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xp_logs2011-11-04 05:49 pm
x-quebecois.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2011-11-04 05:49 pm
Jean & Jean-Paul | Friday Evening (backdated)
Jean-Paul and Jean head out for their dinner and a movie, but talk at dinner turns somber.
Jean-Paul stood outside the restaurant as he waited for Jean, the cold not bothering him as much as it bothered other patrons, and considered the events of the last few days. Vanessa was awake, but Hank was advising her to learn patience and Jean was not alright but would be soon. The Quebecois knew Vanessa and he knew how he'd been after getting back to the mansion. He didn't think her awakening had necessarily gone very well but he wasn't willing to push things with her. She knew he was there - if she wanted him, she would tell him so.
That left Jean. He hadn't been here for her, either, when she'd needed help, but he thought perhaps he could be here for her now. It was an interesting question, really. What to do with the friend of his best friend who had likely gotten the sharp side of Vanessa's tongue after all the effort Jean-Paul knew Jean had put into helping his friend. It was all very complicated and he was going to have to keep all of these thoughts to himself once Jean actually got there - but perhaps distraction would be just what she needed.
And so he waited, still silently mulling over the situation without coming to any real conclusions. Jean-Paul would have to know what was actually said in order to react appropriately or offer valid pieces of advice or insight. Which meant his mulling was, for the time being, pointless.
After parking the car and paying the usually steep amount to the parking attendant, Jean make her way to the restaurant and found Jean-Paul waiting on the corner. She wore red. It made her feel better, to be draped in it, like fire or autumn leaves. She wanted a fire to warm her bones and catch her blood. Green made her tranquil, red gave her passion. Which was better: to be tranquil like the forest or raging like a wildfire?
Her mind had been wandering the entire trip, caught between emotions, not able to decide which one she should be.
"Bonjour," she said with a faint smile.
"Bonjour," Jean-Paul said, smiling as he stepped forward to offer Jean his arm. "I would tell you your dress is beautiful, of course, but I think you already know this." As they walked toward the entrance proper, he nodded to the Maitre d' and they simply walked past the man. "Our table is ready, of course."
"Thanks. I got it at an open market in San Francisco. The vendor's price was somewhat steep but the quality was good. It's from India," she said, flecks of gold that had been woven into the fabric of the dress catching in the light. The pattern along the front of the dress was a rudimentary bird.
She glanced around the small crowd as she slipped into of the chairs. "You certainly know the right people," she mused.
"I was an international sports star, once upon a time," Jean-Paul muttered, smiling ruefully. Mostly, he was glad to avoid all the trouble the paparazzi caused - he would leave dealing with them to other, younger people. But it paid off every now and again. "Hefty bribes help, also."
"Let me guess, track?" Jean said, idly picking up the menu and looking it over with a glance but not really catching a word.
"It's a nice place. They probably get regular supplemental income that way in addition to a tip."
"Skiing," Jean-Paul corrected. "I won four gold medals for Canada before understanding the nature of my mutation and giving them back."
Jean rested her chin in her hand. "And they didn't wonder why you gave them back? How old were you at the time?" she said. To declare oneself a mutant to the world was a dangerous thing, as Warren had found out.
"I was twenty. But of course I explained why I was returning the medals. I had been working with Alpha Flight for some time... and my sister was there," Jean-Paul said, shrugging off the incident. He gave his friend a small smile. "But it took being outed for my sexuality to make me run off to join the circus. That was in 1994."
Sometimes it was easy to forget people had lives before Xavier's. Jean'd had more of one with Charles than anything. It was almost all she knew. In 1994 she was an undergraduate in college.
She smiled. It wasn't mocking or amusement but pure interest."The circus? You and Kurt have that in common. What did you do there?" she said.
"It was easier, I think, than worrying with the media, the rumors, the speculation," Jean-Paul said, shrugging again. Then he grinned. "I worked with the acrobats, of course. I am very good with the trapeze, even without my powers."
"It can be," Jean admitted. She'd learned to be able to ignore the snide remarks of most of the politicians during debates and try to focus on the heart of the matter rather than the vitriol in their voice, but sometimes it was hard.
Jean laughed. "I think Kurt did too. I'd love to see that some time."
"A competition between Kurt and myself?" Jean-Paul asked, still quirking a smile. Their waitress turned up a moment later, taking their drink orders before walking back toward the kitchen. "I am not so sure, but it would be fun, I think."
