie, or how little River wanted protecting. He knew this broke Simon's heart and there was nothing either of them could do about it. "But you'll always be there to help her after."
Simon reached up, rubbing his head and pushing the mug off onto the nightstand. "And now I've given her one more reason to fear. Of all the reasons someone could have to come after me...I didn't think my research would be one of them."
"This isn't on you and you know it." Jean-Paul cupped his cheek. "Those fuckheads wouldn't have known you from Adam if you hadn't been seen with me."
"Oh are we playing the blame game now?" Simon eyed him soberly.
"Just making sure it's fairly distributed," Jean-Paul countered, his voice never rising above a gentle murmur. "We're publicly entwined, mon brave."
Simon sighed softly and shifted to lay his head against Jean-Paul's chest. "I suppose it's true."
"And blame matters less right now than getting everyone on their feet again, non? And perhaps interrogating Phillip as to exactly what happened to the assholes that attacked you."
"Phillip. He took care of them?" Simon asked, trying to remember if he'd been told that before.
"The rescue team he was heading did." Jean-Paul cleared his throat, suddenly sheepish. "I didn't ask many questions. I was preoccupied."
"I am going to have to treat that man to dinner," Simon murmured thoughtfully. He turned, slipping his arms around Jean-Paul's waist, tucking his head beneath the other teen's chin. Happily, he could still watch the Bigfoot hunters making 'squatch noises in the woods from that vantage.
Jean-Paul chuckled and wrapped Simon up in a hug. "Maybe we should invite him to the apartment instead. I promise to behave myself."
Simon hummed. "Are you trying to keep me out of the public eye?"
"I'm thinking our exceedingly discreet friend might be more forthcoming in a private setting with a custom meal," Jean-Paul pointed out. "It's a bit too late to put the genie back in the bottle where we are concerned, I would think."
"You might be right," Simon agreed thoughtfully. "Is he dating anyone? We could invite them."
"Define 'dating'." Jean-Paul concentrated on petting Simon and not on the nonsense on the screen. "But I think Nori would come along if we extend an invitation, yes."
That was news to Simon, but he just nodded, slowly relaxing against his boyfriend again, feeling himself slip closer toward sleep. "I'll ask him in the morning."
BACKDATED: June 11th, 2015
When Jean-Paul returned to the room, Simon was shivering, but had managed to change his shirt at least, and had burrowed under a blanket with Moira's help. He had a line in his arm for a transfusion to replenish the blood he'd lost, but his eyes were closed, the pain and nausea from his head not helping matters.
Jean-Paul bit down on the rush of anger that Simon had endured more handling without him.
"Hey." Very quiet as he turned down the lights. He approached the medical bed. "River's not hurt. She and Faiza sent me back in here with some herbal tea. And it looks like you could use the warming up."
Simon looked up, breathing out a sigh of relief as he took the cup in both hands, careful not to let it shake too much. He wasn't sure at this point whether he was shaking because of the cold, the concussion, or because of what had happened. He knew. He knew better than any of them how close to death he'd been, and yes, that scared the hell out of him. But it scared him more that he'd left River alone. "Thanks..."
Jean-Paul sat as close as he dared; what he wanted to do was climb into the bed, hold on to Simon, and never let go. He smoothed his fingers gently through Simon's hair, taking care not to brush his scalp.
"I invited River to stay with us for a bit when Moira lets you out of here. I didn't think you'd mind."
Simon's gaze slid toward him. "No. I don't. Did she agree?"
"She's thinking about it. She'll probably say yes. Don't worry, all right? No matter what, she's safe. She's not hurt. She practically chased me back in here to look out for you."
Grunting softly, Simon closed his eyes and brought the tea to his lips for a slow sip. "I'm alright. Faiza does good work."
"Hey. Don't bullshit a professional, all right?" But it did make Jean-Paul smile a little that Simon would even try.
Simon hummed under his breath. "Severe blood loss, concussion symptoms, possibly scrambled brain signals. We don't know how her power fully works. Is that better?"
Jean-Paul kissed the top of Simon's head. "Merci, but I wasn't speaking of that. Just...I am glad you're alive. That's all."
Looking up at him, Simon sighed softly. "So am I. I'm sorry I worried you. I think I can see now, why Scott doesn't want me out in the field."
"You know it's to do with you being too valuable behind the scenes," Jean-Paul murmured against his hair. "Please don't run yourself down right now."
Simon let it go, mostly because he was too dizzy and disoriented to do anything else. Jean-Paul's breath felt good against his scalp, warm and comforting and easy. He forgot about the tea, leaning into the touch and the warmth. "Okay."
