Part Seven

A/N: Shaun of the Dead is a brilliant movie. And I know someone who actually uses that cornershop, and the guy in the film is the actual one who runs it. Though I feel obliged to say I didn't actually just choose that movie because of it. Living in England, it's a bit hard to find a film I've seen that would still be out in America. Since SotD is English, I knew it had a much delayed release in the US (October? I know it seemed a ridiculously long way off from when I saw it early in the year). But it's also very good, and very funny, and very much a horror film.

Jean Paul staggered into the kitchen after just one class, a fistful of painkillers clenched in his right hand. Bobby looked up, concerned.

"You look like death," he said, temporarily forgetting that they weren't really talking to each other. It was safer all round that way.

"Migraine," Jean Paul moaned.

"You ought to be lying down," said Bobby, getting to his feet.

Jean Paul rubbed at his temples. "I have classes all day," he explained. "I will manage."

"I'm free," Bobby said. "I'll take them. You go and lie down."

"I can not ask you to do that."

"You didn't," Bobby pointed out, taking Jean Paul's arm and guiding him towards the door. "I'll take the classes. You've got lesson plans and stuff, and I did a business module at university."

"My plans are in French," Jean Paul pointed out, but he wasn't fighting any more.

Bobby shrugged. "I'll make something up. Ask them. Find a video. You just go and lie down for a bit, okay? in fact, I think you ought to go and lie down in the ward. This might be some left over hypothermia thing."

"C'est ma soeur," Jean Paul said miserably.

"Oh." Bobby understood enough French to feel wretched. He squeezed Jean Paul's arm in a vague gesture of comfort. "Just get some sleep, okay?" he said softly.

"Oui, d'accord," Jean Paul nodded, and winced even at that. Bobby watched him stumbled up the stairs.

The lessons were... typical of Bobby, to put it one way. He had some idea of what he was doing, no doubt. It just manifested itself through pizza, and Monty Python, and chinese whispers. He managed to cover evrything he couold remember from University, which overlapped with everything the kids had done so far, so he called it revision and bribed them with ice cream not to tell Jean Paul how badly he was mangling his lesson plans. It worked, too, until the last class of the day.

Jean Paul woke with the sun on his face. Squinting, he sat up and frowned through the window. The sun was quite low to come through at that angle. Which meant... Merde, he'd slept all day.

Jean Paul pulled his legs underneath him and made a half hearted attempt to crawl across the large bed. He was still sleepy, but the migraine was gone. He'd never intended to sleep the day away. Just a quick lie down, let Bobby take just the one lesson, and then back to work. Poor Bobby had had to put up with the entire day's classes. Of course, most of the kids were fine. They'd probably be appreciative enough of a Jean Paul free day to be model students for Bobby. Except, of course, that last class. That class with Julian and Santo in.

He wanted to hurry, but his body was still rebelling. A glance in the mirror told him that to arrive now would make him an object of ridicule. Clothes, yes, clothes were important. Didn't do to turn up in underwear to teach a class. Parents would complain. And a shower would probably help too. At least it would wake him up a bit. So Bobby would just have to put up with the class from hell for a little while. Maybe that would be his punishment for what he said.

He strolled briskly down the corridor towards the room he knew his class would be in. Briskly enough to slip, and fall flat on his back, when his foot encountered a still growing patch of ice. He stared between his legs and along the corridor in alarm. From the open door of the classroom a noisy racket could be heard, but even as he listened it died down, and the ice began to recede back through the door.

"I shouldn't have to resort to that," Bobby's voice could be heard, sharp and angry, "to get your attention."

The last few voices murmured to a halt. Jean Paul climbed carefully to his feet and approached the door. He darted back and forth a few times to take stock of the situation without being seen. The number of students was rather larger than it should have been, and he concluded that Bobby had lied earlier about having no classes, and was no forced to combine his Accountancy pupils with Jean Paul's Business students.

