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holdmyflowerbabyIt had been ten hours since Marcel had last been awake.
Joly kept him under for longer when he realized he didn't have the supplies (nor did the ship have the power) to complete the full graft. Not yet, anyway. They'd searched for options. Without their navigator there, a harried Combeferre had stepped in and located a suitable M-Class Planet for restocking; one known to be safe, thanks to the equally unplanned Voyager mission.
They'd be there in a day and a half, and ready to go by the third day. Until then?
Courfeyrac wouldn't be in any pain. The burns had been largely dealt with, and individual nerve bundles soothed. His skin was shiny and mottled; like a burn that had fully healed... about 300 years ago. Back before grafting technology was really completed, and full faces could be more or less re-applied.
There had been other, more lethal injuries that Joly had had to focus his limited time and supplies on. Courfeyrac's face could still be fixed, to perfection even. But in the meantime?
The blistering over his forehead and cheeks had left angry craters, and there was a stripe of red over a good portion of his face, taut, with raised ridges across varied portions of skin, like a puckered wound from a cat's claw. It was... well.
Maybe it was ugly. What did it matter?
He was safe, he wasn't in pain. That was the most important. And he would make a full recovery. Just... not quite yet.
When Marcel stirred, Jehan put his book down, folding the marker back into it and setting it quickly aside. He was already holding his hand with one of his own, but now the other went to join it as he stood, massaging over his knuckles and staring down at him.
"Marcel...?" Yes, he was definitely waking up. Finally. "Marcel, how are you feeling?"
Joly had had him moved to his quarters. Both to save space and... to save face, so to speak. He was worried that Marcel would freak out, upon seeing that it was unfinished.
Jehan had unhooked the mirror from his closet and put it in a drawer. He'd left the one in the bathroom, because, well...
Seriously, what did it matter? He shouldn't freak out too badly, not after the initial shock.
He was still the same person, after all. Dandy or not, none of his loyalty, or his warmth, or his heart and soul had been scarred.
...He'd covered the one in the bathroom with a towel though. Just-- just in case. Just until he was ready.
Joly kept him under for longer when he realized he didn't have the supplies (nor did the ship have the power) to complete the full graft. Not yet, anyway. They'd searched for options. Without their navigator there, a harried Combeferre had stepped in and located a suitable M-Class Planet for restocking; one known to be safe, thanks to the equally unplanned Voyager mission.
They'd be there in a day and a half, and ready to go by the third day. Until then?
Courfeyrac wouldn't be in any pain. The burns had been largely dealt with, and individual nerve bundles soothed. His skin was shiny and mottled; like a burn that had fully healed... about 300 years ago. Back before grafting technology was really completed, and full faces could be more or less re-applied.
There had been other, more lethal injuries that Joly had had to focus his limited time and supplies on. Courfeyrac's face could still be fixed, to perfection even. But in the meantime?
The blistering over his forehead and cheeks had left angry craters, and there was a stripe of red over a good portion of his face, taut, with raised ridges across varied portions of skin, like a puckered wound from a cat's claw. It was... well.
Maybe it was ugly. What did it matter?
He was safe, he wasn't in pain. That was the most important. And he would make a full recovery. Just... not quite yet.
When Marcel stirred, Jehan put his book down, folding the marker back into it and setting it quickly aside. He was already holding his hand with one of his own, but now the other went to join it as he stood, massaging over his knuckles and staring down at him.
"Marcel...?" Yes, he was definitely waking up. Finally. "Marcel, how are you feeling?"
Joly had had him moved to his quarters. Both to save space and... to save face, so to speak. He was worried that Marcel would freak out, upon seeing that it was unfinished.
Jehan had unhooked the mirror from his closet and put it in a drawer. He'd left the one in the bathroom, because, well...
Seriously, what did it matter? He shouldn't freak out too badly, not after the initial shock.
He was still the same person, after all. Dandy or not, none of his loyalty, or his warmth, or his heart and soul had been scarred.
...He'd covered the one in the bathroom with a towel though. Just-- just in case. Just until he was ready.
