xp_logs | Jake & JPB - Thursday Morning (backdated)

Jean-Paul and Jake meet by accident in a cafe and have a chat.

Jean-Paul had woken after sleeping for most of the previous day and wished, not for the first time, that he'd bothered with actually furnishing his apartment in New York. His mattress was still on the floor and so was the lamp that went with it, sans shade. There was a part of his mind that kept pointing out that, at forty years of age, he should really be able to act more his age rather than like a college student living on hope and ramen. Ignoring that, he'd bathed and decided breakfast was definitely in order.

Eggs Benedict sounded wonderful, but he didn't want to risk attempting the recipe from memory and he'd left all of his cookbooks at the mansion, so off he flew, landing at a small, corner cafe with metal seating and what he hoped was a delightful breakfast menu. What he found, besides the delightful breakfast menu, was one of his exes.

Pausing, he considered his options. Then his stomach growled at him and he sat himself down in the seat across from Jake. "Bonjour," he said, voice scratchy with disuse. Not having someone to talk to in the mornings... meant he didn't do a lot of talking at all.

Jake looked up at the greeting--so familiar, yet so unexpected. For a moment, he just looked at Jean-Paul, surprised at first, then with a hint of suspicion. "Bonjour," he finally returned the greeting, the tone cautiously friendly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I am single," Jean-Paul said, taking the menu from the middle of the table to make sure they actually had that delightful breakfast he was so interested in.

"Uh, congratulations?" Jake offered. Apparently, they had moved right past awkwardness and pettiness into deep conversations. "Their pancakes are really good," he recommended. "The berries are always fresh, or the banana-chocolate chip ones are amazing."

"I do not want to be single," Jean-Paul said, pointing the menu almost accusingly at Jake as the French fell from his lips. Sometimes, it was so much easier to just speak the language he was raised speaking. No need to worry about grammar or if he was using the right word. Then he glanced at the menu. "The pancakes, you think?"

Jake slipped back into French just as easily, language being more or less fluid when he wasn't thinking about it. "Well, if it wasn't by choice, definitely the pancakes. You should have them add whipped cream." He paused a second, then added, "And...sorry. That's...rough."

Nodding, Jean-Paul flagged down the waiter and ordered the pancakes with blueberries and whipped cream as well as an iced Americana. That was his only concession to the heat in the city. "But it is my choice, that's the problem." He paused briefly, then reached over and stole Jake's coffee. He wasn't awake enough for this conversation, anyway. He might as well help himself while he could. "I slammed him into the wall and broke his ribs. It's not safe. And now he can't trust me, anyway."

Jake, normally more protective with his food, was apparently also slow to get going that morning. He managed a half-hearted protest, though he didn't attempt to take the drink back. He didn't respond for several moments, and a small frown formed, perhaps at the stolen coffee. Or perhaps at the small twinge of unfamiliar...sympathy with the other man. When he finally did reply, the words, at least, were definitely Jake-fashioned, even if his tone didn't quite reach the intended humor. "So I take it the slamming was more than some sex game gotten out of hand?"

Jean-Paul snorted. "My mutation. It is not so predictable as it once was." He wrinkled his nose after a second sip of Jake's coffee, then slid the mug back across the table toward the younger man. It wasn't quite to his liking, but by that point the waiter was back with his own order. "Merci," he said to the man, then settled in his seat again. "It's a violent thing now, sometimes. And I've made myself a liar on top of everything else."

Jake eyed the coffee where Jean-Paul had left it for a moment, then pulled it back. "Why thank you, Jake, for letting me share your coffee until mine arrives," he mocked, before taking a sip himself. "So am I supposed to guess how the lying fits into this puzzle? You're rather hard to follow when you're brooding, you know."