"Think Moira will kill me if I climb on this bed and keep you warm like a boyfriend should?" He didn't think he could press close enough to be as near as he wanted to Simon. "God, I was so glad to see you when I walked through that door. Xavier told me everything, but still...I had to see it."
"I think Moira can't say much about it if you do," Simon smiled. "Besides, she needs me. She'll overlook it."
More than once, Jean-Paul had used his gravity-defying powers to slip into bed carefully enough not to wake Simon. Now he simply had to do it gently enough to keep from jostling his IV line and a cup of hot tea. Piece of cake.
"Are you OK for skin-to-skin contact?"
"I suppose we will find out," Simon tipped up one side of his lips in a half-smile. "I don't know."
"Ask a stupid question..." Jean-Paul spooned behind Simon as best he could, making sure his hands found cloth and not skin. He went as far as resting his head on a corner of the narrow hospital pillow. "I don't want to rattle your brains any more than they have been. I can wait a while to paw you."
"Appreciated," Simon breathed, fumbling the tea cup to the nightstand before sinking back into the warmth and safety of his boyfriend's arms. "When did they tell you?"
"Not until you were out of danger." Jean-Paul hooked the blanket with one finger and pulled it up over both of them. He could feel Simon relaxing a little more with each breath and cuddled him closer. "I guess they didn't want me in the way."
Eyes sliding closed, Simon let the solidity of Jean-Paul stabilize his dizziness. The heat was very nice too, and his muscles slowly uncoiled. "Perhaps. They were efficient." He paused. "The men saw River's face..."
"Agent...Phil and Betsy were involved in the clean-up. I'd trust them to be thorough as humanly possible."
Betsy...Simon relaxed further. She would do what she needed to. "Thank you."
"Thank her when you see her." Jean-Paul sighed against Simon's neck. "I guess I would have just complicated things. Stopping an angry speedster from committing homicide does that."
"Jean-Paul," Simon sighed, but he knew it was the absolute truth. And, secretly, he was glad JP hadn't seen him like that.
"Hush. I'm not making you reassure me. Just letting you know I'm not going to sulk." Another light hug. "I'm going to work on getting you back on your feet, though. You're going to want to be rid of me by morning."
"I won't. But at this rate, I may want to stay in bed for the next three days," Simon breathed. "My head is killing me. Additional swelling, probably."
Jean-Paul tensed a bit. "That's dangerous, isn't it? Should I get Faiza?"
Simon lay a hand on Jean-Paul's without thinking about it, stopping him from moving. Then he had to readjust as he took in Jean-Paul's information, breathing out a sigh as he was greeted with the familiar litany of his boyfriend's physiology. "It's normal," he murmured finally. "And Faiza has done enough. The swelling will go down on its own."
"Mmm." Jean-Paul squeezed his hand. "Everything OK in there?"
"Yes," Simon breathed. "I'm used to you. It's a bit like eating crackers when you're nauseated. Easier to take than others."
"That's me: white, salty, and brittle." Jean-Paul kissed his cheek.
"You are hardly brittle," Simon smiled vaguely.
"I do snap easily." But God, that smile looked good on him.
Simon choked a soft laugh at that, because, oh god, bad joke, but he couldn't help himself. It was true. Besides, it felt good to laugh when he knew that once he could think straight again, he was going to freak out.
"See what kind of man you're stuck with?" Jean-Paul ran his fingers through Simon's hair. "Trust me, you'll beg Scott to take me away after a few hours."
"I would never beg Summers to take you away from me," Simon mumbled. Mostly because he was a little afraid JP would go.
*****
Moira had let him out of the infirmary six hours later, when he'd regained some color and was capable of walking on his own. He'd continued to suffer from headaches and mild vertigo, but that was perfectly normal for a head injury, especially one healed by telekinetic biological energy (or whatever it was that powered Faiza's healing.) Faiza was extremely talented, but the brain was a mysterious place; a complete nervous system filled with neurons, glial cells, and blood vessels, wrapped in neural tissue and suspended in cerebrospinal fluid. In short, even Faiza couldn't put everything back into place exactly as it had been before, and Simon's brain had suffered an extreme trauma.
He was fortunate that all he was experiencing were the symptoms of a grade three concussion. It could have been much worse. Amnesia, language issues, hallucination, epilepsy, stroke, or coma were also extremely likely, which is why Moira had entrusted Jean-Paul in keeping an eye on his boyfriend for any strange behavior. She might not have let them leave at all, but she recognized that psychologically, Simon needed to be in a more comfortable environment than his workplace, especially since he kept trying to sneak scans of his head or peruse the medical files himself.
