Nathan and Jean-Paul

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Nate gets tired of waiting for word from Quebec and calls Jean-Paul.



All right. He'd had quite enough of this. Nathan sat down on the couch, staring at his cell phone for a long, pensive moment before hitting speed-dial on Jean-Paul's number. If he does not pick up, I'm getting Clarice to teleport me to Quebec. She probably wouldn't even mind.

The phone rang twice before Jean-Paul picked it up, a relative eternity to someone used to the speedster's habits.

"'Allo, Nate. I am sorry for not calling...I got distracted." Jean-Paul's voice was heavy and hoarse. He was sure that he needed to sleep at some point, he just hadn't managed it yet. "No real change here."

"You sound awful," Nathan said bluntly. "Have you slept at all?" It was probably a stupid question. Maybe he should be flying up anyway? He started to seriously consider it.

"I tried." A soft, scatter shot laugh distorted the next few words. "It was a bad idea. The police said they won't need me tomorrow, so I imagine I'll pass out at some point between tonight and noon. I just...need to get some distance, and that is hard when you are going over the details again and again with other people."

Nathan tried not to grind his teeth. "Are they almost done with you?" he asked, more gently. "Surely there are a limited number of times they can go over the details of the incident."

"Both incidents," Jean-Paul muttered. "I think they are finished with the family too...the Voisines." He sounded as if he had just remembered that the family had a name. "I should know one way or another soon. Though I don't know what they think they will do to me if they decide I did kill St. Ives for revenge."

Nathan tried to unclench his jaw. "Best to cross that bridge in the unlikely event that we come to it," he finally said. Quite deliberately using the 'we'. "My guess is, you'll be free to go, once they finish dragging out the paperwork."

"You are about to break a tooth, aren't you?" The faintest hint of amusement had crept into Jean-Paul's voice. "He was baiting me, you know. St. Ives. He wanted me to kill him, so he kept the grandpere of the family back. Said I could watch another old man die. I could not let that happen again, Nate...I should be fine with this."

"Bullshit." There was no anger in Nathan's voice, though. Just weariness. "As I've been told ad nauseum by people who should know, 'should be' has very little place in how we react to traumatic situations."

"Or in anything else. I do not think I should head back to the school after this. Not right away. It won't...I can't see that doing anyone any good. I need to get my head on straight first. Or at least not too badly bent." The effort it took to try for that marginally lighter tone was audible. "How are things there? Have you talked with Julian?"

"Mmm. Went fairly well, I think." Nathan decided not to say anything about Leonard's clinic. More bad news was not what Jean-Paul needed right now. "Look," he went on, more briskly, "I need to hang around here for a few days. Things are ongoing. But after that, I'm going to Muir. I think you should come over, when you're finished up there."

A long span of quiet, then, softly, "I think that would be a good idea. This being alone here...it is not going to lead to me making any good decisions. Too much of me here to leave, too much of me here to be anything but toxic. Maybe I'll finally sell it all this year."

"Don't make any decisions right now. Just... finish things up there, and come to the island." A flicker of a smile crossed Nathan's face. "If you beat me there, Moira will probably feed you."

"Now I am glad that I kept you from freezing to death out in a cabin somewhere. I happen to like a good haggis." Jean-Paul couldn't carry the attempt at levity and let it fall flat. "Thank you, Nathan."