"Are you normally this bad, or is it true that there's a rumour going around that I'm a soft touch?" Bobby's voice was quieter, more tired, but still traced with anger. "It's not true. Yes, there are snow cones occasionally, as my own class knows, but you're not my class, the majority of you, and you've already used up your allocation of patience. In other words: sit down, shut up, and do the fucking work."

Jean Paul had never known such silence. He hovered outside the door, indecisively. To enter now would mean Bobby's outburst was in vain, and would probably undermine his authority, but he knew it was only a matter of time before they began acting up again and he didn't want to put Bobby through that. He really had made up for his harsh words in the freezer. And some of the students were very sensitive to temperature.

"When you're done you can leave," Bobby declared from within. "Names will be given to Jean Paul, who'll probably say what I said to you, but in French. And next time you can have Ms Frost substituting, because I'm damn certain you wouldn't dare to ask here what you asked me."

Jean Paul left then, as the first few diligent pupils made their way to hand in work and file out, and brewed two hot, strong and sweet cups of coffee in anticipation. It was a good twenty minutes before Bobby actually joined him, but he didn't object to the cool coffee. He was less than half way through the cup before the remnant froze, and he stared down at in disgust.

"How do you put up with that lot?" he asked, shoving the frosted mug across the table.

"I shout," Jean Paul shrugged. "Some days are worse than others."

"No wonder you get migraines," Bobby laughed bitterly.

Jean Paul smiled slightly. "Julian reminds me of myself," he offered.

Bobby snorted. "Yeah, he reminded me of you too."

Jean Paul looked offended. "He reminds me of myself at his age," he said tightly. "I feel I have matured past that."

Bobby looked at him, eyes dancing. "Whatever you say," he smirked. "How was your nap?"

Jean Paul could sense the underlying mocking in the question, but he also knew it was meant in a friendly fashion. "I am feeling much better, thank you."

"That's good," Bobby said, smiling at him. It made Jean Paul's heart twist, that smile.

"You should have fetched me after the first lesson. I did not mean for you to take my place all day," Jean Paul told him.

"You needed the rest," Bobby shrugged. "I did check in on you at lunch, but it wasn't worth waking you."

At least he hadn't commented on how sweet or innocent he had looked in sleep, Jean Paul consoled himself.

"Plus you were doing this adorable twitching thing," Bobby added wickedly. "Couldn't bear to wake you when I saw your shoulder going like that." he twitched in imitation.

Jean Paul sighed theatrically and settled himself against the counter. "I was going to offer you recompense for your troubles," he told Bobby, "but now I do not think you deserve it."

Bobby sidled up to him playfully, tilting his head to one side and batting his eyelashes. "What kind of recompense?" he asked, bobbing up and down on his heels.

Jean Paul shrugged with deliberate casualness. "A film, perhaps?" He was surprised at his own nervousness. Coffee was one thing, a thing between friends, but going together, just the two of them, to see a film... that had different connotations. And part of him hoped Bobby would pick up on them. If this shaky back and forth continued much longer Jean Paul would give himself an ulcer. So he was suggesting a date, and if Bobby didn't start guessing soon then perhaps he'd just tell him, and let whatever was going to happen happen.

... or not. His pride was objecting to the mere thought. Getting shot down was never fun.

"Something funny, I think," Bobby said from beside him. "I am still quite stressed after that last class."

That explained the mood swings, Jean Paul decided. Or the defence mechanism, which Bobby had tried to deny was one in the past. He didn't doubt that Bobby was a generally cheerful and funny person, but the suddenness of his good humour sometimes emphasised the fragility of it. He rested an arm across Bobby's shoulders and began to steer him out of the room.

"D'accord," he said amiably, "but nothing with Ben Stiller in it."

Bobby ran his eye down the list of titles with a heavy sigh. Jean Paul lounged against the wall next to him, watching the queue for tickets coolly. Bobby glanced behind them, then at the clock on the wall, then back at the list of films.

