Red X: Firestorm - Jean & Jean-Paul are rooming together, stuff happens (backdated)

[x-quebecois.livejournal.com]

Jean and Jean-Paul bicker, discuss the Red X mission, attempt to sleep, and fail.


Jean-Paul had showered the soot and sweat off of himself, then tried to figure out what he could do about his stupid suit. Someone somewhere could undoubtedly get the stains off of it and have it properly laundered, but he found himself not particularly caring. Instead, he was worried about the sleeping arrangements that had been made - when he'd asked Kevin to get him on this mission, he hadn't considered that it would be longer than a day.

That meant he was sharing sleeping quarters with someone - Jean, apparently - and that he wouldn't actually be sleeping. He was going to be exhausted in the morning, but perhaps they could work something out for the next day that would allow him to sleep earlier, when she wasn't in the room.

As it stood now, of course, Jean-Paul walked into the small room with its bunk-like beds and hung the towel he'd used to dry off with after his shower over the end of the bed he'd ostensibly be sleeping in.

Jean was finally in the middle of unpacking, having been a little late to the party. She had to wrap up some loose ends at Xaviers before she came up, which meant she had arrived a little before dawn broke over the horizon, a day after others had been dispatched.

While she was working with John Allerdyce, someone she hadn't seen in some time, due to the abruptness of the mission and the typically inherent chaos of trying to organize a somewhat large amount of people, she had been assigned to room with Jean-Paul.

She had long suspected God had a wicked sense of humor.

"Please don't tell me you used all the hot water."

"I used all the hot water," Jean-Paul deadpanned, running one had over his hair and then sitting on the bed. He hadn't bothered with actually unpacking. There was no telling how long they might be needed and he was very accustomed to living out of a suitcase. "I left only the coldest of water for you. I did this intentionally. To build your character." In truth, he'd done no such thing, especially since he liked slightly colder showers, anyway. But Jean didn't need to know that.

"How thoughtful of you to think of wanting to better my life experience," Jean said with a saccharine smile, tucking away a couple of pairs of pants. She was also used to the rigors of travel, but she felt like unpacking sometimes gave it a touch of home. If she needed to repack quickly she usually got it done with in a couple of minutes with a flick of a her 'brain magic' so it wasn't too much trouble.

"You are truly a saint. I will have to think of ways to repay you for your kindness."

Closing the drawer, she walked over to the tiny fridge in the corner to grab a bottle of water.

"Want one?" she said, nodding to the bottle.

"That is not necessary," Jean-Paul replied, tone and expression magnanimous. "I am thinking only of your welfare."

"Oh, but I insist," Jean said with a sense of overacted propriety and a bright smile on her face.

"I am a lady, and therefore it is only right that I show my graciousness at your charity. To respond any other way would be rude. And that just will not do," she said.

She said nothing about his ignoring her offer for a bottle of water from the fridge and shut the fridge door, moving to sit on her bed.

"When are you headed back out?"

Slouching back against the pillows on his bed, Jean-Paul shrugged. "Early, I think. There are people still on the western side of the fires who need to be taken out. We found a family, earlier today. They did not think the fires would reach them, and so they stayed. There are several more like this, apparently." Then he paused and held his hands up, as though for inspection. "I washed them, in case you wondered."

"I imagine so. Pride goeth before a fall, I suppose. I'm sure I'll run into a few more tomorrow," she said. The volunteers did have to sleep some time.

Squinting, she peered at his fingers, seeming to take in every detail.

"You missed a spot," she said, giving him a faint smile of amusement.

"Lies," Jean-Paul said, tucking his very clean hands behind his head and then staring at the ceiling. "If I had, you would not be able to see it, anyway."

Jean smirked a little. "Maybe. Doesn't mean I won't imagine it there," she said as she walked back over to the dresser, pulling out a nightgown.

"Think I'm going to turn in."

"You should imagine things that do not involve residue on my fingers," Jean-Paul said, his tone philosophical. "What would your husband think?" He was halfway to smirking at that point, though. He had no intentions of actually sleeping, but that didn't mean she had to know that. Of course, with his luck, she probably already did.

"How can I not after that peepshow you gave me? I think I need a mental scrubber," she said. She wished Nathan was around so he could mind wipe the last 20 minutes.

"He's a big boy, Jean-Paul. And why should he care? We all know who both of us thinks about at night. And it isn't either one of us," she said with a smile as she walked into the bathroom and closed the door. And yes, she already knew his plans but kept quiet about it. She found the decision somewhat childish given both of them needed all the strength they could get for the next day.

Waving his hand in Jean's general direction as the door closed behind her, Jean-Paul then reached for one of the books he'd brought with him. Oscar Wilde was never particularly difficult to read, and certainly never a slow read. But it would be amusing nonetheless.

After changing, Jean was pretty much in bed and sound asleep within minutes after turning off her light. But it was falling asleep that was the easy part.

About twenty minutes had passed when a rustling sound was heard and a faint moan escaped from Jean's bed. One of the pictures on the wall, a sad attempt at decorating with a painting of some faded flowers from the 70s, began to tremble. Pretty soon everything else on the walls and the tables began to shudder as well.

Jean-Paul very carefully marked his page in the play he was reading and sat it down, then zipped his bag up and considered his options as things quivered and shook around him. It would seem that he wasn't the only person suffering from nightmares. How inconvenient.

The trembling soon melted into rhythmic thumps like the beating of a heart. The moaning continued, a bit more consistent as Jean began to toss and turn in her sleep, her eyelids fluttering, face twisted, body shuddering.

