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ax_mainThe day after the rescue, JP stops in to check on Tommy.
Jean-Paul had been as patient as he could. He'd stayed out of the way. Let Simon do his job looking after the injured. Hadn't asked anyone in the infirmary a damn thing. Let the teams get debriefed before he'd talked to any of them.
For almost a day and a half, he'd held off. But now he needed to see Tommy. At least hear how he was doing.
Jean-Paul headed down the infirmary, making a beeline for Tommy's room.
Billy ran a hand over his face, his eyes feeling like they were almost burning from not being able to sleep in the small chair but also trying to be on alert. He knew the infirmary was safe, it had to be, but one never could really be too safe. He had debated trying a protection spell, but who knew if that would even hold if he slipped off into dreamland for even a second. After Fatale had snuck in on a bathroom break Billy was nervous to even take a leak anymore, even though he knew she wouldn’t ever hurt him.
At least he hoped.
He yawned loudly, about to ask Tommy if he wanted anything to eat because speedster metabolism when another speedster was at the door. Billy had gotten over his irritation at JP, knowing it wasn’t in any way the other guy's fault that Tommy had been taken, and offered a small wave. “Hey, JP.”
Sleeping had been pretty much impossible, and Tommy was usually a guy who could sleep anywhere. In short chunks, sure, but he'd survived long enough without getting eight straight hours a night. Now when he closed his eyes he was back in the cell, or at the market watching the collar come down, or living through the experiments from the first time. He'd given up trying to talk Billy out of babysitting (and to be honest he really hadn't tried very hard), and had spent the last couple of hours drifting in and out of a fitful doze that was more frustrating than restful. Voices cut in through the haze, and he opened his eyes. Awake was better than the nightmares, hands down.
"Hey." Jean-Paul's eyes were fixed on Tommy in the medical bed. His mouth was dry. "H-hey... I thought I'd come and bedsit a while, if you don't mind my company."
Tommy pried his eyes open, his lashes gummy and gross, and he rubbed at them with the back of his only good hand to clear the crud. "You'll have to negotiate with this guy," Tommy nodded at Billy, his mouth dry and his voice cracking from it. JP didn't look too bad, at least. That was good. "He's playing guard dog. If he's still awake."
“I’m awake.” Billy grumbled, glaring at Tommy very weakly before looking over at JP in consideration. JP was good at what he did, could handle an opponent and Billy could be back quickly (not as quick as the other two in the room) if he needed to be...
Billy glanced down at his phone, filled with texts from Teddy telling him to eat, shower etcetera and maybe it was time for some of those things. “You’ll text me if something happens?”
Under nearly any other circumstances, Jean-Paul would have had a response along the lines of his ability to handle anything. After the last couple of days - hell, after the last few months - maybe not so much.
"Yeah. Anything happens, you'll be the third to know."
Billy glanced back at his brother one more time before nodding and stood up.
“I’ll be back later.” He promised as he cracked his back loudly, then moved towards the door. He stopped by JP, wanting to say something, but he didn’t know what so instead he just gave the other boy’s shoulder a pat and was gone.
Jean-Paul watched Billy go, then moved to stand at Tommy's side. "What's the damage, hipsway?"
Tommy eyeballed the glass of water on the side table, trying to decide if it was worth reaching for or not. He settled back against the propped-up pillows instead, shrugging his one good shoulder. "Buncha cuts. Managed to break my collarbone in a couple of places when I got shot with... whatever that sonic boom thing was. Broken rib -- I'm pretty sure that was from one of the guards when I pissed him off. Taser burns. The usual collection of goodies." But no experiments, not this time. "Least they put a collar on me instead of the drugs. You okay? You took some good hits."
Jean-Paul followed his gaze. He snagged the glass of water and offered it to Tommy.
"Concussion, some deep bruises and contusions. Nothing that will keep me down for long."
Tommy took it and downed the water with a nod of thanks, the cool liquid racing down his throat. "Does anything?" he asked with a quirk of a smile, rallying and waking up some more when it hit. Honestly, the grogginess was a whole lot worse than the not-sleeping; he should have just tried to stay awake instead of catching zees. "How's JM? Nobody tells me anything in here."
Jean-Paul's breath caught a moment. "She's upset," he said finally. "By what she saw in that place, especially by how they treated you. It'll be a while before she's feeling like herself again."