"It's 'Shaun of the Dead' or 'Catwoman'," he said eventually. "What's a horror comedy? Is that meant to be like 'Scary Movie'?"

"It's English, yes? Probably," Jean Paul waved a hand extravagantly, "ironic." He snorted.

"What's that meant to mean?" Bobby asked.

"Is that not what the English are so proud of in their comedies? They claim no one in America understand them because they are ironic."

"So, you wanna test that theory?" Bobby asked. "I've heard nothing positive about Catwoman, apart from Halle Berry. Which means that from your point of view it's just going to be a crap film."

"If there is nothing else you want to see..." Jean Paul shrugged fluidly.

"I just hope the accents aren't too strong," Bobby said as he led the way to the ticket queue.

Standing there, Jean Paul tapped his foot impatiently. He knew his limited patience was something of a joke considering his mutation, but he'd never enjoyed waiting, even as a child. Bobby shot him an amused look. Jean Paul forced himself to still his foot, but his fingers found a penny in his pocket and started fidgeting with that instead. Bobby watched the penny blur as it spun around and between Jean Paul's fingers, fast enough to look like it was passing straight through them. A child in front of them stared, just as fascinated. Bobby caught the kid's eye and grinned. The boy blinked solemnly and he tugged on his mother's hand. Bobby, sensing a situation, grabbed Jean Paul's hand tightly just in time for the mother to glance around. She looked horrified, then embarrassed, then gave them a weak smile and pulled her child to stand in front of her.

Jean Paul looked a little baffled. "Bobby... what?"

"You're fidgeting," Bobby sighed, defeated. "Very quickly."

"So?" Jean Paul shrugged. "Do you think I care if these people know I'm a mutant?"

Bobby screwed his eyes shut and let his head roll back on his shoulders. Pinching the bridge of his nose he brought himself back up to look Jean Paul in the eye. "I just don't want any trouble," he explained. "None."

Jean Paul sighed. "Times have changed," he told Bobby. "Most people don't care any more."

"Yeah, well, they used to. I'm not going to start making assumptions," Bobby said bitterly. He remembered far too many anti-mutant campaigns and attacks. It was strange, though. Jean Paul didn't. Jean Paul, despite being old, despite being a mutant longer, had escaped more of the pro-human zealots. He didn't have the now instinctive mistrust. Maybe he was right, maybe times had changed and he really had nothing to fear, but Bobby wasn't going to take that for granted.

"Bobby, I am famous for it," Jean Paul reminded him gently.

"You're famous for being gay. You're famous for your stand against AIDs. Mutants don't even get AIDs. And don't start drawing parallels, I've heard too many. I just want to see a film. I want to be normal, to be human, to see a fucking film," Bobby fought to keep his voice low. "I don't want to be Iceman tonight, okay?"

"Okay," Jean Paul agreed hastily, apparently taken aback by Bobby's outburst. "We are seeing a film. We are people seeing a film. Okay?"

"Yes, okay," Bobby sighed heavily. "Honestly, why do you put up with me?"

Jean Paul slid a hand across Bobby's shoulders and back again, but didn't answer in any other way. Bobby looked at him and smiled slightly. He felt a little guilty still, but before he could apologise Jean Paul was paying for the tickets.

"Hey, you should have let me do that," Bobby objected and Jean Paul pressed the small paper slip into his hand.

"I thought I was taking you out, to thank you for taking my classes," Jean Paul reminded him.

"I forgot," Bobby admitted. "But I'm getting the popcorn."

"Salt," Jean Paul told him, and chuckled at the look on Bobby's face. "I should have known you would be a person who prefers sweet."

"How about just buttered? Compromise?" Bobby offered. "Salt's bad for you anyway."

"So is sugar," Jean Paul pointed out. "Buttered is fine."

