Rush: The Dreaded Lecture

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Jean-Paul comes to pick up Johnny and Victor at the hospital. During the drive, he tells them some things they need to hear, even if they don't want to.


If Jean-Paul's stride into the hospital's receiving area was more urgent than casual, it was perhaps understandable. He'd already had his misgivings about Johnny's visit home. Getting a call from the boy asking that he and Victor be collected from the Montefiore Medical Center had nearly cost the school yet another phone. The accompanying explanation and a reassurance that the boys were "OK. Mostly" had not helped the speedster's peace of mind, and the sight of Johnny and Victor sitting on one of the hospital's low, stuffed benches looking as if they'd been dragged behind a truck definitely did not.

Jean-Paul walked up to the two of them, shaking his head. "This is 'mostly okay'?"

"Still in one piece?" Johnny offered, smiling weakly but looking very tired. It had been a long weekend and despite Darren's insistence he felt uncertain about leaving his father still fresh off of a concussion. But it would be nice to get back home. Back to the school. He scuffed one sneaker along the floor, dropping his eyes as the expression ebbed. "We're only here to visit my dad. Promise. Victor and I got to stay at my place last night...so it's not that bad."

Vic glanced up guiltily as Jean-Paul approached, then resumed looking at the floor. "It lookth worth than it feelth," he said quietly, trying not to wince as his tongue twinged in protest.

Their teacher raised one dark eyebrow. "To the car. I understand we have to go collect your things? C'est bien. This will give us time to talk." At the hangdog look both boys gave him, he added, "I promise, no yelling, but we most certainly need to discuss what you have done."

Victor nodded and stood, glancing at Johnny. In all of the excitement and trauma, it hadn't occurred to them that they might be in trouble until Johnny had called Jean-Paul to arrange their ride home. He followed Johnny and Jean-Paul to the car, waiting until they were safely inside before speaking again. "We're thorry."

Johnny met his roommate's gaze as they rose to follow Jean-Paul toward the inevitable consequences. He kept his hands in his pockets and attempted not to look as guilty or as pathetic or as sore as he currently felt as he joined Victor in the back seat of the car. He winced visibly as he situated himself and again when he fastened his seat belt. We're thorry. Last night, his companion's temporary speech impediment had somehow found its way to being funny...but today it just sounded painful and awkward again. "...Yeah."

"I do not doubt that for a moment." Jean-Paul adjusted the rear view mirror, catching a glimpse of the two pathetic figures in the back seat before he turned his attention back to the vehicle. "Let me make myself clear: I am not upset that you did not call the X-Men. I do think that would have been the safer option for the boy who manifested, especially given the current state of human-mutant relations, but, frankly, they cannot be everywhere and explaining their presence to the boy's mother could very well have created some difficulties." Though he imagined the school would likely be hearing from the woman sooner or later. "I am more concerned that, having opted to involve the police, you decided to pursue this boy and not leave them to do their job."

"But he could've been anywhere by the time they got there...!" Johnny protested, voice raising briefly and then quickly dwindling. It seemed like a flimsy excuse, even to him, and he knew they had not been thinking clearly when they'd run after Ritchie. He certainly hadn't. "We just wanted to..." he shook his head and swallowed, "...it's my fault, Mr. Beaubier. I asked Vic to go with me."

"No ith--" Vic started to protest, pushing off against the seat to sit forward, but the pain in his tongue brought him to a screeching halt. He took a deep, frustrated breath before continuing carefully. "We didn' wan' him to hurt anybody elthe."

"What you did was trade in the possibility that he might find further targets for the certainty of it." The older man fell silent for a few moments, giving himself time to calm down. It was just a matter of reminding himself that both boys would be fine. And that they were going to learn better. "Scrapes, sprains and broken bones are bad enough, but you could have easily put the police in a position where they felt they had to use lethal force to protect the both of you from your good intentions." More gently, "I understand the instinct, truly, but you put yourselves in a situation you did not think through or have the training to handle properly. We are lucky it all turned out as well as it did."

Johnny flinched and lowered his eyes. Between Victor's fresh pain and Jean-Paul's increasingly apparent tangle of anxiety, concern and disappointment, there didn't seem to be anywhere he could look that wouldn't make him feel worse, except at his dirty sneakers. The older mutant was right. They had been careless and they had walked the line of disaster far too closely and far too readily. And he'd been the one to lead them there.

We are lucky it all turned out as well as it did. He nodded, head seeming almost loose upon his neck. "...Yeah. We are," he managed quietly. He leaned back into his seat, slowly. "Are...you mad, Mr. Beaubier?"

"No, I am not angry." That much was true, at least. "I am very disappointed -- both that you put yourselves in danger and that you did not think to contact the school until today." Jean-Paul pulled to a stop before a red light and glanced over his shoulder at the two in the back seat. "So, as to your punishment: I do not believe simply grounding either of you would do much good, as you learn nothing from sitting on your hands. So congratulations, you have just qualified for a month of tactics study with Monsieur Summers and myself in addition to the rest of your classwork."

A month? Victor came very close to protesting when he caught sight of the look on Johnny's face. He already seemed to be taking a disproportionate share of the blame; the last thing Vic wanted was to make him feel worse. All of the fight went out of him as he sagged in his seat, staring out the window as New York passed them by. "We juth wanned to help," he said finally, quietly, unable to let it go entirely.

Anger or disappointment. Johnny wasn't sure which was worse, but he hated the feeling that letting the man down left him with and would do his best to set things right between them, even if it meant keeping his justifications to himself and his mouth shut. Punishment he could tolerate (and likely deserved), but any fraction of estrangement from the man in the front seat would be more difficult to handle. Especially now. He bobbed his head again, resigned to their fate, and looked at his roommate with a frown before slumping back and turning his gaze on his own window. It wasn't the trip he'd expected.