Which is how he found himself curled up in his and Jean-Paul's large bed in the middle of the night, safe and whole, and yet terrified. He jolted violently as he came awake, soaked in a cold sweat, River's name on his lips. His hands clawed at the sheets, his breath coming in rough pants.
"Simon." Jean-Paul reached for his shoulder, his own heart pounding. He hadn't slept, only stood guard against Simon's dreams as best he could. But even he hadn't expected the sudden wrench into wakefulness.
Simon didn't hesitate. Hearing his name, he whipped around, his fist coming up to catch his assailant's jaw, blind to the reality of where he was or who he was with.
There was no restraint to the blow and Jean-Paul hadn't seen it coming. The force of the punch knocked him clear of his hold on Simon and sent him back against the headboard. Rattled, he brought his arm automatically to block any other incoming blows and barked out a sharp, "Hey! Knock it off!"
Simon had been twisting around to continue the attack when the shout caught him off guard and he stilled in place, his eyes clearing slowly. He sucked a breath, then shoved a shaking hand back through his hair, still trying to pull himself out of the nightmare.
Jean-Paul sat up slowly, every sense focused on Simon. "Hey," he said again. "It's me. It's Jean-Paul. River's safe. So are you."
"I'm sorry," Simon breathed, scraping a hand down his face. Only, that didn't help, and he suddenly felt sick. Stumbling off of the bed and out of the sheets, he disappeared into the bathroom, the door shutting soundly behind him.
Jean-Paul gave him a few minutes, just as happy to have the time to clean the blood from his lip. Simon really didn't need to worry about that on top of everything else. But after a bit, he did tap hesitantly on the door. "Simon?"
"It's open," Simon answered from where he sat on the bathroom floor, his back against the wall. He'd got his face washed and teeth brushed, but had kind of lost the energy required to go anywhere after that. He had a bottle of Listerine sitting beside him, but had yet to actually pick it up.
Jean-Paul shut the door behind him after he entered, then came to sit down beside Simon. He leaned against Simon a little, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Nice punch."
"I'm pretty sure my hand is broken," Simon joked deadpan. "I'm sorry."
"You'll make it up to me later." He stroked his thumb gently along Simon's temple. "Shitty dream, huh?"
Simon leaned against him, curling up into his arm to lay his head against Jean-Paul's shoulder. "It was just my body translating the turmoil of my injuries into a neuropathic response."
"Like I said. Shitty dream." Jean-Paul slid his free hand into Simon's and gave it a squeeze, letting him concentrate on the ebb and flow of his lover's lifesigns instead of his own.
Simon closed his eyes, listening and feeling Jean-Paul, ignoring his own vertigo. "Are you alright?"
"Little bloodied, a little bruised. I'll be fine in a couple of hours. How about you? The head doing any better, nightmares aside?"
The young med student could see for himself how much damage he'd done, but at least Jean-Paul was right. He would be fine in a few hours. On the other hand, he could ruin his own career if he didn't stop letting himself punch first and ask questions later. There was a reason he'd chosen swordplay as his sport. "Moderate concussion still, but I will be fine. My stomach is blessedly empty now."
"Mmm. Words to worry your boyfriend." Jean-Paul kissed the top of his head. "Do you want me to try setting up my anxiety cure? Aroma therapy and trashy TV might be good for both of us."
The tension in Simon relaxed a notch as he glanced up. "Yes...I think that might be nice."
Jean-Paul guided him off the floor, heroically resisting the urge to swoop Simon into his arms and carry him. It was a stupid impulse, but he couldn't just push it away. He didn't want to be further than arm's length away from Simon after he'd come so close to losing him; just the thought of it tightened his throat and set panic scratching at the back of his mind.
"Want me to get you some soup or something?" he murmured.
"Tea?" Simon requested, leaning on Jean-Paul until they got to the bed. "Peppermint or ginger."
"Sure." Jean-Paul got him settled (fussing perhaps a bit more than need be, but wasn't that his job?) and lit a cinnamon candle. A pot of ginger tea followed a few minutes later, delivered with Simon's favorite bed warmer: his boyfriend. The Food Network was switched on a moment later, and Simon nestled in Jean-Paul's arms, surrounded by the scent of spice.
A minute after that, Simon switched it to the History Channel, his lips twitching slightly where he had pulled the mug up to his lips to breathe in the scent of ginger and the heat of the steam.
Jean-Paul gave his boyfriend a look of mock-outrage. "You really would prefer to watch Hitler's Alien Abduction over Alton Brown putting the dignity of the overworked and underpaid up for auction?"
