Nathan and Jean-Paul, Sunday night

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Nathan returns from Muir, bearing quality whisky for Jean-Paul. It may or may not be responsible for JP's confession in the conversation that follows.


Jean-Paul was pacing the receiving area of JFK for the second time in a month, trying to shake off an uncomfortable mix of apprehension and deja vu. They did not maul passengers on commercial flights. Nate had been fine when he'd called. Therefore, he would not appear battered, bandaged and looking like his own autopsy this time. The issue with this line of thought was that Jean-Paul tended not to believe things until he saw them with his own eyes, and sometimes not even then. He'd not seen Nate's recovery and so it would not be solidly real until he had, at the least, visual evidence.

The Nathan who emerged from the gate still moved with a trace of a limp - his hip was going to need a while longer to heal up completely - but in all other ways, his appearance and demeanor was totally different than it had been the last time he'd arrived at this airport. The expression on his face was subdued, or perhaps simply pensive, but he smiled as he saw Jean-Paul, and for the first time in weeks, the smile reached his eyes.

"I brought you a bottle of something deeply alcoholic," he said as he reached his friend.

Jean-Paul laughed, more out of relief than anything else, and gave Nate a one-armed hug around the shoulders. "You knew I would need it after a week on my own, is that it? How are you doing? How is the ankle-biter?"

"I'm better, I think," Nathan said, the smile lingering. "As for Ray, she made me promise that she gets to stay home with me, week after next... I suppose that means I should tidy up the boathouse, doesn't it?"

"More redecorating. Well, I've had my break -- I'm up for it. And for the mini-you. I haven't been called nearly enough rude names lately." He glanced down at Nathan's bag. "Anything besides the carry-on this time? No? Where to, then?"

---

"It's very good whiskey," Nathan said, handing Jean-Paul one of the two glasses. "I took Ray over to the mainland and we wandered around town for a while. Happened to walk past the distillery." He sat down in 'his' armchair, letting the air in his lungs out on a sigh as his eyes moved around the familiar confines of the boathouse.

Jean-Paul took the glass with a nod of thanks. It was very likely that he was going to get drunk just being social, but he didn't mind. Nathan had seen him drunk before. "'The' distillery?"

"There's a local one. Very good. Very tiny; what it produces in a year, a big distillery could do in a week. But there's a lot to be said for quality." Nathan tilted his glass, pondering the contents.

Jean-Paul took a sip from his tumbler, savoring the initial bite and the potent warmth that slipped down his throat, leaving behind the smokey essence of oak. "Impressive," he said, regarding the glass with admiration. "My thanks."

Nathan shrugged a little, a smile flickering across his features. "Small gestures. I..." He paused, took a sip of his own drink and paused to appreciate the taste for a moment before he went on. "I've been a high maintenance friend lately. Least I could do was to bring you back some quality booze?"

Jean-Paul was quiet for a few moments, then ventured a slight smile of his own. "Worth it. Besides, I have little doubt that you'll wind up helping to put me back together one of these days. My sister will come back or I'll fail one of the students...something."

"Ah, no pessimism here tonight," Nathan said, although he sounded pensive himself. He swirled the whiskey in his glass again, more to buy himself a moment than anything else. "I have kind of a whacky schedule ahead of me for the next little while. Lots of things to do. I'd forgotten how involved the aftermath of this sort of thing could be..."

"Fine, fine." Jean-Paul took another drink, savoring the whiskey. "Is there anything that you need a hand with?"

"Just... bear with me? It involves a lot of talking about what happened. And writing about what happened. And I'm probably going to seem like I'm going backwards again, at least a little..." Nathan trailed off, looking glum. "I hate this," he muttered. "Not really any option, though. I copped to the hallucinating."

"I'm not planning to walk away after all of this, don't worry." Seeing that glum look on Nathan's face again was most definitely not pleasing. "So...I think I may have gotten myself into trouble."