If he looked down at himself he'd find himself covered in blood, catch a glimpse of piles of bodies out of the corner of his eye and at his feet. The room wasn't the room anymore for a brief second if he looked up but instead the mansion, the echoes of screams in the distance trickling in with the hint of familiar laughter.

Despite knowing that what he was seeing couldn't possibly be real, Jean-Paul found himself recoiling, almost immediately seeing the ceiling in an effort to get away from the blood and the gore, the bodies on the floor. It didn't work, he was still drenched in blood, still dripping it from where he now flew.

"Jean," he said, voice as calm as he could make it. "Jean, wake up." This was verging disturbingly close to his own nightmares of what he'd done, the horrible things he'd done. He couldn't remember them all, the blocks were still mostly in place, though out of order now. The professor had convinced him to leave them, but they couldn't hide everything. Some things rang true, some things he knew bone-deep were there, buried in his mind. Waiting, just waiting to come oozing out. "Jean."

The faces were frozen in dead-eyed horror, mouths agape. They were the faces of their friends, their loved ones. The smell was almost overpowering. Jean began to take in deep breaths, hands gripping the sheets so tightly her knuckles turned bone white.

"No...no..." she whispered.

The distant laughter grew closer, closer. It was feminine, flavored with sheer manical delight.

Soon it was right next to Jean-Paul's ear, hot and breathy, unnerving. And it sounded just like Jean.

"Forgive me, for I have sinned..." the voice whispered, punctuated in glee.

Jean's eyes snapped open as she sat up in bed. Her eyes roved around, seeing but not quite seeing, the grips of sleep still wearing off.

Her breath was still labored, her body drenched in sweat.

Jean-Paul was on the other side of the room, away from the creepy voice that had whispered in his ear, almost before Jean sat up. "Mon Dieu," he said, still mostly near the ceiling. He didn't know what else to say - what did you say? "Are you awake?" That seemed safe enough - he wasn't going to comment on the nightmare, since it seemed a very personal sort of thing.

The faces of the people she'd shown him, though, the blood he'd been able to feel dropping from his face and hands... that came far too close to things he didn't really want to remember, himself. And so he said nothing of them.

Startled, Jean's eyes snapped toward Jean-Paul when he spoke. A few moments passed before she visibly relaxed.

"Yes," she said, rubbing her face with her hands. Stiffening a moment, she pulled her hands away, looking up at Jean-Paul.

Why was he across the room? Why wouldn't he look at her?

"What happened?"

"I believe... it was a nightmare," Jean-Paul said slowly, letting himself sink back down toward the floor now that she was awake. It was very obvious, he supposed, that he wasn't the one who'd had the nightmare.

Jean tore the covers away. They felt stifling. She got out of bed, keeping her distance from Jean-Paul. He seemed to be about as shaken as she was.

"Oh."

She dropped down into a chair, her hand trembling faintly as she ran her fingers through her hair. The images from the dream were still vibrant in her mind. Jean-Paul was one of the faces.

"I'm sorry...It must've gotten out of hand," she said softly. Her control must've slipped. She hadn't had someone in the same room with her as she slept for what felt like for a very long time.

Feet hitting the floor, Jean-Paul kept his eyes on Jean's knee, then her elbow, just to see that she was still where she was meant to be - and that she wasn't covered in blood. Then he checked his own clothing to be sure he wasn't drenched in it, either. "But... you are well now?"

Jean watched him for a few moments, then rubbed her face again. When she first had them she had tried to make herself forget but eventually she was starting to remember the details.

"Yes," she said. She had her walls up pretty high now, wanting to keep anyone and every one's thoughts out at the moment, especially Jean-Paul's.

"I'm sorry you had to see that."

"I am thinking," Jean-Paul said slowly, "Maybe... maybe we should sleep in shifts, oui? So I will not break you. You will not make me see things that are not there... it would work well for us, I think."

Jean fell silent for a few moments, then nodded a little. "Sounds like a plan."

At least once back at the mansion they wouldn't have to worry. She'd be sleeping alone.

"Bon," Jean-Paul said, slowly moving back toward his bed. "I am also thinking, though, that it will not be so good for us to sleep right now." Unzipping his bag, he reached in and pulled out a deck of cards. Just because he wasn't going to talk about what had happened didn't mean he'd go and leave Jean by herself to deal with the remnants of the nightmare. They all had their demons, after all. Just not everyone could project theirs into other people's minds.

The moment Jean saw the cards she gave him a smile. "I'd be inclined to agree."

Truth be told she didn't want to sleep for a week. It became harder and harder to sleep any more. She thought about talking to Charles about it but she didn't want to bother him. She couldn't help but wonder if it was just the return, leaving Scott, and all the events around the mansion that fueled the dreams.

She did feel bad about Jean-Paul seeing. She didn't know it would've happened, as she hadn't been in the situation before since she got back to the mansion. Whenever she had a nightmare around Scott somehow their link exerted a fair amount of control, most of the time.

"Then we will not sleep," Jean-Paul said, nodding. He pulled the small nightstand with its equally small lamp further into the space between them, shifting said lamp until it wasn't in the way, and then dealt out enough cards for a game of rummy. "You can keep the score, I think."

"You sure about that?" Jean said as she glanced over the cards.

"I have been told I am a cheat."

She smiled again. It was getting easier to do it the further away she was from the dream.

"But it is entirelyall he said, she said."

"Do not cheat," Jean-Paul said, fanning out his hand. "Or I will not play with you. I will take the cards away and play solitaire. We will both be very, very bored."