Jean ordered a Batida Coco, or their version of a Pina Colada. She laughed.
"Well I wasn't necessarily thinking of a competition, more like just seeing you on the trapeze on your own. But to see the two of you would be interesting."
"There are the uneven bars, also, in the gym. I can show you some different things, I think," Jean-Paul said, nodding agreeably.
Her chin still resting on her hand her eyes sparkled a bit as she smiled.
"I'd like that. It's been a long time since I've been to the circus," she said. It was a long time since she'd done much of anything really.
"So what do you plan on ordering?"
"Ah..." Jean-Paul took a moment to actually look over the menu. "The... Picanha à la Jobim Do Rio for one," he decided, pointing it out to her. "Unless you would like some also, and then it is possible, apparently, to have it served for two. And the Crème Brulée D'Abidjan."
"Hmmm," Jean said decisively, leaning in to glance at what the order entailed before giving a nod of confirmation. "Actually, that does sound rather nice. I think I will join you."
She leaned back in her chair, picking up her fork as she turned it over in her hands.
"Have you spoken to her yet?"
There were a few 'hers' that Jean-Paul might have spoken to recently, but really only one that he suspected Jean would be asking after. He didn't attempt to feign ignorance."Oui. Friday night, very late. She emailed to ask for company and so I visited with her. We watched the History Channel. And when the sharks began doing more interesting things, we watched Animal Planet." He considered Jean for a long moment, then said, "She was... I do not know how to say it. Different, oui? And very... prepared. For attack, you see. She expects it." He very clearly remembered the breakable items lining the windowsills, the tables arranged just so about the room to make getting in without alerting Vanessa impossible. "And I believe she has acquired a knife, but I think it is not a danger. Only for self defense - if others do not bother her, she will not strike out."
Jean fell silent, putting her fork down on the table. She slowly nodded. A hundred thoughts crossed her mind but she couldn't even speak one of them.
Jean-Paul watched his friend carefully for a few long moments, then gestured with one hand. Their waitress arrived with their drinks and so he let the silence linger while he sipped his wine, then said quietly, "I saw that you were not her doctor any longer. This was wise of you, I think."
Jean stared into her glass of water, studying the ways the ice cubes rested upon one another at the bottom of the glass.
"I can't even see her. Because I'm the enemy. Because we worked so hard to get her back. Because I stopped the bleeding and sewed her up. Because she's breathing now. I'm the enemy," she said, her words slow and measured.
"It's irrational. And selfish. And I'm angry. I'm so--" She clenched her fists. "--god damn angry at her for being so incredibly stubborn that I know she isn't going to get the help she needs because she's Vanessa. She was this way before and now it's magnified. I don't know her. I don't know her well enough to fix it and I need to fix it but I can't," she said, her focus so intent on the glass that the ice cubes started to tremble for a moment before suddenly stopping. She looked up, her voice small.
"I can't."
Jean-Paul reached across the table, letting his fingertips touch Jean's knuckles for a moment. "You are her friend. It is not irrational to be upset that she does not see you this way after everything you have done to help her, find her - she is being irrational. And at some point, I think, she will realize this. It is only..." He paused, trying to put what he wanted to say into actual words. In the end, he couldn't, and so he offered Jean something he wouldn't offer to any other telepath save Nathan and perhaps the Professor. "Let me show you." With his free hand, he tapped his own temple.
Slowly staring up at Jean-Paul, she closed her eyes as she took a glimpse. The world rewound, and she saw things through his eyes, his torture, his agony, fear. His return, and how things changed, and he mistrusted the people around him and they him, and how Vanessa didn't. How she gave him space and let him figure it out on his own.
Jean opened her eyes after everything had passed, not really focusing on anything in particular.
"I know," she said softly. "I know what I should feel. But I can't. I'm trying to give her space. I know what it did to Scott, to Nathan, to the people I love when it happened to them. But I'm not...I'm not in the right place myself to deal with it right now. I can't apologize. I can't see her either. And it makes me feel guilty," she said. She felt more focused on herself and it felt selfish.
"Because that's not a doctor. And that's why I took myself off the case but...that's not a doctor. God, I'm a broken record."
She looked down. Her lips felt dry, so she wet them with her tongue.
"Thank you for letting me in to see, though," she said quietly. "I know that was hard for you."