"That's the point - of brooding, I mean." Jean-Paul took a long sip of his Americana and then let out a slow breath. It was cold and would likely be watered down shortly, but for the moment, it was perfect. "I told him I wouldn't leave, but I did. Thus, I'm a liar. And a hypocrite. I mean, I can admit that, at least - I did as much, anyway." He frowned. "And thank you for the coffee."

"That's the whole problem with 'forever'" Jake declared. He tilted the half-empty coffee cup onto one of its rims, carefully balancing it between the table and his hand. "It never is. I mean, it's a romantic gesture and everything, but half the time, both people know it's not going to be true. So why bother saying it."

"It's an ideal," Jean-Paul said, pointedly not commenting on anything else in particular. "Something to shoot for. And besides, if you make it to forever, then it's supposed to be fantastic. Or at least really rewarding. But the hypocrite thing, it's what bothers me more. Because if he'd hurt me with his mutation, I wouldn't have wanted him to leave."

"Or boring as hell," Jake half-muttered. "I think that's a rumor put forth by preachers and marriage counselors. So wait, he wanted you to leave? Then how was it your choice to end it? Or you wanted yourself to leave? Your contrasts are hard to follow."

"I wanted to leave," Jean-Paul said slowly, exaggerating the syllables just to be factitious. "He did not want me to leave. I am a hypocrite because, had the positions been reversed, I wouldn't have wanted him to leave. But I left, myself, disregarding his wishes."

"You're too hard on--nevermind," Jake interrupted the thought, knowing it was hopeless. He let the cup fall back to normal position with a soft clack. "So what are you doing to get your powers back under control?"

"Meditating," Jean-Paul said, face twisting in distaste. "Doctor McCoy, we work in the Danger Room to try to trigger the blasts, so that I can understand them. This is not working so well."

"Meditating," Jake repeated, skepticism all over his voice. "You...? Really...?" Jake shook his head. "Last thing you need is to 'at one' your way through everything. Have you tried a punching bag?"

"Non," Jean-Paul said, pausing for a moment as the waiter returned and put his breakfast on the table before him. "I am meant to be focusing, I believe. It is only that it does not work so well." Putting his coffee down for a moment, he cut off a piece of pancake so he could hopefully get himself to stop talking so much. It wasn't doing any good, anyway.

"Hey, it requires a lot of focus to punch something," Jake said, defending his original position. "I just think...you take a lot on yourself...It might help to throw out a few punches. Let some of that out." Note on a punching bag, and not on certain parties in the nearby vicinity. As the faintest wariness in Jake's voice at the suggestion might have indicated.

"You are volunteering?" Jean-Paul asked, taking another bite of his pancakes, then a healthy bit of the berries from the top.

"I'll watch you work out," Jake quickly clarified. With a further clarification of, "Or punch stuff, I mean."

Snorting, Jean-Paul shook his head. "Oui, well. I do not know that this will be happening. I will think on it, though. And alert you if I need an audience."

Jake lifted his coffee in response, taking a long sip while thinking of his response. "I have enough people that punch me in my life. But all I'm saying is, you might want to look at options other than 'peace within' for getting this under control. Though you were always more patient than me."

"I would not punch you," Jean-Paul felt the need to point that out. "I was being difficult, only. And I have been thinking - it might be good to meet with Jean. To discuss some things with her." His expression darkened just the slightest bit. "Many things."

"Jean is..." Jake trailed off as he realized who he was talking to. "Yes, it might do you good to talk to her."

"Jean is what?" Jean-Paul asked, putting his fork down so he could look at Jake properly, one brow raised.

"She is...probably exactly what you need," Jake replied. Nevermention the often do-gooder, mindreader, heroine, etc. etc. etc. traits that tended to make one such as Jake squirm just a bit.

"Uh... huh..." Jean-Paul let the question drop there, though, because when it came right down to it... well. He was running out of options.

"If she tells you you need to punch things more," Jake was quick to decide, "You totally owe me a drink."

"Agreed," Jean-Paul said, snorting quietly again. "But I do not think this will be her answer to the problem."