Victor and Jean-Paul; Jean-Paul and Jake

[x-cynosure.livejournal.com]

Jean-Paul arrives home from camping and is ambushed by Victor...



Jean-Paul had unloaded the car, put things back where he was reasonably sure they belonged, and was on his way up the school's front walk, anticipating his first hot shower in almost five days. Nathan had been delivered to the medlab as promised, three minutes and fifty-six seconds after they'd parked his SUV in the school's garage. As expected, Voght had been unimpressed with both of them and Jean-Paul was currently under orders to get himself and Jeanne-Marie in for a check-up within twenty-four hours. He still had to talk to Jeanne-Marie and explain himself. But not until he'd gotten himself situated and cleaned up.

Vic had just gotten up to the roof with every intention of sprawling out on the couch with his book when he caught sight of a familiar and recently absent figure emerging from the garage. He stuffed his paperback into the cargo pocket of his camo shorts and crawled over the edge of the building. By the time his professor had made it up the walk, Vic was two thirds of the way down the wall and closing fast. "Mr. Beaubier!"

Jean-Paul glanced over at the hail, offering Victor a smile as he set his duffel down. His shower could wait a few moments, at least. "So, back safe and sound, I see. How was the trip, all idiocy prior to take-off aside?"

A dark and utterly foreign expression briefly crossed the normally easygoing boy's face. "I think the idiot TSA guy jinxed our whole trip," he said somewhat bitterly, shaking his head. He looked as if he were going to say more, but his paperback chose that moment to slide free from his pocket and plummet towards Jean-Paul's head.

Jean-Paul could have zipped up to catch the book before it fell, but didn't really see the need to leave the ground when the book would come to him in short order. It really was not a concern in the next moment, as Victor's tongue had snapped out and yanked the book back to one hand.

"Excellent coordination," Jean-Paul observed calmly. "I am sorry that things did not go better for you. What happened?"

Vic tried to stuff his paperback back in his pocket so that he could have both hands free to climb down, as he really couldn't support his weight on his toes alone, but the book refused to stay. With a sigh he gave up and snagged it with his tongue again, long enough to climb down to the ground next to his teacher.

"We spent a few hours sitting in a room waiting," he started, tucking the book away now that his pockets were right side up, "me and Nick and Johnny, with no bathroom, and no food or water, and no one around to tell us anything. Then after hours, this guy finally comes in, accuses us all of being too poor to afford our plane tickets, then asks if we're, quote, planning to commit any acts of mutie terrorism. It was utterly insane! Then he made us take a lie detector test to prove that we weren't--I don't even know. Planning to blow the plane up, I guess. Because the three of us were really a concern, with our big crazy mutie powers," he said with exaggerated sarcasm, crossing his arms unhappily. "It was awesome."

Jean-Paul's easy demeanor fell away, his expression going coldly furious."Make sure I have got this right, if you would. This airline detained three minors without cause for several hours, submitted them to a polygraph--" When in the hell had that sort of thing become part of airport security procedure? Most of the mouth-breathers the airlines hired could not spell 'polygraph', let alone read one. "--and did not give them the opportunity to contact their parents or the school at any point during these proceedings? And all of this because he was convinced that you were going to commit an act of 'mutie' terrorism. Have I missed something?"

"Only that there was no bathroom and nothing to eat or drink." Jean-Paul's anger was mirrored in Vic's expression, although it was blunted; he'd had several days to get over it, and they'd made it home safely. The insult of it still stung, however. "And the guy was a total ass to us."

"Now I remember why I prefer to fly under my own power," Jean-Paul muttered, scratching irritably at the stubble along his jaw. "I recall you summarized this on your journal. Have any of the other adults talked to you about it? Asked for the whole story or contacted this agent's supervisor?"

"No," the boy admitted, "but it's okay. There was other stuff that happened on the trip--Dori's parents had their divorce hearing and she had to testify, which was apparently pretty lame, and her dad got custody of her brother. And Julian got in a big fight with some of his old friends or something and they wrecked his house. We didn't even stay there the last night--some of us went to Dori's Grandpa's, and some stayed at that Annex place." He shrugged. "It wasn't the greatest vacation, to be honest."

Jean-Paul's mind tried to go in three different directions at once as Victor listed off the events of the Malibu trip, but he focused on the thread they were currently discussing and tucked the rest of it away for later examination.