"I might even prefer Finding Bigfoot," his boyfriend smiled into the mug.
"I'll blame it on the concussion, so take full advantage." He gave Simon a little squeeze. "Can I at least get some suggestions for the menu tomorrow, or do you leave yourself entirely in my hands?"
The television switched over to Animal Planet, and Simon leaned into him. "Do I actually have to eat?"
"You're not going to replenish the blood you lost with tea and determination." Jean-Paul stroked Simon's chest idly as he considered. "What about butternut squash soup? I know you like that. Warm, nutritious...?" And out of season, but Jean-Paul was willing to violate some culinary tenets for Simon's sake.
Simon hummed, closing his eyes and relaxing into the warm caress. "With grilled cheese?"
Jean-Paul laughed softly, all relief. "The fanciest grilled cheese I can put together. With tomato, even."
"You know I love you," Simon murmured, tilting his head to look up at his boyfriend with a small smile, "But I don't need fancy right now."
"You know me." Jean-Paul leaned in for a kiss; Simon's lips tasted of sweetness and heat. "Fancy is how I show I love you."
Carefully, Simon pulled away from the kiss, not wanting Jean-Paul to smell his breath. "River might want some too. Have you heard from her?"
"I think she needed some distance from all the emotional upheaval," Jean-Paul admitted. "She knows I'll come get her if anything goes wrong with you."
Simon stared at the television for a minute, hating the fact that his and River's powers mixed so terribly with one another. "I'm fine. It's her I'm worried about."
"It's a setback," Jean-Paul sighed. "And I still don't have the first clue how she took those men down by herself."
"Neither do I," Simon murmured. "I swear to you, I fought. They were considerably stronger and clearly had training themselves."
It was only the cup of hot tea that kept Jean-Paul from hugging Simon as hard as he could.
"Simon, there's no one in this school stupid enough to think you wouldn't fight to protect River."
"And I still failed her," he murmured, staring down at the liquid still steaming at the bottom of the mug.
"Against three-on-one odds," Jean-Paul reminded him. "I have the flashy powers and I've gotten my ass handed to me in fights more weighted in my favor."
"Two-on-one," Simon corrected him, then leaned his head back staring straight ahead. "I want to be able to protect her, but I can't."
"I'm sorry." Now wasn't the time to speak of his own frustrations of Jeanne-Marie, or how little River wanted protecting. He knew this broke Simon's heart and there was nothing either of them could do about it. "But you'll always be there to help her after."
Simon reached up, rubbing his head and pushing the mug off onto the nightstand. "And now I've given her one more reason to fear. Of all the reasons someone could have to come after me...I didn't think my research would be one of them."
"This isn't on you and you know it." Jean-Paul cupped his cheek. "Those fuckheads wouldn't have known you from Adam if you hadn't been seen with me."
"Oh are we playing the blame game now?" Simon eyed him soberly.
"Just making sure it's fairly distributed," Jean-Paul countered, his voice never rising above a gentle murmur. "We're publicly entwined, mon brave."
Simon sighed softly and shifted to lay his head against Jean-Paul's chest. "I suppose it's true."
"And blame matters less right now than getting everyone on their feet again, non? And perhaps interrogating Phillip as to exactly what happened to the assholes that attacked you."
"Phillip. He took care of them?" Simon asked, trying to remember if he'd been told that before.
"The rescue team he was heading did." Jean-Paul cleared his throat, suddenly sheepish. "I didn't ask many questions. I was preoccupied."
"I am going to have to treat that man to dinner," Simon murmured thoughtfully. He turned, slipping his arms around Jean-Paul's waist, tucking his head beneath the other teen's chin. Happily, he could still watch the Bigfoot hunters making 'squatch noises in the woods from that vantage.
Jean-Paul chuckled and wrapped Simon up in a hug. "Maybe we should invite him to the apartment instead. I promise to behave myself."
Simon hummed. "Are you trying to keep me out of the public eye?"
"I'm thinking our exceedingly discreet friend might be more forthcoming in a private setting with a custom meal," Jean-Paul pointed out. "It's a bit too late to put the genie back in the bottle where we are concerned, I would think."
"You might be right," Simon agreed thoughtfully. "Is he dating anyone? We could invite them."
"Define 'dating'." Jean-Paul concentrated on petting Simon and not on the nonsense on the screen. "But I think Nori would come along if we extend an invitation, yes."
That was news to Simon, but he just nodded, slowly relaxing against his boyfriend again, feeling himself slip closer toward sleep. "I'll ask him in the morning."