"Remembering is the difficult part," Jean-Paul said, rubbing gently at his temple. "It is easier to forget the things that were done to me, the things I did in return. Simpler." His suicide attempt had been a direct result of his inability to cope with the things he'd done - it was why he now couldn't remember the entirety of the experience. The Professor's mental blocks were there, but shifted. Bits and pieces of the memories were slipping through, had been for the last year and a half or so.
Picking up his glass again, the Quebecois looked across the table at his friend and asked, "What of your own trauma? Your experiences in this dream world that I heard was created. They cannot have been so good. And you were in a coma, were you not? You worry so much for others - have you thought, maybe, it would be best for you to look at what you need? Friends, family - these things are important. I have come to see it. And so I think perhaps it hurts you, this situation with Vanessa, because she will not let you be there for her but also... she cannot be there for you, yes? Do not think yourself selfish, mon ami. In the end, you are no good to anyone if you are no good to yourself."
Jean cupped her glass in her hands, feeling the coolness against her skin. She couldn't speak again because she needed to process things. Because he was right.
"I don't know what to do," she said softly. "I don't know what I need."
She had always thought what she needed was to help others, to put their needs above her own. And while she still wanted that, she knew he was right in that she had to look at what she needed...she wasn't sure what that was. To feel loved? There was love there, she knew, from her friends and family, They worried about her so but it pained her to see it. She didn't want them to worry.
What was it then?
"Maybe," Jean-Paul said, "You need time away from the stresses and the way these things make you feel." He sighed quietly and settled back in his chair, toying with the stem of his wine glass. "It is not always so good, taking breaks, but sometimes it is all that works. And there has been much that has happened to you since your return. Surely Amelia and Hank, they can look after the mansion for a week or so while you do something purely for yourself."
Jean looked down at her drink, idly stirring the milky concoction with her straw.
"Maybe," she echoed.
She had almost gone right back into the swing of things after waking up, taking only two or three weeks before she went back to looking for Vanessa, to doing what she normally did.
Perhaps it was her desire to maintain control, or at least the illusion of it. To try to do what she could do help.
She smiled faintly. "I went to Tibet once for quiet." It didn't stay quiet but for a little while.
"Adrienne's been trying to get me to have a spa day."
"Spas are good," Jean-Paul said, nodding his agreement. "I think you should go with her. Tibet... non, it is too far for me to fly. I would be dead only halfway there and this is not such a good thing." Still fiddling with the stem of his wine glass, the Quebecois considered the liquid, then his friend, before offering, "I have a spare room. Another friend, she was using it while I was gone, but I believe she has returned to the mansion. And so, if you would like it, it is yours. For however long you need the quiet."
Jean laughed. "Tibet didn't turn out as well as I'd hoped..." Long story.
She shook her head, picking up her glass to take a drink. "Mud facials and massages sound interesting," she said, then glanced up.
"I don't actually think I've ever been to your apartment, have I?"
Jean-Paul shook his head. "Non, I think you have not. It is in District X, not so far from X-Factor's offices, but I am on the very top floor. There is... not a great deal there, aside from books and artwork. And it is mostly all metal and nonorganic things, since Kevin spent time there and it was easier that way. But as I said, you are welcome to the space, if you would like it."
Setting down the glass, Jean took in the rest of the people as they fluttered about like busy ants.
"Thanks," she said.
"I'll have to think about it. But it's something to consider."
Again it went back to all she knew, living at the mansion. Except for the time in the West Coast Annex. She had done fairly well up until...
"I'm sure the view's nice."
"I have many windows," Jean-Paul murmured, shrugging. "I thought... if it would help you, then I would offer. You would be closer to the clinic, oui? And the drive to the mansion, it is not so bad. I could fly you, on days if you would like, also. As you say, it is something to consider."
"I like windows," Jean said, then nodded a little. "Like I said, I need to think about it. Not working in the medlab for awhile has helped a bit but yeah, a week away may do well."
She just had to get used to the idea of staying over with Jean-Paul. She did so with Vanessa but she was very drunk at the time. Jean-Paul, they were slowly starting to build a better friendship.
Though they did share a room together while during a Red-X mission. Save for scaring the crap out of him she'd like to think it went well-ish.
Nodding easily, Jean-Paul raised his glass in a small toast to the thought of Jean considering his suggestion, then took another sip and smiled. Their server was returning, likely to take their orders, and so he asked for the meal for two, as they'd discussed, then settled in and decided to try for some lighter conversation.
