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It is a perfectly normal afternoon in the lobby of the Baxter Building. All of the usual foot traffic is present as people come and go for lunch, and as has become increasingly standard over the last few days, a crush of reporters and photographers are on-hand. What's unusual is the fact that, right now, the reporters are not watching the entrance or elevator for members of the Fantastic Four.
They've found someone else.
Jean-Paul Beaubier is doing a phenomenal job of ignoring the rowdy crowd and flashing cameras that are going off around him while he stands at the front desk, watching the poor clerk with an air of exaggerated patience. "Heather MacNeil," he repeats in French-accented english, speaking the name ver-ry slow-ly, as if it might help.
*
So much chaos. Heather is just off a flight from Turkey. She's tired, she's dirty, she's wearing fatigues, she looks like the last person who should be shouldering through the crowd to the Baxter Building.
"Miss…MacNeil," the doorman says with some relief, elbowing people aside to let Heather through. "You have a guest."
"A guest? What on Earth?" Heather finally steps into the clear so she can see. "Jean-Paul!" Forget the press, forget what anyone will thing, she's thrilled to see him and doesn't hide it. "Oh, it's so good to see you." She holds out a hand to him. "Come on up, let's get away from these piranhas."
*
It's hard to say who looks more relieved to see Heather: Jean-Paul, or the clerk who had been trying to help him. Especially when both men say "Thank God" in unison that way.
Jean-Paul is quite happy to shoulder his way through the mass of people in order to take Heather's hand, immediately leaning forward to kiss-kiss the redhead's cheeks in greeting. "Yes, let's. You look terrible," he says warmly, as if delivering a compliment. "No need to immortalize that."
*
"Turkey. There was a lot of falling masonry and whatnot," Heather murmurs by way of explanation. She makes it to the elevator which is already standing open, waiting for them, and then slumps against the side of the elevator. "It really is good to see you, you know. I've been worried sick." In another time and place she might have tried sweeping in for a rescue — and he'd have argued with her and said she was sticking her nose in even if he did accept her help and she'd have yelled about his stubborn pride and lack of foresight and it would have been…normal.
*
Once the elevator doors have closed, Jean-Paul makes a thoughtful noise and leans over to peer critically at Heather, as if inspecting her for damage. 'Good to see you' and 'falling masonry' inspire deep concerns when uttered in such close proximity, it seems. "You're traveling again. Work?" he guesses, raising both eyebrows at her expectantly — and then does not wait for an answer. "That's good. You were becoming a bore."
*
"Boring's always been my wheelhouse, you know that," Heather says lightly, unperturbed. "Not everyone has what it takes to be boring. I'm basically a secretary now. I'm just a secretary for someone who sends me places like…well, where I just was. How are you holding up?" She rakes him with a narrow green look from behind her glasses. The lenses do nothing to protect against her scrutiny.
"What am I saying?" She answers her own question with a question and a little laugh. "You're on my doorstep. There's my answer," she says as the elevator pings at the fourth floor.
*
Jean-Paul is just beginning to reply when Heather answers her own question and leaves him looking horrified. "What. I am fine," he insists, already moving to step off of the elevator ahead of her. He has no idea which apartment is hers, but it hardly matters. "I was in town and thought I would come and say hello. It has been months." Not since Heather's visit to Mac's grave before the conference.
*
"Of course you're fine." Heather doesn't laugh. She does, however, lead the way to her apartment. "I'll put the coffee on, shall I, before I go change into something tolerable? I don't think David's around but please don't run him off if he shows up. I like him. He's handsome and he wears good suits — though I'm sure you'll have an opinion on that." She lets them into her apartment.
*
"David, really? Still?" Jean-Paul seems more than a little baffled as he follows Heather inside, immediately looking for a likely place to hang his coat. "Speaking of bores. As long as you're happy, I suppose," he sighs.
One moment, Jean-Paul is draping his coat over the back of a chair at the dining room table. The next, he's dropping down to sit on the sofa, stretching both of his arms out along the back. "The woman you visited with, this is where she is having you stay?" he asks lightly, pursing his lips. "What did you say you were paying for it?"
*
"David's also very good in bed — not remotely boring there, darling. I'd let you critique that, too, but I think he'd object," Heather said lightly. She washes her hands before she starts making coffee — who knows what she brought back from Turkey under her nails. "I'll ask if you like, though. And Sue has been putting me up as an act of charity, something David and I should remedy as well as I can now that I'm properly employed and we're living in sin. There's a brochure I never read in the drawer under the phone right there. I believe it had the rental prices listed."
