Jean-Paul and Johnny

[x-cynosure.livejournal.com]

Johnny's father sends his son's belongings to the school, along with an unmistakable message.



The newest resident had been given enough time to get settled in, Jean-Paul decided. It was too late in the term to expect him to put together the sort of final he was expecting from Johnny's peers, but that didn't mean that they could not work something out as a substitute, or perhaps a course over the summer. He made his way down to the boy's assigned suite and knocked.

With his suitemates gone, Johnny was the only one present to hear the knock, an unfortunate fact given that the boy was currently occupied with the rigors of moving in and waist-deep in partially unpacked clutter. He pulled himself up, grateful for the natural dexterity that allowed him to maneuver his way quickly through the mess without ending up flat on his face, and hurried to the closed door, pulling it easily back. He blinked at the sight of the unexpected visitor, then smiled, "You locked out now?"

"It is customary to knock before entering a room, particularly one not your own." Jean-Paul peered in at the obstacle course of cardboard boxes, all addressed to one Jonathan Gallo care of Xavier's School. "I was going to deliver a textbook, but I do not think there's room for it in here." He did a quick hover over the worst of the mess and landed on an unoccupied spot of carpet. "Can I assume there will be some variety to your wardrobe now?"

A sheepish grin spread over the boy's face as Jean-Paul surveyed the disarray and the clutter of boxes, some of which had yet to even be opened up. One could only wear on-loan garments decorated with bold Xs for so long, but the new supply did seem a bit excessive. His dad had gone overboard. "It's a safe bet, yeah....I never expected him to send so much. No wonder it took it so long to get here."

"It is good that you will be well-provisioned. No having to send home for things." Jean-Paul kept his expression pleasant, but he was sincerely glad that it had been Scott's job to talk to Johnny's father; he didn't think he would have managed to conduct himself in anything like a professional manner when faced with a man who couldn't even be bothered to show up in person and ascertain with his own eyes that his son was truly all right after a kidnapping ordeal. The fact that, so far, he'd found the boy to be nothing but cheerful and perhaps a bit overeager to please only made the matter worse. "Do you need a hand moving things? I could at least help clear a path through all of this."

Johnny's pleasant expression faltered briefly. The comment left him wondering just how much Jean-Paul had heard about the circumstances of his stay and he chided himself for jumping to such rash conclusions. Perhaps the man was simply making conversation. "Yeah. It's not too far, but that kind of thing is probably a pain no matter the distance." He managed to coax his content expression back into place and, to lesser extent, the corresponding mood back into his mind. "Sure. If you can stand the tedium."

"Julian would probably have this done in a minute or so, but we'll manage." Though, between the two of them, it really didn't take long to stack the boxes near the entrance to Johnny's room and start sorting through them. Jean-Paul was a little surprised that Johnny seemed comfortable with someone he hardly knew helping to put away his personal things, but didn't comment. Johnny's CDs and books were easy enough to put away. There was a picture at the top of the second carton, matted in a dark, standing frame. A much younger, blond Johnny was sitting on a picnic blanket between two adults, beaming at the camera.

"Your parents?" Perhaps he was misjudging the boy's father at that; it was hard to imagine someone who didn't care sending something so sentimental along with clothes and books.

The young mutant may have been more hesitant if he'd anticipated anything truly private to be tucked among the boxes, but he owned very few things he was reluctant to show to others and certainly had no expectation that the few he did have would find their way here. Busying himself with the organization of his worn and dog-eared books, Johnny's focus only broke from the task as Jean-Paul addressed him and the sight of the photograph seemed to startle him faintly. That picture had occupied a portion of their mantle for a number of years, but after his mother died it, like many others, had been demoted to a cluttered shelf in their entry closet. Reminders of her had simply been too painful for both Darren and his son those first few years. He nodded mutely before finding his voice again, "...Yeah."

Jean-Paul handed the picture to Johnny, trying not to frown at the stunned look on his face. Before he could think of anything to say, his eyes were drawn back to the open box. There was another picture, this one a hanging portrait frame. The same sweet-featured, slightly plump brunette from the picnic was kneeling on a well-maintained lawn with young Johnny and a yellow lab. A quick investigation of the box revealed that there were more pictures. None were recent, but Johnny was in every one.

Johnny leaned to take the offered frame and sat back slowly, holding it with a care typically reserved for far more valuable or fragile things, as if the slight pressure of his fingers might shatter it. The older man's expression and continued exploration of the box seemed to evade his notice for now as he stared down into the image."...Why
would he send me this?"

The moment he realized what this likely meant, Jean-Paul wished fervently that he were better at comforting lies and that he had Johnny's father there to punch in the face a few hundred times. He quickly looked up and stepped away from the open box.

"Perhaps he did not know what you would want to keep."

"...What I'd want to keep?"

Johnny finally released the frame, allowing it to rest upon his folded legs. His danger sense was not in the habit of warning him against emotional peril, so when he pulled the side of the emptying box toward himself and looked down into its contents the realization hit him hard. Every scrap of recorded family history seemed to line the bottom of that box. Everything in the world that might remind his father of his existence. Despite its precious cargo, he released the cardboard and allowed the box to fall back hard, resulting in an ugly clatter of frames and disheveled albums. His words came out small, as much an attempt to steady his breathing and fill the silence as to actually communicate, "He's...never been a subtle guy."

"I am sorry, nonetheless." The rejection, simultaneously distant and hateful, was painful to think about, let alone witness and Jean-Paul nearly asked if Johnny wanted him to go. After a moment, he sank down onto the floor next to the young man. "He seems difficult to live with."

Johnny smiled weakly, the expression transparent and unconvincing, "...He was. I guess I should be glad, then, huh?" He looked down at the picture in his lap, slowly covering his mother with one hand and his father with the other; the child in the middle seemed just fine without them, didn't he? The thought just made him feel worse.

"Non," Jean-Paul said quietly. The symbolism of Johnny's gesture was impossible to miss. "There is no reason to be glad that your father is so callous." He didn't ask about the boy's mother, but the fact that the only pictures of her seemed to be with Johnny as a young child pointed to her absence. "If it helps at all, I think it is a good thing that you have come here."

Callous. Though Johnny had never been able to assign it himself, it seemed like the perfect word for the man in the photograph still hidden under his thin fingers. What his mother had seen in him was a mystery. He looked up at Jean-Paul slowly, "...I do too." But it didn't help.