Eventually, they made their way into the theatre itself. After much personal deliberation Bobby had reigned himself in and only bought one bag of sweets, but then Jean Paul had insisted on mint humbugs and Bobby hadn't been able to stop himself from getting the toffees and then there were drinks and then Bobby pointed out he couldn't afford all this and an argument had ensued of whether Jean Paul would pay for his own stuff or whether they'd just put some things back and somehow, somehow, they made it into the theatre just in time for the last commercial. Bobby balanced the popcorn on the arm of the seat between them and tucked the humbugs under his seat, which earned him a scowl from Jean Paul.

Looking around as the lights faded, Bobby groaned. Jean Paul cocked his head to one side and regarded him with some concern.

"We've picked the make out movie," Bobby explained quietly, gesturing with one popcorn laden hand to the teenaged couples taking up most of the other seats. Some of them had started already. Jean Paul laughed quietly. Bobby joined him, adding, "that woman in the line totally thought we were together, and now we're in here. Think someone's trying to tell us something?"

Jean Paul stopped laughing abruptly, but Bobby put it down to the beginning of the movie. He settled into the seat, knocked the popcorn into Jean Paul's lap and got shushed for swearing by someone in front of them who obviously thought his girlfriend would look up to him for showing so much backbone.

After about twenty minutes in Bobby happened to glance at the audience in front of him. Two rows in front and a few seats to the left, a guy yawned, stretched, and let his arm come down behind his girlfriend. Bobby almost choked on his toffee, catching Jean Paul's attention. Before he could explain, he spotted someone else doing it, and he pointed the couple out to Jean Paul with glee. Jean Paul rolled his eyes.

"It's cute," Bobby insisted under his breath as a zombie bit the head off a pigeon. Jean Paul looked at him, mouth upturned at the corners. And then, he yawned. And stretched.

Jean Paul's mind was racing. If he gave himself time to think about what he was doing he'd stop, except, well, he couldn't stop now. To stop would give the wrong kind of message out. What this message would be, Jean Paul wasn't sure, but he let his arm fall across the back of Bobby's seat as though the doubts hadn't crossed his mind at all. It paid off, to his relief. Bobby almost doubled over trying not to laugh before settling back again, leaning against Jean Paul's arm. He wiggled his eyebrows at Jean Paul, and the older man took this as a signal to relax his arm around Bobby properly. Bobby leant in against, Jean Paul and began to pick popcorn out of Jean Paul's lap with a cheeky grin.

As the film got gorier some of the couples actually walked out, which amused Bobby. The film surprised him, actually. He hadn't expected it to be so much... horror. Sure, it was funny, but, well, ouch. He even flinched and buried his head in Jean Paul's shoulder as the climax approached. Jean Paul squeezed him reassuringly, startling Bobby with the reminder that his arm was still around Bobby's shoulders. He reached absently into Jean Paul's crotch, hunting for the last few pieces of popcorn. Jean Paul shifted uncomfortably and lifted Bobby's hand away. Bobby ignored him, and moved it back. So what if Jean Paul was getting hard? Wasn't like it bothered Bobby, not really. He just really wanted that popcorn. Really. And that brush of heat through the denim under his fingers, and the roughness of the zip pull taught, and the...

Bobby pulled his hand away, but not sharply. He even brought it up to his mouth, pretending to eat popcorn he hadn't found. He had to stop doing this. Jean Paul was a nice guy. He didn't deserve Bobby's fumbled groping in the dark, didn't deserved to be used to salve Bobby's wilting ego. Bobby swallowed, hard, and focused on the resolution of the film, trying to catch all of the references to real horror films.

Leaving the theatre, Jean Paul still had his arm around Bobby's shoulder, and Bobby reciprocated with an arm around Jean Paul's waist. The casual affection in Jean Paul's gesture was beginning to give him butterflies. So warm, and close, and friendly. And Bobby... And Bobby was going to have to start doing some serious thinking if this kept up, because groping a gay guy in a privacy of a movie theatre was implying interesting things about Bobby that he'd spent a long time Not Thinking About.

