Chapter Three: Reunion (Jean-Paul)
He did not enjoy going into a situation at a disadvantage.
And that, he had decided, was exactly what was happening today.
First, this man calls. Says he knows about his little "abilities," and wants to help him. Then, he tells him he has a sister.
A sister.
The thought… made something nameless inside him ache. His knees weak.
Jean-Paul Martin had nothing and no one. He never had. He'd been certain he never would.
Who needs love when you have fame?
The thought rattled around in his head, bitter, empty. Some kind of sick little mantra he'd given himself to chant, in times of need. The irony of the need versus the mantra made him laugh. Cynically, albeit. But he took what he could get.
But wasn't it possible? After all, what did he know of his own life? It was no surprise, that the Martins were not his real parents. He had not known them long, he could barely remember them. They certainly had not made much of an impression.
And what came after them…
He didn't think of it, too much. He liked to simply tell people that he'd found his own way. He often left out the stories of his antics, his petty crimes, and his generally infuriating behavior at whichever foster home he landed in.
All that mattered, once he learned how, was skiing.
And then, the damned… mutation kicked in. Taking the joy out of it. The pure, clean feeling of the track, of knowing he'd won.
Won fairly.
Was it even possible for him to win fairly, any more?
He didn't know. But he had a horrible sinking sensation every time someone took his picture. The feeling that they knew. And they would never forgive him.
Everyone loves an idol. But when they're put on such a high pedestal… it's a long way to fall.
Jean-Paul Martin (Martin! But that wasn't even his name!) had a long way to fall, as things stood.
And he'd been fooled too many times in his seventeen long years not to feel as if he was walking into a trap, when the door opened before him.
"Your sister is rather delicate, Jean-Paul," The bald father-figure was informing him, sitting in that metallic contraption that looked more like a weapon than a wheelchair. "Her experience at the girls' school has left her with a few mental blocks. We are working with her to conquer them, and I feel meeting you would be the best thing for her."
Jean-Paul stood, staring at him, by the window in the library. Refusing to sit. He knew his face was composed, cold. But his stomach was on fire.
A sister. His twin.
Why did it ache when he thought of it?
"Where is she?"
The man smiled at him, kindly. He barely noticed. "She's been sent for. Jean will bring her down."
"Beaubier…" He muttered aloud. That was his name, wasn't it? Jean-Paul Beaubier.
"Yes, your parents were called Beaubier," the older man affirmed, unnecessarily.
Normally, he would have informed him that it was unnecessary. Today, he just stared. Chewed at his bottom lip, distractedly. "You have custody of her now?"
Xavier paused, as if taken aback.
He was used to that reaction. People never expected a seventeen year old to be as businesslike as he was. He enjoyed their discomfort, normally.
Today, he was too nervous.
"Yes, I've had her custody transferred to the school here."
"She speaks joual, non? Shouldn't she be in a francophone school somewhere?" He knew there was a hard edge to his voice, on that one. Certainly, he skied for Canada. But that was only because Canada paid the bills. He was, at heart, Québécois.
"Jeanne-Marie's special needs as a mutant can be taken care of here. This is a safe place, Jean-Paul. We work together here, toward the goal of peaceful co-existence with the rest of humanity. We hope that by protecting them, they will come to understand us as human, just like them."
Irritated. Impatient. He ran a hand through his dark hair, forcing himself to hold still otherwise. This waiting. It made him want to run. To fly.
He rarely let himself fly. But he could. And it felt good.
"It seems to me, monsieur, that by singling yourselves out as a mutant organization, you only serve to separate yourselves from the human population."
Xavier only smiled at that.
And it irritated him even further.
"Some things happen before we're ready for them. Perhaps you'll see what I mean, about developing mutant capabilities, while you're here."
But he wasn't listening. Because he heard voices in the hallway. Getting nearer.
It's her.
She came through the doorway first. Long, dark hair, tucked behind pointed ears. Fragile, small form. Easily as tall as he. Gentle smile.
His heart stopped.
His sister.
Her eyes, the exact same pale blue, caught his. And her smile widened. "Mon frère!"