Jean-Paul stood outside the restaurant as he waited for Jean, the cold not bothering him as much as it bothered other patrons, and considered the events of the last few days. Vanessa was awake, but Hank was advising her to learn patience and Jean was not alright but would be soon. The Quebecois knew Vanessa and he knew how he'd been after getting back to the mansion. He didn't think her awakening had necessarily gone very well but he wasn't willing to push things with her. She knew he was there - if she wanted him, she would tell him so.
That left Jean. He hadn't been here for her, either, when she'd needed help, but he thought perhaps he could be here for her now. It was an interesting question, really. What to do with the friend of his best friend who had likely gotten the sharp side of Vanessa's tongue after all the effort Jean-Paul knew Jean had put into helping his friend. It was all very complicated and he was going to have to keep all of these thoughts to himself once Jean actually got there - but perhaps distraction would be just what she needed.
And so he waited, still silently mulling over the situation without coming to any real conclusions. Jean-Paul would have to know what was actually said in order to react appropriately or offer valid pieces of advice or insight. Which meant his mulling was, for the time being, pointless.
After parking the car and paying the usually steep amount to the parking attendant, Jean make her way to the restaurant and found Jean-Paul waiting on the corner. She wore red. It made her feel better, to be draped in it, like fire or autumn leaves. She wanted a fire to warm her bones and catch her blood. Green made her tranquil, red gave her passion. Which was better: to be tranquil like the forest or raging like a wildfire?
Her mind had been wandering the entire trip, caught between emotions, not able to decide which one she should be.
"Bonjour," she said with a faint smile.
"Bonjour," Jean-Paul said, smiling as he stepped forward to offer Jean his arm. "I would tell you your dress is beautiful, of course, but I think you already know this." As they walked toward the entrance proper, he nodded to the Maitre d' and they simply walked past the man. "Our table is ready, of course."
"Thanks. I got it at an open market in San Francisco. The vendor's price was somewhat steep but the quality was good. It's from India," she said, flecks of gold that had been woven into the fabric of the dress catching in the light. The pattern along the front of the dress was a rudimentary bird.
She glanced around the small crowd as she slipped into of the chairs. "You certainly know the right people," she mused.
"I was an international sports star, once upon a time," Jean-Paul muttered, smiling ruefully. Mostly, he was glad to avoid all the trouble the paparazzi caused - he would leave dealing with them to other, younger people. But it paid off every now and again. "Hefty bribes help, also."
"Let me guess, track?" Jean said, idly picking up the menu and looking it over with a glance but not really catching a word.
"It's a nice place. They probably get regular supplemental income that way in addition to a tip."
"Skiing," Jean-Paul corrected. "I won four gold medals for Canada before understanding the nature of my mutation and giving them back."
Jean rested her chin in her hand. "And they didn't wonder why you gave them back? How old were you at the time?" she said. To declare oneself a mutant to the world was a dangerous thing, as Warren had found out.
"I was twenty. But of course I explained why I was returning the medals. I had been working with Alpha Flight for some time... and my sister was there," Jean-Paul said, shrugging off the incident. He gave his friend a small smile. "But it took being outed for my sexuality to make me run off to join the circus. That was in 1994."
Sometimes it was easy to forget people had lives before Xavier's. Jean'd had more of one with Charles than anything. It was almost all she knew. In 1994 she was an undergraduate in college.
She smiled. It wasn't mocking or amusement but pure interest."The circus? You and Kurt have that in common. What did you do there?" she said.
"It was easier, I think, than worrying with the media, the rumors, the speculation," Jean-Paul said, shrugging again. Then he grinned. "I worked with the acrobats, of course. I am very good with the trapeze, even without my powers."
"It can be," Jean admitted. She'd learned to be able to ignore the snide remarks of most of the politicians during debates and try to focus on the heart of the matter rather than the vitriol in their voice, but sometimes it was hard.
Jean laughed. "I think Kurt did too. I'd love to see that some time."
"A competition between Kurt and myself?" Jean-Paul asked, still quirking a smile. Their waitress turned up a moment later, taking their drink orders before walking back toward the kitchen. "I am not so sure, but it would be fun, I think."
Jean ordered a Batida Coco, or their version of a Pina Colada. She laughed.
