Jean-Paul and Jeanne-Marie

[x-borealis.livejournal.com]

Jean-Paul and Jeanne-Marie end their afternoon of shopping with a visit to a local plant nursery and a discussion of family.



Of all the places he had expected Jeanne-Marie to insist upon for their shopping trip, the local nursery had not been the first to come to mind. But his sister wanted plants for her new room, so plants she would have. His phone was in his pocket; they were supposed to check in with Nathan once an hour. He really was not surprised...the usually crazy leading the newly mad was not the most comforting of circumstances.

Jeanne-Marie was a few steps ahead of her brother, thoughtfully examining the abundant offerings of the small nursery. She had explained her motivation to him, that the interest had been picked during her treatment in Caen through contact with a depressed older patient a few doors down from her own. He had passed on his trade and often told her the only reason he had not cut his wrists open was because of the pert little garden their doctor had allowed him to keep. Jean-Paul had been sparred that particular detail. But it had proven to be a relaxing sort of chore, a good distraction, and life was changing enough without giving it up as well.

Not that she wasn't glad. She looked back at Jean-Paul, his fingers hovering anxiously close to the phone. She smiled weakly, but tried to sound upbeat, "Almost that time again?" They had been speaking in French since leaving the school; with only the two of them, there was no reason not to.

"Hmm?" He glanced down at where his fingertips drummed anxiously against the pocket of his jeans. Nothing quite like knowing that help could actually be in reach this time, was there? He offered his sister an apologetic glance. "Not for another twenty minutes. Just...a new tic, I suppose." He turned his attention to a feathery dill plant, brushing the tips of the leaves with just enough force to draw a tempting, faintly sour odor forth. "What about this one?"

The dark-haired woman nodded. Jean-Paul had trusted her, and himself, enough to come and she needed to keep in mind how much that meant. Far more than an anxious habit or a few premature phone calls back to Nanny Dayspring. She followed his gaze and took a step back to tease the plant with slim fingers while examining its tag, "Lovely. And I think I remember some recipes a finicky, but talented chef taught me that could make use of it eventually..."

"I am not finicky," Jean-Paul protested, scooping up the plant pot with easy care. "I'm concerned with nutrition, which would be why I kept sending you those recipes."

Jeanne-Marie laughed softly, "Sorry, sorry. You are right, of course." She fell into step beside him, hooking her hands together as they walked on. "It was kind of you," she said more wistfully after a moment, "I never paid as much attention to such things as I should have. I suppose that is why you were always faster." Though barely. By fractions of seconds. On good days, he might have teased her about his victory and received a laugh or a light swat for his efforts. On bad days, it could have led to a fight. "...Perhaps rosemary?"

"Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme?" he suggested, trying to keep a straight face. It was good to hear her laugh; he'd have played the fool for far less a reward. It seemed almost beyond belief that they could be doing something as simple as walking together and trading small jokes after so long of expecting the worst, and even longer living side-by-side with his twin in the most dire of states.

"Remember me to one who lives there, she once was a true love of mine..." Jeanne-Marie replied, her tone not quite lyrical and not quite overcome by her soft laughter. She touched his arm, safe behind its sleeve, warmly, "Dear God, we are old." She moved only a small step from his side to investigate the rosemary, not wanting to stray from him or this mood they had so miraculously achieved, and not for the first time that day.

"We are, but so what? We can say that we're investigating the possibility of second childhoods. Lord knows the first ones were nothing to write home about." Which reminded him. Jean-Paul went quiet for a few moments. "I...found out some things about our parents," he said quietly. "Just recently, in fact. Nothing...nothing so bad, I promise."

"Easy enough for you to say," Jeanne-Marie chided lightly, continuing to look over the rosemary until she finally decided to pick one up, "Men age gracefully, unmarried women like your poor sister just become spinsters." Despite what she said, she was smiling. The silence that followed was disconcerting and she turned slowly, just in time to see Jean-Paul's lips begin to move. He was serious now and why became readily apparent. She nearly dropped the plant. "...What things?"

He regretted saying anything as soon as he saw the look on her face. "I...investigated the crash that left us orphaned. I wanted to find out why I'd been having certain dreams. One of the facts I discovered was that our mother took us out of the burning wreck herself."

Jeanne-Marie was quiet for a long time, her grip upon the small pot gradually becoming firm again as her shock dispelled. She had not thought about their parents in a long time, of anybody being family to her apart from Jean-Paul himself. And now this. "It appears," she concluded weakly, trying and failing to smile, "that self-sacrifice runs in our family. I suppose we now we know where you got it...How did you learn this?"

"I requested the reports of the accident. I'd been having disturbing flashes of memory, and I thought the root of it might be our past." He did not feel the need to go into more detail on that front; he felt bad enough for having brought it up in the first place. "I found a bit more than I was looking for, but that seems to be my way."

The woman gave a soft, monosyllabic sound of acknowledgment and agreement, holding the small pot of rosemary close to her body. "Did it help? With the memories?" came the quiet reply at length, Jeanne-Marie's eyes trying their best to meet his in silent reassurance.

"Somewhat. It's hard to be entirely frightened of something when you can explain it." Jean-Paul gave his sister an apologetic look. "This could have waited. Sorry. I only...it seemed important. One of the first things that came to mind after I knew was that I should tell you."

"It is important," Jeanne-Marie replied quietly, pensively, "Knowing that our mother would do that for us is very important. And you thought I had a right to know. Do not apologize for that." She pulled in a slow breath, taking the evergreen scent of the rosemary up into herself. The plant's association with memory had not escaped her thoughts and she wondered just what role it could be playing in her current sad nostalgia. "It is...strange to think of anyone but you as 'family'. Parents are such a vague idea. Aunts, uncles, grandparents...anything but 'brother'." She paused to brush her dark hair back, coaxed down alongside her face by a brief dropping of her eyes, "Hm....is that ungrateful to say?"

"I don't think so. I've often said that family is more than just sharing blood or what is written on the official papers. It wasn't our parents' fault that we didn't get to know them, but that is the reality of it. I didn't even know they existed until I met you. We can be grateful for what our mother did for us, but that is not the same as feeling gratitude to a person." Jean-Paul stepped around a hose lying between the rows of plants like a thick, black snake sunning itself among the greenery. "Not that the same question hasn't been running around in my brain since I found out."

The notion of sharing thoughts with Jean-Paul was always comforting and left her feeling grounded. Even if he hadn't been himself lately. "I suppose it is impossible not to consider. But you are right. And dwelling on the innumerable possibilities of what they were and would have been to us will end in nothing but frustration." She gave him a small nudge with her shoulder as they walked further into the nursery, adding softly, "...And you are all the family I need, besides."

Jeanne-Marie's words made Jean-Paul feel both sad and mildly angry at an absent man, the one who had promised to be Jeanne-Marie's other family and had instead abandoned her. He dismissed the emotion quickly; he was unimportant now. He slipped his arm around his sister's shoulder and gave her a firm hug instead of words.

"How do you feel about trees? I think they have some dwarf varieties here."

Jeanne-Marie slid closer to her brother as his arm folded around her shoulders, their steps closely adjacent and effortlessly in sync. It was a safe, pleasant place to be, near enough to feel the warmth radiating from him and to leave her wavy tresses tickling his cheek every now and then, depending on the energy in her steps. She smiled. "Curious. And we have all the time in the world...so long as we are good children and check in with Nanny soon."