Warren & JPB | Wednesday Evening

[x-quebecois.livejournal.com]

Jean-Paul drops by Warren's to discuss the possibility of putting him on retainer and then talk turns a bit maudlin.


Jean-Paul rapped his knuckles against the door frame, since the door was partially open, and then nudged said door the rest of the way open so he could poke his head inside. "Bonjour," he said, quirking an eyebrow at the other man. "Is now a good time to talk, mon ami, or should I come back tomorrow, maybe?"

"Nah, come in." The view of Warren was half blocked by the fridge door, Warren having been clearing out old containers of food. Mostly stuff he'd left in there and forgotten about, and Kyle hadn't managed to eat it before it went weird. There was a bag on the floor next to him, full of containers of food. He shut the fridge door, tying up the bag and dumping it in the bin. He'd have to remember to empty that before Kyle came back.

"Drink?" Part of the motivation for clearing out the fridge was to make room for the beer he'd acquired from a local microbrewery, which was actually pretty good.

"Merci," Jean-Paul said, stepping inside and closing the door behind himself. "Oui - and so, when you are not cleaning your refrigerator these days, what are you doing?" If he remembered correctly, before he'd gotten himself shipped off to Argentina and then Denmark on that protection detail, Warren had been studying for his lawyer exams.

"Well I was working at XFI for a bit," Warren said, handing Jean-Paul a bottle and sitting down with one of his own. "But I should have my results soon and be able to start practicing again."

"Ah, so you continued with your studies," Jean-Paul said, nodding. "I was not so sure, once I realised the extent of the things you had done while Vanessa was missing." He took a sip of beer, checked the label, and then hummed a little. "Merci, mon ami. This is very good. Will you be working with X-Factor as a lawyer now, do you think, or will you open your own practice?"

"Open my own practice," Warren said promptly. "I have a friend from law school who I'm going to talk to about working together. But we'll probably operate out of District X, so we won't be far away."

After another almost contemplative sip of his beer, Jean-Paul said, "I would like to put you on retainer, if this is okay?"

Warren chuckled at that. "Sure. What are you likely to need a lawyer for?"

Jean-Paul shrugged philosophically. "Nothing specific, oui? I am not planning to commit a crime in the near future. It is only, it seems like a good idea." Then he smiled and tipped the mouth of his bottle toward Warren. "You are very good, also, if I remember."

"It's true, I am," Warren replied with something that resembled a smirk before taking a long sip from the bottle. "I'm very good at a lot of things."

Hiding his own smirk as he took a long pull from his bottle, Jean-Paul then nodded. "There are many things at which to be very good."

"And I am good at most of them." No false modesty here. "Except cooking. That I am a disaster at and will leave to the experts."

"Hm..." Jean-Paul hummed almost meditatively. "I am told I was very good at cooking, before. And I remember... things. Parts of recipes. It is like a movie, oui? A movie... and the film has been cut apart, mixed together on the floor. Sometimes, the whole memory is there. Sometimes, it is only a piece. And so..." He stopped, shrugging. "I used cookbooks now. It is easier than realizing partway through a recipe that I do not remember how to finish it."

"That must be difficult," Warren replied, more serious than before. "Having your memory mixed up like that." Warren was thankful that in his time as an X-Man, nothing had messed him up too seriously. He was luckier than a lot of the people he knew.

"It is... frustrating." And frightening, but Jean-Paul didn't really want to go into the false memories still lurking in the recesses of his mind, just waiting for the perfect moment to slink out of the shadows in his grey matter and wreck havoc. "I bake more, now, I think. Than I did before. They are... new recipes and things, oui? So I am not so frustrated at not remembering them, since I did not know them before." He gave Warren a rueful smile. It was easier to talk about certain things now than it had been when he'd first gotten back - he supposed therapy was doing some good, at least. "I reread all of Shakespeare, though. That was the most frustrating thing of all." He'd once been able to quote whole soliloquies and then suddenly... they were as chopped up as the recipes he could no longer cook.

Warren smiled a little. "But the knack for cooking is still there, which is something. Even if you do have to rely on recipes." He grinned a little further. "See, rereading Shakespeare just sounds like fun to me. The only reading I've done in a long while is either studying for the bar, case files or business reports."

"I bought a second set of all his works when I returned to the mansion, since the others were delayed in being shipped from my home, oui? I could give them to you." Jean-Paul shrugged easily, as though the possibility of giving away such a massive set of books wasn't daunting - he had his originals, after all, which was all he cared about in the end. They had all his notations. Sometimes that made it easier to remember the things he'd forgotten. Sometimes it made it more frustrating. Sometimes it did nothing at all. "If you would like, of course. I promise, I did not even mark the margins with notes and things."