"What did you think of it?" he asked, voice carefully warm.

"I think that man stole my record collection," Jean Paul told him.

Bobby laughed. "Bit more horror than comedy, I thought. A horror film with funny bits."

"Yes... you wanted to see a comedy," Jean Paul said, voice uncertain. It was strange to hear Jean Paul uncertain, Bobby thought absently.

"Oh, it was funny, and I'm feeling much better," Bobby reassured him. "Watching people get hacked to pieces ought to be the new thing in psychiatrists offices up and down the country for stress therapy, you know?"

"Indeed," Jean Paul smiled, shaking his head in amusement. "Coffee, mon ami?"

Bobby surprised himself by yawning. "I guess not," he said, slightly wistfully. "You may have spent the day napping, but some of us have yet to get our beauty sleep."

"And after searching for it for what, twenty six years?" Jean Paul teased.

Bobby batted at him. "You sink low," he told him, "Warren low."

"I am wounded," Jean Paul said theatrically, clutching one hand to his chest.

They reached the car, and with some reluctance they parted to get in opposite sides. Bobby wrapped his arms around himself and shivered slightly as Jean Paul turned the key.

"Cold?" Jean Paul asked, eyebrows raised.

"After the warmth of the cinema," Bobby said hastily. This wasn't a secondary mutation related thing at all. Hopefully. He glanced over to realise Jean Paul was grinning, and taking off his jacket. Bobby laughed and took it, sliding into the already warm sleeves. "Thanks, sweetheart," he smirked. Jean Paul laughed right back at him. As they set off towards home Bobby snuggled down in the large leather upholstered seat and smiled to himself. "You know, if Annie accuses us of dating again, we're not going to have a leg to stand on."

"It seems to be her favourite joke of late," Jean Paul said.

"Yeah. I know she thinks it's cute, but I haven't had a date since forever," Bobby sighed. "I've never enjoyed being single, you know. Having Lorna around isn't helping."

"There is no chance..." Jean Paul sounded, if it was possible, hopeful.

"What, me and Lorna? Not likely," Bobby laughed bitterly. "Come on, I know you were at the Hen Night, and I know what she said about me. Does that sound like there's any potential there?"

"No, not really," Jean Paul admitted. "If it comforts you, I have been single far too long as well."

"Yeah, but you've got that whole cool bachelor thing going on. I don't think I could even imagine you with someone. Maybe a much younger guy," Bobby said speculatively.

Jean Paul frowned at him. "I am not into that kind of thing," he said firmly. "In a relationship I want an equal. Someone on my level. I do not want to be worshipped."

"Sure you do," Bobby grinned. "Maybe not by a boyfriend but admit it, you love being loved by the nameless masses."

"Maybe," Jean Paul said, purposefully enigmatic. Bobby chuckled at his voice.

"So, what is your ideal man, then?" he asked, twisting in his seat.

Jean Paul's hands tightened on the wheel. He felt slightly sick. This was where teasing and playfulness led. Awkward questions and then pain and rejection. He should have just let his arms drop back into his lap.

"You mean in terms of personality?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess."

Jean Paul changed gear and ran a hand through his hair. As long as he didn't mention 'funny' he ought to be okay, right? 'Funny' was how Bobby identified himself.

"Well... first, a man who can cope with my fame. It is hard, now, to meet someone who doesn't know who I am, among the gay community." that was a phrase Jean Paul detested. 'Gay community'. It sounded like they were all sectioned off somewhere, some sexuality apartheid. It was about as effective a description as 'blonde community' or 'community that prefers fish to chicken'. "Some men are threatened, others seem more interested in the fame. And wealth."

"So an independently famous and wealthy guy would be best, right?"

