Nathan and Jean-Paul

[x-cynosure.livejournal.com]

Nathan and Jean-Paul explore the mainland after being kicked off of Muir, and Nathan extends an unexpected offer to the speedster.



"You have put us out on the North Sea in a washtub, Dayspring."

Which was Jean-Paul's oh so subtle way of letting Nate know that he was still sore about having to take the tiny ferry to the mainland and suffer the indignities of transportation not under his direct control.

"If we had flown," Jean-Paul continued, having not released his grip on the deck railing one bit since they'd cast off, "we would be there already."

"Yes," Nathan said with a perfectly straight face, keeping his balance without difficulty despite the roughness of the seas, "we would. But then you wouldn't have the opportunity to enjoy the fresh sea air, the smell of salt, the - oh, look, an iceberg!" Jean-Paul actually looked, and Nathan didn't quite manage to suppress the snigger.

Jean-Paul glared daggers at Nate, but folding his arms over he chest would mean letting go of the rail.

"I can understand perfectly why your wife kicked you off of the island. I do not understand why I had to go with you."

"Because otherwise I'd be a terrible host?" Nathan said, not quite innocently. "I brought you home; I take responsibility for you. Moira and I have this agreement about strays, since we both tend to collect them."

Jean-Paul snorted. "It has been a while since I have been called that." The trip was not actually so bad. It might have been enjoyable if the boat had been a bit larger. And better armored. And if the sky would lighten up just a few degrees.

Fortunately it wasn't a very long trip, all things considered. They were pulling alongside the dock before much more complaining and/or tormenting could be done, and Nathan took a deep, happy breath as he stepped out of the boat and regarded the village.

"We are going to the distillery, yes?" he asked cheerfully.

"I know that I am, and I will be in a much better mood if you guide me there instead of leaving me to search Scotland for it." Despite his grousing, Jean-Paul was glancing around at the dock and the village beyond with a keen interest that he wasn't even bothering to hide.

"All kinds of other places to spend a little time down here," Nathan said, getting into the spirit of it as he led Jean-Paul away from the docks and into the village. "They do a lot of tourist business, but they do it justice - the local artisans are amazing. And we definitely need to stop by Billie's pub for lunch."

"The distillery and the pub? Are you planning on carrying me back to Muir?" Thatched cottages and large numbers of sheep were blessedly absent, but, cliche as it was, he couldn't think of any way to describe the village other than "quaint". Well, "quaint" and "tartan". "Dieu, the clock stopped on this place long before I was born." The tone of his voice implied that this was not an insult.

"Yes and no. The modern world is here, just... below the surface in a lot of ways it isn't elsewhere. The people here love the way they live," Nathan said, and the relaxed posture as he strode down the narrow street suggested that he felt more or less the same way. "Rachel can float down the street here and get nothing but smiles, too."

"It must be a temptation to keep her here and do more commuting." Jean-Paul caught sight of a hanging sign over a doorway across the street; the edges were engraved with scrollwork only a language away from calligraphy, and the slightly weather-faded book painted across the wood advertised its purpose without the need for words. Jean-Paul fell a step or two behind as he considered their options, then stepped quickly to keep up with Nate. The distillery had won out, but barely. And they would be coming back this way.

---

"Now you definitely do need to take the plane back with me," Nathan said in amusement, eyeing the stacks of books on the pub table beside them as he tucked into his lunch. "I'd hate to see you throw your back out carrying those across the Atlantic."

"Some treasures are worth the sacrifice." Jean-Paul had eaten quickly and buried himself up to the hairline in a hardbound translation of 'The Aeneid' that was likely older than both of them put together. He was finally convinced to put it down when his second plate of beef and mash turned up. "I should have taken you up on this offer earlier."

"Better late than never," Nathan offered, smiling crookedly as the book was finally put away. Jean-Paul actually looked properly relaxed, for the first time since he'd shown up.

The speedster tapped his knife against the edge of his plate for a moment, contemplating. "I do not think I am going to say anything when we get home. Back to the school, I mean. I have never been good at explaining myself and now would be a bad time to start."

"I don't see any reason why you should," Nathan said immediately, then shrugged. "I know these things do have a bad habit of getting around, but you don't owe anyone back there any explanations of what happened."

"No. Old habits, I suppose." Jean-Paul shrugged, dismissing the topic as suddenly as he'd brought it up. "Where are we going next?"

"Toy store. By which I mean the store belonging to the man who makes the most amazing articulated wooden toys - Rachel wants a toy soldier." Nathan gave his head a quizzical shake. "Yes, a soldier. No idea why."

"Building an army to conquer the world, no doubt. We cannot say we did not see this coming." Having demolished his second helping of lunch, Jean-Paul reached for a napkin. "Either way, I am interested to see our new overlord's minions-to-be."

"You'll like Angus. He's a real artist." Nathan, of course, was still only midway through his first (and only) helping of lunch. "David does that all the time, too," he said, indicating Jean-Paul's empty plate. "Finishes meals in no time flat. Mina is constantly berating him about it. Would you like to visit Tel Aviv sometime during the summer break?"

"I am catching up," Jean-Paul pointed out. He was tempted to order thirds and certain he'd be done with those before Nate finished the rest of his meal, but then all he would be good for was curling up and sleeping for twelve hours straight. The invitation seemed to catch him off-guard, but only for a moment before he nodded, grinning. "I would. I have not met many other speedsters, and I would like to get a sense of my predecessor."

"Well, you could meet everyone else, too," Nathan pointed out. "Wacky crew that they are. Meet them, see the office, stay at a very nice if somewhat crowded villa with a very nice slice of beach."

Jean-Paul's grin went devilish. "You know, the current rumor is that I am trying to recruit you, not the other way around. If you keep singing the praises of Elpis and its people in my direction, you will confuse everyone."

"Well," Nathan said, drawing the word out in a deliberate drawl. "Funny you should mention recruiting."

"Killy preserve us, the man appears to be taking me seriously. I am intrigued, Nathan. Pray, continue."

"You probably know of groups like Right To Play," Nathan said more seriously, putting down his fork. "They're not the only ones working with sport in a humanitarian context, obviously. Nor are they the only ones for whom integrating young mutants into their programs is a challenge."

"Of course." The grin retreated. "It is hard to convince anyone of the importance of fair play or teamwork when there is one person who does not need the team to win, or who hurts anyone who comes near without meaning to. That does not even touch the liability angle."

"So here's my problem," Nathan went on. "Something like Right To Play works so well because of the involvement of people who actually have... well, some experience with organized sport." He shrugged, raising an eyebrow. "And most of my core staff are ex-soldiers of one kind or another."

Jean-Paul's brows knitted. "You are aware of how my involvement with organized sports ended, Nathan." It was not a "no", more of a "why?"

"Hence why I think you might be the perfect person to help with this," Nathan said. "You don't have to give me an answer right now, or even soon - it's not precisely a front-burnered project." He didn't want to push, but he suspected that Jean-Paul might find a great deal of satisfaction in a project like this.