Garrison & JPB, Thusday Afternoon (backdated)

[x-quebecois.livejournal.com]

Jean-Paul finds Garrison by accident and asks about Lil. He doesn't get a simple response.


Jean-Paul liked the summer not for the heat, but for the fact that people left windows open. This made it much easier for him to get inside than it might have been otherwise. Not that it was ever terribly difficult, of course. Still, as his feet settled on the windowsill of the rec room and he climbed inside, he reflected that it was much nicer than having to go round to the back door.

Kane flicked the channel over to the baseball coverage, studiously ignoring the man coming through the window. Way to be stalker creepy pass through his mind, but he tamped down the urge to say something. It wasn't that Kane didn't like Jean-Paul. It was that Kane really didn't like Jean-Paul, and he figured that the Professor might have words with him for stuffing the remote up the Quebequer's nose in the midst of an argument.

Jean-Paul paused briefly when he heard the television change channels, then he saw who was doing the changing and he frowned. "Kane," he said, remembering that he wanted information. He could probably ask someone else, but Kane was here and as likely as anyone to have the answers he needed.

"Beaubier." Garrison returned flatly, instead watching Seattle come to bat. He considered for a moment whether or not to break his coldly civil rule in conversing with JP and decided against it. The last thing he wanted was to break the ice that had built up between them. He liked ice. Why fuck with it?

Was the information he wanted worth the effort it would take to get it? Jean-Paul decided it was, for the moment, and so he asked, "Have you heard from Lil?"

"Sure I have." He took a sip from his bottle of water. "You're not going to get Ichiro with breaking junk. Better get the heat up, Dice-K, or it's going to be another short outing." Kane was obviously talking to the television, as the Japanese batter stepped back from a ball in the dirt.

"Calisse," Jean-Paul said, rolling his eyes. "How is she?"

"You know, Beaubier, there is this new invention called a telephone. With one of these devices, you can magically connect with another person; talk to them, hear their responses, and all it requires is a number code. Next time you see Doc McCoy, he can likely walk you through how it works directly, and the mansion's directory even has Lil's magic number code in it." Well, he'd gone from ice right to dick. Unlike him, but Jean-Paul was a special case.

"Non," Jean-Paul said, eyes widening even though Kane would completely miss the dramatic effect. "Next you will tell me that unicorns are real and working for the Russians." He paused for a moment, the mockery disappearing from his voice as he said, "You did not answer my question."

"Yeah, you know, I really didn't. Call her yourself if you actually give a shit."

"Because it is really so easy as that."

"Yeah, Jean-Paul, it really is so easy as that. I know whatever fuckin' habitant brain damage you've been using for years to justify being a prick has impaired your higher functions, but it really is as simple as dialing a number and pretending for five minutes to care about someone other than yourself."

"You have a problem with me. Why?"

"Oh, I have a lot of problems with you. I was born in Toronto. Problems with you have been legislated into law by Queen's Park."

"Non. Not those problems." Then Jean-Paul remembered the first conversation he'd had with Logan after getting back to the mansion. Was that a can of worms he wanted to open right now? He was fairly certain it wasn't. Which was why he'd kick himself later for asking, "Is this because of the funeral for Alpha Flight?"

"You mean the one you couldn't be bothered to attend, despite knowing all of the people who were killed? Can't imagine why that would bother me, eh. Or when you walked away and proceeded to trash the program, despite the fact that it basically gave you your life back? Nah, not a bit." Kane shrugged. "Maybe it's the spoiled teenager act that you put on every time the world doesn't rearrange itself to do exactly what you want how you want."

"I will not apologise," Jean-Paul said, watching the younger man almost thoughtfully. "You judge me... but who are you to do this? Am I meant to feel guilty?" He couldn't honestly say he regretted his decision to stay with Jeanne-Marie rather than attending the funeral, though he supposed he should. He should feel something about all of it, but he wasn't sure he felt anything and Kane's temper tantrum... it made him remember all the things he'd hated about Alpha Flight. Teams - he wasn't built for them, no matter how hard he tried to bend over backward for them, no matter who was a part of the team. More often than not, he couldn't even stand working with his own sister.

