Kevin & JPB, Sunday Afternoon

[x-quebecois.livejournal.com]

Jean-Paul gets a text from Vanessa and heads back to the suite to get his things ready so he can head out the next day to begin investigating Nick's extended family. He lets Kevin know what's going on.


Jean-Paul frowned slightly and, finishing his acrobatics, let himself drop to the mats in the gym. The uneven bars weren't particularl challenging, but that fact in and of itself allowed him to let his mind wander, to concentrate on other things. It was the distinctive ringtone he'd given Vanessa that recalled his attention and had him ending his workout. It was only a text, but it let him know to check the X-Factor board online to find out where he needed to go to look for Nick Gleason's extended family, so he decided it would be wise to head back to the suite so he could clean up and get ready to leave the next day.

It was finally getting cold outside - not cold enough to have him changing his outfits yet, of course, but soon he'd at least need an extra layer.

Flying up to the window was easiest and, since it wasn't locked, he had no trouble getting inside. He dropped his shirt on the kitchen counter as he pulled some vegetables and a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

Hearing the movement in the other room, Kevin emerged from where he'd been painting. Technically he was healed and could go back to metalwork, but he was a little wary of the dexterity in his right hand still. On the bright side, free of pain, meds and stitches Kevin found himself once again with the focus and attention span to do something artistic. Painting won simply because he'd done a lot of doodling while under the influence. Some of those things made him twitch to look at, actually.

Pulling off paint-splattered latex gloves, Kevin shuffled through the living room toward the shirtless man in the kitchen. He didn't say anything, just leaned against the furthest wall so he could enjoy the view.

Jean-Paul let the small of his back rest against the counter and ate a piece of broccoli, washing it down with a healthy sip of water before quirking an eyebrow at Kevin and saying, "They have told me that exercising your hand is very good for it," as though they were continuing a conversation that had never been interrupted. Of course, the motion he made with his hand, combined with the mischievous expression he wore, didn't resemble the exercises the doctors had suggested. Not at all.

Kevin's eyes followed the motion of Jean-Paul's hand, an eyebrow creeping upward further with each repetition of the movement. His smirk seemed to steadily broaden as well. "Ah'm pretty sure the doctor wants me to keep up stuff that actually exercises my hand. Your ideas exercise my arm." He pulled out the ball from the cargo pocket on his pants that he was meant to sit around squeezing to build up his strength again. "Ah think you and the doctor got contradictory thoughts on what's good for my hand."

"I would not mind you doing that also," Jean-Paul nodded toward the ball Kevin was currently squeezing. Then he tipped his head to the side a little and said, "Only not so vehemently, I think." Popping another piece of broccoli into his mouth, he chewed for a moment, then asked, "The painting, how does it go?"

"Without my vehemence how'm Ah supposed to get stronger? You're real counterproductive for this whole healin' thing here." The gloves got rolled up into each other and shoved into a pocket so Kevin wouldn't have to leave his spot. The view was better from further away where he could get the full picture at once. "The painting's good. Ah might have Piotr look at it once it's done to give me some tips on makin' it better. Painting's his thing, he's way better at it than me." He had taught Kevin much of the technique he had, actually. Before his stint in California Kevin was passable as a painter but not particularly good. He never would have been able to sell one of his paintings. Now he could, though.

"Oui, I am being contrary, maybe," Jean-Paul said, nodding. "Or not helpful, at least." He crunched his way through a carrot, then grinned. "You have my apologies, of course." He didn't seem terribly apologetic, though. Particularly not when he downed the rest of the water and then put the vegetables on the kitchen counter. "I like your paintings," he said, pushing away from his resting spot so he could get another bottle. "Also, my work visa has come through. It is legal for me to be employed now."

"Cool. So no more whorin' yourself on the street so you can get your carrot fix? Ah was startin' to worry 'bout that. First it's just for another bag of carrots, but soon you're after broccoli or zucchini and those get more expensive so you're spendin' more and more time with your johns and it's a downward cycle, y'know?"

Nodding, Jean-Paul said, "Now I must only fly around the country for Vanessa and wait for a real paycheque so I can have my carrot fix, as you say." Then he ate another piece of broccoli and said, "But I think it is too late for me, since I am already eating the broccoli... zucchini, this is a good next step, I think."

Kevin sighed, shoulders drooping, and shook his head. "It's a terrible tragedy. Happens all the time. Guy comes to America, can't work and gets hooked on veggie. There's no real cure for it either. You can always try excessive consumption of meat, but it rarely works. Sad, huh? Bet you never thought you'd be a junkie."

"And with my metabolism..." Jean-Paul let a sad expression settle over his features for a moment, then quirked a smile and offered Kevin the bag of vegetables. "Speaking of flying all over the country, mon aime, I think I am leaving tomorrow for work, now that it is legal."

"Gonna track down scumbags and beat 'em up?" He shook his head to decline the offered vegetables. Kevin was pretty comfy propped up against the wall where he was. He also still hadn't gotten his fill of the view to want to move either.

"Beat them up?" The thought obviously amused Jean-Paul, though he shook his head before continuing, "I am, as they say, doing leg work, oui? To try to help find the boy who went missing, Nick."

"Oh. Really?" Kevin knew a few people had been hunting for Nick. He was an alright guy. Kevin didn't know him that well, but it was well enough to feel badly that he'd gone missing and might turn up dead somewhere. "Ain't it more like the wing work if you're flyin' 'round to do it?"

"Oui, really. And I do not have wings," Jean-Paul said, snorting softly. "But my legs, they can move very fast, even if they do not most of the time." Closing the bag, he put the vegetables back in the refrigerator, then finished off his second bottle of water and relaxed against the counter again. He needed to shower. The thought made him smile a little.

"Well, callin' it air work is just lame. And your legs ain't gettin' you there. You can fly so you got metaphor wings or somethin'." He probably could have tried to make better sense there. Only Kevin knew if he tried to he'd likely make it sound dumber. Instead he let his astounding feat of logic be and kept on squeezing the rubber ball in his hand.

"What is it you say to me?" Jean-Paul asked, snorting softly. "Your logic, it is not Earth logic?" Then he nodded to himself. "Oui, this. It is true for you now." Pushing away from the counter, he picked up his shirt and slid past Kevin before walking toward the bathroom. "Are you sure that my exercises for your hand will not work?"

"Pretty sure they won't." Kevin's head cocked to the side and he watched Jean-Paul move past him. "Ah mean, ain't no hurt in tryin' 'em out to make sure, though. Y'know, in the name of science or healin' or somethin'."

"The doctors, they will approve, I think," Jean-Paul said, grinning when he reached the bathroom door. "So long as it is for science and healing, oui?" Somehow, he didn't actually think that the activities he had in mind would meet with Jean's approval if she ever actually found out, but he wasn't terribly worried.

"Uh-huh." Kevin nodded and trailed after Jean-Paul. "Science and healin' alright..."