Upset wasn't 'hurt,' so that was all right. Even if there was something else that was up -- but JP was prone to freaking out about JM in any case. Whatever it was, it'd either blow over or Tommy would find out for himself later. "I'm sorry you got caught up in all this bullshit," he said, jumping back to the earlier conversation thread. "It wouldn't have happened if I'd been quicker off the mark at the market."
Jean-Paul swallowed hard. "That's not... I should have grabbed you and run the second you got me loose. If I'd been thinking, you'd never had gone back to that place."
There were a lot of coulda-woulda-shoulda's from the day before, and thinking about all of them sucked. "Could've been worse." Tommy shrugged with his one good shoulder, trying on the bravado for size. "They didn't have a chance to do anything other than kick me around some, this time."
"Yeah, looks like they got a few good licks in." Jean-Paul frowned, then reached out to smooth Tommy's bangs back. "You're a mess."
Tommy's eyes closed - making eye contact that close was too much. Too uncomfortable. His hand felt good on Tommy's forehead, though; gentle, almost like caring, and weirdly discomfiting all at the same time. "Gonna have to cancel my GQ cover shoot," he cracked. "My fanbase will be so disappointed."
Jean-Paul's frown stuttered, then twitched a reluctantly genuine smile. "Well, Warren and I are planning a nude calendar as soon as we're both legal. If you're really worried about your fans, you can sign up with us."
"Two more years 'til I'm not going to get you arrested for child porn," Tommy shook his head dismissing the idea. "Besides; some things the world just isn't ready for." There; if he could make jokes then he wasn't bad off at all. Right?
"Such a delicate flower, Hipsway. But fine, we'll figure out something else." Mostly, Jean-Paul just really wanted to keep petting Tommy. Not in any kind of sensual way, but just to keep reassuring himself that he was still there. And that he hadn't irreparably fucked up. They'd gotten Tommy back.
Tommy was in no rush to shake it off. He wanted to be, he was supposed to be. Chill, cool guy. Able to shake off the bullshit the Right had done to him and keep on running, running until he outran every last stupid memory and feeling all bound up in that place. Except he'd stayed still too long, gotten too complacent here, and his 'don't give a shit' had dried up and blown away. "I'm gonna be winged for a while," he did say after a moment, opening his eyes and lifting his head again. "Guess we'll have to reschedule the cooking class."
"Don't worry about it. I can introduce you to the wonders of The Food Network in the meantime. Have you ever seen Chopped?"
Tommy frowned at him, shaking his head the inch or two in each direction that didn't hurt. "Isn't that a 'pimp my motorcycle' show?"
Jean-Paul chuckled despite himself. "Not this one. It's more of a 'we're going to throw random food at you, and whatever you make from it better be gourmet-level shit.' It's merciless. I think you'll like it."
"Merciless is good," Tommy agreed. He didn't have much else to say, other than 'don't tell people I didn't know what a zucchini was,' but letting the conversation wind down meant that JP might leave, and he didn't want that. "You must've broken something before, run into a tree or annoyed JM once too often. How did you survive the not-moving, in-traction shit? I'm already going nuts in here."
"Sorry. The worst I've had since my powers manifested was that Murderworld psycho," Jean-Paul said. "And that was mostly a lot of moving around very carefully for a while. So I guess you're stuck with people keeping you company while you convalesce."
"Uggh," Tommy groaned, swooning as dramatically as possible while still basically immobile. "People? The worst."
"The complete pits," Jean-Paul agreed, ruffling his hair carefully one last time. "Want me to see if I can get them to put something on the overhead? I'll introduce you to the smoking hot voice of judgement that is Marcus Samuelsson."
"Anyone with the name 'Marcus' is gonna be a lot more your type than mine," Tommy felt compelled to point out. Well, mostly. If there was, like, an end-of-the-world scenario happening -- and the whole forced-to-stay-still thing was obviously frying his brain. Tommy yanked himself back on track. "Is that one of the guys who doesn't pimp motorcycles?"
"He's an accomplished chef." Jean-Paul heaved an exaggerated sigh of despair. "Kids these days."
This was good, this was almost like he was better, almost like the last twenty-however-many hours hadn't happened. Tommy grinned. "Don't blame me, blame the American educational system."
