Jake & Jean-Paul, Sunday morning

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Jean-Paul and Jake have a run-in. It doesn't go any better than the last one.


Jake was looking forward to this breakfast. One of his favorite pastry shops, and he was finally managing to get there after far too many days back in New York. He paused in front of the door, hand on the knob as he caught his reflection in the glass. After several months traveling Europe, the new face was almost as comfortable as second skin, but it still caught him off guard at times. He stood there a moment, studying the features and making a few notes for the next shift. Made up faces were harder to repeat than copying someone else.

The flight from the mansion hadn't been difficult - rather, it had been slow. They kept telling him not to push himself, but he kept telling them that he'd been flying for more than half his life. He knew when he'd reached his limits. Besides which, flying kept pressure off the burns. Which was, so far as he was concerned, an excellent idea.

He found himself in the city since several boxes from Laval had finally arrived at his new apartment, and he planned to enjoy an eclair before doing any unpacking. Thus, he paused behind the man standing at the door to the pastry shop and waited - patiently, if he did say so himself - for him to finish staring at his reflection.

Jake glanced up at a as another figure appeared in the the glass behind him. He shook off the reverie, pulling the door and turning to let the other in first. "Sorry about that. Daydrea--oh." His eyes widened slightly at the recognition, stealth and integration skills a bit rusty. He quickly caught himself, opening the door the rest the way. "After you."

Jean-Paul quirked an eyebrow a bit at the man's strange behaviour, but nodded his thanks and walked through the door. He paused on his way to the counter, trying to decide if he really wanted the eclair... or if he perhaps wanted a chocolate croissant. Or a cheese danish.

All three excellent choices, if you asked Jake. Though however unusual, Jake was actually more interested in studying the person in front of him than the pastries. There was something liberating in being anonymous. He stood there a moment, then finally leaned forward a bit. "You're that skier, aren't you?"

Looking away from the display case of pastries, Jean-Paul arched on brow at the man and said, "There are many skiers, are there not?" He'd kept a lower profile since leaving Muir than he had in the past - much lower. And it had been a very long time since someone had recognised him on the street. Still, it wasn't an impossibility and he wasn't one to be unnecessarily rude to fans. "I have skied, though. In the past. Why do you ask?"

Jake gave a half smile. "Yes, I guess there are. They can't fly... down the hill like you do, though," he complimented, the ever so slightest emphasis on "fly." "Or 'did,' I guess. I guess you've skied all over the world, right?" He asked, falling a bit more into familiar pretender role. "I managed to hit the Alps just before season closed this year."

Jean-Paul paused, eyes narrowing. A few pertinent bits of information clicked into place. This was Jake's favourite pastry shop. Jake, too, had skied in the Alps this year. And Jake was back in New York. Expression flattening, he said, "Jake."

One nod. "Quick as ever..." he said, turning his attention back to the counter. "Go for the eclair, by the way. Their danishes are a bit dry. And don't tell me people have taken over all my spots while I've been gone."

"I do not know about people," Jean-Paul said, "But this is not only your place." It wasn't like Jean-Paul had any sort of proprietary claim upon it, but he was quite attached to the pastries.

"Yes, but I go to all the work of testing new places out, bringing them good business, and my reward--longer lines. Hardly seems fair." Jake glanced around the room. At least the lines bode well for their business and wouldn't be closing down anytime soon.

"Think of this before you do all the work next time, then," Jean-Paul said, deciding to forgo the eclair in favour of a puffed pastry filled with clotted cream and strawberries. He couldn't read the name of it from where he stood, but he'd figure it out once the line moved farther forward.

"Well, I don't mind sharing the pastrylogical wealth with certain people, just not everyone," Jake said, deciding to take his own recommendation with the eclair. Now to decide the flavor. They had four. Oh, the choices. "So you're up and about. Does that mean you're healing?" he asked, letting his voice fall a bit to not carry far.

"As well and quickly as possible, considering the damage," Jean-Paul replied, eyes remaining steadfastly on the display of pastries even as he took a step forward, moving with the sluggish line. There was a superficial part of him that had noted Jake's new features with a distant sort of approval, but Jean-Paul kept the appreciation detached.

"Glad to hear it. Can't imagine you're handling being cooped up all that well," was Jake's commentary. He stole another, what he hoped was undetected, glance at Jean-Paul, before turning his attention back to the line. "Seems everyone got pretty beat up."

"Some more than others," he agreed. "I am not so good at following the doctor's orders." The line moved forward again, the distance between Jean-Paul and his pastry of choice decreasing in increments. "You left the mansion in September, did you not?"

"I guess we have that in common. Funny how spending all day in bed sounds great until a doctor tells you to." Jake followed, matching the space between them again before stopping. "Yeah, somewhere around then. September sounds about right."

"Why?" Jean-Paul asked without preamble, eyes still turned toward the display case. The woman behind the counter opened it and took the strawberry pastry, handing it to a man who gave her what appeared to be a ridiculously large tip. His eyes narrowed. There wasn't another one available.

"I..." Jake paused. "I had things to do."

"People to rob?"

Jake let a mock hurt look cross his face. "Now that's unfair," he said, taking it over the top with a hand clutching over his heart. "I don't rob people. True, I occasionally redistribute the wealth, but that's entirely legit. And never for my own personal gain." he said, mostly keeping a straight face.

"Liar," Jean-Paul said, tone conversational. Then, "What things did you have to do?"

"One," Jake began reciting. "Skiing. Two. French Pastries. Three. Guinness on tap." He paused, then with a bit more seriousness, "Four, get away from people crazy enough to cut off someone's arm. And from wolves. And from constantly sticking my neck out for someone else."

