Part Twenty-two

A/N: The CD in the coffee shop is Sandi Thom's new album "Smile... It Confuses People". I haven't stopped listening to it since I bought it. It seemed like as good a talking point as any. (and hey, look, two updates within a reasonable space of time!)

Bobby's smugness was replaced by surprise of his own when Jean Paul was seen walking the corridors of the Xavier Institute not too many weeks later, minus his sister, sane or not, but with the addition of this teaching place having been reinstated.

If Logan had been there, Bobby would have asked him what was going. The problem was Wolverine was still missing. Bobby was pretty certain that made him the closest person to Northstar now, despite their differences. That meant he had to swallow his nerves and ask for himself. It wasn't just curiosity that drove him, though. He knew Jean Paul, knew that he wouldn't talk without a hell of a lot of prompting, no matter how badly he needed to.

Tracking Jean Paul down outside of lessons was a hard task. Asking himself "where would I be?" didn't help, because that invariably led to the freezer, where Bobby was pretty certain Jean Paul wasn't. Of course, asking himself "where would I be if I was a flying speedster" didn't help much either, because he'd be both flying and a long way away. It was hard not to wish he could fly sometimes.

He set up camp in the kitchen at five o'clock one morning. It was not the best plan, he admitted to himself as he yawned over a cup of coffee. If Jean Paul walked in soon it would still be too early for Bobby to form a coherent sentence. He might not even recognise Jean Paul.

The blur wouldn't have registered on Bobby's pre-dawn radar, but the wake made his coffee slop on the piece of paper he'd brought with him. His little speech, knowing that he wouldn't be capable of conversation. All black and soggy now.

"Hey," Bobby said.

The blur passed the fridge, paused opposite him almost long enough to congeal, and started moving again.

"Hey!" Bobby said again. "You could at least make me another cup of coffee. It's six AM here."

"As opposed to in England, where it is mid morning?"

Bobby had hoped that Jean Paul's anger might have eased by now. He hunched over the remains of his drink, and tried not to lose hope. Had their friendship solely been a prelude to their relationship? Had they no common ground, nothing to talk about, no faith in each other?

Another cup of coffee appeared before him. Creamy and full of sugar. Bobby bit his lip. The remains of the black coffee, twice as sugary but still too bitter for Bobby's taste, disappeared and he could hear it draining down the sink.

"I got up to talk to you," Bobby said, making certain there was no animosity in his voice. "I'm worried about you."

"Did it not occur to you, Robert, that you might not be the person I desire to talk to?" Jean Paul was moving at a more normal pace now, drinking his own coffee and leaning on a counter, waiting for his toast to finish under the grill. He'd already had two bowls of cereal, Bobby knew.

"I know," Bobby admitted, "but I didn't think there'd be anyone else, either. Not til Logan comes back, anyway, and if I don't push you no one will." He looked up at Jean Paul through bleary eyes. He took a drink from his mug, smiled at the perfect taste, and licked cream from his top lip before saying, "And I think you want pushing, just a little."

"You think you know me so well," Jean Paul snorted.

"I kinda hope so, sometimes. After everything." Bobby took another swallow of coffee. "I'd like to be friends, or at least nodding acquaintances. I mean, it's possible to avoid someone in the place for weeks on end, but it's a lot of effort. And people give you strange looks when they see you hanging by your fingertips from a window, just because you thought you heard the other person coming."

"I can picture that," Jean Paul said, with something that might have been a smile.

"I know sorry wasn't enough, and still isn't," Bobby sighed. "I don't care if you don't forgive me, not any more. I'm just worried for you right now."

"As a team mate?" Jean Paul raised an eyebrow.

"As someone I used to be very close to," Bobby snapped. "Someone I loved. I'd at least like to be able to say as a friend, but if you're determined that it won't be so, then I guess 'as an ex' will just have to do."

Jean Paul was silent for some time, staring at his own coffee. His toast began to burn. He pulled it out from the grill and threw it into the trash in one fluid movement. Occasionally emotions flickered across his face too fast for Bobby to discern. He seemed to be stuck in permanent frown.

Jean Paul put his coffee on the table and swung into the seat opposite Bobby. He took a drink, and asked, "How are you now?"

"Healthy. Cured," Bobby said guardedly.