"No, it does not sound as if it was much of a getaway. But what happened at the airport was not okay, Victor -- it was discriminatory, your treatment was inexcusable, and this person's behavior goes far beyond his simply being 'an ass'." Jean-Paul forced himself to rein in his temper, though, really, all he wanted to do was go find this bigoted pissant and introduce him to what an abuse of power looked like from the receiving end. "If you do not wish to pursue the matter, I will not press, but I would like you to consider it. Nicholas and Johnathan as well."

"I know it was." Vic's hands balled into fists in frustration. "It's not the first time I've ever had someone call me a mutie or looked at me like I was going to eat their babies or something just because I'm green." He realized that he was snapping at his teacher, who was on his side, and flopped down on the stairs dejectedly. "Sorry. I didn't mean...I just wish they hadn't dragged Nick and Johnny into it just because they were with me. They shouldn't have had to go through that."

"None of you should have," Jean-Paul agreed. "But you have recourse besides simply venting to your scruffy Literature teacher. This man far overstepped his authority and he should be held accountable for that."

"Yeah. I know. And my parents will be pretty upset--and you've already found out how persistent they can be," he joked weakly before welling up with a lifetime's worth of frustrated anger again. "I just--I get so sick of having to carry the flag for mutant rights, you know? I just want to be a high school kid. Instead I get to be the green guy, and I have to be nice and polite and not look at anyone funny because they might freak out. And--I'm harmless! The worst I could do is get scuff marks on someone's ceiling. It's so stupid." He twisted a bare toe against the bottom step, frowning. "So yeah. I know that something should be done. I'm just not very excited that once again, I get to be the one to do it."

Jean-Paul lowered himself onto the steps with a sigh. "I suppose I can understand that. Being told how you have to live because of what you are is infuriating, no matter who says it." He offered a slight smile. "There are days when I do miss being just Jean-Paul, and not 'the gay one' or 'the mutant who got screwed-slash-schooled by the IOC'."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "That's why I--" He stopped short, taking a deep breath; despite the fact that Jean-Paul had just outed himself, Vic wasn't quite ready to give that secret up just yet. "I try not to give anyone any more reason to hate me. I can't keep them from seeing the green, but I can be mostly harmless." He glanced over at his teacher. "How do you do it? How do you deal with the people that have already decided that they know who and what you are?"

"The ones who actually say it to my face? Mostly I inform them that I am not defined by their beliefs. In what manner I do that depends on how I am approached." Jean-Paul leaned back, elbows propped on the upper stair. "Obviously the one who feels that I should have showed more solidarity with the homosexual community by coming out as a gay man first rather than a mutant gets more of my time than the one who simply thinks I should burn in hell on both counts."

Victor slumped against the step behind him, tipping his head back to look up at Jean-Paul. "Does it get easier?"

"It did, as I sorted out more and my own beliefs on the matter. I do believe we have a responsibility to push for social progress, even if it is a responsibility unasked for, but we cannot be 'on' twenty-four seven."

"You can't," the boy responded bitterly.

"You do not have to either," Jean-Paul responded mildly. He hoped this did not turn into a discussion about whether or not he had appearance privilege because he could pass for "normal" when he wore his hair long. "You cannot stop them from noticing your skin or your spikes. You can choose if you are going to address them as Victor Borkowski or That Polite Mutant Boy."

"So wait," he asked, pushing himself upright again. "Which are you saying is better? Am I not supposed to be polite?"

"It seems that you have a frustration with it, but perhaps I am misinterpreting." Jean-Paul had not moved from his relaxed position. "When I hear 'polite' combined with your listed frustrations, particularly the need to appear 'harmless', I tend to think of someone who is smiling and taking it instead of telling someone that they are being ignorant or bigoted, even when the situation warrants it. Am I off-base?"

"No," Victor admitted, leaning back again. He was quiet for a long moment. "I don't want to be a jerk," he said finally.

"Does pointing out when someone has done a hurtful thing make a person less of jerk than allowing them to think that their behavior is acceptable? There is a difference to calling someone a bigot, however true it may be, and pointing out that they have said or done something bigoted. Neither is likely to be greeted with enthusiasm, but at least one addresses the action and not the person." Jean-Paul finally sat up. "Besides...sometimes, it is worth being a jerk to make someone think about their own behavior."

"Yeah, I guess," Vic replied, although he didn't sound convinced. He shrugged after a moment. "We made a pretty cool lizard on the beach. And beat some of Julian's former friends in volleyball."