*
She's barely finished mentioning the brochure before there is a soft gust of wind and Jean-Paul is right there next to her, his nose buried in the brochure. <I suppose he has to be good at something,> he murmurs thoughtfully in French, nodding from side to side as his eyes scan the pages. "Good for you, Heather. Living in sin has treated me very well. It's good to see you loosening up," he says brightly. After a brief pause, he offers her the brochure. "If she wants to let you keep your money, let her. These apartments are overpriced."
*
"But they will rent to the likes of us," Heather says, leaning over to give Jean-Paul a kiss on the cheek before she starts the coffee. "I've missed you, you horrible crank. I have loosened up. Grown up. I feel like a grown up, which is so weird." She leaves the coffee to finish making. "I'll get out of these horrible rags so I don't pain your sensibilities any more than I have to. You can call the concierge and find out if there's anything available to rent. Or I can help you find a place somewhere else. But you can't beat the security here." With that, she heads for the bedroom, to put these clothes out of their misery.
*
Jean-Paul actually barks out a laugh when Heather mentions feeling grown up, turning to give her a look. "Heather. You were the oldest teenager I have ever met," he says flatly, both eyebrows leaping up his forehead. "You were a grown up. Now you seem like a person," he says approvingly, staying put when she departs to get changed. He just raises his voice so that she can still hear him. "You could not pay me to live here! Not unless the apartments higher up are much nicer. Then, maybe."
*
"However did you survive Canada, darling?" Heather asks, as she strips and stuffs her clothes in the laundry bag. "The whole of it is so provincial. Are you sure you're not going to be bored here in New York City?" She's teasing, of course…mostly. "I hope you do stay," she says before she steps into the shower. "It's been ages since someone told me a ponytail isn't a hairstyle, it's the back end of a pony."
*
"Do I need to remind you?" Jean-Paul calls, sounding a touch alarmed. Good God, has being in America so long undone that much of his good work? He doesn't interrupt the shower, at least; once the water's on, he just pours himself a cup of coffee and retreats to the sofa to wait.
He may or may not have taken the opportunity to further snoop around the apartment. He would not want to disappoint her, and he cannot be properly judgmental without a fuller frame of reference to work from.
*
This time, her damp hair is a loose braid pinned into a bun, not a ponytail. Heather knows not to damage her wet hair.
"So, are you staying?" she asks when she comes back out. She's wearing a soft green wool jersey dress, stockings, and low heels — the picture of an elegant housewife. And, she's still wearing her wedding ring as well as that watch Mac gave her for their tenth anniversary. She's barely older than Paul. She was the same age he is now when Mac gave her that watch. Mac was never very good at any kind of romantic gesture.
"I'd love it if you did, really." Heather pours herself a cup of coffee. "I've had no real contact with anyone from home all this time. Sometimes, that whole part of my life seems a hazy dream."
*
When she comes back, Jean-Paul does not look remotely apologetic about having his feet on the coffee table, his long legs crossed at the ankles.
"I could stay, if you would truly like me to," Jean-Paul replies thoughtfully, the mug of coffee held delicately between his fingers. He eyes her outfit critically and just purses his lips when his eyes find the ring, but says nothi"Does that not bother David?" he asks bluntly. "That you still wear Mac's ring?"
*
"I think he understands." Heather isn't derailed by the question, she just keeps on her track of getting out the cookies she made before she went away, now that she has her coffee. "I can't bring myself to take it off — I've tried. It feels like too much a part of me. I took it off to go into the field and I missed it. It felt like missing a finger. It's who I am — Mac's wife. I may be more than that, but that's one of the cornerstones of who I am. Falling in love with David hasn't changed who I am."
*
"You think he understands." Jean-Paul is judging you so hard right now, Heather. (Not that this is an unusual state of affairs. He is constantly judging everything around him and, with incredibly rare exceptions, never seems pleased by what he sees.) "I hope you do not think of yourself that way while you're sleeping with him. Even someone as dull as David doesn't deserve that," he says with a sigh, bringing his coffee up for a sip. Is she sure she wants him to stick around?
*
The soft rap of knuckles on the door calls attention to a visitor bearing gifts. Well, a gift, anyways. "Heather," Sue calls through the door, "it's Sue. I have a couple of requests — " she calls through the door. Tucked under her arm is a muffin basket (don't worry, she didn't bake them) " — and muffins I can't stomach the smell of. I was told they're good — "
*
Heather brings over a plate of cookies — and she does make the best cookies, though Jean-Paul will probably not admit it. She also plants a kiss on the top of his head because she is immune to his judgment after all these years. "I love you like a brother, you awful man," she says, unperturbed. Granted, love in the MacNeil household often involved fisticuffs, especially among the younger siblings.