"That is good," Jean Paul said, speaking to his coffee. "I am glad. I... I would not have wanted something to have happened to you." He grimaced, and Bobby saw his face take on a more determined expression as he straightened his shoulders and sat up straight. "I still care for you," Jean Paul spoke stiffly, "as you put it, 'as an ex'. Your welfare concerns me, and I suppose I can not blame you for feeling concern for mine."

Bobby watched Jean Paul drum his fingers on the table top. The man had taken a deep breath; he was preparing for a longer speech.

"Jeanne Marie did not care for my attentions. She fought me very hard," Jean Paul said slowly. "She is an entirely different person, once again. I love her, all of her, but the new her has no such feeling for me. She attacked me, knocked me out, and escaped. I had her traced. She was living in Westchester. I feared she was planning to attack you, having read from me who you were to me. She is currently in a mental institution."

"Near here, right?" Bobby said. "That's why you're here again, so you can be close to her."

"Oui." Jean Paul smiled what had to be a forced smile. "You have your explanation now. No soothing platitudes or sympathy? Or is your curiosity merely sated, and you are done with me again?"

"I do not get up at five in the morning to sate my curiosity, no matter how strong it may be," Bobby told him. "I'm pretty sure you know that, too. I didn't say anything because, well, what could I say? That she's better off with professionals than with you?" Jean Paul jerked at those words, face screwing up into a snarl, but Bobby kept talking. "No matter how much you love her, it's true. Sometimes you can't personally help the people you love, they only hurt you for trying. I thought I'd already taught you that." The bitterness was obvious, but Bobby hoped the truth would get through as well.

"My sister has also physically assaulted me, so perhaps I should have recognised the parallels," Jean Paul bit out. He got to his feet, abandoning his coffee. "Thank you for your advice. I feel very much better for having talked to you."

Bobby stuck his tongue out at the sarcasm as soon as Jean Paul's back was turned, and felt a little better for it. At least he'd got Jean Paul to talk about it, even if he'd possibly sacrificed any chance they'd had of being friends again.

Jean Paul hovered through the hallway, aware that if he were to walk his anger would lead to stamping. His pride couldn't have borne the teasing that would have led to. As he flew, he clenched and unclenched his fists, glad that the corridors were deserted at this time of the morning.

He had been advised not to visit his sister. It caused too much emotional distress. She was delicate right now. Plus, the damaged she caused to the walls, furniture and unfortunate members of staff every time he got close to her was rather expensive.

It was tempting to acquiesce to Professor Xavier's request that he be allowed to examine her mind. At the very least, a telepath might persuade her to switch personalities long enough to actually welcome Jean Paul. He needed to hear her voice so much, the strong Quebecan accent and soft, warm words. He could bring tears to his eyes imagining it.

Maybe he should ask Jono. He was younger, blunter, more trustworthy than the Professor. A pity he was still hanging off that blonde girl. He was probably an interesting fuck, too, Jean Paul thought cruelly. Wonderful derriere in those tight ripped jeans, and the dark and angsty thing worked for him. Wouldn't Bobby just be spitting jealousy, if he happened to walk past a room one day, and caught a glimpse? Had that heavily accented telepathy jar his thoughts, begging Jean Paul for more, for 'arder, for a bloody good shag.

Jean Paul almost laughed at his own stereotyping, and let the fantasy Jono go on his way, descending to walk on the carpet as he did so. The boy was still remarkably attractive, but he deserved better than being used as a tool to hurt Bobby. Maybe if he fell out with Paige again, Jean Paul might be there to comfort him. A little rebound relationship to help him smooth out his emotions again.

He couldn't believe Bobby had been so harsh. To convince him into revealing what had happened, and then to spit it back in his face. Of course his sister was better off with him. She was his sister. He loved her more than anyone else could. They were the only family each other had. What could those complete strangers, those over paid professionals, those highly trained and very experienced doctors do that he couldn't?

It made him furious to admit that Bobby was right. He refused to see the parallels, though; Jeanne Marie's was a mental disease, Bobby's had been physical. He had made no attempt to cure Bobby, merely to support him. And where had that support gotten him? The lawn, if he remembered correctly. He stepped into his classroom, slamming the door behind him and not caring. There was no one asleep in this part of the school he might wake up, who might come and bother him.

Returning to the Institute had been one of the hardest decisions Jean Paul had ever had to make. There had been no need for him to return. He could certainly afford a hotel, maybe even to rent somewhere. He had half an idea for a second book. He could have occupied his time well enough. He could have been close enough to feel Jeanne Marie, even if he couldn't visit her. There was too much mental static in this place.

