LOG VIII:: USS Corinth. Courfeyrac's Room. {Jehan, Courfeyrac.}

[holdmyflowerbaby]

It 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.

Comments

[ohmyyy]

Breathing was easier this time, and everything was warm instead of chilled; his own sheets and comforter soft against his bare legs. Jehan's hand in his were strong and relaxing, and he sighed a little as he woke.

Marcel's eyes fluttered open lazily, and he gave a weak smile and a weak squeeze.

"Exhausted, though I feel like I've been out for days. Our CMO sure does know how to punch it into overdrive, eh?"

Nothing hurt anymore, though there was an unfamiliar sort of tenseness still across his face that was beginning to become more apparent as the rest of his brain steadily came to.

That didn't bode well. The onset of tightness that clasped about his chest might have translated poorly (but effectively) to Jehan's hand, as well. Marcel hesitated, unsure if he wanted to reach up and check to see if he was just imagining things, or if he would rather go on assuming everything was okay...

But his curiosity won out, and his free hand lifted to dab tenderly at his cheek, as though he might break himself otherwise.

The momentary look of absolute horror that began to dawn upon Marcel's face would ask more than any words stuck in his throat would be able to convey.

[holdmyflowerbaby]

Jehan's hands over his held firm and tight, especially at that panicked curl of fingers. While he'd like to reply to the banter, and continue on about his health, the look across his face (what... what Jehan could make out of the look...) really supported the idea that it was far more serious he get down to the hard part swiftly, and with minimal detail. He himself certainly wasn't panicked... but there was the vague, worried knowledge that if he did not get the words right enough, or out quickly enough, Marcel would be out of the bed, and digging through that drawer for the mirror he'd hid.

So, Jehan gave just the slightest of reassuring smiles, leaned down, and kissed his forehead; on a spot he was pretty sure he could still feel it.

"I'm glad you aren't in any pain. The graft isn't done yet; we're grabbing the supplies we need for it soon. Joly will have you all fixed up in just three days! Isn't that great?" Law of Agreement at work here. "In the meantime..."

He continued, too quickly for Marcel to get a word in edgewise, a blind rush of words, built to get him to stop thinking about it before he could start,

"...can I get you anything? Water, food? This is your room on board! You have your own replicator and everything. Mine is right across the hall, but you'll let me stay here tonight, won't you Marcy?"

[ohmyyy]

Panic bubbled forth just as quickly as Jehan's words spilled from his lips, words that Marcel could barely understand as his fingers began to trace the rest of his face.

His face.

Of all the insecurities that Courfeyrac had had growing into the person he was today, his face had never been one of them. He was proud of it, nearly even to the point of narcissism (though that angle tended toward the higher degrees for his hair, instead), and it fell second only to his general enthusiasm for life in boosting his confidence in all other directions where he felt he did not meet muster.

Even placed next to Enjolras and Combeferre, Courfeyrac had been comfortable in knowing that he still held his own; he was in an entirely different realm of attractiveness, he acknowledged, but it was still his own niche, all on its own.

Marcel's face was the one thing that was entirely his.

"A... I want to see a mirror." That was what he wanted. But he was still too arrested by shock to stumble anywhere.

That comforter now felt like chains.

[holdmyflowerbaby]

"O-oh?" Jehan gave, his tone stumbling just a little. Blinking and trying not to frown too deeply, he gingerly had a seat on the edge of the bed, still rubbing his hand, head tilting downward gently.

Okay... no. He could handle this. he definitely could.

This was no big deal. He didn't want Marcel's feelings to be hurt, but... but this would be corrected. And in the meantime? It didn't change anything unless he let it.

"Why? Marcy, you'll have the corrective surgery in three days. What's it matter what it looks like?" Peering back at him now, and forcing a half-smile. "You're still you. And you aren't in any pain. So everything is okay." A beat. "Except, you know, for the part where you didn't say I could stay over yet..." Idly playing with one of his fingers now, still trying to calm him down, get him to re-focus elsewhere.

[ohmyyy]

That was far less reassuring than if Jehan had just complied.

"It matters," he started, and with conviction, with every intention to speak over Jehan if he had to, to leave in the middle of his convincing and head to the bathroom to see for himself. He was tenser now, aware of every inch of his own skin -- and every inch that was pointedly not.

Yet there are a few greater things than his own physical appearance that mattered to Marcel. And the look on Jehan's face and the words he continued to speak, softly, waiting; those could not wait for some narcissistic tragedy.

