Jean & Jean-Paul, Late Monday Morning

[x-quebecois.livejournal.com]

Jean and Jean-Paul run into one another in a familiar cafe in District X. They manage to have a civil conversation with one another and no one winds up broken or bruised.


There was a little cafe in District-X that Jean hadn’t gotten a chance to go to since her return to the east coast. They made phenomenal pie.

Wearing a pair of sunglasses, Jean sat at a table, the latest issue of the New York Post in her lap and a plate of half eaten pecan pie and a cup of coffee in front of her.

Jean-Paul had begun frequenting the cafe after helping Maddie out and true, it hadn’t been a significant period of time since then, but he’d stopped by almost every day because they really did have some wonderful pie, not to mention the coffee. He didn’t know where they got it from, save that it was fair trade and possibly South American. The Quebecois loved it.

He gave Maddie a smile as he paid for the coffee, then turned and caught sight of Jean. His eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses - his nose was healing well, but his eyes were still black. Or sort of a sickly, greenish-yellow.

Jean didn’t really move from where she was sitting or even acknowledge Jean-Paul’s presence, which she would’ve no doubt well noticed by now. Her hands remained in the same spot, head slightly lowered to look down toward the paper, but she didn’t turn the page. It stayed on the same article on the economic downturn of Greece and an ad for Serta mattresses for a good long while.

Walking a little closer to her, Jean-Paul indicated the paper. “It is more effective, I think, if you at least pretend to read it, non?”

Jean didn’t answer him, nor turn her head in his direction, perfectly still at the table. The extending of a proper sarcastic remark was at least expected, yet she gave him nothing.

“And now you are just being petty.”

As for that comment? Still nothing. Not even the clearing of her throat or the clenching of her fists.

Settling comfortably in the chair across the table from Jean, Jean-Paul took an appreciative sip of his coffee, then aimed his fork at her pie.

Despite the threat of the disappearance her precious pecan pie at stake...Jean still did not move, save for her head to dip a little lower.

Stabbing a respectable piece, Jean-Paul ate it slowly, humming low in his throat before hooking the edge of the plate with the tines of his fork and pulling it closer to his side of the table. “Very good.”

Nope, still nothing. Damn. Will of iron.

Eyes narrowing again, Jean-Paul lifted his shades and squinted at Jean, eating another, rather larger portion of pie before reaching out with one foot and nudging her shin. “Bonjour? I have eaten most of your pie. Why are you not throwing the cutlery at me in retaliation?”

The moment Jean-Paul nudged her, Jean’s body jerked and gave a shudder, her head snapping up, the paper crumpling in her hands. Luckily she only gave a gasp and a tiny snort instead of a scream like instinct wanted her to do.

“Wha....” she asked no one in particular, startled. Her head finally turned to Jean-Paul and she took off her sunglasses, arching a brow.

“Hi?” she said in a tone that said ‘what the hell?’

“Were you sleeping? In the cafe?” Jean-Paul asked, eating the second to last bite of her pie. “This is very good, by the way.” He indicated the dish with his fork, then took a sip of coffee.

Jean rubbed her eyes. “Yeah, must’ve nodded off,” she said, trying to pass it off as the most casual thing in the world. Her head tilted down at the plate where the pie should’ve been, then she looked up at him.

“Yeah, I know. Glad you like it,” she said.

Finishing the pie off, Jean-Paul scraped up the little crumbs and sticky bits from the plate on the tines and ate those, then settled back in the chair with his coffee. “This is a very busy cafe. I do not think it would be so easy to fall asleep - to nod off, as you say. Are you well?”

Jean nodded, staring at the plate with a sense of longing before she picked up her coffee to take a sip.

“Just having trouble sleeping,” she said.

“Guess it caught up to me. It’s okay. I’m okay.” She knew why she was having the problem, it was just finding a way to stop it was what she was still working on.

Jean-Paul let it go, since Jean’s sleeping patterns - or lack thereof - weren’t really any of his concern. “Mm... how are you? Besides very tired.”

“Busy, as per the usual,” she said. Things never really slowed down. There were usually two levels, fast, and autobahn.

She glanced him over. “You’re healing well. That’s good.”

Common conversational questions were a bit tricky between the two of them, or at least on her part toward him.

While Jean had a temper, he seemed to bring it out of her rather spectacularly. She was trying to keep that temper in check, and not turn things into a full on battle every time they saw each other. It wasn’t healthy for either of them.

If she could be calm, perhaps he could be calm. Maybe. And being in a public place could help. Okay, maybe not. But it was worth a shot.

Holding up one finger to indicate that he’d be right back, Jean-Paul sat his coffee on the table and stood so he could walk back to the counter. He got two pieces of pie and brought them back, putting one in front of Jean. “Oui, healing is good, I think. It only hurts when I make faces now.”