"Yes, I suppose. Famous, wealthy and gay. How shallow I sound already." He paused for Bobby to laugh. "It rather narrows the choices as well," he pointed out. "I suppose, were that not an issue, it would have to be someone quite intelligent. I do not believe in doing everything together, but it would be nice to share a few things. A sense of humour is important as well," he admitted. Well, it was true, and it was expected. You couldn't describe a perfect date these days without mentioning humour. "It would be good if he supported the same causes as myself."

"Huh," Bobby said thoughtfully. Jean Paul risked a glance. Bobby was low in his seat, one foot drawn up - Jean Paul bit his lip to keep from snapping at him about the expensive upholstery - and lips in a contemplative pout. He wasn't wearing his sunglasses, Jean Paul noticed. It was the first time he hadn't worn them out. He seemed to need that barrier, usually, to hide behind. But then, he had very expressive eyes. He was old enough to have the beginnings of lines around them, not from age but from simple use. His eyes showed how much time he spent laughing, but when he wasn't amused it was all the more obvious for it. Now, deep in thought, his eyebrows had puckered together and the skin around his eyes tightened.

"Yes?" Jean Paul asked, trying not to panic.

"It just sounds a lot like, well, like me." Jean Paul panicked. "I mean, my choices, the things I look for," Bobby went on, oblivious. "I guess there's not a lot of difference in what everyone wants in a perfect partner, no matter what sex they're looking for."

"I suppose not," Jean Paul said carefully.

"It's stupid, the way people draw lines between each other," Bobby went on. "I mean, why wouldn't people look for the same things in a partner? But you get kinda used to thinking otherwise. Stupid stereotypes and everything."

"Oui," Jean Paul managed.

"Bet that really bothers you, huh?"

"Yes, much of the time," Jean Paul said. "At the institute I sometimes feel I ought to be dating, just to re-educate people."

Bobby snorted. "Don't let that bother you," he said. "It seems like most of the stuff we do is to 're-educate' people these days. It's that whole PR thing, remember? That you blew up at Xavier over. Big Brother is watching you," he finished in an ominous voice.

Jean Paul pulled up in front of the Institute, hugely relieved. Bobby slipped out of his jacket and handed it to him.

"This whole thing really has been just like a date, hasn't it?" he said thoughtfully. "It's a nice jacket."

"Very expensive," Jean Paul told him.

Bobby sat there, leaning over the gear stick. The butterflies were back, and worse. Evil mutant giant butterflies. All because of one little idea that had been bothering him all through the journey home, until he felt that if he didn't follow it through he might explode. He had to get the mood right first, though, or he'd never pull it off.

He forced a grin. "Always is, with you. This was fun, Jean Paul. I've missed doing stuff like this."

Jean Paul looked a little uncomfortable. "I am always here," he offered awkwardly.

"No, now I'm being weird," Bobby sighed. "It's just, just, god, it really has been so long since I got to go on a date with someone."

Jean Paul smiled slightly. "So this is now officially a date?"

Bingo. "Guess so," Bobby grinned. "Of course, if it's a date, there really should be a good night kiss, shouldn't there?"

Before Jean Paul could respond Bobby bent right over into his seat and placed a very quick, very gentle, kiss on his lips. Oh god, the urge to open his lips and deepen the kiss was almost overwhelming. A real kiss. He was lingering too long, too close, he knew, but damn. It was meant to be a joke, a bit of play acting, a fun way to finish a fun evening. He'd screw it up. He always did. He daren't screw this up.

He flashed Jean Paul a wide grin. "'night, date," he smiled, and climbed out of the car. He jogged up the steps and once the door had closed behind him fled to his room.

Jean Paul thought he was going to start crying. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. Oh god, he wanted to cry. Oh god, Bobby. Oh god. He slumped over the steering wheel and tried to remember something other than Bobby's lips. He felt certain that once the universe had consisted of more than Bobby's lips and the hideous pain in his heart.

Oh god, Bobby.