"I see I will have to catch up," Jean-Paul said, "but do you mind if I go hunt down a razor and a bar of soap first? I have been in the woods for the better part of a week, and I need to clean up before anyone here decides the humane thing to do would be to tag me and send me back to the wild."

Victor laughed at that, standing up. "No problem," he said easily. "I didn't mean to ambush you before you'd even made it inside and talk about myself, either. Sorry about that. Did you have a good trip?"

"It was dignified, contemplative and worthy of Thoreau. Believe nothing that Nathan says to the contrary; he was on drugs." Jean-Paul hefted his bag with a grin and headed for the front door. He did not mean to let the matter of airport security drop, but hopefully Victor would be more receptive after he'd had time to think about it.

...and then again by Jake.



=====

Jake felt like laughing incredulously. Or maybe crying. He'd screwed up his courage and driven all this way to apologize to Jean-Paul...and he wasn't here. Perfect. Jake glanced at the letter in his hands, then up and down the hall; he'd already been out here a few minutes and he was afraid that Jeanne-Marie or another member of the Jake Sucks Club might happen upon him. Maybe he should just stick the letter under the door, or go find Angelo and kill some time... His musings were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and he whirled, letter held out in front of him like it had some hope of protecting him from whomever approached.

Jean-Paul reached the top of the stairs and paused as he saw Jake practically flattened against his door, holding a plain white envelope out in front of him like a shield. The sight of the other man was enough to make him acutely aware of just how many days worth of stubble he was wearing, how much dirt and rock dust was under his nails, and the fact that his bedraggled hair was currently tied back with one of Nathan's spare bootlaces. Then he remembered that he and Jake weren't anything to each other and dismissed that from his mind with more than a touch of annoyance.

He kept his expression neutral as he continued down the hall, stopping in front of his suite. "You are between me and my shower," he noted levelly.

This is who you came to see, Jake reminded himself sternly as he swallowed thickly. "Sorry," he said quietly, peeling himself off of the door and looking down to avoid staring at Jean-Paul in fascination. He'd never seen the man look anything other than impeccably put together or favorably bed-rumpled, and the effect was distracting. Fortunately, he caught sight of the letter still in his hands before he could make more of a fool of himself. He held it out to the speedster mutely.

Jean-Paul glanced down at the envelope for a moment, took it in one hand and reached past Jake to key open his door. "Would you like to come in? I have something that I need to tell you anyway."

Jake blinked; this wasn't exactly the reaction he'd been expecting. He'd promised himself he wasn't going to open his mouth until Jean-Paul had read the letter, but not responding would've been rude. "Sure," he answered, jamming his hands in his pockets to keep from suicidally trying to brush back the lock of hair that had worked its way loose from Jean-Paul's makeshift hair tie and fallen over his cheek.

Jean-Paul set his duffel down and waved Jake toward the couch, tucking the letter into the crook of his arm as he leaned against the back of an armchairs and folded his arms.

"I owe you an apology for my behavior. Cammie told me what happened over dinner and..." Jean-Paul frowned. He and Jake had talked quite a bit about family in their time together, the good and the bad, and one of the marks that Jake's family had left on him was a deep and unrelenting paranoia that the people he cared about would always conspire against him. There was only so far he was willing to go to make his disapproval known; cheap shots were fine, eviscerations were not."I did not know that she'd decided to go the dubious route of trying to beat empathy into you when I told you off. I assure you, my reaction was not planned."

Jake sat on the edge of the couch. "It's okay," he said finally. "I mean...thanks." He gestured awkwardly at the envelope that Jean-Paul was all but ignoring. "I wanted to apologize, too," he said, choosing his words carefully--the last thing he needed was to fuck this up again.

"I wanted to be sure," Jean-Paul said quietly. But now he had to deal with the matter in front of him. He was not typically at his best with apologies either, at least not accepting them. He finally took a seat and opened the envelope, trying to ignore Jake sitting across from him as he unfolded the single sheet of paper and began to read.

For his part, Jake sat quietly on the couch and tried not to bolt for the door, or stare at Jean-Paul, or fidget too much. It got harder and harder the longer the silence stretched on. He finally gave up and glanced down at the papers in front of him--notes on The Scarlet Letter in the speedster's elongated scrawl. He shook his head mutely; he still couldn't believe that Jean-Paul was teaching Hawthorne.

The whisper of paper folding against itself drew Jake's attention as Jean-Paul slipped the letter back into the envelope and finally looked up. The distance between them had faded somewhat, but all Jean-Paul seemed was sad.

