Morgan & Jean-Paul, Friday Morning

[x-quebecois.livejournal.com]

Morgan follows LeBeau's directive and Jean-Paul has a minor epiphany. Pastries follow.

Honestly? LeBeau had pissed her off. She wasn't the sort to not get pissed off about people violating the privacy of a friend. If Jean-Paul wanted to leave Muir for any reason she thought he had the right to. If he didn't want to be pestered by people while he was in New York City then he also had that right. Remy wanted to know where he was. He wanted him tailed and researched. Fuck that.

It was four in the morning and Morgan was leaning against the door to Jean-Paul's room in the hostel with a cup of coffee in her hand. Luckily for her she rose early naturally. Otherwise she probably had no chance of getting to Jean-Paul before he took off for the day.

Jean-Paul opened the door that led to the hallway, halfway into his leather jacket before he realised he wasn't alone for once. No one else was conscious at this hour in the building save the person manning the desk at the front. His expression blanked for a moment before he said, "Morgan." There was nothing in his tone that would suggest what he was thinking, but it should have been obvious anyway - she'd said she'd leave him be. And yet here she was. The question lay there in the air between them, unspoken yet demanding an answer.

"It's in your best interest that I ask this first. It's in your best interest that you answer me, if you can." Her voice was quiet, even and serious. She wasn't sure he remembered the nuances of her well enough to understand that she didn't want to be standing here saying this but she hoped he did. Everything about her body language from the crossed arms to the tense shoulders said she didn't want to do this. "I need to know why you left Muir and where you went. And I need to know if there's a reason we should be concerned about you in a way that's got nothing to do with personal relationships." The use of we should have tipped him off to the fact that it wasn't Morgan asking. She'd meant it when she'd said she'd leave him alone. Morgan didn't need the answers, but they'd get LeBeau off his back. And it'd keep him from tracking Jean-Paul down when she told him to leave in about ten minutes or so.

"Who is asking?"

The look he got was flat. "The people who are worried you're either Mystique or under telepathic control or God knows what else. I can prove you're not a shapeshifter easily enough on my own, though." Most shapeshifters weren't the flavor Vanessa was. They were like Jake who rearranged his molecular composition or they changed shape at will. Vanessa picked up a person on a genetic level, something that didn't change when other shifters changed. "I can't prove the rest so I need to know why. So I can get them off your back long enough for you to find somewhere else to stay. Somewhere on a floor high enough up that they can't track you when you fly out the window."

Jean-Paul's jaw flexed as he clenched it, expression moving from blank to angry a moment before he cleared it again. "There is something wrong with my powers. I do not understand it." His voice was quiet as he spoke, though he knew the likelihood of anyone else hearing this was slim. "It was safer for Jeanne-Marie and Doctor MacTaggart for me to leave." Frustration washed through him all over again at the memories. "I thought I could fix it myself. I cannot. I have asked for Professor Xavier's help." Then, angry again, he finished, "I flew to Laval. From there, I drank and fucked my way through as many cities and towns as I could manage before fully understanding I could not stop my mutation from doing this new thing it has done. Is that enough information for them?"

"Should be. Thank you." She didn't sound happy to have the information. A hand was held out, palm up, but she didn't try to touch him. "May I? I need proof you're you. 'Because it's happened before' that people weren't after they dropped off the radar." There was genuine anger in her voice when she quoted Remy. "I'm sorry."

Growling a few choice words in French, Jean-Paul held his hand out. "Go ahead." Perhaps he should have expected this. It was logical, even. That didn't mean he appreciated it.

Morgan's fingers slipped under Jean-Paul's palm. Contact didn't take long before her body shifted into a perfect mirror of his. She'd worn an oversized shirt and pants that were baggy for a reason this morning. Normally she tended toward things that were fitted because she could move more easily in them. She checked her borrowed face with a mirror from her pocket and then let the mimic go.

Red eyes dropped down, staring at Jean-Paul's knees instead of his face. "I really am sorry. And for what it's worth it wasn't me. I tried to tell them to leave you alone but orders came down. They're going to fact check everything and research where you were. Jubilee's planning to tail you. If there's anything you left behind you don't want them knowing it's not likely to stay that way. LeBeau's orders. So check out of here and don't tell anyone where you're going if you want to be left alone. Get the fuck out of New York state."

