Wednesday -- C'est la vie. Lorna, Jamie, Scott

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Late Afternoon, Jamie and Lorna fix dinner, joking around and mutilating classic rock. Until Lorna gets a phone call with some bad news.



Neither Jamie nor Lorna would ever be asked to front a rock band. In fact they were both the type who would be discouraged from singing in the shower if such a thing could be. But this was their kitchen and what they said were the rules were totally the rules. Which is why the radio was cranked way up, classic rock pouring from the speakers and Lorna was singing into a wooden spoon while she and Jamie made dinner.

Jamie grinned as the song wound down. "Good thing we reserve the right to refuse service. I think we're gonna have to hold the threat of no food over people's heads to head off the outraged mob of everybody in this school with enhanced hearing and/or musical taste."

Lorna giggled, "It's not like we do it every day. Only on special occasions. They can put up with a little pain every now and then when the reward is our brilliant culinary design." She did a little dance step over to the oven to check the chicken. "You're right though. Terry, at least, is going to be after our heads. How goes your prep?"

"At least I convinced you to leave the Stones alone. I thought you'd seen the Professor's record collection, it's right there in his office. No butchering the favorite band of the biggest brain on the planet." Jamie made a minute adjustment to the burner underneath his saucepan, eyed the simmer, and nodded judiciously. "Coming along pretty well, I think. Y'know, I can hardly believe I used to think it was a good idea to just put everything on high so it cooked faster.

Lorna shuddered, "Please, my heart. You know what it does to me to hear that kind of blasphemy. Forge still thinks that, I'm pretty sure. I just don't understand how they can call that boy a genius."

"I think what it is is he looks at food and all he sees is batteries for people. As long as it keeps him on his feet efficiently the rest doesn't matter." Jamie contemplated this idea for a moment and shook his head. "Horrible way to look at food, if you ask me. Takes all the fun out of it."

"Those are the kind of people that Chef Marcel calls 'Heartless, Gutless, Hopeless'." Lorna shook her head, "So very, very wrong. And...oh ha!" On the counter her cellphone began to buzz and play 'Les Poissons' quite loudly, "Speak of the Devil."

"I really gotta meet this guy someday," Jamie replied, sticking his head into the fridge after salad fixings. "I've never met a real live scary French chef."

Lorna giggled, "He's great. When you do though, you have to swear not to tell him what his ringtone is." She grabbed the phone and flipped it open, smiling, "Allo?"

In the next second her smile faded replaced by confusion, "Oui. Lorna, oui. Est-ce que je peux vous aider?" She frowned, trying to understand the rapid-fire French. She kept telling people that she didn't speak very good French but no one believed her. "Madame. Please, I... Répétez lentement, s'il vous plaît. I don't understand...je ne comprende pas."

Then she went very pale.

Jamie turned around, his hands full of lettuce; his forehead wrinkled as he took in Lorna's expression. "Hey, what's wrong? Did something happen?"

Lorna shook her head at him, waving one hand helpless as she listened to the slow mix of English and French from the woman on the other end of the call. "When did... Qui. Merci...merci." Slowly she pulled the phone away from her ear and closed it, setting it on the counter and leaning there, braced on trembling arms. "Chef Marcel...he. He had a heart attack. Yesterday at the restaurant. That was his assistant."

"Oh, hell, Lorna, I'm sorry." Jamie put the lettuce down on the counter and crossed the kitchen to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Did the assistant say . . . well, is he going to be okay?"

She turned, looking at him, tears already coursing down her pale face. "He died. They...she said it was fast and..."

"Oh, damn." Jamie drew Lorna into a hug, patting her back soothingly. "Oh, Lorna, I'm so sorry. You've been telling me about him practically since I got here, he sounded like such a neat guy."

She wrapped her arms around his waist but loosely, still more in shock than anything, the reality of it still not yet sinking in. "He is...was... He's been my teacher since I was just a kid. Everything I've ever made he..." She stopped, choking off what promised to be a flood of memories and disbelief. "The funeral is Saturday."

Jamie nodded. "I can handle food for the ravening hordes, and we can get you on a plane . . . do you want company?"

