Jake and Jean-Paul

[x-cynosure.livejournal.com]

Jake finally wakes up and is uncommonly forthright about the situation between himself and Jean-Paul.



Consciousness returned slowly for Jake, as though he were floating to the surface from the bottom of the ocean. The first thing he was aware of was a sensation of warm heaviness suffusing his body; the second was the curious way his emotions felt as if they were locked away, wrapped up in glass--within arms' length if he needed them, and in danger of rushing forth if he pushed too hard, but contained, for the moment. It was a sensation he might have examined if he weren't distracted by the awareness of the weight of someone on the bed next to him, and the soft sound made by turning a worn page in a book.

His eyes blinked open to reveal Jean-Paul propped against the headboard, glasses perched on his nose. The book in his hands was familiar, even if Jake couldn't place it immediately--one of the well-loved volumes in his collection. Jake regarded him for a moment, taking a strange comfort in the rare chance to watch Jean-Paul without him knowing he was being observed. The sight evoked a strange feeling in his chest, as though one of the segregated emotions had bumped against its glass shield, and he spoke before it could build up steam and break through. "I wish I'd gone to Tel Aviv with you," he mumbled through dry lips.

Jean-Paul looked down at the man pillowed against his side, and set his book down on the bedside table. He ran his fingertips through Jake's hair in a familiar caress, taking a few moments to gather himself in the wake of that unexpected confession.

"There would not have been a point to your being stranded with a lot of suspicious ex-mercs," he murmured finally. "I wish we had made it there together, though. I still have not seen you in a bathing suit." Jean-Paul offered Jake a slight smile. "How are you feeling?"

Jake closed his eyes briefly, enjoying the sensation of fingers gliding over his scalp. "Better," he said finally, opening them again. "A little...strange, but it's not a bad thing." He frowned slightly. "Hungry. And thirsty. And I like it when you're wearing your glasses." It occurred to him belatedly that he might not have much of a filter running interference between his brain and his mouth at the moment.

Given all the other weirdness going on, Jake's lips being looser than usual didn't register as unusually distressing. "It is not a hardship for me to keep them on. And, fortunately for you, the kitchen at the Beaubier Bed and Breakfast is twenty-four-seven." Jean-Paul sat up, straightening his shirt out of reflex. "Any requests, or whatever is fastest?"

He shook his head. "Just something good." The phrase 'twenty-four-seven' made him glance towards the window; dark. Disorienting. "What time is it?"

"A bit after eight." The words were spoken over Jean-Paul's shoulder as he exited the room. Getting a plate ready took a bit longer that Jean-Paul would have preferred, but between two speedster metabolisms, the occasional student, and Jake himself, leftovers were something of a rarity in Jean-Paul's suite. Pasta was simple, at least, sauce easily defrosted, and, most importantly, there was still cake and milk.

Jake leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, content to slowly wake up while he watched the speedster prepare food. It was rare that he took the time to just watch Jean-Paul; usually he was wrapped up in talking, in deflecting his own and others' attentions away from anything important or terrifying or too personal. Whatever Manuel had done to him was temporarily overriding that underlying need to flee, both physically and metaphorically. Which was strange; today of all days, he realized, he had more reason to want to run from Jean-Paul than ever before.

"I got in a fight with your sister," he admitted quietly, eyes tracing the tiles in the floor.

Jean-Paul glanced up from the bubbling pots on the stove, frowning slightly. "Over what?"

And how was he going to explain the twists and turns their conversation had taken, exactly? Jake rubbed a hand through his hair absently, trying to come up with the right words. "You," he said finally. "How we don't deserve you."

Jean-Paul's expression wasn't lightening with that confession. "So...you went at each other over which of you needs to be out of my life the fastest, is that it? Sounds something like the confrontations I used to have with Jeanne-Marie's ex. I suppose that should be funny."

"It...wasn't that bad, actually." Jake dropped into a seat at the kitchen table, still feeling heavy and slow. "I think we understand each other a little better," he said after a moment. He glanced up at Jean-Paul briefly, for the first time since he'd brought the subject up, then dropped his gaze back down to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"I am not angry." Not very. "It is just an odd place to be. Who do I defend?" A weak smile. "But you say that you understand each other a bit more. I assume you had your fight and came to some kind of agreement over who owns which bits of me?" He dished up pasta and headed for the table.

"Splitting you in twain, just like Solomon would've done," Jake said simply. On another day, he might've made a lewd joke there, but not today. He was quiet a moment, digging into his food; Manuel had been right. He was starving. When he had assuaged the initial hunger pangs, he set his fork down, took a drink of milk, and looked at Jean-Paul over the rim of his glass, a curious look on his face. "Why do you forgive us?"

"That question makes me feel like I should be up on a crosstree." Now Jean-Paul looked mildly amused, at least. "It is a matter of perspective, I suppose. What have you done that is so bad that I should be furious with you? That we do not want the same thing from a relationship?"

"Not furious. At least, not yet." Jake poked at his spaghetti idly. "But that's part of it. I just...keep pushing. And I'm going to keep pushing. And I'm afraid you're always going to let me."

"I would be more afraid of what will happen when you hit my limit," Jean-Paul said quietly, folding his glasses and stowing them in his shirt pocket. "You were not supposed to take me back, you know. Not as a friend, not as a lover. What I did to you was not in the least kind, Jake. And yet, here we are and I cannot say that I am sorry for it.

"I do not know how much you have kept up with happenings around here lately, but I am not kidding when I call this the summer from hell. Even putting aside what happened to me -- and trust me, I am not -- it seems as if every time I blink, someone I care about is being blown up, tortured, tormented, or is otherwise looking to spend a ridiculous amount of time in medlab and there really is not very much I can do about it. I cannot even do much to help myself. And then here you are on my doorstep, and what you want is a meal, a shoulder, and a bed to hide out in. That I can help with. Sex too? Yes, please, that would be fantastic." Jean-Paul leaned back in his chair. "Perhaps you are pushing, but the benefit is not entirely one-sided."

