Shiro and Jean-Paul

[x-cynosure.livejournal.com]

Jean-Paul and Shiro seek a refuge from Valentine's Day to catch up. The universe conspires against them.



Dorotea's Pizza had precisely two things going for it - relatively good food for very good prices and the fact that no one could ever have accused them of not trying hard enough when it came to ambiance. The walls were lined with varnished, plywood trellises which were in turned covered with rows upong rows of tacked up ivy vines and clusters of plastic grapes. An unlit candle in the neck of a wine bottle stood as the centerpiece of every table. The overhead speakers blared mandolins and accordions when they weren't taken up with classics such as "That's Amore". It was, in short, completely ridiculous and very fitting for the purposes of the two mutants who walked through the door. It didn't matter if every couple in the restaurant made eyes at each other, it was impossible to take the place or anything in it seriously.

Jean-Paul took a seat as their waitress left them and reached for the menu. "Shall we attempt to negotiate pizza toppings, or take the safe road and do pasta?"

"Whatever has the most carbohydrates and fat," Shiro replied non-committaly. He just wanted anything that would give him a fast pick-me-up after the past couple of days in Japan. The mission, though short, had drained him physically and emotionally and he needed every Joule he could produce to keep him functioning. Going out may not have been such a good idea, but Jean-Paul had invited him and he couldn't turn down an invitation. "Maybe they can just put a whole pig on a pizza and not bother cutting it into sausage and ham and pepperoni."

"One large garbage pizza it is, then." Jean-Paul folded the menu and gave Shiro a mildly concerned look from across the table. "I haven't heard much about the latest mission. How did it turn out?"

Shiro shrugged. "We won, for all intents and purposes. We prevented ninja from summoning a demon to destroy the world. All in a day's work, et cetera." He tapped his water glass with his fingers nervously. "I do not know if you are familiar with Shinto, by according to legend the gods gave a sword, a mirror, and a jewel to the first emperor to symbolize his divine heritage. It turns out that it is not only legend, and The Hand wanted them."

"I'm not." The quick, unsettled movements of Shiro's fingers did not escape Jean-Paul's notice. It was unnerving to find out that myth was far closer to reality than one would hope. "Are they secured?"

"For the time being." Shiro stared into the water as if it could divine the future and tell him if he ought to explain everything. These were Japan's most sacred treasures and their very existence was a greater secret than a country's nuclear arms codes. But, he reflected, this was Jean-Paul. "The descendants of priests from a thousand years ago hold them and keep them safe. We were supposed to in turn keep them safe, but nearly failed. Nanahara Katsuhiro was killed. He held the sword, Kusanagi-no-tsurugi."

The name of the wrestler sparked far more recognition than that of the sword. "That's terrible. I'd hoped to see one of his bouts some day." It was hard to get further from skiing than sumo, but there had been an alien grace to the sport that had prompted Jean-Paul to learn more of it, enough to know that the death of a yokozuna was no small thing to his country. Their waitress came back for their order and Jean-Paul rattled it off without looking up at her. "I hope Nanahara died well, at least."

Shiro laughed humorlessly. "He was sacrificed and Kusagani-sama brought forth." He ran a finger down his glass, the condensation steaming off. "I held it. Wielded it. It was sublime."

Before Jean-Paul could reply, their waitress was back and clearing aside their drinks to make room for their pizza, much to their surprise.

"This cannot be our dinner," Jean-Paul protested. "We put in our order all of two minutes ago."

"Guess you fellows just got lucky," she responded with an inflexible smile before topping off their glasses and moving away.

"More likely someone called in to cancel their pick-up," he muttered, rolling his eyes. He glanced back at Shiro offering a shrug. "Well, it's still hot, anyway. I doubt we'll get better if we wait."

"Pizza is pizza," Shiro rationalized and bit into a slice. "Do you believe in God? Or gods?" he asked around a mouthful of sausage.

"I consider myself an atheist." Jean-Paul folded his slice in half lengthways and took a bite. "I have seen some amazing things, yes, but I do not have any use for religion or God. Or gods for that matter. After all, put me in the proper time and place and you have Mercury." A pause as he chewed and swallowed. "At best, I consider the idea of God to be a false comfort. At worst...well, nevermind. Talking about that will put me off of my food."

Shiro frowned and looked down at his food. "I do. I have met the Aesir and know them to be real, and now that I have held this divine weapon, I know the kami to be real, too. Holding Kusagani-sama was . . . I have never felt anything like it. It was enlightening, like it connected me to the primal forces of nature."

"You don't seem any happier for the experience. Was the attached price too much?" There was a time when he would have spoken those words as a challenge, or even mockery. Perhaps they still would have been in other company. For now, however, it was simply a question and honest, if mild, curiosity.

That wasn't an easy question to answer, and Shiro was silent for almost a minute before he replied. "A man was murdered for it. I do not know if anything is worth that price. At the very least, we almost avenged him, and I know that someday, I will do so. And I touched the divine because of him. I owe him more than I can pay."

"You'll drive yourself mad trying to repay the dead, no matter how big or small. The closest we can come is in honoring memory." Jean-Paul set down his pizza, regarding Shiro directly. "I do not see you failing in this."

"I take comfort in the knowledge that seishi will have him reborn as a being closer to nehan in payment for his great deeds in this life." It occurred to Shiro that Jean-Paul probably had no idea what he was talking about, and he blushed. "That is the cycle of death and rebirth, and enlightenment. Though I suppose it makes no difference to you."

