Jake and Jeanne-Marie, Tuesday evening

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Jeanne-Marie ambushes Jake as he arrives at the mansion for dinner (et cetera) with Jean-Paul. It does not go well--until, strangely enough, they come to an understanding. Of sorts. Sadly, not until after the death of more pastry.



Jake got out of the car and stretched, glancing at the mansion as he ran a weary hand over his face. He really hoped he didn't pass out in whatever dinner Jean-Paul was preparing; he hadn't been sleeping very well, if at all, since the Geneva trip, and it was starting to catch up to him. He reached back into the car to get the bakery box from the passenger seat, careful not to jostle it too much. The box held cupcakes from the bakery Dom had introduced him to, the day she and Nathan had knocked on his door and harassed him about Jean-Paul. He hadn't managed to introduce the speedster to them the last time around.

He tried not to think about Nathan. He was trying to not think about a lot of things, up to and including what, exactly, he was doing here. It was just dinner and sex, and spending time with a friend. He was fine with that. Jean-Paul was fine with that. Everybody was fine with that.

Jeanne-Marie had given up on convincing herself that it was a wholly healthy or even justifiable action to intercept her brother's expected company like this. But it still needed to be done. They needed to speak, she needed to know his intentions, even if a more comfortable label could never be assigned to whatever existed between Jake Gavin and her brother. The speedster watched from her perch upon the roof as he climbed out of his car and leaned in again to fetch the pastel bakery box, then pulled herself up after on more silent reassurance and stepped easily over the ledge.

The descent was not as smooth as she had intended, her anxious muscles coaxing her into a movement that was almost more akin to the sharp, quick dive of some predatory bird. The boots of her training uniform hit the ground hard. "Bonsoir, Monsieur Gavin." She pushed back her dark hair, taking no step toward him and trying to appear as genial as possible. "You are early. My brother has only just started cooking."

Jake started as she dropped down in front of him, clutching the box in front of himself as if he could hide behind it, as if it could protect him. He took a step back, blinking at Jeanne-Marie for a second before he recovered. "Mademoiselle. Food tastes better when it's stolen from a cutting board," he tried to joke, although it came out somewhat flat. He still wasn't sure how he felt about Jeanne-Marie's return. She made him feel off-balance, as if everyone else was in on a joke but hadn't bothered to tell him. Plus, even though they'd managed to make it through a somewhat awkward breakfast with a full complement of cutlery without incident, he still expected her to come at him with a knife at any moment.

The panic that flickered across the man's features was difficult to miss, but Jeanne-Marie did her best not to react, even smiling dully at the attempted joke that didn't strike either of them as particularly funny. Perhaps under better circumstances. "Oui, but he will be a while yet. You will have your chance." She doubted Jean-Paul cooking for him was a rarity, in any case. She doubted her brother would spare any kindness for this man and suddenly hated their ambiguous affiliation. "Even if you spare a few moments for me first."

She was pleasant enough, but Jake still had the distinct feeling that this wasn't simply Jeanne-Marie taking the opportunity to get to know him. He shifted the box in his hands, reminding himself that it was futile to attempt to outrun a speedster. "What can I do for you?" he asked stiffly, proper breeding taking over in lieu of any better ideas.

It was not a simple matter to address directly and Jeanne-Marie found her irrational courage waning, even if her conviction was not. But perhaps beginning slowly and reciprocating this politeness was not a bad thing. Perhaps the man might possess some unforeseen justification that would soothe her mind and allow her to continue civilly, even to be happy for her brother. She almost frowned are her own wishful thinking.

"First, allow me to apologize," the Quebecois began, extending a partially genuine olive branch, "It was not my intention to...interrupt. I am certain we would have been properly introduced when Jean-Paul saw fit, but that was not the time."

"No, it really wasn't," he said coolly. Any other day, and he might have recognized the olive branch for what it was; today, it was simply a reminder that not only was Jeanne-Marie back, but she could walk into Jean-Paul's room unannounced at any moment. But he was tired and nervous and uncertain, and he really didn't want to talk to her right now.

Jeanne-Marie felt herself bristle at this unpredicted curtness. So much for civility. "But what's done is done," she continued, watching Jake with his defensive posture and his pastel box held between them like a shield, "And I am left with a lingering question. Jean-Paul did not have an answer, but perhaps you will, Monsieur Gavin." Despite her current displeasure with the man, she still hoped it would be a good one. "What is your relationship with my brother? What is your intention?"

"Fuck," he swore quietly, too frustrated to separate internal monologue from external. "Really?" He stared at her for a moment, perplexed and somewhat angry.

"I would not make such an inquiry lightly," Jeanne-Marie informed him, voice quiet but firm as the last of her optimism began to ebb out. Some aversion to the question was to be expected, but the resentment it brought to his features suggested something much more significant at work. "But I am concerned for my brother and, thus far, you give me no reason not to be."