"Well I wasn't necessarily thinking of a competition, more like just seeing you on the trapeze on your own. But to see the two of you would be interesting."
"There are the uneven bars, also, in the gym. I can show you some different things, I think," Jean-Paul said, nodding agreeably.
Her chin still resting on her hand her eyes sparkled a bit as she smiled.
"I'd like that. It's been a long time since I've been to the circus," she said. It was a long time since she'd done much of anything really.
"So what do you plan on ordering?"
"Ah..." Jean-Paul took a moment to actually look over the menu. "The... Picanha à la Jobim Do Rio for one," he decided, pointing it out to her. "Unless you would like some also, and then it is possible, apparently, to have it served for two. And the Crème Brulée D'Abidjan."
"Hmmm," Jean said decisively, leaning in to glance at what the order entailed before giving a nod of confirmation. "Actually, that does sound rather nice. I think I will join you."
She leaned back in her chair, picking up her fork as she turned it over in her hands.
"Have you spoken to her yet?"
There were a few 'hers' that Jean-Paul might have spoken to recently, but really only one that he suspected Jean would be asking after. He didn't attempt to feign ignorance."Oui. Friday night, very late. She emailed to ask for company and so I visited with her. We watched the History Channel. And when the sharks began doing more interesting things, we watched Animal Planet." He considered Jean for a long moment, then said, "She was... I do not know how to say it. Different, oui? And very... prepared. For attack, you see. She expects it." He very clearly remembered the breakable items lining the windowsills, the tables arranged just so about the room to make getting in without alerting Vanessa impossible. "And I believe she has acquired a knife, but I think it is not a danger. Only for self defense - if others do not bother her, she will not strike out."
Jean fell silent, putting her fork down on the table. She slowly nodded. A hundred thoughts crossed her mind but she couldn't even speak one of them.
Jean-Paul watched his friend carefully for a few long moments, then gestured with one hand. Their waitress arrived with their drinks and so he let the silence linger while he sipped his wine, then said quietly, "I saw that you were not her doctor any longer. This was wise of you, I think."
Jean stared into her glass of water, studying the ways the ice cubes rested upon one another at the bottom of the glass.
"I can't even see her. Because I'm the enemy. Because we worked so hard to get her back. Because I stopped the bleeding and sewed her up. Because she's breathing now. I'm the enemy," she said, her words slow and measured.
"It's irrational. And selfish. And I'm angry. I'm so--" She clenched her fists. "--god damn angry at her for being so incredibly stubborn that I know she isn't going to get the help she needs because she's Vanessa. She was this way before and now it's magnified. I don't know her. I don't know her well enough to fix it and I need to fix it but I can't," she said, her focus so intent on the glass that the ice cubes started to tremble for a moment before suddenly stopping. She looked up, her voice small.
"I can't."
Jean-Paul reached across the table, letting his fingertips touch Jean's knuckles for a moment. "You are her friend. It is not irrational to be upset that she does not see you this way after everything you have done to help her, find her - she is being irrational. And at some point, I think, she will realize this. It is only..." He paused, trying to put what he wanted to say into actual words. In the end, he couldn't, and so he offered Jean something he wouldn't offer to any other telepath save Nathan and perhaps the Professor. "Let me show you." With his free hand, he tapped his own temple.
Slowly staring up at Jean-Paul, she closed her eyes as she took a glimpse. The world rewound, and she saw things through his eyes, his torture, his agony, fear. His return, and how things changed, and he mistrusted the people around him and they him, and how Vanessa didn't. How she gave him space and let him figure it out on his own.
Jean opened her eyes after everything had passed, not really focusing on anything in particular.
"I know," she said softly. "I know what I should feel. But I can't. I'm trying to give her space. I know what it did to Scott, to Nathan, to the people I love when it happened to them. But I'm not...I'm not in the right place myself to deal with it right now. I can't apologize. I can't see her either. And it makes me feel guilty," she said. She felt more focused on herself and it felt selfish.
"Because that's not a doctor. And that's why I took myself off the case but...that's not a doctor. God, I'm a broken record."
She looked down. Her lips felt dry, so she wet them with her tongue.
"Thank you for letting me in to see, though," she said quietly. "I know that was hard for you."
