xp_logs | Nathan and Jean Paul: Tuesday Night

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Jean-Paul's gift for Nate arrives early. Nate is vengeful.

Jean-Paul set out toward the boathouse to say his good-byes, stars above and snow under his feet, really feeling quite pleased with himself. The resort had called, letting him know that his and Shiro's luggage had arrived as scheduled. He had his gifts wrapped and would leave them before the doors of their recipients in the wee hours tomorrow, just before he took off for Canada. He didn't celebrate the holidays, really, and as long as he had other reasons for giving presents, he could keep telling himself that. Best of all, he'd be in another country by the time Nate found...

...the large package currently sitting on the boathouse porch.

"I don't believe this." He flitted up to porch. Perhaps this was only some other delivery...but no. The idiots had promised Christmas Eve delivery. What were they doing dropping off packages early? Maybe he could hide it on the roof before Dayspring found it.

The boathouse door opened, seemingly of its own accord. "Oh, look," Nathan's voice floated out from inside, sounding grimly amused. "It's a large empty box. I wonder what that means? Could its intended recipient have opened it already?"

Jean-Paul stood defiant in the rectangle of yellow light spilling out over the porch, arms over his chest, head high. "Leaving out bait is poor form, Dayspring. And if you kill me, you'll only inherit my classes."

"A rocking chair," Nathan said, advancing on him out of the boathouse, his voice and his gaze steady. "You sent me a rocking chair. Dare I ask what the inspiration for that particular gift was? Are you trying to make some kind of statement, Beaubier?"

Jean-Paul didn't exactly retreat, he simply shifted his weight a tad backward. He also managed not to smile. Barely.

"I think I was being very thoughtful. It's handcrafted, you know. Excellent quality. Ergonomic, even. And just imagine how peaceful it will be, whiling away your days on the porch, Rachel on your lap. You could perhaps take up whittling."

"It's a very pretty rocking chair." Nathan's eyes were narrowing. "Very comfy, for my old, decrepit bones..."

"Imagine how hard you'll have to work to pick up any new head injuries," Jean-Paul pointed out. "I've just added years to your life." Running wasn't going to do any good. Nate knew where he slept. But that wasn't the point. Jean-Paul darted around the man-shaped storm gathering on the porch and into the boathouse. "Joyeux Noel!"

"Oh, and he heads away from the lake. Smart man!" Nathan congratulated him and followed him back in. "I mean, I tell myself that a dunking isn't precisely going to hurt you. And it would make me feel much less old."

"You'd feel terrible about it in the morning. You wouldn't be able to live with yourself." Jean-Paul was grinning now, even as he moved to put the couch between himself and Nate. "Rachel will pout at you for getting put on the naughty list on Christmas Eve...eve." Merde. So much for that defense.

"I'm a callous son of a bitch," Nathan informed him, judging distances. "And Santa's disapproved of me often enough that one more year isn't going to hurt..."

"Oh, yes?" And the lake had just frozen over too; a few more days of cold and it would have been perfect for skating on. A pity.

"You do realize I don't actually have to get my hands on you, right? I once helped Kurt dump Pietro Maximoff in the lake. I could probably manage you by myself..."

Jean-Paul sighed deeply, then made a doomed rush for the stairs. "I regret nothing!"

Invisible hands caught him, dragging him back towards the door inexorably. "I don't have a plank, but I think I can make do," Nathan said almost peaceably.

The struggle was spectacular, managing to dislodge the couch and nearly a floorboard with it, but brief, and ultimately futile. The last few feet of telekenetic manhandling involved Jean-Paul in a flight most definitely not undertaken by his own power. There was a satisfying sploosh from the lake. A moment later, however, Nate had been full-body tackled by a freezing, sopping-wet Quebecois.

Nathan was laughing too hard to resist much. "This reminds me of the time I threw Angelo in, and he lassoed me with a skin-rope and dragged me in after him-"

Jean-Paul "hmphed" down at Nate from his seat on the older man's ribs. "Serves you right for picking on the children. You should be ashamed." He wrung his hair out over his friend to punctuate his scorn.

"Angelo isn't a child anymore. And you're definitely not, so, you know. Not ashamed at all." Nathan pushed experimentally at him. "Off, before the dry sticks that masquerade as my ribs disintegrate under your weight."

"Yes, yes fine. Merry Christmas. Do I get a towel now or do I get to strip in your doorway?"