He blinked, mouth hanging open in disbelief. "You're...You're concerned?" he asked, voice raising. "You're concerned about him?" Any other week and he might have laughed and walked away. Tonight, however, he was already on the verge of snapping. He stepped towards Jeanne-Marie, cupcakes all but forgotten.

"That's really touching, your concern for Jean-Paul," he snarked. "Never mind the fact that you put him in the hospital. Never mind the fact that you tried to kill him. I can understand why you might be concerned about the fact that I want to sleep with him. Heaven forbid I break his heart--I hear that's your job." The last sentence came out as a snarl, full of vitriol.

Unprepared for this sudden ire and the onslaught that accompanied it, Jeanne-Marie stepped back as Jake stepped forward, her footing suddenly unsteady and her lips temporarily mute. The accusations were overwhelming and left her heart and features twisted. She could not deny any of it. "I...I was sick," she protested, too stunned to say anything else.

He rolled his eyes. "And while you were busy going out of your head, he was going out of his with worry for you." Jake stepped forward again, pressing the advantage, shifting the pastry box to one hand so the other could flail as needed. "I've only been around a few months, Jeanne-Marie, and I still saw how utterly destroyed he was over you. You wrecked his life. What the hell gives you the right to ask me about my 'intentions' towards Jean-Paul?"

Jeanne-Marie was led back another step by Jake's approach. Each accusation was one that seemed plucked from her own thoughts, her own doubts, and hearing them spoken aloud only made them that much more terrible. How destroyed he was over you. Her eyes felt hot and she blinked away the minute gathering of tears, refusing to let them settle. You wrecked his life. The man stepped forward again, spoke again, and suddenly her feet were still. She lifted one hand and struck him hard across the face, the momentum of the slap thrusting his head to one side and leaving his cheek throbbing.

"Just because I hurt him in the past, that does not mean you are permitted to hurt him now!" she hissed back, her tone strong again though her expression was a crude mesh of pain and fear and fury. Her eyes, narrowed almost to slits, bore distant irises and swollen pupils as they glared into the shifter.

The slap jolted Jake back to reality, reminded him that of the two of them, she was the one with the history of violence. He took a step back, barely noticing as the cupcake box fell to the ground between them. "I don't want to!" he protested, hands coming up defensively. "I don't want to."

Jeanne-Marie did not follow, remaining where she stood and attempting to calm herself. She had not intended to strike him. She looked away from Jake and closed her eyes, barely seeming to notice the dull thud as the box hit the ground between them and scattered its sugary cargo. She touched her face slowly, fingers scattered around one temple and one hidden eye, then she pushed back her dark hair again and finally looked at him. She suddenly seemed very tired. "And what do you want?"

Jake swallowed, taking another step back, his eyes never leaving her hands even though he knew he wouldn't see the next blow coming either. "I'm still working on that," he muttered, looking very tired himself. "Right now, I want dinner and sex and the chance to spend the night with Jean-Paul wrapped around me."

The only part of the speedster to follow the retreating Jake was her eyes. "I cannot decide if you are a liar or a coward," Jeanne-Marie said at length, "But I know neither is worthy of my brother." Nor are you, some internal voice reminded her and she folded her arms tight. The fleeting strength that had flared and allowed her to halt the shifter's verbal assault had done nothing for the wounds his words had left behind.

"I wish I could see what he sees in you," she continued, "I know there is something and perhaps it would make me understand his affection for you. Perhaps it would even put my worries to rest." Her gaze remained locked on Jake, pale eyes seeming to pick him apart, cut him open in the search of this unseen quality. There was nothing. "But whatever it is, do not think it gives you the right to question my dedication to my brother. I have faltered in the past, I have done terrible things, but at least I am attempting to make them right. At least I know where I stand and I am not ashamed or afraid to say what he means to me."

And now Jeanne-Marie was laying his fears out, flaying him with them. He stepped back, retreating until the car was pressed against his back, then sagged against it. "What do you want me to say, that I'm not good enough for Jean-Paul? God, I've been saying that all along. But the stubborn bastard won't listen to me." He rubbed one hand over his face. "Look...I've been honest with him. I have. And he's...okay with whatever this is." Mostly. But if the nuances weren't something he felt comfortable discussing with Jean-Paul, he certainly wasn't comfortable discussing them with Jeanne-Marie.

There was no joy in the turning tides of their discussion, in watching Jake recoil back step by step as if she were some genuine threat to him from her stationary spot. Jeanne-Marie watched him collide with the car's metallic frame with a dull thud and slump against it and she frowned slowly. "Neither of us are," she conceded after a pause, "But if you care for him, perhaps you should try to be. Isn't that the proper course?"

"I am trying," he said, frustrated. "That's the thing. Everything you think about me is absolutely true. I'm a terrible person who can't commit to a magazine subscription, much less a relationship. I don't think of anyone else but myself, and I run away screaming at the first sign of trouble. I'm a liar and a coward when it suits me, which is pretty much all of the time. And I hog the covers." He rubbed at his mouth nervously, trying to restrain his flaily hands. "And yet not only does he put up with me--he likes me. Which I don't understand any more than you do."