He wasn't some Lt. Tholomyes, and he could not abandon his ship, his crew.

His love.

He was his own person, and he may have been the victim, but he wasn't the only one affected by the blow.

Marcel sat up a little bit, perhaps a little more jerkily than intended, what with having been so tightly wound, and moved his other hand over Jehan's to clasp them tightly.

"Oh, Jehan, of course you can stay..."

Heartfelt guilt dressed his expression, though he hesitated in moving forward to kiss the other; he could brave the wave of self-consciousness that flooded over him, but he was still a far cry from able to keep his head above water.

Instead, he settled for pulling Jehan's hands up to his face and kissing those kind and gentle fingers.

"But I want you to know that you don't have to try so hard to be brave for me. Though... Three days, right?" There's a crack at a smile. "Think Alexis will let us be brave together?"

[holdmyflowerbaby]

The kiss to his hands assured him that, regardless of how Marcel was feeling right now, he would pull through. Absolutely. Not that he'd ever had a doubt... but the shadow of grief across his ruined face had stung harder than the sight of the wounds.

Jehan knew that he had pride in his appearance. There wasn't anything wrong with that; it was good, to be confident.

But it was also good to remember that there was something more to it.

Wishing to remind him and sooth him again, Jehan pitched forward, and pressed a careful kiss to his mouth once he'd finished with his hands, giving his boyfriend a smile of relief.

"Thank you." Chimed, before going to lean his forehead in against Marcel's, with an equally cautious nod. He never flagged in his eye contact, didn't hesitate a hitch. "Three days, exactly. And I'm not being brave; all I'm doing is sitting." Snorted, softly, before rolling is eyes with a smile.

...Truth be told, they were so short-handed, Jehan felt Alex would have them both be brave together on the bridge. But why give Marcel anymore grief, anything more to worry over, tonight? While he was recovering?

"I think he doesn't have a choice."

Because damned if he'd really be leaving Courfeyrac's side... except to check on Bahorel, of course. No Captain of a starship could stop him from that, after all! They'd be messing with the wrong grossly attached boyfriend.

[ohmyyy]

Marcel took the kiss tentatively in turn, but even smiled a little as their foreheads touched. Jehan's unwavering gaze and constant show of unconditional affection settled his stomach and loosened the knots about his chest that breathing became easy once again.

He had the best grossly attached boyfriend.

"Good."

After that ... fiasco, Marcel didn't feel all that up to being at the helm of their ship anymore anyway. It would be nice to just hole away and allow himself some time to avoid the insult to injury of having to show a literally shamed face to the rest of the crew.

His stomach rumbled, and he actually joked with a laugh, "That mirror still around? Seems my stomach will take anything by the sound of that."

[holdmyflowerbaby]

A soft 'pff' of air, a brief nuzzle, and he was getting to his feet again. He let his hand-hold linger as he made his way around the bed, before letting go only when it was absolutely necessary; when he'd gone to reach the miracle machine in question.

"I told you you had a replicator in your room; the entire bridge crew does; and you want to eat shards of glass? Ah!" He pressed a hand to his heart and pivoted dramatically on his heel to face him again. "But my beau is tragic, oh, he is a wonder! To chew on glass only but to better feel the sting of his humanity, to sustain himself on metaphors! I am touched, I am moved." He joked, with a small grin at the end, before leaning back against the replicator.

"I secured ration rights for you tonight. So you can choose anything you'd like to eat. Do you want a full sized mirror, or will that make you worry about your weight? Better make it a compact, then?" Joked in return, pleased that his spirits were lifting.

[ohmyyy]

Marcel leaned into that nuzzle and stole a kiss to the top of Jehan's head before he could part, holding onto that hand for as long as he could, as well.

Watching Jehan work his theatrics tossed him into a fit of giggles, though, because how was anyone allowed to be so adorable.

And then subsequently sexy, leaning against the replicator like that.

Seriously.

"Something in-between; maybe a handheld?" He grinned a bit, and then shook his head lightly. "Mmm, lasagna? Vegetarian, of course, and some wine." Ducking his head slightly, and in a mischievous tone, "And then cheesecake and hot cocoa afterward."

[holdmyflowerbaby]

"Oh, so we are sharing? My cher is also kind and giving."