Jake was silent for a moment, picking at his pasta as he digested Jean-Paul's words. "I wasn't thinking of anything besides myself when I showed up here," he pointed out quietly. "You deserve more than just the accidental benefits of my selfishness."

"That may be," Jean-Paul conceded. "But I like you, Jake, and I do not see anyone else offering." He shook his head. "I really do not know what you expect me to say about our situation that is not already obvious."

The shapeshifter poked at his dinner again, moving it around on his plate rather than eating it. "One, I think that my being here probably keeps people from offering--Shiro, for instance." He held up his fork to interrupt Jean-Paul's reply. "Two, do you know why Jeanne-Marie's return threw me so badly? Because she has so clearly hurt you so badly, and you just--you let her back in, all forgiven. And while I'm sure it might be different if she were still as crazy as before, I still think you would have been so happy to have her back that you would have embraced her with open arms. And she tried to kill you. What happens when I hurt you? What will you do if I sleep with someone else? Because if you can forgive her, you can forgive just about anything that I can throw at you."

Whatever reply Jean-Paul might have held on to in regards to Shiro was pushed clear out of his mind by Jake's next statement, and all he could do for a moment was stare.

"Jake," he said quietly, "Jeanne-Marie was out of her mind when she attacked me. Beyond that, she is my sister. We have each hurt each other terribly in the past -- this was far from the first time. I was usually the one holding the metaphorical knife. There is history and heartache enough between us that yes, Jeanne-Marie has leeway that I would not allow anyone else, even up to this." He ran the pad of his thumb over the scar at his throat. "I care about you, but you are making a mistake in assuming that I would have as much forbearance for being hurt by you as I would from..." No, better not to bring that up; getting into which of them had hurt the other worse would spark an entirely different argument. "...from my own twin. I have no doubt that you will hurt me eventually. That is what comes with caring for people. But I am not a saint. Whether or not I am so forgiving will depend on the circumstances. For the record, I will cope much better with being told that you have found someone who makes you happy than with coming home to find in you in my bed with someone possessed of breasts."

Jake was quiet again, poking at his food. "I think we're probably bad for each other," he said finally. "In a way. Which sucks, because I really like...you. This." He shrugged. "I like being your Jake, even if I don't want to be your Jake, if that makes sense."

"We let each other get away with a lot that we probably should take exception to," Jean-Paul agreed softly, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest. He had known better, gone ahead anyway, and this was what happened. "But we already know we are not what the other needs, non?" He sighed. "Or at least we keep saying so."

"Because it's true," Jake insisted quietly. "You need someone who's...stable and mature and sane, who doesn't run screaming at the thought of being liked. Someone who reciprocates, who feeds you, who doesn't just show up when it's convenient and safe. Someone who treats you better than I do. You deserve better, Jean-Paul."

"I have already broken up with you, Jacob," Jean-Paul pointed out, "so who are you trying to convince?" He half-smiled. "For someone who supposedly runs screaming at the idea of being liked, I see a lot of you, no pun intended. You are not a saint either, but you are not so bad as you make yourself out to be."

Jake shook his head, pushing his plate away. "I wish I was half the man you think I am."

"We could go around in circles with that one all night." Jean-Paul resisted the urge to rise to his feet and begin pacing. "What do you want to do?"

Jake stood abruptly, carrying his plate over to the sink. "I'm leaving for London tomorrow. So I'd like to spend tonight with you. If you want." Irrationally, he wanted to pull Jean-Paul to him, hold him close, apologize. But he wasn't sure that it wouldn't make things worse, so he stayed at the sink.

"I had planned on it." Jean-Paul followed Jake into the kitchen. "And what about after London? Is this..." He hesitated. "...am I making you happy at all? I know that we are not trying for anything more together, but if I am not any good for you..." Jean-Paul sighed. "If you want to leave, I am not going to chase you down or try to make you feel badly about any of this."

This time he couldn't help it. Jake wrapped his arm around Jean-Paul's waist and drew him in close, ducking his head to nuzzle the speedster's neck. "Hey. Did you miss the part about how I don't deserve you? Jean-Paul...you make me very happy. Happier than I think I have any right to be." He kissed the other man gently. "This is one of those 'it's not you, it's me' things."

He leaned back against the counter, not releasing his hold on Jean-Paul's waist. "I think going to London will be good for me. I need some space--not from you, from everything. It's been a bad few weeks on top of a bad few months." He shook his head. "Not that I need to tell you that. But..." He was about to say 'maybe we should figure it out when I get back' but stopped himself; the last time they'd left things that way, Jean-Paul had been kidnapped. Instead, his arm tightened around the speedster's waist. "I'm here, aren't I?"

'For now.' But Jean-Paul didn't say that out loud. Instead he leaned into Jake's hold.

"Do me a favor? If you meet a fifty-year-old punk enthusiast calling himself 'Cricket' while you are in London, punch him in the neck for me?"

Jake laughed into the crook of Jean-Paul's neck. "That or thank him for the notion of roof sex, right?"

"No, punch him. Repeatedly. Rooftop sex would have come about sooner or later without his help." Jean-Paul smirked and hugged Jake, trying to enjoy the moment and knowing that it was probably the exact wrong thing to do. "Come on. Give me a hand with dessert."

That earned him a smirk and a playful bite of his lower lip. "Mmm. What's on the menu, garcon? Jean-Paul au chocolat? Creme Beaubier?"

"You are hopeless." And Jean-Paul was his equal. "But let us see what we can do about this."