Jean-Paul had been as patient as he could. He'd stayed out of the way. Let Simon do his job looking after the injured. Hadn't asked anyone in the infirmary a damn thing. Let the teams get debriefed before he'd talked to any of them.
For almost a day and a half, he'd held off. But now he needed to see Tommy. At least hear how he was doing.
Jean-Paul headed down the infirmary, making a beeline for Tommy's room.
Billy ran a hand over his face, his eyes feeling like they were almost burning from not being able to sleep in the small chair but also trying to be on alert. He knew the infirmary was safe, it had to be, but one never could really be too safe. He had debated trying a protection spell, but who knew if that would even hold if he slipped off into dreamland for even a second. After Fatale had snuck in on a bathroom break Billy was nervous to even take a leak anymore, even though he knew she wouldn’t ever hurt him.
At least he hoped.
He yawned loudly, about to ask Tommy if he wanted anything to eat because speedster metabolism when another speedster was at the door. Billy had gotten over his irritation at JP, knowing it wasn’t in any way the other guy's fault that Tommy had been taken, and offered a small wave. “Hey, JP.”
Sleeping had been pretty much impossible, and Tommy was usually a guy who could sleep anywhere. In short chunks, sure, but he'd survived long enough without getting eight straight hours a night. Now when he closed his eyes he was back in the cell, or at the market watching the collar come down, or living through the experiments from the first time. He'd given up trying to talk Billy out of babysitting (and to be honest he really hadn't tried very hard), and had spent the last couple of hours drifting in and out of a fitful doze that was more frustrating than restful. Voices cut in through the haze, and he opened his eyes. Awake was better than the nightmares, hands down.
"Hey." Jean-Paul's eyes were fixed on Tommy in the medical bed. His mouth was dry. "H-hey... I thought I'd come and bedsit a while, if you don't mind my company."
Tommy pried his eyes open, his lashes gummy and gross, and he rubbed at them with the back of his only good hand to clear the crud. "You'll have to negotiate with this guy," Tommy nodded at Billy, his mouth dry and his voice cracking from it. JP didn't look too bad, at least. That was good. "He's playing guard dog. If he's still awake."
“I’m awake.” Billy grumbled, glaring at Tommy very weakly before looking over at JP in consideration. JP was good at what he did, could handle an opponent and Billy could be back quickly (not as quick as the other two in the room) if he needed to be...
Billy glanced down at his phone, filled with texts from Teddy telling him to eat, shower etcetera and maybe it was time for some of those things. “You’ll text me if something happens?”
Under nearly any other circumstances, Jean-Paul would have had a response along the lines of his ability to handle anything. After the last couple of days - hell, after the last few months - maybe not so much.
"Yeah. Anything happens, you'll be the third to know."
Billy glanced back at his brother one more time before nodding and stood up.
“I’ll be back later.” He promised as he cracked his back loudly, then moved towards the door. He stopped by JP, wanting to say something, but he didn’t know what so instead he just gave the other boy’s shoulder a pat and was gone.
Jean-Paul watched Billy go, then moved to stand at Tommy's side. "What's the damage, hipsway?"
Tommy eyeballed the glass of water on the side table, trying to decide if it was worth reaching for or not. He settled back against the propped-up pillows instead, shrugging his one good shoulder. "Buncha cuts. Managed to break my collarbone in a couple of places when I got shot with... whatever that sonic boom thing was. Broken rib -- I'm pretty sure that was from one of the guards when I pissed him off. Taser burns. The usual collection of goodies." But no experiments, not this time. "Least they put a collar on me instead of the drugs. You okay? You took some good hits."
Jean-Paul followed his gaze. He snagged the glass of water and offered it to Tommy.
"Concussion, some deep bruises and contusions. Nothing that will keep me down for long."
Tommy took it and downed the water with a nod of thanks, the cool liquid racing down his throat. "Does anything?" he asked with a quirk of a smile, rallying and waking up some more when it hit. Honestly, the grogginess was a whole lot worse than the not-sleeping; he should have just tried to stay awake instead of catching zees. "How's JM? Nobody tells me anything in here."
Jean-Paul's breath caught a moment. "She's upset," he said finally. "By what she saw in that place, especially by how they treated you. It'll be a while before she's feeling like herself again."