"Sue! Come on in. I just made coffee." Heather straightens and ruffles Jean-Paul's hair before gliding away. "This is my dear old friend, Jean-Paul." The weather does take a toll on a man's skin.
*
A gentleman might stand when a new guest arrives, particularly when it is a lady. Jean-Paul remains right where he is on the couch, sipping his coffee with his feet propped up on the coffee table. His only reaction to having his hair ruffled is just a silent, patient roll of his eyes — he doesn't even bother fixing it. He is disreputable, he might as well look the part.
Jean-Paul does raise a hand in an airy, halfassed wave when Sue comes inside, giving the back of Heather's head a dry look at the introduction. Uh-huh. "Pretend I'm not here," he suggests helpfully. "I certainly am."
*
The doorknob turns and Doctor Storm, in all her glory, pads into the apartment. She's been out and about today, and it shows. Dressed in the yellow dress with the pockets, a pair of black kitten heels, with perfectly smooth hair, Sue is dressed to impress — likely out of some necessity. "Oh…" the mention of coffee, however, causes her expression to fall. "I'm… off coffee for now." She manages a very tight-lipped smile.
A curious cant of her head indicates some measure of uncertainty at Heather having a guest. "You have company," she observes. "I can come back another time. But… keep the muffins." Even looking at them has been making her ill.
*
"I see." Heather comes to take the muffins away. No muffins, then. Noted. And no coffee. "Jean-Paul doesn't really count as company," she says briskly, as she removes the offending items. "Certainly not polite company. We used to work together in Canada. Jean-Paul, I'm sure you know who Doctor Storm is, and how kind she's been to me since I got here. You're welcome to come in, Sue."
*
"You needed to speak to Heather about something, yes?" Jean-Paul says towards Sue, flashing a smile as he finally draws his feet off of the table in order to stand. He sets his empty mug down next to the plate of cookies. "I can take a walk. Perhaps the photographers downstairs know of a jewelry store nearby," he murmurs thoughtfully, peering towards Heather with narrowed blue eyes. "Somewhere I can buy a cheap ring in your size so you can finally take that damned thing off."
*
"It can wait," Sue lifts a hand towards Jean-Paul. "Sincerely. It's not going anywhere for the time being," she manages a polite smile. Her eyebrows furrow at the mention of a jewelry store, "I'm pretty sure Heather is quite attached to the one Mac gave her," she manages a one-shouldered shrug. "Sentimentality isn't dead." She shoots him an easy smile.
*
"Oh, it's dead in Jean-Paul's beautifully-polished little black heart, bless it. Black because that goes with everything. I'm not sure it ever lived." Heather is remarkably chipper about that. "He's welcome to try to get me to stop wearing the ring. He'll have as much luck as I had getting him to give up that haircut that makes him look like a second-string Disney villain. We all have to live with a certain amount of failure in our lives."
*
"I have never been second-string anything in my life." Jean-Paul sniffs disdainfully and starts for the door, waving back towards the sofa. "Do sit, Doctor Storm. Make sure she does not try to glue that horrible thing on before I can save her from herself." He huffs quietly, lapsing into French as he rolls his eyes towards the ceiling. <I think David is okay with it. For fuck's sake, woman.>
*
"I… " Sue starts and then casts an odd look towards Heather. "She wouldn't dare," she begins, "but I'm doubtful you'll have much luck in coaxing it off either." Her lips twitch into an easy smile. "Not that I can blame her," she lifts her own hand to show off her new ring, complete with its very Fantastic Four blue streak. "Reed most definitely grew it in a lab. And I'm not sure anyone could negotiate it off my finger." She shrugs.
*
"Good luck, Jean-Paul. Try not to punch any reporters out there, dear. And pick something pretty! He's awful because he cares — unless he's being awful because he doesn't care," Heather says to Sue with a laugh. She takes a sip of her coffee and shrugs. "If you know him long enough, you can tell the difference. That's a beautiful ring, though, Sue. I assume congratulations — several — are in order?"
*
Not even Jean-Paul is so rude as to rob a woman of the opportunity to show off a new ring. He leans over to peer at it and gives a quiet hum of appreciation, his brow furrowing. "Yes, well. I assume Reed has a pulse," he notes lightly, giving Heather a very judgmental look before offering Sue an absolutely radiant smile. "Congratulations, Doctor. I will be back," he promises — or threatens, maybe, given the looks he keeps giving Heather. "Sit, talk. I will see how many reporters I can get lost in a bad neighborhood."
Before either of them can even wonder if he's serious, Jean-Paul is out the door.