Someone Serious

By Siroc

Disclaimer: I do not own the television show Young Blades, nor the characters portrayed therein. I do own this story and upcoming OC's. Chapter titles are from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night: Act One, Scene Two.

"Even if I did want someone- which I don't- it certainly wouldn't be someone flippant like you. It would be someone serious." Jacqueline, Rubadub Sub

Chapter One: Fair Behavior

The last rainstorms of spring had turned the country tracks outside of Paris to mud, which daubed the pair of Musketeers assigned to patrol that day, though one was significantly dirtier than the other by the time the two had stabled their horses and returned to headquarters. Mud covered d'Artagnan from boot heels to waist and continued indiscriminately upward to smear his gray jacket and clump in his queue. Jacqueline, who had ridden out with him, divested herself of dirt simply by scraping her boot heels on the mat before stepping inside.

"Hola!" Seated at the table, Ramon looked up from his plate of fish as the two entered. "What happened to you, amigo?" he asked upon sighting the Abominable Mudman.

D'Artagnan muttered something that might possibly have involved the word 'nothing', and then, at Ramon's puzzled expression, said, "I fell of my horse."

"You did not!" Jacqueline turned around from hanging up her pristine jacket. "I pushed you off your horse."

A smudge of dirt on his nose detracted somewhat from d'Artagnan's affronted glare. "What cause would you have to unhorse a brother Musketeer?" Back to Ramon, he gave her a look that dared her to give a reason.

She cocked an eyebrow at him and shrugged. "You called me Jacqueline," said Jacqueline triumphantly.

Ramon burst out laughing, revealing dimples and a mouthful of white teeth. "Ha! I would do more than push you in the mud if you dared to call me Ramona." He clapped Jacqueline on the shoulder. She winced.

Mouth open, d'Artagnan stopped, closed it, and cleared his throat. "Well. If you'll excuse me, 'Jacques', Ramon, I have to go and get ready for Giselle. My date. With Giselle. In half an hour." And he stalked off, dislodging tiny mud clumps which showered the floor and could be heard sprinkling in his wake after he'd slammed the door.

Jacqueline glared after him until Ramon caught her eye and she had to laugh too. Grinning, she gestured at his empty plate. "Is there any more of that?"

"Sadly, no. It was a noble dish." He struck a pose, fork upraised.

"That's all right," Jacqueline said hastily before he could begin rhapsodizing. "I'll have a sandwich, or something, and go to bed." She yawned.

"Oh, no, you won't," Siroc said from the doorway. As the other two turned, he stepped forward and plunked a stack of leather-bound books onto the table. "Captain Duval dropped these by before he went home."

Jacqueline stared nonplussed at the volumes as Ramon, chuckling, took his plate to the scullery. She looked to Siroc for an explanation. He shrugged. "A Musketeer must be well-educated, classically educated. It's in the Code. No one makes a big deal of it, but you have to pass the Examen d'Ecole Classique your first year."

A look of abject horror passed over Jacqueline's face before she coughed and tried to pretend that she had of course heard of the test and could no doubt pass it with ease. And then pragmatism kicked in. She cleared her throat. "Don't you think this is a little excessive in my case? I am a gentleman, after all. I've had a classical education."

Siroc shrugged. "It's not that hard. Even d'Artagnan passed it the first time, and the only thing he ever reads is poetry to his latest conquest. But you can speak to Captain Duval about it if you like."

The horror in Jacqueline's eyes grew as he turned away. "Um, Siroc?" He turned back, one brow raised. "I don't think I can. What I told him before he let me join wasn't exactly, ah, true." The other eyebrow went up. "I'm not a gentleman, and I haven't had a classical education. I can't even-" her voice faltered, dipping lower instead of higher- from long practice. "I can't even read."

There. It was out, and now his eyes, the color of watered coffee, wouldn't let her look away. His mouth tightened, his brow furrowed. "What?"

"I never learned," she explained defensively. "There wasn't time, and we didn't have the money for school. They don't teach farmer's d- I mean, farmers these things." She gestured at the books.

"Well, we all have our secrets." He looked down for a moment. "I could teach you, if you like." His eyes made the statement a question, though he tried to keep his tone diffident.

Jacqueline waved him away. "No, no. You have to invent things for the King."

"You could help me," he offered. "I need an assistant. D'Artagnan thinks it's boring, and Ramon gets food everywhere."

"And you'd teach me to read? Those?" Jacqueline stared skeptically at the books.

"Sure." He thought about adding 'It isn't that hard,' and didn't. "Come on. We can start tonight. The test's in two months." Turning, he led the way down the hall.

