Monet and Jean-Paul

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Monet and Jean-Paul are polite to each other and so not all right.



Knowing who to blame for the Moldova attack didn't make things better at all, if the severity of his nightmares were to be believed. Jean-Paul found himself on the smoker's porch at half-past who-gave-a-damn in the morning, wishing he'd had the courage to knock on Jean-Phillipe's door and bum a cigarette. He'd settled for the whiskey he'd brought back from Scotland instead.

Monet had been out for an early morning flight, unable to get back to sleep after yet another nightmare and unwilling to wake Clarice by watching more New Zealand's Next Top Model tapes. She'd planned to come back in via the smoker's porch and was more than a little annoyed to see the source of all her current problems there. What was worse was that he'd certainly have noticed her so she couldn't just avoid him. Landing, she waved briefly. "Hi."

Jean-Paul flinched, his eyes closing for a moment, as if the sight of her pained him. "Sorry." He drained his drink and got to his feet with great care. "You know, if you felt like taking a swing, I would not blame you. Might be the easiest way for me to get back to sleep tonight."

And oh, it was tempting. "Bit late for that. Haven't you noticed that it's getting light out here now? I'll remember it for next time, but," Monet shrugged, and moved a step further away, unwilling to stand any closer to him.

"And I am sure there will be a next time." Had he been out here so long? He was sure he had just had the one drink...but no, there was the bottle. Not even half empty, but, for him, it was more than enough to explain where the time had gone. "Well, if I cannot offer you a suitable target, there is at least a drink, if you want one."

"Next time, mate. It's a little early, right now. How about a coffee, instead?"

"Hmm. Awake and drunk, or awake and sober? So many decisions." After a moment, Jean-Paul picked up the bottle and took a slow step toward Monet, intending to follow, but letting her keep her distance. "I really am sorry about...what happened. You did not deserve to get knocked around for trying to save my ass."

She shrugged and stopped moving away from him. "You didn't hurt me. Mostly invulnerable girl, remember?" The floor had been sticky with blood where she'd landed and she'd been face to face with one of the dead soldiers. They'd died with their eyes open and she'd been able to see the holes where the kid had once worn a labret piercing and several earrings. "Come on. Coffee? I've got an espresso machine that even does the proper frothy milk." Monet's smile was fake but there.

'Mostly...' It would have felt so much better if she had been angry, if she had decided to have a go at putting him through the porch railing. He knew that he couldn't have properly shared the experience with her, even if talking had been an option on the table; remembering the Taygetos facility once he'd broken free was more like reading off a checklist than an actual memory. All facts, no emotion.

'So let her be invulnerable, if you cannot do anything else.'

"A coffee sounds good." Jean-Paul fell into step behind. "Is Wagner...Sefton going to kick me in the face for trying to beat up his lady friend?" he asked wryly.

"I'll kick him in the face if he tries," Monet said, trying for humour. "No-one but me gets to get narky over someone pathetically failing to beat me up." She led the way inside, to her suite and the espresso machine.