She looked at him, utterly lost. She hadn't even begun to think of practicalities like that. "I...um...I don't know. I think...I don't know." Lorna swallowed hard, "I think I need to sit down. Just...for a sec."

"Oh. Yeah, of course, I wasn't thinking." He hooked a chair over with his foot and offered it to her, getting another for himself. "Um. . . anything else I can do?"

She sank into the chair and folded in half, her ponytail slipping around her shoulder and brushing against her face as she tried to pull herself together. "He's been my teacher since I was 12. Even after I came here, he would send me recipes and tell me how I was doing things wrong." She scrubbed her hands across her face, "I should tell Nate and Moira. He helped cater their wedding."

"I remember the food there. I think everybody does." Jamie kept a hand on her shoulder; it was probably the best he could do for her right now. "It's hard, losing somebody you love," he added lamely. "Especially if it seems like they're gonna be around forever."

"I need to call my parents." She didn't actually seem to be listening to him, preoccupied by the way her mind was skittering about, trying desperately to avoid examining the fact of Marcel's death too closely. Better just to deal with the details. Go through the motions. What were you supposed to do in...situations like this? "Can you handle the rest of dinner?"

"'Course I can. Don't worry about it. You do what you need to do." Jamie gave her a concerned look. "And if you need anything else--anything at all--just let me know, okay?"

Lorna nodded, numb even though she was still crying, "I will. Thanks, Jamie." She got up again and grabbed her phone off the counter. "I'll be back down once I have things settled." Work, some part of her brain insisted, was going to be very important to her soon.



Scott's wandering intersects with Lorna's grieving at Harry's. They banter but neither have much heart for it.



It still felt more like shock. Hours had passed and though Lorna didn't understand much about grief she thought that by now she should feel something else. Anything else that wasn't icy and numb and sharp. It was mostly quiet in the bar, dinnertime and a weekday. Just a couple of diehards, Harry and her. She ran her finger around the rim of her glass to see if it would sing. But nothing happened.

Scott came through the door, letting the air in his lungs out on a soft sigh of relief as he saw how quiet Harry's was. He'd badly needed some space, and this would do just - oh. He paused, frowning a little at the sight of Lorna sitting at the bar, the droop to her shoulders unmistakable.

"Lorna," he said quietly, coming over. "Are you-" Well, she's not all right, idiot. "Um. Mind some company?" he asked instead.

She sat up quickly and the effort to put on something that wasn't a blank, broken expression was obvious. She managed a smile that wouldn't have fooled anyone. "Um, sure. Sit down. What are you having?" Because it would have been worse to tell him no and send him away. Letting people in was reassuring. She was almost certain that her therapist had told her that. Lorna had never asked for whom.

"Scotch," Scott said to Harry as the man came over. "I should make it just a beer," he confided quietly to Lorna, "but I find it feels like a scotch night."

Lorna raised an eyebrow at him, "Is a scotch night a good night or a bad one?" Her own glass of dark red wine bore only a single faint lipstick mark but was still nearly full.

"Bad one. Scotch is to me what tequila is to Nate." Scott sipped at his drink once Harry set it down in front of him. "What's wine, for you?"

She looked down at her glass then lifted it slowly. "It's a Burgundy pinot noir. It was my teacher's favourite." She took a sip and made a face. "It's very oaky," she continued without changing her tone, "Like tar. He died yesterday."

"Marcel?" Scott sighed softly. "I'm so sorry, Lorna."

She nodded both in affirmation and acknowledgement. "Heart attack, crise cardiaque. I was going to talk to you tomorrow. I'm going to need a couple of days off. For the funeral."

"That's no problem," Scott said, subdued. "I'll mention it to Ororo when I get back to the school tonight. If you need more time, just let us know..." He summoned up a faint smile. "Term's over, after all."

Lorna shook her head. "I don't know his family. Staying won't do any good." She sighed and blinked slowly then looked at him, "So what's got you drinking scotch? Did something happen at the school?"

"Well. Marius," Scott said simply, taking another sip of his scotch. "I probably shouldn't be drinking at all, but I felt like I needed the air, and my feet led me down here."

"How's he doing? I thought he was going to be okay." Lorna didn't think that Scott would be down here if something had gone wrong again with the boy. But that didn't mean that things were going smoothly.

