MCA #1, Saturday Afternoon
Jean-Paul had considered calling Scott and asking if there were any suicide missions lying about this weekend, but he'd decided that was the coward's way.
So before dawn, he'd gone flying. He'd made it up into the Arctic before he'd forced himself to turn around and come back. He landed on his balcony and opened the door.
She was sitting in the middle of the floor. She'd ransacked his desk for sharpies and paper, and was drawing something, all her focus on that until he opened the door and stepped inside. Then she looked up. Her whole face lit up, and yes. It still felt a lot like being stabbed in the chest. "Bonjour, Papa," she said with a smile.
He crouched down beside her and said slowly, "Bonjour, Joanne." Was she older? She was older. And he thought she looked healthier than last year. "//How did you get inside?//"
"//You keep the key under the mat,//" she reminded him. "//For when you lock yourself out flying.//" She held up the drawing. "//Look this is you and this is me.//"
He took the drawing gently and forced himself to smile. "//I can see that. It's beautiful.//" Even if she had drawn him wearing that atrocious visor he'd worn with the X-Men.
She gestured to a small purple backpack by the door. "//I brought my medicine. And my coat. I want to go flying. Papa, will you take me flying?//"
"//Of course, petite. This weekend we can do anything you want.//"
So before dawn, he'd gone flying. He'd made it up into the Arctic before he'd forced himself to turn around and come back. He landed on his balcony and opened the door.
She was sitting in the middle of the floor. She'd ransacked his desk for sharpies and paper, and was drawing something, all her focus on that until he opened the door and stepped inside. Then she looked up. Her whole face lit up, and yes. It still felt a lot like being stabbed in the chest. "Bonjour, Papa," she said with a smile.
He crouched down beside her and said slowly, "Bonjour, Joanne." Was she older? She was older. And he thought she looked healthier than last year. "//How did you get inside?//"
"//You keep the key under the mat,//" she reminded him. "//For when you lock yourself out flying.//" She held up the drawing. "//Look this is you and this is me.//"
He took the drawing gently and forced himself to smile. "//I can see that. It's beautiful.//" Even if she had drawn him wearing that atrocious visor he'd worn with the X-Men.
She gestured to a small purple backpack by the door. "//I brought my medicine. And my coat. I want to go flying. Papa, will you take me flying?//"
"//Of course, petite. This weekend we can do anything you want.//"