Haltingly, he took a few steps. But she was in front of him before he knew it, smiling. Smiling with a feminine version of his own face. Beautiful and strange. A haze settled over him, over his mind, and he could think of nothing to say. These people, watching. He didn't even care. ::My sister… I can hardly believe it…:: he finally managed, in proper joual.
Smile, so bright. ::Look at us!::
He nodded, his heart beating double, triple time, as it did so often when some emotion overcame him, or when he pushed too hard. Blood pounding in his ears. ::I never knew… they didn't tell me.::
::I was not told either, brother. Until I came to this place. We have so much to talk about.::
He looked down and saw that she held a hand out to him.
Feeling as if he were in slow motion, as if it were somehow a very heavy action, he reached out for her.
And when they touched, something happened. He took her hand in his, and the entire room lit up, in a flash of blazing white.
He blinked, and it was over.
And he suddenly felt very awake. More awake than he had in his entire life. Their eyes locked, something silent passing between them. An understanding he did not have words for.
His sister. His twin.
The thing that had been missing. The ache. It was gone now.
And they smiled, together.
"Well…," Xavier was saying, from beside them now, "that was… unexpected."
Suddenly, he found that he held his sister, Jeanne-Marie, in his arms, and she was laughing joyfully in his ear. Stunned, he finally took a look at the two other people in the room. A tall red-head, who appeared to be sniffling a little. And a slim, grinning boy with red sunglasses. Both perhaps a little older than he.
But the view blurred, as he felt his eyes fill with salt water. And he held his sister a little tighter.
"I guess you're lucky," the tall boy with the shades was telling him now, as he helped him carry his bags up to the room. "You get to have your own room. The younger guys will all be jealous."
Jean-Paul, for his part, had money. He hadn't become a super star athlete without making a little on the exposure it offered. Even if he couldn't get to most of it for a few years, it was nice to know it was there. But this house… it was far beyond anything he could've afforded.
Which was a lucky thing, since he didn't plan on leaving any time soon. Not as long as she was here.
"You'll like it here," Scott, that was his name, continued, as if he'd already given some kind of reply. "It gets pretty crazy sometimes, but it's nice not to have to worry about using your powers, or being looked at funny by anyone."
"I don't get looked at funny," he said, for no particular reason.
The boy raised an eyebrow at him. "No, I guess not. You're famous right?"
Jean-Paul sniffed, "For my fifteen minutes, I suppose."
Scott laughed, easily. "So no funny looks? Not even for the ears?"
The dark haired boy turned an icy glare on his companion. He liked his ears.
Still laughing, the other held up his hands in surrender, "Ok, ok. It works for your sister, so I'm sure it works for you."
He furrowed his brow, "How do you mean, it works for my sister?"
"The guys dig it. Girls probably dig yours," Scott shrugged, dropping the suitcase to push open the door to his new room.
Jean-Paul had no comment for that.
The girls generally did like the ears.
He just didn't generally care too much for the girls, was the thing.
And now he was in a bad mood again. Great. Here at the freak house, he would still be a freak.
But Jeanne-Marie was here. His sister.
Something else was aching in him now, but not that same kind of empty thing. It was almost a good ache, really.
"So what's your story anyhow? You're a gold medallist, I know. We saw you on TV. How'd that happen?"
Jean-Paul was surprised to realize that Scott had made himself comfortable on his bed, and was now looking at him expectantly from behind those ruby sunglasses. "Don't know. I showed promise, I suppose, at a very early age. My instructor took a liking to me, set me up with private classes. By the time I was thirteen…," and he trailed off there, shrugging it off.
It made him sad to think about it. He'd been so happy, then. For the first time in his life, it seemed that something was going his way.
It felt like he'd lived a lifetime since.
He busied himself with putting away clothes, mostly to avoid the other boy catching the traitorous look on his face. He was a little too overwhelmed, at the moment, to be entirely in control of his body language and expression. It was something he was working on, however.
"Already an international superstar, huh?" Scott seemed to find nothing amiss, and was still asking him, the smile present in his voice, even if Jean-Paul could not see it.
