The Changing of the Guard? Part III: Sticking My Nose In
“Camomile derives its name from the Greek for this wonderful herb “Khamaimelon” which literally means “earth apple” because of its appley aroma. It is recognised for its many benefits to sleep and to the skin. Whilst not strictly a magic concoction, camomile tea-”
“You can stop,” Dorian informed Jean-Loup. “Thank you.” The latter lowered the copy of ‘1001 Magical Herbs and Fungi’ and regarded his patient. Dorian was inspecting his bandages, and not really making eye contact. Eye contact had not been much of a feature in the second hour. Initially, Dorian had panicked, apologising, in a very rambling way, and talking about how Jean-Loup was going to be angry, and how he would run away ‘just like the last time.’ Jean-Loup had no idea whether Dorian was merely comparing this to a similar incident in his past, or whether he was actually confusing him with someone else and - if so - at what point in their interaction that cross over had happened. It wasn’t fair to ask though, and the main thing he’d focussed on instead was calming Dorian down, and assuring him he wasn’t going anywhere. After the initial burst of panic, Dorian had just sort of collapsed in on himself and had curled up with his head on his knees. Jean-Loup had talked at him for a bit, trying to think of reassuring things to say, but he wasn’t great at keeping up a one sided conversation. To prevent an awkward silence, and to make sure Dorian knew he had not renaged on the promise to stay where he was, he had summoned the nearest book and started reading. Unfortunately, in a medical tent, there wasn’t exactly a lot of thrilling literature.
“My bandages are dry,” Dorian pointed out, “And I remember why I have them on, but can also move my wrist.”
“That sounds promising. Shall I call the healer?”
There was a beat, where Dorian considered just being a coward and saying ‘yes.’ He wasn’t sure whether Jean-Loup was going to melt into the background, or whether he’d have a chance to speak to him privately again before he left, and in some ways letting himself just get swept up in being discharged was nice and easy - it wouldn’t be rude, it would just be the hustle and bustle, sweeping them on their separate ways. But he didn’t.
“Sorry. About… before,” he said.
“I already told you, you don’t need to apologise,” Jean-Loup reminded him. Dorian did remember this, but had assumed he was just being told it because he was panicking and being hard to deal with, rather than because it was true.
“My behaviour was inappropriate,” he mumbled.
“I think, given that you were on something akin to confusing concoction, and I was looking after you, the onus for behaving appropriately was on me. Anyway,” he added hastily, concerned about how that sounded, “Let me call the healer.”
His wrist was fine, and he felt in control of his own mind again, and so it came as no surprise to Dorian that the healer took only a few minutes to examine him and declare him fit to go. What did surprise him was that, after another muttered and embarrassed ‘thank you’ from him to Jean-Loup, the older boy had not fled as quickly as he possibly could in the opposite direction. In fact, he was following Dorian out of the tent.
“I’d like to know you got home safely,” he explained, catching Dorian’s look of confusion.
“Well, I’m no longer out of my head, so I should be fine,” he assured him.
“That’s not what I meant. You didn’t fall earlier, did you?”
“No,” Dorian looked at the ground, “But anyway, he’s probably still out skating. I’ll be alright.”
“If I know someone’s messing about on the ice, I’m supposed to give them a caution. I could possibly even get him banned for a couple of days, given the seriousness of this but I wasn't sure if-”
"It's not a good idea. The last thing I need is him hanging around the house more," Dorian answered. And especially not in a bad temper, he added to himself.
"I was going to say I wasn't sure it was necessary. I imagine your parents will be grounding him for the rest of his life. He broke your wrist!"
"Matthieu breaks plenty of people's bones. Normally, it's a big achievement to celebrate," Dorian shrugged bitterly.
"Normally, it's in the context of a sport where everyone's signed up, accepting that as a risk. You can't tell me they're not going to see this very differently?" Jean-Loup replied, sounding genuinely appalled.
"No. I mean… I'm sure they would. I don't know," he back-pedalled, not wanting to slander his parents. After all, they couldn't have any opinion on something they didn't know about. “Can we not talk about this?” he asked, feeling like he had embarrassed himself more than enough for one day. “It’s over. It’s just- it’s done now.”
Jean-Loup was torn. To him, it was very much not done; a wrong had been committed, a wrong of which he was aware, and he couldn’t process the idea that there wouldn’t be a consequence to Matthieu’s actions. He was hesitating, because it didn’t feel like his business, and he didn’t like making Dorian uncomfortable; it felt like he’d already been through enough for more than one day, and he was hesitant to be the cause of any more suffering. However, there was short versus long term discomfort - Dorian was not enjoying this conversation, but it seemed like just trying to brush it aside was going to lead to further problems - or at least for a chance for it to happen again. Furthermore, given Dorian’s tendency to just want to gloss over this, it was just hitting him why Matthieu might not be getting punished for what he’d done…
“Are you going to tell your parents about this?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Dorian admitted. He wanted to say it wasn’t a big deal, but Matthieu had just broken one of his bones and Jean-Loup had sat with him for two hours whilst it healed. It was hard to shrug it off as nothing given the circumstances.
“I think you ought to,” he pushed gently. Dorian was a minor - well, he was sixteen and thus old enough to have consented to his own medical treatment, but in other areas of the law, his age was a concern. And heck, given that he was being forced to live with someone who was bullying him, whatever his age, it would have been a problem. And whilst everything else he had said or done was covered by patient confidentiality this was something that had to be an exception. Jean-Loup was duty bound to report the circumstances of the incident. He wondered what he would have done if he had found out outside of work. Would he have cared too much about what Dorian wanted to do what was right? Would it have felt not right to go against his wishes? In some ways, it was a relief to have the black and white rules of the situation laid out for him - he was obliged to do something about this. He would be giving Matthieu a caution, whether Dorian liked it or not, and he would be reporting this to his supervisor, whether Dorian liked it or not. However, he didn’t want to play that card just yet. Like with taking the potion, he’d rather that Dorian had the time to process and to conclude for himself that this was the sensible decision.
“Nothing this serious has happened before," Dorian stated. He wasn’t sure why. He could tell that Jean-Loup was worrying about him, and he didn’t want that.
“But this did. And other stuff has.”
It was a statement, more than a question. Still, Dorian felt an answer was expected. He scuffed at the snow with his toe and shrugged.
“Why wouldn’t you tell them?” Jean-Loup asked.
Dorian wanted to shrug again. He didn’t like that question, and he didn’t like answering it. That question was a gateway into everything that was wrong with his family dynamic, and every irrational, insecure thought… He knew half his reasons didn’t make sense. He couldn’t answer without sounding somewhat crazy. And at the same time he believed every single one of the things he might be about to say, at least to some degree. What if they don’t believe me? What if they’re mad at me for ruining their image of their perfect first born child? What if they’re mad at me for being weak, or for never telling them before? He’s going to pissed if I tell on him, and if they’re not on my side over it, then everything’s going to get worse, and then what do I do? On the one hand, it felt like Jean-Loup had dealt with more than his fair share of insanity for the day. On the other, he was still here.
“I just… I think of all the ways that could backfire,” he hedged, not quite wanting to run through the full list of his anxieties - not after everything else that had happened today. “All my friends are far away, and the only person round here I have on my side is Émilie.”