He smiled broadly, his own spirits lifting to the tune of Marcel's joyful tittering. Turning around to punch it; as the pilots say!; he input that he wanted a warm meal and drinks, then told the replicator what it was he wanted; in Klingon! Had to stay sharp, after all.

When the food was produced (and he was secure that his accent was still acceptable), Jehan returned to the bed, balancing a tray. (He spilled only a bit of the wine, from only one of the glasses. Truly, a record.)

"I'll take the messy one. Is it okay if we eat on the bed?" Setting the food onto his nightstand.

[ohmyyy]

"For mine is the kindest and most giving in rallying for those ration rights."

Blowing Jehan a kiss from across the room, and bestowing one upon his cheek once he had returned to his side. His smartest boyfriend, who knew all the languages to such perfection! And with only a drop of wine spilt, too.

Marcel scootched over just a bit so that Jehan could join him and patted the spot fondly. "I've even kept part of it warm for you."

[holdmyflowerbaby]

And so Marcel had bounced back!

He knew it was not an act, because this was his Marcel. Even without the usual facial ticks, he knew his body actions and reactions, his tones. There would be rough patches to come, surely, but his good cheer really solidified the fact that all of him was in tact.

So thus, truly letting himself be happy for the first time since seeing his boyfriend's face go through a sparking monitor, he leaned in and went to nudge his head under Courfeyrac's chin playfully, nuzzling, kissing his throat, all gawky energy for a moment, not an ounce of grace or fluidity.

"You've made an even better part of me warm. My heart, cher. It is so good to hear you laugh! To see you safe. I was so worried." He admitted, reaching up to squeeze his arm and kissing his throat again, before nodding towards the food. "Eat, and be merry."

[ohmyyy]

Marcel would bounce back the world over just to see Jehan smile as he did now. Every time, without hesitation.

Still sleep-heavy arms wrapped about the poet and pulled him in close as he chuckled into that soft, fawn-brown hair, a little whimper involuntarily escaping his lips at those puppy-dog antics at his neck. It was so good to be here; the world could end and Marcel would be happy just to have Jehan held close and by his side.

That induced another laugh, and a boop to the nose once he'd finally pulled back a bit, before reaching around and grabbing the plate of lasagna. "That would explain why I have become warm, then, mon coeur." Another kiss to that nose, as well.

"Now open wide~" Holding a forkful up to Jehan, because every gross ever.

[holdmyflowerbaby]

It only made him even more content, even warmer. They could be (and were) lightyears from home... what did it matter? The biggest, most vital bit of home was here, nuzzling into his hair and poking at his nose, making him sign and squint both.

When Marcel offered him the first bite, though, he had already comfortably slumped to lay against him. Producing a lazy smile and putting a hand to his chest, he shook his head.

"Shouldn't it be me feeding you? My dearest of invalids."

[ohmyyy]

"I have provided you all the pain of my absence, so I would argue that you deserve as many coddlings." Kissing his hair. Jehan did look comfortable there, though, so he shrugged lightly and winked. "But if you insist, I wouldn't be one to refuse!"

Yet Jehan would not have time make any effort one way or another, as the door slid open and to reveal Bahorel and Joly bickering in a quiet hiss.

"It's not even like you'll be on the bridge!"

Once he'd seen that the door had opened, Bahorel gave the CMO a Significant Look, and then stepped through. Upon entering, he gave a two-fingered salute and a wide grin to the pair of them, eyes flickering a little more often toward Courfeyrac than normal, when he might occasionally ignore him entirely if Jehan was in the room. Beyond that, it would be noted that his most dangerously open wounds seemed to have been mostly patched up, but the still-bloodied bandages he sported indicated that no cosmetic (and sometimes very primitive and basic) work had been done on the rest.

Resources were low, as everyone knew, and there had been plenty of other candidates who had needed better care than Bahorel had. "I can handle a little flesh wound or five," he had said, and insisted that he didn't need much to keep himself going.

As much as he didn't necessarily like Jehan's boyfriend, Ambrose didn't dislike him, per se, and he knew that their pilot to love him. That was reason enough to deserve every extra wince at rubbing alcohol and stitches.

"Good to see you awake at last, Courfeyrac! Jehan, you look far less like death, yourself, too." With a friendly wink and a slightly gentler smile.