Upset wasn't 'hurt,' so that was all right. Even if there was something else that was up -- but JP was prone to freaking out about JM in any case. Whatever it was, it'd either blow over or Tommy would find out for himself later. "I'm sorry you got caught up in all this bullshit," he said, jumping back to the earlier conversation thread. "It wouldn't have happened if I'd been quicker off the mark at the market."
Jean-Paul swallowed hard. "That's not... I should have grabbed you and run the second you got me loose. If I'd been thinking, you'd never had gone back to that place."
There were a lot of coulda-woulda-shoulda's from the day before, and thinking about all of them sucked. "Could've been worse." Tommy shrugged with his one good shoulder, trying on the bravado for size. "They didn't have a chance to do anything other than kick me around some, this time."
"Yeah, looks like they got a few good licks in." Jean-Paul frowned, then reached out to smooth Tommy's bangs back. "You're a mess."
Tommy's eyes closed - making eye contact that close was too much. Too uncomfortable. His hand felt good on Tommy's forehead, though; gentle, almost like caring, and weirdly discomfiting all at the same time. "Gonna have to cancel my GQ cover shoot," he cracked. "My fanbase will be so disappointed."
Jean-Paul's frown stuttered, then twitched a reluctantly genuine smile. "Well, Warren and I are planning a nude calendar as soon as we're both legal. If you're really worried about your fans, you can sign up with us."
"Two more years 'til I'm not going to get you arrested for child porn," Tommy shook his head dismissing the idea. "Besides; some things the world just isn't ready for." There; if he could make jokes then he wasn't bad off at all. Right?
"Such a delicate flower, Hipsway. But fine, we'll figure out something else." Mostly, Jean-Paul just really wanted to keep petting Tommy. Not in any kind of sensual way, but just to keep reassuring himself that he was still there. And that he hadn't irreparably fucked up. They'd gotten Tommy back.
Tommy was in no rush to shake it off. He wanted to be, he was supposed to be. Chill, cool guy. Able to shake off the bullshit the Right had done to him and keep on running, running until he outran every last stupid memory and feeling all bound up in that place. Except he'd stayed still too long, gotten too complacent here, and his 'don't give a shit' had dried up and blown away. "I'm gonna be winged for a while," he did say after a moment, opening his eyes and lifting his head again. "Guess we'll have to reschedule the cooking class."
"Don't worry about it. I can introduce you to the wonders of The Food Network in the meantime. Have you ever seen Chopped?"
Tommy frowned at him, shaking his head the inch or two in each direction that didn't hurt. "Isn't that a 'pimp my motorcycle' show?"
Jean-Paul chuckled despite himself. "Not this one. It's more of a 'we're going to throw random food at you, and whatever you make from it better be gourmet-level shit.' It's merciless. I think you'll like it."
"Merciless is good," Tommy agreed. He didn't have much else to say, other than 'don't tell people I didn't know what a zucchini was,' but letting the conversation wind down meant that JP might leave, and he didn't want that. "You must've broken something before, run into a tree or annoyed JM once too often. How did you survive the not-moving, in-traction shit? I'm already going nuts in here."
"Sorry. The worst I've had since my powers manifested was that Murderworld psycho," Jean-Paul said. "And that was mostly a lot of moving around very carefully for a while. So I guess you're stuck with people keeping you company while you convalesce."
"Uggh," Tommy groaned, swooning as dramatically as possible while still basically immobile. "People? The worst."
"The complete pits," Jean-Paul agreed, ruffling his hair carefully one last time. "Want me to see if I can get them to put something on the overhead? I'll introduce you to the smoking hot voice of judgement that is Marcus Samuelsson."
"Anyone with the name 'Marcus' is gonna be a lot more your type than mine," Tommy felt compelled to point out. Well, mostly. If there was, like, an end-of-the-world scenario happening -- and the whole forced-to-stay-still thing was obviously frying his brain. Tommy yanked himself back on track. "Is that one of the guys who doesn't pimp motorcycles?"
"He's an accomplished chef." Jean-Paul heaved an exaggerated sigh of despair. "Kids these days."
This was good, this was almost like he was better, almost like the last twenty-however-many hours hadn't happened. Tommy grinned. "Don't blame me, blame the American educational system."
