xp_logs | Jean & Jean-Paul

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Jean-Paul stops by Jean's office at the mansion to say goodbye.

Jean-Paul had come by the mansion to make sure he'd cleared out the last of his things from Kevin's old suite and the one he'd used when he'd been living there for the third time. It didn't surprise him that he had nothing in his hands when he went down to the medlab to see Jean - he'd been thorough when he moved into the city. Perhaps it was less the necessity of checking for items he might have left behind and more the need to tuck certain memories away. He'd discovered over the years that he was very, very good at repressing the things he didn't want to think about. It made life difficult later, certainly - his therapist kept telling him that. But for now, it would make it easier.

Knocking on the doorframe to Jean's office, the Quebecois quirked an eyebrow. "Bonjour," he said softly.

Jean rested her chin on the desk, staring at a pencil. Everything was quiet, except for the usual telepathic babble in her head. That, she was used to. It was the idea of having to be careful, so careful with her telekinesis that unnerved her. Because she had to do it before when she was younger, to overdo it, not break things. Over time it'd become fluid, a part of her. Now she had to be mindful.

She glanced up at Jean-Paul's arrival, sitting up straighter. Something was off.

"Hi?"

She would know - Jean-Paul knew that. She would know that something had changed, something had gone slightly wrong. But then, perhaps she would not be able to see much of a difference. So much had been wrong with him for so long. Stepping into her office, he closed the door softly behind himself and leaned against it. "I have to go."

Turning around in her chair, Jean immediately stood, studying him as she took a step closer. His eyes. The way he spoke.

"Not temporarily," she said quietly, but certain.

He shook his head. "Non. Not temporarily. Not permanently, either," Jean-Paul said. "But I cannot stay here." There were things he could say - things he thought he should say, but much of it boiled down to the fact that he hadn't gotten 'better' since coming back, he'd only managed his symptoms, such as they were. And then, to be kidnapped again, to see the brainwashing done to his friends - he could not stay here. "I think I am going to France."

Jean closed her eyes. She didn't know what to say. Though she understood the need to get away, she of all people could.

"To think we once hated one another..." she said, opening her eyes with a sad smile. "Now I'm sad to see you go. I'll miss you."

"And I you," Jean-Paul said, the sadness in his own smile mirroring hers. "But I thought to ask - if it is not too much trouble. I have accumulated a great deal of artwork. It is important to me and I do not think it would fare so well with me. I am running away to the circus. Again."

Tilting her head, she might've found some humor in that statement had she not known he was telling the truth. "So you...want to give me your art?" Jean said.

"I would like you to keep it for me," Jean-Paul corrected, tilting is head to the side just a bit. "Until I come back for it."

That made a bit more sense. Jean nodded a little. "Of course," she said. It was only for awhile, after all. Not forever.

"Merci, mon amie," Jean-Paul said. "I can think of no one else who would care for it so well." Pushing away from the door, he moved forward. "I leave tonight. But I will keep my mobile, oui? So you will be able to reach me, if necessary. To find me, if you need me. For anything, oui?"

It seemed so sudden. Jean tried not to think about it but the rapidness of his departure kept eating away at her. Perhaps that's why he did it, so there wouldn't be any anticipation.

She nodded a little. "Before you go, though..." she said, opening one of the drawers on her desk. She pulled out a present, neatly wrapped.

"I didn't get to give it to you before."

Taking the gift, Jean-Paul considered it for a long moment before opening it carefully. The wrapping paper crinkled, ripping at the corners despite his best efforts to keep it undamaged. Upon seeing what was inside, he smiled. "You are the first to give me a gift this year. It was not the best birthday, I think." The Quebecois hugged her, holding Jean tight for a long moment before releasing her and stepping back.

Jean rested her chin against his shoulder, then glanced him over after the two of them pulled away. She smiled softly.

"You're alive. That's...a good present too I think."

Jean-Paul sat the box the gift had come in on Jean's desk, the wrapping paper folded carefully beneath it, and opened the gift itself. "Ah," he said, smiling softly. "A compass. So I will always be able to find my way. Thank you, my friend."

Jean's smile widened, through it was lined with the sadness of impending goodbye. "You're welcome."