"I accept your apology," he said quietly. "But I am not sure what else to do about us, Jacob."

Jake nodded, rubbing at his mouth absently. "I'm not either," he said honestly, indicating the envelope still in Jean-Paul's hands. "Like I said, I've never really done this before. I don't know what to do next."

"We had probably best take wild make-up sex off of the table," Jean-Paul observed dryly. "That might be a bit much to hope for. But 'what do you want?' is the proper question, I suppose. I...think we could be friends."

"I'd like that," Jake responded. To be honest, getting to this point had been more than he'd had any reason to hope for. He smiled sheepishly. "There are a lot of bakeries in Manhattan that we haven't crossed off of our list."

Jean-Paul nodded once, though he couldn't quite answer Jake's smile. "I do still like you, Jake, idiocy and all. I...hope I know a little better what to expect of you now." He wasn't angry, much to his own surprise, but he also couldn't entirely shake off that vague ache of disappointment whenever he looked over at the other man. "So...we will take this gradually, then?" No pretending that it didn't hurt this time, or that he didn't need time to adjust.

Jake's fading smile disappeared entirely at Jean-Paul's talk of expectations. He'd known this wasn't going to be easy, but knowing and experiencing were two different things. "That's probably a good idea, yeah." He fidgeted for a moment, twisting his fingers together. "Like I said, I've never really done this before. So just...tell me if I'm doing something wrong, okay?"

"I do not think it will be so different than before. Just...no canoodling. And no sex." Which meant, of course, that would be entirely different and completely aggravating -- the downside to getting his ashes hauled regularly after five years of celibacy was that having the bed to himself again mostly involved a lot of frustrated nights. He would get over that; an empty bed hardly had to be a permanant condition, after all.

The shapeshifter nodded in agreement; he had expected nothing less. That didn't mean he wasn't going to miss the sex, or that he had any idea how to not flirt constantly with Jean-Paul. "That's fine." He glanced up at the other man, not wanting to talk about the sex they wouldn't be having anymore. "Um. So how have you been?"

"School is getting ready to start, so...tired, grumpy, elated, anticipatory, and forcing myself to re-read Hawthorne. I am happy to report that time has not mellowed by opinion of the man's work; I could still happily put Dimmesdale's face on a punching bag." Jean-Paul gave Jake a wry look. "From your reaction when I came up the stairs, I take it I am not the only one who is not treating you kindly these days?"

Jake sighed. "I'm not excited about the possibility of running into your sister any time soon. On top of that, I can't seem to open my mouth without pissing someone off lately." He rubbed one hand over his face wearily. "I'm honestly surprised I haven't put my foot in my mouth with you yet."

"I am in forgiving mood anyway. I've just come back from five days away from everything that could possibly piss me off." Jean-Paul scratched at the nape of his neck, grimacing at the tacky, too-heavy feel of his hair. "So if you are going to do it, it might as well be now."

"I think I've done a decent enough job of stacking the deck against myself lately," Jake said wryly. "I'd rather not, if that's okay with you." He peered at Jean-Paul in mock suspicion. "What, exactly, were you doing for five days to come back looking like this, anyway? Please tell me you didn't go lose yourself in some hippie commune or something."

Jean-Paul snorted. "I said I was away from anything that could piss me off. Nathan and I went camping. It was very relaxing -- I slept in until almost eight. Twice, in fact."

"Woooooow," Jake said admiringly. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head at some point? Or maybe you're a pod person--that would explain why you went camping in the first place. What have you done with the real Jean-Paul?" he demanded, smirking.

"It was Nathan's suggestion and I did not have a better one." Jean-Paul shrugged. "I just needed to get out of here for a while." Jake had been a part of what he'd needed to get away from, but it was amazing what a few days change in routine did for that sort of thing. "Though I won't deny that there my be someone else under all of this." He made an encompassing gesture to indicate his generally unkempt state. "I should see about unearthing him."

Jake blinked at him for a second before remembering Jean-Paul's earlier remark about needing a shower. He scrambled to his feet, suddenly awkward. "Oh! Right. Um. I'll let you get cleaned up. I didn't mean to be in your way. I just meant to drop by and--" He waved his hand in a vague gesture, then reeled it in and rubbed at his mouth again. "Anyway. Um. Thanks."

"I will see you later, Jake." Jean-Paul watched the other man leave and headed for the bathroom. "You really are the world's biggest idiot, Beaubier," he remarked, but his voice was light.