The speedster quirked an odd smile. "I will confess to hoping that I stay quite dead when my time comes. That does not make it any less important to you, which means that I am quite content to have my ignorance in the matter overturned."

"Knowing you, you will be stuck in the cycle for longer because you can be so contrary and adversarial." Shiro cracked a brief smile as his own joke. As he reached for another slice, the lights in the restaurant flickered and then went out. The room filled with anxious and frightened murmurs. Shiro sighed and blindly felt around the table for the candle, lighting it with a fingertip once he found it.

"We cannot all be born such sweet and agreeable petals as yourself," Jean-Paul quipped back. The failing power drew the speedster's attention to the door of the place at once, and it was several heartbeats before any of the new tension left his frame. "If anything in a mask walks through that door, I am punching first and asking questions later."

Shiro's vision briefly slipped to infrared and he shook his head. "I do not see anyone new. Unless they are vampires and their body temperature is too low." He realized too late he shouldn't have said that, because that made it more likely to come true. "All of the cheap idiots who brought their dates here instead of to a real restaurant must be kicking themselves now."

"I'm not certain of that." Jean-Paul nodded over to where the staff was scurrying about to get the other candles lit. "This just went from being simply a cheap date at a pizza dive and got that much closer to a romantic dinner by candlelight. The dark is romantic, Shiro, because it covers up a multitude of imperfections. It allows a person to idealize what could be, instead of what is."

The pizzeria's manager had retreated to the back room and came out holding a radio. Jean-Paul missed most of what he said to a waitress, catching only, "...batteries should still be good."

"Oh no." If there was any benefit to the dark, it was that Jean-Paul couldn't see Shiro's face turn redder than the tomato sauce. Of course every radio station in the county would be playing music for the holiday, and Anita Baker's husky and sultry voice filled the room. "It is no wonder people think we are a couple," he sighed, thinking back to their Christmas vacation.

Jean-Paul cleared his throat awkwardly and reached for the pizza again. "Well, keep in mind that one of the people who assumed that of us is terribly concerned that I'm going to die an old maid and the other was insinuating that you're a schoolboy I'm taking advantage of. Really...it's nothing to dwell on." Damn the universe and it's cycle of rebirth and enlightenment for putting them in this position.

"Of course not." Though the change in atmosphere certainly got Shiro's mind off the mission. He glanced up at Jean-Paul then quickly retreated back to his meal. "So, uh, how was your week?"

"I am still having unsettling dreams. I suppose that is to be expected when you go swimming into one of the worst days in a telepath's life, but I did not know how much of it would linger." Jean-Paul shrugged. "But the real world has not been so bad. The students seem to be recovering well, for the most part, and I got to take a trip home for dinner at the bistro. Last night at Silver was surprisingly enjoyable; I wound up in the unexpected position of protecting de la Rocha's honor for the latter half of the evening." His mind skipped unbidden to the more pleasant idea of Shiro in that press of bodies, and was instantly beaten into submission by the rest of Jean-Paul's psyche.

Shiro nearly choked on his pizza. What was it about that club that established such weird and disturbing intimacies? "De la Rocha? Manuel? I did not know he had any honor remaining to protect." Or that Jean-Paul would find it necessary to be the "protector" himself.

"He was in a rather desperate position. One of the locals had taken a fancy to him and was about to drag him off by his cock and his hair." Jean-Paul was paying very close attention to his dinner now. "De la Rocha does not rank among my favorite people, but I wasn't going to stand by and watch him molested. Besides, I wasn't eager to be in the way if he began playing with nearby emotions again. Once was enough."

"Are you sure he did not play with yours?" Admittedly, Shiro didn't know the man at all, but he'd been around long enough to know the modus operandi. "Sorry, please forget that. I did not mean to offend. May I have another Coke, please?" he asked the passing waitress, who seemed more interested in lip-synching Diana Ross to the manager's Lionel Richie than in serving the remaining customers.

"If he was looking to snare a body guard, there were more imposing specimens to be had, not to mention that he'd never have to worry about any of them being suspicious." Jean-Paul sighed at the change in atmosphere. "We do not have to stay if you don't wish to. I know this is not exactly...appropriate now."

"I think it may be less appropriate to leave. And I do not want to insult you. I do appreciate your invitation to come here." Shiro managed a small smile and took another slice to emphasize his point. "I have been meditating to make sense of this week and it has not helped. But coming here with you has been . . . pleasant."

Jean-Paul shook his head. "I'm not insulted. I always enjoy our time together, Shiro. Even when you are mocking my Japanese. Which reminds me...I think I will be getting a tattoo to replace the old one."

Shiro stiffened. In Japan, only criminals wore tattoos, and it was hard to forget that wasn't the case elsewhere. "I read your email. I, anou, forgot to reply. Why?"

An impish expression flitted across the older man's face, intensified by the shadows and candlelight. "I think 'hashiru no sensei' is a worthy replacement for the Olympic rings, that is all. It will have to wait until I can get the kanji right, but it's good to have goals."

"There is a great English term for someone like you: Weabo." Shiro's posture relaxed, though, and his face softened. 'Running teacher' was hardly a yakuza sign. He didn't even notice Celine Dion claiming the radio.

At this point, it occurred to Jean-Paul that there was something very wrong with this scenario. He was eating mediocre pizza in a tacky, poorly lit restaurant while one of his country's most embarrassing exports caterwauled in the background and a man half his age accused him of being a white-boy poseur...and he really was quite enjoying himself, even wondering when they might meet up again.

Right on the heels of this was the realization that he was in a lot of trouble.