She turned to leave, head still bent. Whatever chance for being there for him she had, whatever chance that she could repay the favor of him having been there for her when she'd really needed it...Morgan was pretty sure that was gone now. And it hadn't been worth it, not really. "I hope Xavier can help you," she said softly as she walked away from him.

Jean-Paul watched her, teeth grinding together for a moment longer before he made a decision. "Non - hiding from them. It proves nothing. It feeds suspicion, does it not? I want privacy, but it will not be mine until they have their answers. And so I will give them those." His hands curled into fists before he forced them to loosen and finished pulling his jacket on. Closing the door to his room, he locked it and moved to walk along beside her. "The faster they get them, the faster they will stop badgering me, oui?"

A white eyebrow arched upward. "Are you volunteering to come into the office for questioning?" Because it sounded suspiciously like that. Maybe he'd just stick around and let them do their digging. Morgan was still a little bit busy being pissed off at Remy. Once in a while you poked the wrong wound and your ass got a chunk taken out of it for your trouble. Sometimes getting the answers did more damage than letting a person alone. She was still a little worried that would turn out to be the case with Jean-Paul.

A very small smirk curled up one corner of Jean-Paul's lips. "I will not make it that easy. But I will not run away to hide in the shadows." In fact, he decided not to bother hiding at all. "The pastries you sent - they were good. Show me the bakery? If Miss Lee is set to tag along behind me, I will let her be bored all day."

Shaking her head, Morgan couldn't help smiling a little with just the corner of her mouth closest to Jean-Paul pulling upward. "Find a secondhand bookstore and read all day. Go to the movies. Walk around aimlessly all day. Slowly. Oh, and go as few places that have food nearby and handy as possible. It'll fucking kill her." Morgan was actually trying to think of what would bore Jubilee the most. She'd need to work on a list for him. "The pastries are a trek, though," she warned. "Bakery over by the brownstone. You could be stuck with me for a while getting there." There was a hint of her usual playfulness edging into her voice.

Opening the door that led out onto the street, Jean-Paul shrugged. "There is worse company to be had." And it would do no harm to be seen actually conversing with Morgan, since she had been assigned to track him down and verify that he was who he said he was. "And I owe you pastries."

"Aye, and now I remember why you used to be at the top of my favorite people list," she said with a sly smile. "I love a bloke who pays in food." Morgan led them down the sidewalk, but it'd take her the better part of an hour to walk to the bakery. Then again, Jean-Paul was looking less riddled with anxiety than he had the first time she'd seen him. Maybe he needed to be around people.

Jean-Paul snorted softly. "Pastry I can manage." If he wasn't the one trying to make it, anyway. But she didn't need to know about that. He paused for just a moment, frowning slightly before he said, "Thank you for being honest." If someone was going to invade his privacy, at least it was someone who'd be upfront about it.

"Deception's something I do as part of the job," Morgan told him, voice soft. "Like I told LeBeau while I was busy yelling at him for his directive, you're not a job you're a friend. I don't lie to my friends and being creative with my word choice isn't really any more admirable. You get what you give in life, why would I want to give that?" She was sure LeBeau wouldn't approve of her tactic, but he could also fuck off for all she cared right now. "He told me that you are, quote, my problem. At least until you're back at the mansion. Assuming you don't decide against that after the warm welcome the Snow Valley crew has given you." Morgan was just maybe a little inclined to hold a grudge against Amanda for saying something about him being back.

"We will see," Jean-Paul said, smoothing his features once more. He needed the help. Whatever help it was that the professor might be able to offer him. If not Professor Xavier, then someone in Department H - but that was even farther down on his list of preferable options than this. "It is their job, oui? To protect."

"Yeah, it's our job." But when you weren't allowed to separate your professional life from your personal life Morgan had to wonder how worth it that was. LeBeau had known they had a history. It was, no doubt, why he'd told her to get the information from Jean-Paul. It was exactly why he should have told someone else to do it. Morgan kept a fairly firm line between personal ethics and professional ones. Rather, her lack of professional morals. If she wasn't allowed to maintain that divide she didn't like what it could mean for her down the road. Amanda was the only person she was friends with from Snow Valley and that was only because the friendship predated Morgan's involvement with them. She wondered if other people actually thought that was a coincidence.

Jean-Paul nodded at the confirmation, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket out of habit rather than necessity, then let silence fall between them as they walked through predawn New York. He'd found silence easier and easier to handle these past few months.