He wondered, bitterly, if the guy was always this insufferably cheerful.
But he didn't have the heart to tell him to leave. For some reason. "Canadian, anyhow."
Scott laughed again. Easy. Like he did it all the time. "More than we see around here, usually."
Feeling that his face had finally composed itself, he turned to face the other boy and let his powers float him up onto the dresser, applying just the right amount of thrust to levitate himself easily, and sat on top of it. "Is that so? I'm pretty sure I saw your faces on TV once or twice."
The face the older teen pulled was nothing short of comedic, scrunching up his nose in distaste. "Yeah, and that's something we should tell you about. Since that whole thing, with the Sentinels, and with Magneto setting us up like that--,"
"Magneto?" Jean-Paul arched an upswept eyebrow, an amused half smile on his face.
"Yeah, I know, dumb name," Scott shook his head and laughed, "but he's powerful. Real powerful. And he has this mutant superiority complex. He staged that whole thing to out us, here at the Institute, and all over really, as mutants, so we'd be forced to band together."
He could see where this was going. And wondered just what the hell he was getting himself into. "Against humanity, you mean…"
Again, the boy nodded at him, "Yes. Us versus them. I mean, he's apparently not about killing them all… he's had his chances. But that's not what we do here. We try to use our powers responsibly, in the hope that the rest of the world will see us for what we really are, just people. Especially now that we're… out of the closet."
Jean-Paul arched that eyebrow again at the turn of phrase. And couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he "came out of the closet" right now. Would this fabulous little hero jump off his bed in alarm and take to his heels, or would he simply sit and stare slack-jawed?
Something perverse in him really wanted to try it.
But the urge died, as his thoughts returned to the heavy issues at hand. "So… now you simply try and exist… and train as a sort of… freak show crime fighting team?"
He'd hit a nerve. Scott's jaw clenched, and he suddenly looked much older. And very in command. "We're not freaks. And neither are you."
Jean-Paul sighed. "Lovely attitude, mon ami, but you'd really have a lot of work to do to prove to me that things are otherwise. I've been a freak for too long not to recognize my own sort."
Scott just shook his head, "There's more to it than that. And I hope you'll stick around long enough to see that for yourself."
"I'll be here as long as she is."
"Alright kid," the surly beast seemed to growl at him, "This is the part of yer training ya may not find quite so fun as the Danger Room."
Jean-Paul stood, arms crossed over his chest, in the dark blue standard issue training uniform of the New Mutants. Because of his excellent control of his super speed capabilities, honed so carefully while in training on the slopes at home, he'd been immediately bumped to the X-Men team proper with his sister—whose superior flight capabilities had landed her there within a week of arriving. Granted, they were on a sort of… probation. Particularly his sister, who had apparently garnered some suspicion with her fragile mental state upon arrival. But that fragility in her had seemingly vanished by now, and the Professor seemed to think that they should work together.
The two of them had done rather well at a game of team defend-the-fort only today, in fact, falling only to the combined efforts of Cyclops and Shadowcat, long after the other two teams had been done in. Not only did they generate blinding flashes of light when in contact with one another, but they also seemed to augment each other's powers, becoming faster and stronger when in contact. After only a few days together, they had discovered, and mastered, much that neither of them had ever dreamed they were capable of.
But he had little training in hand to hand combat.
And he was not looking forward to this sweaty, hairy man before him teaching him the ropes.
This was definitely going to hurt.
"Rules first," Mr. Logan stood, leaning on one of the pillars in the matted gymnasium. Rogue and Kitty were nearby, working out on the uneven bars and the horse, respectively. Or pretending to, anyhow. They seemed to turn up everywhere he went, for the past few days. And he had a bad feeling they were there to watch him.
Which normally, he wouldn't have minded. If he wasn't about to get his ass kicked. Not that he felt the need to impress girls so much as that his pride bruised rather too easily, and he would much rather the room was entirely empty when it happened. As it inevitably would.
At least dark blue was a good color on him.
"Rule number one," the man continued, "No hittin' below the belt."