"Normal people feel guilty. People who have been given something, supported by something, tend to take that stuff seriously." Garrison pointed at Jean-Paul, his finger just under the other man's nose. "You used them. Of course you won't apologize. Human garbage never does. So why don't you fuck right off and get whatever person you've scammed today to do your shit for you. I already know what you really are."

Looking from Kane's finger to the other man's face, Jean-Paul considered what he'd said, then replied, "I used them? For what did I use them? To make myself miserable for years? To drive a wedge between myself and my sister? You want to speak of using something? How did they use us? How did they manipulate Jeanne-Marie despite her illness? You think you know so much, that you are in a position to flaunt your righteous indignation or whatever you think this is. You are not. You know nothing of which you speak."

"Bullshit, Beaubier. Your martyrdom act got tired long before you stomped off in a huff. You weren't drafted into Alpha Flight. You volunteered for it, and were happy to take the paycheck and the perks. As for your sister, the only real sustained treatment she got from professionals was after Department H found her. Hell, you took on the same commitment as the rest of us when you decided to sign up. And since walking away, you've blamed everything on them. And those people you served with meant so little to you that you couldn't even be bothered to attend their funeral when they died."

Jean-Paul's memories of things involving Department H weren't whole. He knew that. They were scattered and unorganised, cut into pieces and reassembled incorrectly. It took him a moment to sort through the bits that he knew weren't right. And then he paused again, unsure why he was attempting to justify his actions to Kane. He didn't owe the other man anything. "Again," he said, voice quiet now. "You know nothing of which you speak." Another short pause. "I do not know what the process was when you volunteered, as you say, but I did not see a choice after they contacted me." A frown. "Why are you so angry about this? Surely your life has not been so wonderful since you joined Alpha Flight." He couldn't say that Kane's assessment of his feelings toward his former teammates was off base - it wasn't.

"It was our people who died, Jean-Paul. These weren't random faces. They were men and women that you worked with, some of whom for years. And somewhere, you decided that they meant so little to you, that their deaths were just something to ignore." Garrison shook his head. "It's not about me, or if Department H made my life full of kittens and rainbows. If you want to be angry at Director Colcord or Mac, that's your choice. But the people hurt and killed were ones you served and trained with. The fact it doesn't matter to you is what I'm angry about. They deserve better."

The reality of the situation never really had any kind of bearing on the ideologies held by those who were involved. Ideally, Jean-Paul would have felt something for his former teammates, for the deaths, the deception, the loss. But he didn't. He'd felt more empathy for the people stuck on that train in India than he did for the people he'd worked and trained with for so many years. The disconnect was very real and Jean-Paul had no idea where it had come from or why. Perhaps, once upon a time, he had felt more and he just couldn't remember it now. Perhaps he'd always felt just as he did now. There was no way for him to know - not now, anyway.

"Marde," Jean-Paul muttered, frustrated with himself for not knowing, with Kane for throwing this at him now. "I want only to know if Lil is well. What is it you wish me to say? That I am sorry they died? Oui - it was needless. I can give you nothing more than this. I will not lie for whatever purpose."

Kane rubbed his face tiredly. Beaubier tired him, but at least the indignation was gone. Garrison missed that, sadly, but the man's acquiescence had ebbed the spike of anger. "Lil isn't good. Madison is coming back very slowly, and she's not handling that well. I don't know past that."

That wasn't what he'd wanted to hear, but then... Jean-Paul wasn't entirely sure what he'd wanted to begin with. Just information. Somehow, even when he knew it was unlikely, he always wanted the news he received to be positive in some way. To have some kind of silver lining. This didn't. He'd known that was probable. "Merci," the Quebecois said, tone subdued now. Pressing his thumb against the skin between his eyebrows, he closed his eyes and turned his back on the other man, walking back toward the window he'd entered from.

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[x-wolverine.livejournal.com]

Ah, Alpha Flight.

The team that makes the X-Men and X-Force together look sane, well-adjusted, and normal.