Ms. Katey had returned briefly with Freddie’s water, but after that she had made herself scarce again. Because Jean-Loup seemed to be handling it. He had continued to seem to handle it for as long as Freddie had remained in his sight. There had been several points at which he had to be honest and state that he didn’t know. But he had sounded clear and firm and certain on several others.
Now, happily, Freddie was gone. And he could stop seeming like he was handling it. Once he was sure the infirmary door was closed, he allowed himself to lean all the way back in the chair he’d been occupying, resting his head against the back so that he was staring up at the ceiling, and exhaled deeply. He tried to let all the tension in his shoulders go but it seemed to want to stick around. Now that he had breathed out, he supposed he ought to breathe back in again. He was jarringly hyper-conscious of every breath he was taking.
He hoped he had helped. He had tried. And he thought he had done good in the world. It was weird how doing something good did not seem to automatically equate to feeling good. How doing good could actually leave you feeling like a wrung out dish cloth instead. That was not particularly fair on the part of the universe, but then, that wasn’t really a thing he expected from it any more.
He tried to focus on the fact he had helped. He didn’t have to go back to any thoughts or memories that he did not want to explore.
He brought his head back up to a neutral position and found that he was no longer alone. He jumped slightly at Katey’s presence, knocking the cup of coffee she’d brought him off the arm of his chair, revealing as it spilt that he’d barely touched it thus far.
“Ah, désolé - sorry,” he apologised and translated, vanishing the coffee with a quick wave of his wand and picking up the mug. There. Fine again.
“Not a medical case, so no medical notes?” he checked, regarding Freddie. Little as he wanted to bring it up at all, it was clearly going to be a subject of conversation. Hopefully one where the non-case was immediately closed.
Katey fancied herself a pretty decent observer. When it came to matters outside her own personal sphere, she was quite good at picking up on cues, or at least she thought so. But picking up on Jean-Loup’s behavior wasn’t especially detective work here. Head back, startled upright by her presence? Katey frowned a little, not because he hadn’t drank the coffee - he hadn’t asked for it, anyway, and was under no obligation to her - but because she was worried for him.
She committed his apology to memory: “désolé” was sorry but did little else with it. “No medical notes,” she confirmed, taking a seat in the chair beside his. “Do you want to talk about what that was, though?” Katey asked softly. “Seems like it took a lot out of you. You don’t have to - if it’s not medical or any sort of emergency, you aren’t required to tell me. But you kinda seem like maybe you should talk about it.”
“I hope you didn’t mind me leaving you to it,” she added apologetically. “He was already comfortable with you, so I didn’t want to infringe on that trust.” she kinda thought Jean-Loup would be slightly stressed by it - he was little more than a kid, so if he wasn’t used to it, being the Adult for another kid could be a weird situation - but this seemed to have more of an effect than she had anticipated. Any discomfort he felt was on her.
“I’m fine,” he assured her, with the same easy smile he often offered. He had got incredibly good at saying that convincingly over the years. It was true that his smile never made it to his eyes when he said it, but apparently that wasn’t something anyone in Society was expecting to see because it had never seemed to mark him out as a liar.
He wanted to go running. That was what he did when he was stressed or when his thoughts were muddled. He ran. There was something about the steady, repetitive motion that made his brain follow suit. He ran until his thoughts settled back into place. That was part of the reason he’d left home when he had, and sought out Mr. Row. He’d been running. He had found that, at the end of his typical morning run, when his hand came to rest on the door handle of his house, that he wasn’t calm and ordered any more. Any benefit he had got from the run dissolved the second he was faced with ‘home.’ He had tried running further. Running until he didn’t feel hurt or disappointed or scared any more. There was no distance that was far enough. Not one that he could run anyway. He had run until he was exhausted, until his lungs and his calves were screaming and he thought he was too tired to care. That had almost worked. He could spend the afternoon lying there feeling tired and broken and pretend it was all down to how hard he’d pushed himself. But he had recognised that was not sustainable.
Since then, running had returned to its usual place as his mood stabiliser. He was pretty sure he could run Freddie out of his system. It would have the added benefit of meaning he was extra tired this evening, seeing as he’d already gone for one run before breakfast.
Except he couldn’t. He… he wasn’t stuck here. Not exactly. He was sure Katey would give him a break if he asked for one. That involved admitting that he needed one though.
He rolled his shoulders back, trying to loosen them up. Trying to find some small way to fix his body and bring his thoughts along with it. He could ask to go. Or he could take the other option that she was offering. He weighed up which parts of it were safe to talk about.
“I suppose… I would like to know what you will say?” he queried. “Mostly people come with cuts and broken bones and potions accidents. Sometimes it’s easy. Sometimes they have feelings too though,” he stated. “I think I can do that?” he added, his mind straying back to a medical tent out on the ice, and having to persuade a very frightened Dorian to take a medication he wasn’t going to like because it was in his best interests. It was tricky. It was all part of the job of being a Healer, dealing with patients’ feelings, putting them at ease. Putting it into those terms, it was easier to accept talking about it with this relative stranger. After all, he’d done debrief before when he’d worked first aid. You talked through your choices and any difficulties you’d had. Fitting it into his work, it was easier to talk about - about Freddie’s feelings and how he had dealt with them. Not about his own feelings. Those weren’t relevant. Those were what running was for.
“But he is not medical,” he re-emphasised. That was the trouble with trying to talk shop about it. It felt wrong because he wanted to keep Freddie as far out of that system as he possibly could. He supposed that meant he needed to know too what Katey would say. If Freddie came back, still full of doubt… If Jean-Loup wasn’t here, would he give in and talk to her instead? Would she tell him something different? “He is just… different. I’m not sure…” he shook his head, partly lost for the words, and partly lost for how much he wanted to tell Katey about something that was personal and which felt private.