[holdmyflowerbaby]

"...I'm not sure we can quite say it's good to see him, but yes, yes;" Joly's tone picked up speed, and a dismissive manner, "It's good that either of you are awake at all, considering what I had to put you out with! YOU should not be up on your feet at all--" And he flinched aside a little, with graceful step, as if to avoid Bahorel's pointed look, which he seemed to both expect and expect physically. "--and HE should not be doing anything! He might startle people, and keeping calm is very important! We can't just let everyone out of Medbay who still needs extra effort! That's a fiasco. You know I was only equipped with enough material for a simple test run. No, no; it isn't proper for either of you to be at work until we re-supply and I can patch you up proper, my Sirs."

Jehan, for what it was worth, looked on at the pair in horror. Neither were... particularly polite, and while Starfleet Protocol did not require that of a Senior Officer, nor the CMO; in fact, maybe the opposite, where stating things blunt and clear was the revered form of communication; Jehan, as their resident linguist, cultural expect, and Courfeyrac expert, thought they could have been a little kinder with their wording.

Or, a lot kinder.

Foreseeing some element of panic, he quickly turned to place a reassuring kiss on Marcel's mouth before shooting a sulking look at Bahorel, slipping his hand over Courfeyrac's to keep him at bay.

"...I hadn't gotten around to telling him the Captain wants him on the bridge yet, I thought he could at least eat first. He's only just woken up."

Joly, whose speech had been harsher, he did not pass a word to; he had, after all, fixed his two darlings up; and Jehan was relieved to see Ambrose up. So much so.

"Can't both of you take a break? You need one."

[bangingonout]

Courfeyrac's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach as he recognized the faces and voices that then entered the room; the flashes of what had happened and how he must now look were pushing his appetite away just as swiftly as it had descended upon him. Startling people. Not being able to keep calm. The flight path. That miscalculation. He hadn't meant to...

"And you, Lieutentant, Doctor," he finally managed to gulp out, looking a little pale as he tried to pry himself back to reality, helped a little with Jehan's kiss and hand. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Just peachy!" Bahorel replied, flashing a bit of a grin. He caught The Look from Jehan and shook his head a little grimly. "No can do, petit. I figured it'd be too early, but turns out we might end up needing Courfeyrac up and running much quicker than anticipated."

Turning to the brunet, Bahorel handed him the PADD he was holding, which illustrated as he spoke. "There's an asteroid field between us and the planet where we can gather supplies, and we're going to need our best pilot to maneuver us through it -- you." He noted the flinch but didn't linger on it. "Granted, we still have about seventy-two hours before we reach it, and it's entirely possible that it isn't quite as dense as sensors are suggesting it is, but we figured it was better that you were prepared now than thrown at the problem when it arose."

That second flinch was mirrored in Bahorel's face when he realized how that must have sounded, but he just pursed his lips together and put a hand to Courfeyrac's shoulder. "I know that it's a bit soon to be asking you this, but I believe in you, kiddo."

I Hate You: The Musical.

[holdmyflowerbaby]

"More like a bruised peach..." Jehan shot at him, in a sulking tone, clearly concerned, despite Bahorel's blase attitude. "If we have seventy-two hours yet, mon grand, why doesn't Marcel have fifteen minutes to repas?"

He might rank a shift lower than Bahorel, but his stare was stern and telling. Ambrose had had a little time to adjust; if he hadn't been adjusted from the oust. Couldn't Courfeyrac just have a moment? He thought it could only add to his skill in the pilot's chair, the time to fortify himself...

And, with a decided air, he snatched the PADD from him as he went to pat his boyfriend's shoulder, glancing over the schematics.

"...Let me do it, then." Was he their Ace-Pilot? No. Absolutely not. But he also didn't have head trauma. And for the amount of time he'd listened to Courfeyrac babble about piloting... well. Jean Prouvaire had a startling memory, thank you. "I'll pilot it through."

You Could've Just Said Nooo-eee-oooo-oh-oh

[ohmyyy]

Ambrose's smirk crumpled a little under Jehan's gaze. "It was better that you two knew and were able to prepare, just in case."

They weren't going to waste precious energy idling on the outskirts of the belt just because Courfeyrac wasn't ready to return to his station once the time came, after all...

Yet that would have been a bad reading of Marcel on Bahorel's part, for, really had he needed to jump up and do the thing now, he would've (comparatively) easily been able to do so, rather than having said full seventy-two hours to contemplate whether or not he would actually be able to do the thing in the end.

Oh, the added stress. Marcel was still struck dumb by the news.