Then, apropos of nothing, he asked, “Do you know if it is common to know someone that you would... do anything to keep from being sad?”

Jean smiled when he brought another piece of pie. “Thanks,” she said, nodding. Picking up a fork, she took a bite, eyes fluttering closed momentarily to relish the taste.

She laughed a little, then glanced down thoughtfully. “I’ve had a few days of introspection to look back on things and I got hasty. And judgmental. And volatile. And I’m sorry. You’re right. I will work on the meddling. Can’t promise a lot, but I’ll try to rein things in a little.”

His next out-of-the-blue question made her glance up. She smiled. “Yes, it’s very common,” she said, then tilted her head. “Or at least, I’d like to hope so.”

She took another sip of coffee. “But I get the feeling you’re thinking of someone more specific?”

“Oui,” Jean-Paul said, nodding. He didn’t answer further, though, choosing to eat his new slice of pie instead. “So you will not meddle and I will try to not be so angry. We will see how well this works, I think.”

Jean nodded back, taking another bite of delicious pie. “Sounds like a plan. Worst case scenario we both try kill each other. Which, given our circle of friends should prove difficult. So we should be pretty covered.”

Her eyes flickered back down to the pie and she gave a bit of an impish smile. “Would it be meddling to ask if this specific person rhymes with Heaven, or am I going for Scooby Doo status with that question?”

Expression dignified, Jean-Paul murmured, “I do not know of what you speak,” and then ate almost half his pie in one bite just so he’d have an excuse to keep his mouth occupied with something other than talking.

“Mmm hmm. And I think you’re a horrible liar,” Jean said, casually stirring a packet of sugar into her coffee before she took a drink.

“Hor-ri-ble.”

Jean-Paul’s reply was unintelligible. That was sort of the point. Also, the pie was delicious.

Jean eyed him, shaking her head. “If you’re going to be at my table, I at least expect some amount of conversation. After all, you woke me from my nap. It was a very good nap.”

“So you would not be more robbed than you already were,” Jean-Paul said around the pie in his mouth. “It was very considerate of me, I think.”

Jean’s nose scrunched and she stared intently at her pie with a bit of a reluctant shrug. She was normally a very light sleeper and would’ve noticed had someone tried to swipe something but for some reason she’d drifted off pretty deep and probably wouldn’t have this time.

Picking up her fork again, she took a bite.

“Good pie,” she said. Hello subject change.

“Oui,” Jean-Paul agreed, nodding as he swallowed his pie and drank a bit of coffee. “How is Scott?” Better subject change.

Jean smiled. “He’s...good. Busy. We haven’t really gotten to talk a lot between both of our responsibilities. I think the group is in...Fresno, last I checked, on some training exercise.”

She wouldn’t deny she longed for him to be there, but they both knew where they were both needed.

“Maybe you will see him soon,” Jean-Paul said, nodding. “Until then, I believe Kevin is keeping you busy with the injuries he seems to keep getting, oui? I have asked him to stop. It is possible he might listen.”

“Maybe,” Jean echoed with a soft smile. She really didn’t know when. Could be weeks, could be months. If it was months she was going to have some words.

“Yes, I really hope he does. He seems to be pretty good at using up all of my tongue depressors for his imaginary friend collection. If he keeps it up I might have to give him his own permanent room down there and I’d rather not,” she mused.

“The tongue depressors - for Monsieur Stick? I did not know there were others...”

Jean laughed. “Apparently he’s been putting together a family for the guy. Or at least I think so, since about 10 of them seem to be missing.”

“Mon Dieu,” Jean-Paul said, snorting softly. “He is... very medicated, non?” He was smiling a little as he said it, though.

Jean shook her head, smirking. “Pretty much. I think ‘high as a kite’ is the perfect overused cliche to describe it.”

“I would agree,” Jean-Paul said, nodding. “But now that I have harassed you and eaten your pie, I think it is time I should be going.”

Resting her chin in her hand, Jean smiled. “And what gave you the idea that you were harassing me? I thought we were two people enjoying pie and talking about tongue depressors?”

Jean-Paul finished off his coffee in one last swallow, followed that up with his pie, and then stood up to take the dirty plates back to the counter. He got another two coffees while he was there and put a couple sugars in one, then walked back to Jean’s table. “Non, mon ami. We are two people, one who was sleeping, the other who stole the sleeping one’s pie. And I have someone who is possibly waiting at the mansion, certainly very medicated, who would maybe like some coffee. But I believe I was harassing you. Especially when I ate your pie.”

Jean’s eyes drifted toward the ceiling contemplatively, then glanced back down toward him. “Well, since you put it that way....You’re right, you better get out pie stealer,” she said.

“Adieu,” Jean-Paul said, quirking a smile.

Nodding, Jean folded over her copy of the Post, setting it down on the table.

“Seeya,” she said.