"I believe that is five and six, there at the end, oui?" Jean-Paul asked, quirking a brow as he finally turned to look at Jake properly. His voice was quiet enough to keep the people around them from easily overhearing when he asked, "Did you succeed in four through six?" He felt the answer was fairly obvious, if Jake had come back.

"Twenty-ten New Year's resolutions. Probably end up being twenty-eleven's too," Jake said, self-conscious under the sudden attention, and turning his gaze back to the pastry cabinet.

"They followed you through... what? Switzerland, Austria, France, Germany, Italy, Ireland? I'm only guessing, of course, but that seems... excessive, doesn't it?" He'd switched to proper French halfway through his thought, supposing there were fewer people who would actually understand it here, in New York.

"All of the above," Jake said, slipping back into French as well. "I can only assume I have something they want. Like another arm. I really need to pick up a passport with another face." He nodded past Jean-Paul at the gap that had formed in the line.

"Oui," Jean-Paul muttered, frowning as he stepped up to the register. "The blackberry thing with the cream, s'il vous plaît." He was too busy being begrudgingly concerned about Jake's welfare to worry about the proper name for the pastry that he intended to eat. "And an order of beignets, also." Kevin might like beignets.

Turning to look at Jake, he continued the conversation in French once more, "You've spoken to the Professor, of course? And let the head of security know what's going on?" He narrowed his eyes, considering speaking to Vanessa about this, since he knew she'd be able to think it through more clearly than he could for a multitude of reasons.

"Non," Jake shook his head. "Not yet. I've only seen a few people since I've been back. And I haven't seen any sign of being trailed yet, so I don't think there's a rush. Maybe I've lost them for good. I'm sure the new look doesn't hurt that either." He pointed out his choice as one of the staff looked his way. "Merc-- er, thanks," he said, as she retrieved it from the display.

Jean-Paul paid for his own pastry after the woman handed it to him, thanking her quietly before stepping away from the counter and out of the way of the patrons behind them in line. Frowning, he took a bite and chewed, then said, "You should tell them immediately. It's not wise, leaving things to chance. For all you know, whoever's following you could just want you to think that they've stopped trailing you. The face is probably helping, yes, but it's better safe than sorry." After all, if Jake brought people back with him by accident, then who was going to be in danger at the mansion?

The students.

Jake busied himself with paying for his food, then with a bite that he slowly relished. "Oh, maple eclairs, how I missed you..." He didn't appear too concerned by Jean-Paul's words. "I'll tell them as soon as I see them," was his promise.

"I suggest you make a priority of seeing them when you get back to the school today," Jean-Paul said, arching a brow quite pointedly. Such a cavalier attitude where safety was concerned rankled for Jean-Paul more than almost anything else might have. He walked toward the door, turning to say over his shoulder, "Or I will do it for you."

"Do what you want, Swift," Jake called after him, falling into one of the chairs with complete disregard for the customers around him. "Draw them out, get me killed, whatever. It's pretty clear you don't give a damn whichever of them happens. But just let me eat my pastry in peace."

Turning on his heel, Jean-Paul cocked his head to the side, one slightly pointed ear turned as though listening for something intently. "I'm sorry, how is letting the people in charge of the mansion's security know that there might be a threat going to either draw these people out or get you killed? As you've said, you're wearing a brand new face. If they haven't followed you, then no harm's done. And if they have, the people who need to know are prepared for whatever these others bring with them." He paused, anger evident, and then continued, "That is a school. Full of children. Think of someone besides yourself for once, Jake."

"None of whom are the ones actually in any danger," Jake rolled his eyes. "And if Xa--" he cut himself, becoming aware of a few people with mild interest in the conversation, despite showing no sign of actually understanding them. "If the Professor," he continued, settling for a term better masked by the language, "had to deal with every little problem, nothing would get done."

"So speak to whomever it is that sees to security," Jean-Paul said, not even bothering to pay attention to his pastry any longer. The pretense was useless. "You don't know that they're not in danger. Whatever it is about you that's caught their attention - do you think there aren't entire classes made up of students who can do equally interesting, equally useful things? When it comes right down to it, do you think that they can't get something approximating your powers by combining bits and pieces of other genetic code? At least you know there's something to be concerned about. What about Catseye or Yvette?"

"You're making," Jake's mind blanked on the right expression, and finally settled for a poorly translated "a mountain out of a molehill. But fine, I'll talk to them. When did you get so uptight?."

Expression blanking, Jean-Paul took a slow breath. "Shortly after I was taken as collateral damage in a botched kidnapping," he said quietly. "Or have you forgotten?"

Jake was caught silent for a moment. "I...I guess I hadn't thought about it recently," he said, slipping back to English a moment before he caught himself. "I've been caught up on my own problems. I'm...sorry."

"Don't apologise," Jean-Paul said, still speaking softly. "Just think. Use your brain. I know you have one." Shaking his head, he turned back toward the door, stepping around a group of people who'd just walked inside.

Jake sat there a moment, debating whether to just let him leave. With a sigh, he pushed the chair away, hurrying out to the the street. "Jean-Paul, wait. If you ever need...I mean, let's catch up sometime."

Jean-Paul paused for a moment, giving the younger man another blank look for a moment before taking the sunglasses from his pocket and putting them on. "Yes," he said, reverting to English once more. "I see that catching up is very important to you, considering how much you have thought of things these past few months." Shaking his head, he tucked the beignets into a pocket inside his jacket and then took off, heading straight up for a few moments before turning to go back to the mansion. His boxes from Laval could wait.