Saw a list of prompts on Tumblr, and this one got my attention for some reason. I kind of get the idea that every once in a while, Jean just a turns a blind eye to Lucien's antics, which includes his suffering afterward.
It was the day after Charlie had finished his detective training. He, Lucien, and Matthew had gone out to celebrate the night before, and while Charlie had stopped after a couple of beers, Lucien and Matthew had continued on, somehow getting into a contest to determine who could drink more whiskey in a 10-minute period, while remaining standing.
And while Lucien was normally aware of his need to drink water in order to avoid a hangover the next morning, somehow after a full bottle of scotch, his reasoning function shut down completely, and he merely reached for another glass of whiskey when he got thirsty, rather than something actually hydrating, like water. He even joked about it to Matthew, who was staring at him with an owl-eyed expression, as if he had never seen someone drink before, "Hair of the dog!" he announced before throwing it back.
So, the next morning – early the next morning – when the phone rang with news of Christopher Jr.'s second child, Lucien was not quite in the same celebratory mood that Jean found herself in.
"Lucien!" Jean shouted, as she ran back into their bedroom and pulled the curtains back from the windows. "That was Christopher on the phone; I'm going to be a grandmother again! They just got the confirmation and wanted to share."
Lucien opened his eyes, then quickly shut them again when he saw the light pouring in the windows. "Wonderful news," he croaked, wondering exactly how dry his mouth could get and still produce words. "Jean, would you mind terribly closing those curtains?" he asked as quietly as he could manage out of respect for his hangover, but Jean had already left the room. Judging from the banging coming from the kitchen, she was starting breakfast.
At the thought of breakfast, Lucien groaned and held onto the sides of the bed for support. He knew he should get up. He knew his wife was expecting him to celebrate with her, to be happy with her, and he wasn't entirely sure that was possible just then.
He took a deep breath, telling himself, "Come on, Lucien. Water in the kitchen. Cup of tea, a couple of Bex, and you'll be as good as new. Now. Up!" And with that pep talk, he heaved himself upright, only to slide right to the floor.
Meanwhile, Jean was in the mood to celebrate. "I think we should do something to mark the occasion, don't you think?" she called from the kitchen. "I know! Let's pop down to Melbourne for the day. We can have lunch at that café you like so much, and I can find a gift for Ruby, and maybe one for Amelia, too. It isn't everyday you get to become a big sister, now is it!" She paused, listening for Lucien's reply. When it didn't come, she headed back to their bedroom.
"Lucien? Did you hear me? You didn't go back to sleep, did you? What on earth are you doing on the floor?" She stood in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, head tilted to the side, staring at Lucien, who was now stretched out on the floor on his stomach, head resting on his arms.
"I just…," Lucien cleared his throat and tried again, "I was just…well. Perhaps I had a bit too much whiskey last night," he smiled sheepishly up at Jean, willing her to forgive him, and bring him some of the water that he so desperately needed right then.
"Honestly. Well, did you hear what I said about going to Melbourne?" she continued. Yes, she could see that he was hungover, but really; it served him right! He was in no way going to dampen her enthusiasm for the news of a new grandchild.
Lucien realized the predicament he was in. He was clearly not going to get any sympathy from Jean, not today anyway, and not when his condition was obviously self-inflicted. It was clear he was going to end up in Melbourne whether he wanted to be or not, so he heaved himself up off the floor, and with great self-control, kissed Jean on the cheek, murmured that yes, Melbourne would be lovely, and headed straight for the bathroom to throw up.
The day continued in much the same vein. Jean took control, steering Lucien into several shops in Melbourne where he acquainted himself with numerous public restrooms, and tried desperately to keep from moaning out loud whenever she announced, "Just one more!"
By the time they arrived back home in Ballarat, Jean felt that he had done enough penance, and was willing to take pity on him at last.
Lucien retreated to the living room as soon as they got home, laying back on the sofa and closing his eyes against the splintering pain that was his headache. He had resolved early on, though, not to complain or mention his predicament to Jean, so he was very pleasantly surprised to find a cool compress being placed on his forehead a few minutes after he lay down.
He opened his eyes to see Jean holding a glass of water and a few Bex tablets. "Think you can keep these down?" she asked him. "I noticed that you didn't eat much today," she tried to frown sympathetically at him, but her eyes were dancing mischievously; she had his number completely and totally.
He smiled at her in return, "Jean, you're an angel," he told her gratefully. And he resolved to show her just how much he appreciated her, just as soon as those Bex got to work.