Solemnly, Jean-Paul nodded. "I wouldn't dream of it."
"Good. Rule number two, no usin' yer powers. This is about learnin' how to defend yourself and disarm an opponent in a worst case scenario. It's not about kickin' some kid's ass at school, got it?"
Knowing he looked a perfect smart ass, he only raised an eyebrow. Did the man think he was daft?
"Rule number three… relax. I'd tell ya this ain't gonna hurt, but it probably is. Think of it as tough love."
Tough love indeed. He spent the next two hours learning stances, approaches, and generally having the shit kicked out of him.
He wouldn't have bruises, of course. Mr. Logan, despite appearances, was a gentle teacher. But he would definitely feel it in the morning.
Without looking over at the girls, who were now simply sitting in the corner of the gym, he picked up his towel, wiped it across his face, and prepared to head to the showers to lick his wounds.
Alas, that was not to be. "Hey, JP! Got a minute?"
He turned to see Rogue waving at him, and Kitty staring at her in what appeared to be dismay.
He sighed. These were his sister's friends. He should at least try to know them.
So, he started to their side of the gym, slowly. "A minute yes, but not much air left in me."
"Spendin' that much time on your ass does that to ya, huh tiger?" Rogue gave him a strange little half-smile.
He knew the girl was probably the best martial artist in the lot, which was saying quite a bit. But for some reason, it didn't sound like an insult coming from her. Which was also saying quite a lot, since nearly everything sounded like an insult, to his ears. "So it would seem."
"Ah watched you practicin' in here earlier. You're a really great gymnast."
Kitty shifted uncomfortably, and he moved his eyes over to the ponytailed brunette. She fidgeted under his long stare for a moment.
He loved doing that, for some reason. He wasn't really certain when he'd realized he had the capability to make people, male and female, so self-conscious with just his eyes. But that perverse thing in him liked it.
He smiled at her though, after only a second, and returned his attention to the goth girl. "I studied, before I came here. For ski jumps. We trained on the bars."
"I was thinkin'," Rogue shrugged, taking him by the arm and leading him over to the uneven bars, "maybe we could make a deal. You show me how you do those crazy dismounts, and I show you how to fight."
He was, to put it mildly, taken back.
Not that he minded the suggestion. In fact, it sounded like a good trade to him. It was just, from what he'd seen, the girl was hardly this outspoken. Quiet, brooding. Kind of like him, really. "Is this why you've been following me since I got here, Rogue?" He grinned.
She bumped into him with a hip, and grinned back. "What, you think just cause you got pointy ears all the girls here are gonna be crushin' on you? Think again, elf-boy."
And he laughed. For what felt like the first time in a long time. "Consider it a deal, mon ami."
"Great. We start tomorrow."
"How's eight AM?"
She made a face of horror at him, her purple painted lips forming a perfect round "o." "Are you crazy, flyboy?! Not a chance! After lunch, before dinner!"
Another half-laugh, this time for her expression, and he pushed his sweat soaked hair out of his eyes. "Fine, fine. It's not as if we have much else to do around here."
"There's a party, in a few days."
They both turned to look at Kitty now, their arms unlinking.
She smiled at them hopefully.
Cute, he thought. "Well, that will be something different," he shrugged. "They don't mind mutants around here? I'd heard there were… difficulties, non?"
Rogue shrugged, "It's a friend's house. Jeanne-Marie already has her outfit picked out. Wait till you see her."
His brow furrowed. She hadn't mentioned any party to him. "Well, let me know, I suppose. For now, I think I should…," he looked down at himself disdainfully, "shower. I can hardly stand to be around myself."
Kitty giggled.
Rogue grinned.
Jean-Paul nearly sighed.
"See ya later, then, flyboy," The goth wiggled her fingers at him and gathered her friend up to go out the door, while he headed to the showers, shaking his head.
"See, ah told ya he wasn't scary. He's just quiet!" Rogue was whispering a little too loudly as he opened the door to the locker rooms.
He closed the door quickly, so he wouldn't have to hear the other girl's reply to that.