Nathan shook his head a little, as if banishing his current train of thought, and focused on Jean-Paul, his eyes narrowed. "Oh-ho? Is this the bad kind of trouble, or the good kind of trouble?"

"It is the stupid kind of trouble." Somehow, his glass had emptied while he hadn't been paying attention. "I...went out with Shiro the other night. Just to catch up after his last mission. Now I find myself thinking of him a lot." He grimaced. "I sound like a boy with a crush."

Nathan blinked. And then smiled. It looked suspiciously like a smirk.

Jean-Paul threw a pillow at him, followed by a preemptive: "Shut up."

"Did I say anything? Unconditional adoration can be, uh, compelling." Jean-Paul was going to throw something harder at him this time.

"Oh, for God's sake...he is not a puppy!" Jean-Paul sent the TV remote this time. If he threw the glass, he didn't know if he would get it back and he needed it for drinking. "And whether or not he adores me is not the issue. He's half my age."

Nathan shrugged. Eloquently. "Age differences aren't such a big deal. Not when you're both adults. Now, if you think he's still seeing you as 'Mr. Beaubier', that's a problem."

"I think the number of insults we've traded means he's not worried about the wrath of his professor." Jean-Paul leaned forward to pour himself another drink. "The problem is, I am still seeing him as a student. And I don't think the age difference is meaningless. Someone who is still deciding what to when he graduates will have different needs than someone on his third career -- possibly fourth, depending on how you count."

"You're talking to the man who married a woman who was one of the people responsible for keeping his brainwashing in tip-top shape," Nathan said. "I may have different standards of what affection can overcome."

Jean-Paul paused with his drink nearly at his lips. "Point," he conceded. "We do not live such normal lives. But I am pretty sure he is still waiting for Clarice to come to her senses anyway." He did not sound overly pleased about this possibility.

"He and I have not always gotten along," Nathan said, "but I'm fairly sure he has a little more sense than that. I suspect he could use a stable relationship... but I can see the potential complications here," he conceded.

"And they are legion. Have I mentioned how happy I am that you brought home alcohol?" Jean-Paul finally looked up from his drink. "It's a nice idea though, isn't it? At least worth thinking about."

Nathan eyed his friend. His very lonely friend, he thought. "Adventures in drug addiction and ill-considered relationships aside," he said, "Shiro's grown up into a fairly impressive man."

"He has," Jean-Paul said softly. "If he were still an uncertain boy, this would not even be an issue. I know what you're saying makes sense. Truly. It's just...very hard to get over my old impressions. I need to decide what he is to me before I can even think of being anything to him. Assuming he'd take me up on the offer."

"Then I'd suggest giving it some time. The two of you are presumably going to be here for a while-" Although there was always the uncertainty, and they both knew that. "-so it's not like you're working to a deadline."

"And here I am, making the conversation about me again." Jean-Paul had relaxed a bit, though; the whiskey was doing its work quite admirably. "So two weeks until Rachel is back?"

Nathan nodded, sipping at his whiskey. "I talked to Moira," he said, "and funny that you mentioned redecorating, because I'm going to redo her room between now and then. She's outgrown the baby decor, and, well, I could certainly use something innocuous and uncomplicated to do with my time." A hint of a smile reappeared. "We picked paint and wallpaper online."

"It's pink and purple, isn't it?" Jean-Paul had meant that to sound plaintive, but the tone didn't quite survive making over his grin.

"'Pink sorbet' and 'Amethyst cream', thank you very much. And a very cute little wallpaper border comprised of dancing princesses. We picked new bedroom furniture, too. I need to go pick it up." His grip on his glass tightened for a moment before he made himself relax. "I need to not make assumptions that I shouldn't be out and about... taking a commercial flight back was kind of a test for myself, in that regard."

"So do not go alone." A smirk. "Besides, you'll need a hand. If you throw out your back, you'll be confined to the couch again and then it will be me and Angelo having to redecorate. We might forget which colors you selected."

"And deal with her Highness's teary-eyed pout? I don't think either of you have the fortitude."