"Remembering is the difficult part," Jean-Paul said, rubbing gently at his temple. "It is easier to forget the things that were done to me, the things I did in return. Simpler." His suicide attempt had been a direct result of his inability to cope with the things he'd done - it was why he now couldn't remember the entirety of the experience. The Professor's mental blocks were there, but shifted. Bits and pieces of the memories were slipping through, had been for the last year and a half or so.
Picking up his glass again, the Quebecois looked across the table at his friend and asked, "What of your own trauma? Your experiences in this dream world that I heard was created. They cannot have been so good. And you were in a coma, were you not? You worry so much for others - have you thought, maybe, it would be best for you to look at what you need? Friends, family - these things are important. I have come to see it. And so I think perhaps it hurts you, this situation with Vanessa, because she will not let you be there for her but also... she cannot be there for you, yes? Do not think yourself selfish, mon ami. In the end, you are no good to anyone if you are no good to yourself."
Jean cupped her glass in her hands, feeling the coolness against her skin. She couldn't speak again because she needed to process things. Because he was right.
"I don't know what to do," she said softly. "I don't know what I need."
She had always thought what she needed was to help others, to put their needs above her own. And while she still wanted that, she knew he was right in that she had to look at what she needed...she wasn't sure what that was. To feel loved? There was love there, she knew, from her friends and family, They worried about her so but it pained her to see it. She didn't want them to worry.
What was it then?
"Maybe," Jean-Paul said, "You need time away from the stresses and the way these things make you feel." He sighed quietly and settled back in his chair, toying with the stem of his wine glass. "It is not always so good, taking breaks, but sometimes it is all that works. And there has been much that has happened to you since your return. Surely Amelia and Hank, they can look after the mansion for a week or so while you do something purely for yourself."
Jean looked down at her drink, idly stirring the milky concoction with her straw.
"Maybe," she echoed.
She had almost gone right back into the swing of things after waking up, taking only two or three weeks before she went back to looking for Vanessa, to doing what she normally did.
Perhaps it was her desire to maintain control, or at least the illusion of it. To try to do what she could do help.
She smiled faintly. "I went to Tibet once for quiet." It didn't stay quiet but for a little while.
"Adrienne's been trying to get me to have a spa day."
"Spas are good," Jean-Paul said, nodding his agreement. "I think you should go with her. Tibet... non, it is too far for me to fly. I would be dead only halfway there and this is not such a good thing." Still fiddling with the stem of his wine glass, the Quebecois considered the liquid, then his friend, before offering, "I have a spare room. Another friend, she was using it while I was gone, but I believe she has returned to the mansion. And so, if you would like it, it is yours. For however long you need the quiet."
Jean laughed. "Tibet didn't turn out as well as I'd hoped..." Long story.
She shook her head, picking up her glass to take a drink. "Mud facials and massages sound interesting," she said, then glanced up.
"I don't actually think I've ever been to your apartment, have I?"
Jean-Paul shook his head. "Non, I think you have not. It is in District X, not so far from X-Factor's offices, but I am on the very top floor. There is... not a great deal there, aside from books and artwork. And it is mostly all metal and nonorganic things, since Kevin spent time there and it was easier that way. But as I said, you are welcome to the space, if you would like it."
Setting down the glass, Jean took in the rest of the people as they fluttered about like busy ants.
"Thanks," she said.
"I'll have to think about it. But it's something to consider."
Again it went back to all she knew, living at the mansion. Except for the time in the West Coast Annex. She had done fairly well up until...
"I'm sure the view's nice."
"I have many windows," Jean-Paul murmured, shrugging. "I thought... if it would help you, then I would offer. You would be closer to the clinic, oui? And the drive to the mansion, it is not so bad. I could fly you, on days if you would like, also. As you say, it is something to consider."
"I like windows," Jean said, then nodded a little. "Like I said, I need to think about it. Not working in the medlab for awhile has helped a bit but yeah, a week away may do well."
She just had to get used to the idea of staying over with Jean-Paul. She did so with Vanessa but she was very drunk at the time. Jean-Paul, they were slowly starting to build a better friendship.
Though they did share a room together while during a Red-X mission. Save for scaring the crap out of him she'd like to think it went well-ish.
Nodding easily, Jean-Paul raised his glass in a small toast to the thought of Jean considering his suggestion, then took another sip and smiled. Their server was returning, likely to take their orders, and so he asked for the meal for two, as they'd discussed, then settled in and decided to try for some lighter conversation.