But it had been upsettingly easy to come back here after the decision had been so hard. He enjoyed teaching. People knew him here. He had had students come up to him and welcome him back. He had had smiles and pats on the backs from colleagues. Friends. He even had an ex-boyfriend still caring enough about him to get up at five in the morning, which Jean Paul had to acknowledge even if he hadn't liked the way Bobby handled it.

He'd come here because he knew he couldn't handle Jeanne Marie's breakdown on his own. He still didn't intend to make it public knowledge, but just being here was having a positive effect. He didn't like to imagine the person he might have been had he locked himself away from the world. Even at his most antisocial, he had socialised. Gone out, got drunk, slept with strange men. He could live entirely on his own, avoid everyone who knew his real name or whose real name he knew, but he would still seek out others for a few short hours each night.

As he settled behind his desk, he contemplated the painful irony, the really frustrating irony; he'd put himself in precisely the opposite position. Jean Paul highly doubted he'd be having much sex for some time to come. Bobby was right, they could avoid each other if they put a lot of effort in, but Jean Paul wasn't going to surrender that easily. So what if Bobby was human in appearance again? Wandering around in tighter t-shirts and baggier pants, tantalising glimpses of skin between top and trousers, between the buttonholes in his shirts. Jean Paul could out do him. Jean Paul could outdo them all. He was thankful for the large proportion of his fortune he'd spent on moving to Montreal. His wardrobe was at its best. He'd made very good use of that very expensive gym membership. His hair was cut just perfectly. He had a very expensive new car, though it did leave him wondering what to do with the old one Bobby had liked so much.

He mentally obliterated that thought. Shredded it. Deleted it. He wanted nothing to do with its existence.

Confidence could be bought, this Jean Paul knew, but overconfidence never got you anywhere good. He might be able to make Bobby beg to have him back, if he put the effort in, but the temptation to say yes might also get the better of him. Better to accept that he probably wasn't going to get laid for some time to come, and that he was going to have to learn to live with Bobby.

If Bobby started dating, Jean Paul might just have to kill someone, maybe Bobby, maybe the lover, maybe himself.

His first class of the day began to wander in, proving Jean Paul with a welcome distraction.

He was doing it just to upset him, Bobby was sure of it. No man spent that much money on clothes unless he was out to impress someone, even Jean Paul. Sleek black trousers, just enough shiny to show the patterns of his muscles. Tight white shirt with light blue trim, thin enough for Bobby to see his nipples. Hair artfully drawn back to display a tantalising glimpse of one pointed ear. Sunglasses. Indoors.

He was talking to Annie leaning over the lunch table and making her laugh. He was smiling a little himself. Bobby hoped he'd helped in that, but wasn't sure. He'd forgotten that Jean Paul and Annie had been so close.

At least it was Annie, he comforted himself. At least Jean Paul wasn't flirting. He wasn't sure what he'd do if Jean Paul found someone else. He could picture Jean Paul and Gambit, all long legs and French accents and tangy sweat dark sheets smokey air expensive whiskies

"Bobby?"

"Oui?" Bobby jerked out of his reveries, brain catching up with his mouth just seconds too late, producing a most magnificent blush.

"Oh dear," Warren smirked. "Oh dear, oh dear."

Bobby scowled. "I can think about him, okay? I'm not stupid enough to think he'll ever actually forgive me."

"You were looking at Remy," Warren informed him.

"Oh... oh dear," Bobby said, and laughed quietly. "Well, why shouldn't I?" he added thoughtfully.

"I don't think Rogue would approve," Warren said, gesturing to the girl who, once again, was Remy's beau of choice. Bobby grinned and leant back in his chair.

"Maybe not," he admitted, "but hey, everyone seems to think we had a thing ourselves, so you never know." He shrugged and winked.

"That's a thought," Warren said, "your father called this morning. Wants to know if you'll be over for Thanksgiving, or whether you'll just wait for Christmas."

Bobby thought it over for a moment. "I suppose I should go," he said reluctantly, "but I'd rather avoid the rest of the relations. God knows my parents tried to keep who I am a secret long enough. Some of my cousins are still pretty horrified, and I've a great aunt who refuses to admit I exist any more, and I know mum will invite her, because she's family and it's Thanksgiving." He sighed. "Christmas is a long way off, though."

"You could drop by before Thanksgiving," Warren suggested. "Say hello to your folks, spend the day, and then come back here. The staff always manage a huge meal."