But not quite so struck as he was when Jehan grabbed the PADD and proclaimed his plan.

"Jehan," Bahorel started, taking a step toward their communications specialist.

.....Killer Tofuuuu?

[holdmyflowerbaby]

Jehan had known that about Marcel. Went to reason, being closest to him of any on the ship. He'd known he'd be called on, and had predicted that it was better to wait, to stave off until the exact moment of need, to use shock value to ignite. Perhaps a little manipulative... but his heart really was in the right place.

Poor Marcy's nerves...

Jehan, for his part, half-raised a brow, and spoke just as archly, handing the PADD back with a jab.

"Well? Between the head trauma, and the emotional strain, I would have to say that Courfeyrac is unfit for duty just yet. Wouldn't you agree, doctor?"

"If agreeing means you pilot, then no." But generally, yes.

With a soft roll of eyes, he went on, "And we all had to pass Basics, didn't we? I can fly her. I did well in all of my classes. Besides; the only person who knows more about maneuvers than Marcy is the man he made listen to him ramble about them for two years. That would be me. So. I'll do it. I trust there's no problem, since the entire bridge crew was chosen with an eye to equanimity of skill, with the forethought that if anything went wrong, any of us should be able to take over and compensate for anyone else's position?"

Eat. That. Meal-Crashers.

"I'll do it."

[bangingonout]

Ahh, to think that Ambrose could have just asked Jehan about it first...! Operating on the concept that having a thing to look forward to doing would be less frustrating than lying in some Med Bay having a foofy CMO yelling at and sedating you was really not his idea of a Fun Time. He'd thought it'd be a saving grace, so sue him.

"Jehan, I know you mean well, but that's not exactly going to fly..." Excuse the pun; he's all serious face here, though Bossuet would've raised a brow if he were around.

Looking to Joly for some help? Perhaps?

But no need, really, because that's a hand on Jehan's arm. "No, I'll do it."

[holdmyflowerbaby]

Jehan glanced back over at him, brows melting from stern to in a fret, and tone melting to match it.

"Are you sure, cher?"

Joly just held his hands up, and huffed through his nose... but with a faint smile. Things worked themselves out, eh?

And excuse you very much! Puns were his department, and you sir, have been bitching all day. No help to be found here; wasn't saving your life enough? Hem, hem!

[ohmyyy]

Not quite meeting Bahorel's gaze at first, training them at just about his collarbone. "I don't think that it's fair to put the consequences of my mistake on someone else, least of all you, Jehan." Turning to him. "I won't have any more people hurt because I can't... Just because I don't want to do my job."

Marcel knew that this moment of courage would break as soon as Bahorel and Joly were gone, as soon as he had a moment to sit and actually mull it over, but he couldn't let Jehan take the fall for what else might happen in the next few days.

Bahorel looked at him long and hard with a strange expression on his face. He knew there was a reason why Enjolras had insisted on the order, though he had momentarily thought that it had been a bad call. The boy was stronger than he looked -- all of them were, in fact.

"Okay. Then we'll keep you posted on further developments. In the meanwhile, I hate to keep you from your meal longer, but Joly did want to check up on you now that you're awake."

[holdmyflowerbaby]

An outright, fussy, altogether childish noise wrapped in a huff, at that.

All right, fine. No one listen him, as usual. He couldn't let his boyfriend eat, despite having been given permission, because of a mission taking place (possibly) in 72 hours, because no one entrusted him to pilot through an asteroid field, and now, an impromptu medical exam.

Making a gesture of his hands for giving up, he got to his feet, shooting Barohel another grumping look. Far be it for his opinion to count! About his own boyfriend!

"Fine; but you can go. Sit down somewhere. Before you fall over." And with that snippy bit of well-meant advice, he went to put the wine away as Joly took a seat to perform the exam.

[ohmyyy]

Squeezing Jehan's arm slightly even as he stormed away, with a grim but apologetic sort of look after him. He sat patiently as Joly tended to him, though not exactly soothed by the way the other would tut and avert his gaze.

Whatever grimaces the doctor made would be all the more obvious now that they were up close and personal, after all, and it made him a little nervous again.

Knowing that he wouldn't like the answer, Marcel asked tentatively, "So, um. How is the rest of the crew, Joly? Are most of them okay...?"

Bahorel, on the other hand, pursed his lips and followed Jehan. "I'm sorry about all this, but it had to be done."