A little reluctantly, Jacqueline hefted the books and followed, but stopped short as Siroc paused in the door to his laboratory, fumbling for something on the other side of the wall. After a moment, he found it, and she heard a switch flip.

Jacqueline gasped as light flooded the room, sparkling off ranks of chemical equipment, more glass than she had ever seen before. The unnatural radiance also illuminated a shelf of books with titles embossed in gold and several long blackboards chalked with what appeared to be cabbalistic figures. The only familiar thing in the room was a tiny forge, sitting dark in one corner. Jacqueline stared upwards. A bank of windows set midway up the wall must light the room by day, but the currently artificial incandescence drew her attention now, sparkling from lamps and globes on walls and ceiling.

"I'd forgotten you hadn't seen it before." Siroc looked around, grinning with not a little pride.

"It's amazing," Jacqueline breathed. "What do you light it with, oil?"

"No, it's gas. Natural gas," he explained, shucking off jacket and tunic, and rolling up his shirtsleeves.

Jacqueline wrinkled her nose. "You mean-"

He caught her expression. "No. It occurs naturally in the ground, and burns when compressed. Or not, as the case may be." Siroc grimaced. "It's highly flammable."

Jacqueline looked around again, still awestruck. "I can see."

"You can put the books down anywhere you can find space. We won't need them for awhile." As Jacqueline laid the stack on a workbench not filled with models and papers, Siroc, busy tying on a long leather apron, gestured to one of the blackboards. "Use that one. Wipe it off."

Jacqueline took out her handkerchief and paused, hovering over the chalk marks. "What's on it? It looks important."

"It's an equation to calculate the circumference of the earth, based on Eratosthenes' approach." Siroc shrugged. "Although, he assumed a perfect sphere, and was two hundred feet too short. The globe bulges in the middle, you know." Jacqueline's expression made it clear that she didn't. "Well, I'm confident that my numbers are correct. You can erase it."

Still doubtful, she obeyed, stepped back, and, eyes still on Siroc, nearly tripped on a tangle of hoses on the floor. "Gah!"

Suppressing a grin, he crossed to stand beside her, chalk in hand. "Coil those up, would you?" While Jacqueline bent and tried with difficulty to find an end in the mess at which to begin, he took a deep breath and began to write, trying to explain as he did so. "There are twenty-six letters, which are used to make words. Each letter has a different sound." He finished the alphabet and stood back.

Jacqueline, hose in hand, looked at the board in dismay. "Twenty-six! Can't you just teach me the most important ones?"

"You'll have to use them all, eventually, but some are more important than others." He went back and underlined five letters. "These are the vowels. Each word has to have at least one of them. They have more different sounds than the other letters. With me so far?"

The coil of hose under Jacqueline's arm had grown with the despair in her eyes, but she managed a small nod. "Once you know the names," he said encouragingly, "it's easier to remember the sounds." Pointing, Siroc recited the alphabet. "Now you do it."

With much prompting, Jacqueline struggled through half the letters, giving up completely after confusing M and N. She shook her head, glaring at the board. "Look, Siroc, don't, um, tell the others about this, all right?" She waved her hand at the letters.

He nodded, eyes softening. "Your secret is safe with me. Now, try it again."

Groaning, Jacqueline did, and then held up the neat coil. "Where do you want this?"

"Um-" Siroc ran a hand through his hair and looked around. "Somewhere out of the way. In the corner." He pointed, and grabbed paper and quill as Jacqueline crossed to deposit the hose.

When she returned and peered over his shoulder, she found, in a careful, spiky script, another, larger set of characters written on the paper. "You've got fifty-two there," she pointed out, trying to contain her dismay.

Siroc finished with a flourish and looked up. "Well, you won't have any trouble with the mathematics section of the test, at any rate." He pointed with the quill. "Each letter can be written two ways, in upper- and lowercase. Uppercase is the larger ones. They're used for beginning names and sentences, and the smaller ones for everything else. All right?"

He waited for her to nod. "Here, take this," handing her the parchment, "and learn them. You might practice writing them, as well, for tomorrow."

Trying to suppress a yawn, Jacqueline folded the paper carefully and tucked it into her pocket. She looked around. The laboratory was still singularly untidy, but she could remedy that later. "Thanks, Siroc, I-" She knew him too well for a handshake, and not well enough for an embrace. "Thank you," she said again, trying to put all of her gratitude into the words and still retain some vestige of masculinity.

With an odd mixture of shrug and nod, he smiled, the expression transforming his already finely drawn, sensitive face into a thing of angelic beauty. "Glad to help a friend." Jacqueline caught her breath and felt her heart, a knot since her mother's death, begin to unravel a little.

Author's Note: Constructive feedback, please. Are people interested in reading this? Have I gotten the four in character?