"I do love Kathy's cranberry sauce," Bobby mused. "It's not a bad idea at all, bird brain, not at all bad. I'm sure they'd appreciate a weekend of pure, unadulterated me."

"I'd appreciate a weekend of pure, unadulterated absence of you," Warren said.

"You just want me adulterated," Bobby teased. "You want to adulterate me all through the night."

There was a pause.

"I have no clue what you just said," Warren told him. "None at all. Go back to ogling your French speakers, and leave me out of it."

Rumour got out about Jeanne Marie. The general response was sympathetic, but not smotheringly so. It was oddly pleasant.

He'd gone out with Annie a few times, to the places Alex wasn't interested in. He'd gone out with Beast, to see the all male cast of Hamlet. He'd gone clubbing, once with Annie, once alone. He'd almost gone home with a young man who looked too much like Bobby. He'd gone out with Walter when the other man had come to see Jeanne Marie.

Jeanne Marie acknowledged their relationship. She still loathed him, but she admitted he was her brother. He was allowed to see her for half an hour a week, under observation. One of the doctors had tried to ask him out.

Julian had knuckled under, for a bit, and produced some work that had got Jean Paul genuinely excited. The boy could do it, do it well and do it easily. He just needed persuading that it was worth it. Teaching was rewarding.

Bobby had bought his old car from him. He had given it to Jubilee as an eighteenth birthday present, repainted bright yellow with smiley faces and flowers on it. It looked hideous, but she had been thrilled.

Bobby had had highlights put into his hair. It both did and didn't suit him.

Bobby was still single, and looked to be staying that way.

It was hard not to think of Bobby, when they saw each other so often. They were the default cover for each other's classes, they shared a passion for ice hockey and other winter sports (Bobby had made him watch Cool Runnings twice while they were dating and once again since), they had several mutual friends, they both favoured one coffee shop over all of the others.

Jean Paul saw him and smiled without thinking. Bobby grinned and waved. Jean Paul looked around, too fast for most people to see, and made a decision. The only free tables were designed to seat eight. Bobby was alone, his coffee almost finished and his cream bun reduced to a smear on the plate.

And a little on his nose, which almost caused Jean Paul to turn around and walk out. His heart was thudding painfully loud as he sat opposite Bobby.

"You have something on your nose," he informed Bobby crisply, hoping he wasn't speaking too fast.

Bobby rubbed his nose on his sleeve, ridding himself of the tempting white splodge. Jean Paul relaxed.

Bobby jerked his head towards the sound system. "Paige has this CD. It's not meant to be available over here yet."

"A gift from Jono," Jean Paul said, "and a sign of good taste here."

"It's pretty good," Bobby agreed. "Easy on the ear."

"There were webcasts, I have been told," Jean Paul said with a shrug. "Jono surprised me."

Bobby laughed. "Yeah, it's not his kinda thing, but I guess he's making an effort for Paige. Either that or he knows this Sandi chick." He took a sip from his coffee, just avoiding finishing it. "I hear you're taking him on as a TA," he said.

"Oui," Jean Paul nodded. "He has been looking for something to do. I do not know him well, but we have got on tolerably well. I think he might make an impression on certain members of the class."

"Like his girlfriend's baby brother?" Bobby grinned. "Either that or you're going to have war breaking out."

"They're both musical," Jean Paul said, "maybe they will find they have that in common."

"You mean he'll run off with mini-Angel and we'll have to deal with a furious Paige and baffled Sam for the next few months?" Bobby said.

It was an easy conversation, friendly but not painful. Like most these days. As Bobby finished his coffee and took his leave, Jean Paul admitted to himself that though he still found Bobby very attractive (he watched Bobby leave, in those tight, ripped, jeans, with a self indulgent smile) the friendship they had formed once could be resurrected. The wounds were healing, slowly. Bobby was moving on, and even if Jean Paul found it so much harder, he could keep his mouth shut and his head down and fix that smile in place.

He'd spent so much of his life hiding who he was in some form or another. It was easy to smother and shield his feelings, even if he felt like a traitor to himself for doing so. As the anger faded from his relationship with Bobby, there was nothing to stop the old feelings from surfacing except pure force of will. He could resent Bobby for making him do this to himself, but that was just another way of repressing the feelings. There was no difference between hiding his feelings now and when he hid them because he thought Bobby was straight. Really. Honestly.

At least Bobby didn't seem to feel the same way.