"Oh, I think I've got them somewhere. Or I should. I've still got stuff all over the place at the moment. And in boxes." He took a moment to be dismayed at the thought. There was still stuff in boxes from when he'd moved back from California, let alone out of his apartment in Manhattan. "Of course I'd have to find the time to sit and read them."

Jean-Paul chuckled. "Ah, boxes, oui. Yes, I know - they accumulate if you do not unpack them quickly. If you would like help with them," he continued, expression mischievous, "I would be happy - as you know, I move very fast. It would not take so long."

"I would not say no to some help," Warren replied, and then smirked. "But I'm not sure if that's something you should advertise. Things not taking so long."

Snorting, Jean-Paul lifted his nose and affected a superior look as he said, "Quality over quantity, Monsieur Worthington." Then he grinned, brows rising just a little, and finished, "Also, moving very fast, it does not mean certain things do not take so long."

"I'm just saying," Warren replied with a smirk. "A man of your age, and your powers, people might start making assumptions."

Waving his free hand, Jean-Paul took another sip of his beer and shrugged. "They can make their assumptions. The people who need to know the truth of the matter know. This is all that is important." He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes - it wasn't as though there was anyone who needed to know the truth of that matter, as he'd put it. Not anymore, anyway. Then he pointed one finger at Warren. "Do not bring age into this. I am more fit than many people half my age. No one takes care of themselves."

"That's true, but you have an advantage. Speedster metabolism and all." Not that Warren could talk - his system processed food and drink in an entirely different way to anyone else, ensuring he didn't retain any body fat. "And no concern about your reputation, it seems."

"As I said, the people who need to know know," Jean-Paul said. "And they will not be ruining my reputation, as you say." He shrugged again, philosophical this time. "I have seen more of your reputation than I ever thought I would."

Warren raised an eyebrow at that. "My reputation?" He took another sip of his beer. "What have you seen of my reputation?"

Jean-Paul quirked an eyebrow right back at Warren. At the time, of course, he'd called Vanessa to tell her his eyes were bleeding, but he really couldn't bring that up now - it was Vanessa, after all. And it seemed odd to bring her up now. The Quebecois didn't know how things stood between her and Warren. He'd spoken without thinking and now had to think of a way to backtrack without making things awkward. "Seen - this is not the word I want." He frowned. "The tabloids, the write of you as they wrote of me, always with someone new. Until recently, oui?"

"The tabloids are full of shit," Warren said with a snort. "Sure, I flirt. And I spent a brief couple of months sleeping around." He shrugged. "I spent six years in a relationship I didn't talk about publicly, so people make assumptions." His lips twisted into a bitter smile.

"My past two relationships ended because the person needed space to figure themselves out. Maybe I should start living up to my reputation."

Shaking his head, Jean-Paul tried to figure out how to say what he wanted to say without sounding ridiculous. "Non," he finally said, still frowning. "Non, this is not such a good plan. I do not think you would do this, truly, but..." Shifting back to rest his weight on his heels, then forward and onto the balls of his feet. "I have done this thing many times and it... it is not so good." With great age came great wisdom - with year 40 under his belt, Jean-Paul figured he had maybe 40% of the wisdom he should have, but this, at least, he'd learned.

Warren drained his bottle, not replying just yet. "Maybe not," he allowed eventually. "But it's just..." He shrugged. "I don't know. Things haven't exactly gone well for me recently. Jay, Vanessa..." He hunched over a little. "All I want to do is settle down with someone. Maybe have kids, or adopt, or whatever."

Jean-Paul suppressed the urge to wince at the knowledge that apparently Warren and Vanessa were no longer together. She needed people - friends. He didn't know how things had ended between them, but probably not as poorly as they could have. Still. And he didn't point out Jake or Kevin. Truly, things we Kevin hadn't ended badly. Things with Will hadn't, either. Just apparently neither of them had had the staying power he'd hoped for. And Jake - well. Jake was... complicated. Always, always complicated.

Children were something he'd never really considered - maybe he'd taken for granted that he'd have them. Now, though, the thought of having children around him was almost terrifying. It was why he avoided the mansion as much as he did. Finishing off his own bottle, he shook his head. "Living up to your reputation, as you say, it will not help you find the things you want. I sound like a cliche, I think, but then it is difficult not to, sometimes - things that are worth having, they are not easy, they are not cheap." He sat his empty bottle on the counter with a dull clink and gave the younger man a rueful sort of smile.

"No," he said with a wry smile. "No, they certainly aren't easy." If they were, then they wouldn't be sitting here, having this convesation. Things would have worked out with Piotr, or someone else. But even though he knew things were well and truly over between him and the Russian, it still stung more than a little that the relationship had ended. He'd once thought that relationship would be forever, and it hadn't been.

"Another drink?" This conversation was turning out to be more depressing than he would have liked.

"Oui," Jean-Paul said, nodding. What else was there to say?