"Still unconscious." Scott stared down into his glass for a moment, then shook his head and took another measured sip. "We won't know what happened until he wakes up. And here I thought we were done term and things were going to quiet down."

"Summer is always worse. They have more time to get into trouble." It wasn't funny. It wasn't funny at all but what else could you do? You had to pretend things were okay or... Lorna never finished that thought because no matter how many times she had it she was never sure what came after 'or'. The end of the world maybe. "Maybe we can send them all to camp."

"Don't tempt me. We have a plane, you know. We could drop them off in the middle of the Yucatan and tell them that whoever finds their way home first gets cookies."

"You're starting to sound like Nate. But it would be a learning experience." She sipped at her wine, savoring each mouthful because to do less would have been disrespectful to the grape. Or so Marcel said. "If we told them that it was wilderness training they'd probably buy it."

"I'll have to think on this." Scott gave Lorna a sideways look, thinking. "Jean and I are leaving," he volunteered lightly. "Running away and joining the circus."

"About damn time." Lorna saluted him with her glass. "Tell Jean that using her powers on the trapeze is cheating."

"We're actually running to the Galapagos islands. Honeymoon and all," Scott said, raising his glass in return. "Then possibly off to visit family. We're not planning to be back until July, in any case."

"Hmm, that's less exciting than the circus. Well, in that case, you're not allowed to bring back Horatio a big brother. I hear they're endangered." She smiled slightly, "When are you leaving? Tomorrow?"

"Close. The weekend. And I'm rather looking forward to the giant turtles. I'll take lots of pictures." Scott swished the scotch in his glass contemplatively. "I hope relatively few things blow up while I'm gone. I'll have the world's biggest guilt complex when I come back if I leave Ororo to handle catastrophes."

"You're just afraid we'll be able to handle it without you, you mean. Then we'll see through you and realize that you work yourself to the bone so that we won't notice that we can actually spare you now and again." Lorna sipped at her wine again, eyeing him like she really suspected that.

"If my redundancy's confirmed, Jean and I will maybe just stay on the Galapagos and farm turtles," Scott said. "Sound like a plan?"

Lorna pretended to think about it. "Can I be the new leader?"

"If you defeat Ororo in single combat," Scott said firmly.

Another silent moment while she sipped her wine and considered that requirement. "Can I cheat?"

"Not if she cheats first. And she might, you know - she's sneaky that way. I remember... oh, wait, I'm not supposed to tell that story, because my pride runs away and hides under the metaphorical bed." Scott drained the rest of his glass, then waved at Harry for a refill.

"Did you beat her in single combat? Or...wait, you were the leader first. So she must have beaten you." Lorna grinned at this display of logic, "Good show, 'ro."

"We beat each other on a regular basis back in the old days. Jean and Hank were constantly despairing over our competitive streaks."

"Sure." Lorna quirked at eyebrow at him and finished her wine, shaking her head when Harry started over to refill it. "You're just saying that to get around the fact that beating on each other is not the same as the thorough trouncing I'm sure you got."

"'Ro's sneaky. I said that already, didn't I?" Banter was a funny thing, he sometimes thought. It didn't precisely cover up the fact that you and your banter-partner had things on your minds, but it could still be oddly comfortable. Even on nights like this.

Comfortable but wearing, particularly when all you wanted was to be left alone. Lorna struggled with her composure for a moment, looking down as tears flooded her eyes, the way that they had done at random all day long. She blinked rapidly and forced herself to be calm. "You did. So what does scotch taste like? Is it good?"

Scott caught the rapid blinking. "Awful stuff, really," he said after a moment, more softly. "And one should probably be my limit, as entertaining a drunk as I am. Should I go and let you finish your wine?"

"I'm sorry." Lorna shrugged, "You can stay if you like. I'm terrible company right now."

"I'll stay for a bit longer, then." And just not be a demanding conversationalist. "So quiet in here tonight," he observed, his gaze flickering around.

Lorna looked around, "Is it? I figured this was normal for a Wednesday." She signalled at Harry. Since he was going to stay, she figured she might as well keep drinking. She'd been more entertaining that way.

"Little more so than usual." Scott hesitated, then nodded at Harry. One more for each of them, maybe.