Logan & Jean-Paul, Wednesday Night

[x-quebecois.livejournal.com]

Logan stops by with the tequila, as promised, but things don't really go very well.


Jean-Paul was polishing off a tumbler of Wild Turkey, reaching for the bottle and a refill, when he heard footfalls outside the door to the suite. Head tipping to the side, he waited to see if whoever was out there was going to open the door so they could come join the meager festivities inside or simply slip a bit of paper beneath it. He hadn't gotten a drawing in a few days and he didn't know what to do with the fact that he wanted one.

Logan wasn't terribly big on formalities or courtesies. He did, however, bother to knock via the application of his boot to JP's door as his hands were full of bottles of tequila. Good stuff, too, not the cheap crap. "Paul!" he hollered. "Hands are full, open up!" he called.

Making a face, Jean-Paul refilled his tumbler and sat the bottle of bourbon on the table, then got up to get the door. "Bonjour," he said, a smile on his face that didn't really reach his eyes. "Welcome." Stepping aside, he gestured for the other man to enter, then closed the door behind him. "The grapevine, it has told me you are experiencing the joys of fatherhood. How is this going for you?"

"Grapevine can go fuck itself with a chainsaw." Logan said sourly, handing over the tequila. "Kid might be mine, but it's not like I had a lotta choice in the matter, ya know?" he grumbled as he set down his share of the tequila. Paul's apartment was a little ripe with the smells of alcohol - he'd had an open container sitting around for a while."She's a good kid, though. Takes after her mother. Who, I might add, was working for Stryker." he said. "Damn, I need a drink." he grumbled as he popped the cap on one of the bottles of tequila and swigged deeply straight from the bottle.

Snorting softly, Jean-Paul eyed the tequila but decided to finish off his bourbon before getting started on that. There were two unopened bottles of Wild Turkey on the counter in the kitchenette and more beer in the refrigerator than anything else. He'd managed to get some from au maître-brasseur, but there were several other kinds as well - American and Canadian both. "I have not met her, I think." Which was for the best. "But she seems very comfortable terrorising people on the journals, at least. You are not displeased that she is yours, I take it?"

"I got no quarrel with Laura. Yeah, I got no goddamned idea how to be a father - I don't even remember mine - and I'm pretty sure I'd just fuck it all up anyway." he said, taking another swallow and enjoying the burn. "But punishing the kid because her mother stole my DNA and knocked herself up ain't right." he acknowledged. "She's a goddamned cheerleader, did you know that?" he asked, still boggled by this notion. "A cheerleader."

"But you know what really makes me happy?" he asked Paul, then paused to take a swallow. "What really makes me cool with this whole thing?"

"Non, mon ami," Jean-Paul said, shaking his head. "But you will tell me, oui?" He could admit that Logan had a point about punishing the girl for her mother's theft. Still, he did not think he would be handling such information so well, were he in the other man's shoes.

Logan flopped onto Paul's couch - which couldn't have been good for the cushions or the frame - and grinned at Paul. "She's not crazy." he said proudly. "Not like me. She remembers. She's not a killer, some kinda damned animal pretending to be a man and getting it wrong." he said. "I can live with that." he said happily, and then drank deeply.

"So. What's new with you?" he asked belatedly.

There were things Jean-Paul might have said about what made Logan cool with the situation, but he didn't know the other man well enough and really, they weren't here to have a heart-to-heart about personal worth. Openness and sharing had never really been Jean-Paul's strongest suit, anyway - not that he could remember. "Nothing, really," he answered the question he'd been asked, finished off his tumbler of bourbon, and then reached for the bottle. "Doctor McCoy believes that anxiety is causing my powers issues and so he has suggested some sort of medication. I do not know that it is working."

Raising the bottle to his lips, Jean-Paul reflected that he was going to need a great deal more alcohol to get properly drunk this evening. All that tequila was going to come in handy. With any luck, he might even be a little hung over in the morning. Unlikely, given his metabolism, but he could hope. "And you? Aside from the addition of a daughter to your life? How are things?"

"You? Are a shitty liar." he said teasingly. "You don't call me for booze when everything's peachy wih your life." he pointed out. "But I'm good, mostly. Cammie got her leg out of the cast and likes to call me horrible names when I make her push on rehab." he said with a grin. "Girl's got a mouth on her."

Smirking, Jean-Paul shrugged. "I am not trying very hard to convince you," he said, then nodded. "Oui, she does." He considered Cammie for a long moment, then shook his head. "And she raises her voice easily, I think." Which was not always a bad thing. He snorted softly to himself and upended the bottle to kill it before reaching for one of the bottles of tequila. "I do not know that she is well, though."