Jake spread his hands, defeated, unable to meet her eyes. "I don't have any good answers for you. I'm sorry."

This silenced Jeanne-Marie for a long moment and left her unable to look anywhere but at the slumping form of Jake. The words were all unpleasantly familiar. Too familiar. She crossed the distance between them slowly and positioned herself a few feet from him against the hood of the car. "It...is not easy to change what we are, is it? Even if we want to." Her eyes wandered, gazing off into some distant and unreal thing. "...Everything you said of me, everything you must think of me, is just as true. I have hurt my brother beyond what anyone should forgive and as much as I want to hide behind a diagnosis, the truth is...it was me. Part of me. And I do not know why I should mean anything to him but wasted years and scars." Her gloved hands found a perch upon the car behind her, fingers tightly following the curve of the vehicle to help keep them still. "But I do."

"You owe me nothing," the Quebecois said at length, "And the fact that you can even admit such things is...it means you are already a better man than I gave you credit for." She could not look at him again. "He is my brother, Jake," the use of his given name felt foreign and almost profane, "I just want the best for him."

Jake snorted quietly at the thought of his failures making him a better person in her eyes, but didn't interrupt. "I do too," he said, eyes never leaving the ground. "And I don't think it's me. But Jean-Paul seems to think..." He shrugged. "I don't really know what he thinks. Just that he can be incredibly stubborn, you know?"

Better, she wanted to reiterate upon that dismissive sound which found its way so effortlessly from Jake as she spoke, Better, but still not good enough. Jeanne-Marie forced her tongue to hold its judgement back. She was no better and certainly had no place to deny him the second chance she had already been given time and time again. And he was trying. He had said he was trying. The woman remained still and silent against the car's metallic frame for a long moment. "Utterly," she breathed quietly. Just like Nathan. Smiling while his lung collapsed.

Another long silence passed between them before Jake spoke. "I guess this makes us even for the crepes the other morning," he joked weakly, indicating the box of ruined pastries splattered across the driveway with a tilt of his head.

Jeanne-Marie actually turned a small smile on the younger man at this, seemingly genuine though the humor was thin and fleeting at best. "Not unless you made those from scratch," she informed him lightly, "Though I do hate to send you to my brother empty-handed." For all of Jean-Paul's fuss about nutrition, he enjoyed a sweet treat as much as anybody else. And he certainly deserved one. "There may be some banoffee pie in the kitchen you could pilfer for the greater good."

Jake glanced up--he might not have made them from scratch, but the loss of the cupcakes was truly tragic--but just in time, he realized the moment for what it was. "I might just have to do that," he said with an air of mock seriousness. "I wouldn't want Jean-Paul to have to go without dessert."

He tilted his head, looking at her thoughtfully. "Why did you come back? Not that I think you shouldn't have," he amended hastily, holding up his hands. "Just...why now?"

"Perish the thought," Jeanne-Marie agreed with the last hint of her smile fading, though some sense of uncertain contentment lingered in its place. Not that it had much hope of surviving the change of topic that followed and left her lips tight and weighted at their tips. The change had little to do with him. It was a vast question, but in truth it had a very simple answer once she found the will to give it. "My brother and I share a bond," she answered at last, "I felt his anguish and so I came back. Albeit...too late."

"Oh." Jake wasn't quite sure what to say. She hadn't quite given him the answer he'd been looking for, but then again, he hadn't really asked the right question. And it occurred to him that 'when did you stop being crazy' might not go over well, especially if it had been a recent event. "Well...I know he's really happy that you're here," he said quietly. "He...talked about you sometimes. Before."

"So I have been told," the Quebecois said, giving Jake a knowing glance in reference to their previous, more cumbersome topics, to which there was now a sort of distance that allowed her expression and tone to remain at least outwardly level, "I do not understand that either." Slowly, Jeanne-Marie straightened and stepped away from the car. She had left her brother with much to talk about. The bad had been spelled out clearly in slings and arrows, the good was difficult to comprehend and she did not wish to speak on any of it again. She turned to face him fully, offering a fleeting smile and reminding him smoothly, "He will have new words for you if you keep him waiting."

Jake lunged for the end of the conversation gratefully. "True. And you know how big he is on presentation. If I'm not there when the food's ready..." He trailed off with an amused shrug.

"You will be disciplined severely, I am certain," Jeanne-Marie finished for him, just as eager to put this strange, complicated encounter to bed. She needed to think on Jake's words and her own and the many left yet unspoken. She needed the sky. But she was getting ahead of herself. "Enjoy your evening, Jake. And be kind to my brother."

As he stepped over the ruins of his cupcakes, Jake thought it was a sign of how much he'd grown as a person that he managed to keep a straight face when Jeanne-Marie said 'disciplined severely.' And 'enjoy your evening.' And 'be kind to my brother,' for that matter. "Thank you, Jeanne-Marie. I will. I promise." He meant it, too, at least for tonight.