"C'mon, man, spill." Logan urged. "Nobody here but just us." he pointed out. "And if you're lookin' for a little oblivion, it's because there's something weighing on your mind beyond the usual." he said. "Your latest piece of ass tell you he's gone straight and fallen for a model from Brazil or something?" he teased.

Laughing despite himself, Jean-Paul shook his head. "If only it were so simple." His latest piece of ass... technically, that would be John. He hadn't heard from John in a while, but he hadn't made any efforts to contact the younger man, either. And then... there was Kevin. Who was not, by any means, a piece of ass. The thought did bring an odd sort of heaviness to his chest and he cracked the seal on the tequila to distract himself from that.

Gossip about his sex life, such as it was, wasn't really on the table for the evening. "I am not having success with McCoy. The concussive blasts, they are getting worse. Or so it seems, at least. More destructive. And I have no control over them, still. It worries me."

Concussive blasts be damned. Paul'd figure it out, or one of the big brains would. "Someone's a little bent over his, what Cammie call it, bedroom funtime?" he teased again. "But anyway. Concussive blasts, huh? Make stuff go boom?" he said with a thoughtful expression. "Be useful for a man of your speed. Get in, blow shit up, be gone before they even have time to zip their fly." he said. "You really thinkin' about taking some kind of drug to get yourself under control?" he asked, clearly Not Approving.

"I told McCoy I would try it," Jean-Paul said, shaking his head. "It is not... ideal. And as I said. I do not think it is working." Not that he'd given it much of a chance thus far, of course. "But controlling the blasts, that is what would make them useful. For now, they are only dangerous." He flashed back to that moment with Catseye in the woods when she'd pinned him to the ground and triggered a blast.

Tipping the bottle back, he took a long pull, hissing slightly as he exhaled. He hadn't even touched the issues he was having with his memories, of course, and he wasn't likely to. Not for a good long while, if he had his way. "But the blasts, they are good at blowing things up, oui. Or at least breaking things."

"And here's to breaking stuff." Logan said, and took another pull of his tequila. "Should come meditate with me sometime." he offered. "Something I do to keep my beast in check. Might help with your blow-shit-up habit." he offered.

Nose wrinkling, Jean-Paul nodded. "Merci. Maybe this would work. Meditating by myself, it has not worked, also. Doctor McCoy suggested it as well, before." Not that he was entirely sure what good a meditating partner would do. Perhaps make him feel a bit better about sitting there, trying to piece his mind back together.

"Look. If anyone knows a little somethin' about having trouble keeping yourself under control - and, for that matter, having your head extensively fucked-with, it's me." he said. "I know you're a pretty private guy. Reserved. Fine. Your business. But you keep this all bottled up and someone's gonna pay for it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday, you're gonna have a real bitch of a bad day and some little kid's gonna wind up with their head splattered all over the pavement."

Abruptly putting the bottle of tequila down, Jean-Paul stood up and walked away from the couch, away from Logan. "Do you think I do not know this?" The words were quiet, angry. "Do you think it is something I disregard?"

"I dunno, Speedy." he said with a cocky grin. He was at least getting Paul to show some fire, which was better than this moody bullshit funk he'd been in. "Are you?"

"Non!" Jean-Paul cut his hand through the air, suppressing very recent memories of waking up to find his room in disarray, things broken on the floor, along with older, false memories of hurting people and enjoying it. "I will leave before I harm someone." There was no hesitation in his voice.

"Nice thought, Speedy, but I can't see you living out in the woods, alone, afraid that he might someday hurt someone." he said. "Too much of a soft city boy for that." he grinned. Then he stopped and studied Paul for a second, letting his animal senses and his own instincts take over for a bit.

"Someone fucked with your head, didn't they?" he said, making it not a question at all. "Welcome to the club." he growled.

The window was right there. It would be so easy to just open it and leave. Jean-Paul wanted nothing more. This was not the conversation they were meant to have this evening. This was not what he had asked for when he requested liquor. "Get out," he said, turning his back on the other man.

"Fine." he said. "Tequila's yours. Drink it in good health." he said, standing up from the other man's couch. "You want to talk, findin' me isn't hard." he said, feeling a helpless empathy for Jean-Paul Beaubier that intermingled with a deep, deep rage. "All I'm saying is, I get it. I know how you feel. The blood on your hands, even if it isn't real." he said quietly. "The fear that you're going to kill someone without meaning it."

"Good night, Paul." he said quietly, and let himself out.