Pace. Pace.
"What is the point of windows if all you can see through them is icky whiteness? White, white, white. I am starting to hate that colour. Though actually, I don't think it is a colour. Read it somewhere. Not sure where. In a magazine maybe."
Pace. Pace.
"Shouldn't you throw another piece of wood into the fireplace? It's starting to get chilly. I hate cold. I mean, it's okay sometimes when you can get in from it. You know, like lay in front of a fireplace or something, but not when I'm already inside."
Sam Guthrie whimpered and placed his hands firmly over his ears. He had never longed for a solid 2-by-4 so much before. Not even when Tabitha had found his stash of candy and got very, very sugar high. Though that came close. Sam eyed the wood by the fireplace. Maybe, if he hit Jean-Paul just right over the head, he would pass out and stay that way until the rescue party came?
Oh blessed silence.
Sam brightened at the thought.
"I really, really hate this place. What am I doing here, anyway? I never would have been here if it hadn't been for you people. What the hell were you doing out here anyway? Don't you have headquarters in San Francisco or something? Or do we need to fire our informants?" Jean-Paul paced.
Sam whimpered.
"What is taking them so long? We've been buried in this cabin for six hours now. Shouldn't they have got us out by now?" Jean-Paul stopped and looked at Sam. "Well?"
Sam looked up in surprise. He was supposed to say something? Well, that was a first in... Oh, five hours and forty-five minutes. Not that he'd been keeping track. "Avalanche warning, probably. No need for them to get buried as well."
Jean-Paul started pacing on the multi-coloured carpet again. "No, I suppose not. Then who'd get us out? I still don't like it."
Sam had got that part. He knew that Jean-Paul didn't like being trapped in a cabin buried under an avalanche of snow. He didn't much like it himself. And if Jean-Paul didn't shut up soon, Sam was going to go batty. He'd been talking non-stop for five hours. Sam's ears, big as they might be, were well beyond tired and approaching down right dead.
Sam wondered what he had to do to get Jean-Paul to shut the fuck up.
"Don't you ever say anything?" Jean-Paul wanted to know. "I'm getting tired of the sound of my own voice. And I think I've covered every topic I even have a slight interest in. Twice."
"Can't we just sit here in overwhelming silence?" Sam said hopefully.
"No. The claustrophobia is bad enough as it is, thank you very much."
Sam gave the other man a surprised look. "You're claustrophobic?"
"Why the hell do you think I've been chattering on for five hours?"
"Uh. You're feeling really talkative?"
Jean-Paul gave Sam a disgusted look. "No. It was either that or shouting really loud from the top of my lungs and bouncing off the ceiling."
"Ah. You picked the best option then. Even though you've been hammering on my last nerve for hours. Did I say that out loud?"
"Yes." Jean-Paul's lips quirked in something similar to a grin.
"Ooops," Sam smiled. "But seriously, could you shut up for just a little bit? I swear I'll even let you sing Christmas carols at the top of your lungs, if you just shut up for a bit?"
Jean-Paul looked interested. "Christmas carols?"
"I'll even join in," Sam promised.
"It's a proof of how mad this situation has driven me, that I'm actually considering that suggestion."
"I was thinking the same thing..."
"Your ears are big. You should let your hair grow. You might look better then. Maybe even handsome. Not that I'd do you anyway, but I'm sure there are people out there who would."
Ten minutes later...
"Oh come all ye faaaaaaiiithful, jooooooyful and triiiiiiiuu-uumphant, oh come ye, oh cooome ye, to Be-eeth-le-heeeem!"
To Sam's delight Jean-Paul clasped his hands firmly over his ears and glared at Sam.
Sam continued. "Lalalalaaaaalaaa, born the ki-ing of aaaangels, oh come let us adooooore him, oh come let us adooore him..."
Jean-Paul took advantage of the brief pause in the recital as Sam tried to remember what came next and growled. "Do you know more than one verse of at least one song?"
"Nope!" Sam said cheerfully.
"You're getting me back for the chattering, aren't you?"
"Who? Me?" Sam grinned brightly and remembered a song he hadn't done yet. "Long time ago, in Bethlehem, so the holy bible says, Mary's boy chile, Jesus Christ, was born on Christ-a-mas day. Listen, hear the angels sing, a new king's born today..."
Thirty minutes later...
Jean-Paul was banging his head against the wall rhythmically, muttering something in French - or what Sam assumed was French.
Sam considered having mercy on the poor guy.
He then remembered that he could, without trying very hard, rattle off Jean-Paul's favorite wines, sports, newspapers, resturants and work out routines. Oh yes. Jean-Paul deserved this.
Sam grinned as he recalled a song his mother used to sing. "Nu har vi vaska gølvet, å vi har børi ve', å vi har sett opp fugleband å vi har pønta tre, nu sætt vi øss å kvile å puste på ej stund i mens je' rugge vogga så bror din får ein blund."
Jean-Paul stopped banging his head against the wall and stared open mouthed at Sam instead. "What the hell is that?"
"Norwegian."
Jean-Paul blinked.
"My mother's ancestors were Norwegian," Sam explained. "They were really fond of that one."
"Do you know what it means?"
"Haven't a clue. All I know is that it's a Christmas carol of some kind."
Jean-Paul looked vaguely interested. "Is it long?"
"Oh yes! It has about thirty stanzas or thereabouts."
Jean-Paul started banging his head against the wall again.
Sam grinned.
Fourty minutes later, Sam was all out of Christmas carols.
"You sing one more song, and I'll kill you myself and blame it on the avalanche," Jean-Paul threatened.
"Not fair," Sam complained, more to annoy Jean-Paul than anything else. "I let you go on and on about skiing for two hours!"
"I'm not you," Jean-Paul pointed out with infallible logic.
"Yeah, the hair is all wrong."
"Not to mention everything else."
"We can both fly though."
"That helps a lot when we're buried under who knows how many meters of snow."
"True." Sam looked at Jean-Paul. "Do we have anything in common at all?"
Jean-Paul thought. "Let's see... I'm tall, dark and handsome, you're..." Jean-Paul gave Sam a once-over. "Not."
Sam rolled his eyes. "You mean, you're a bratty, stuck-up Canuck, while I am a cute, irresistible woman-magnet?"
Jean-Paul shrugged. "You say tometo, I say tomatoh. The fire is going out."
"In our relationship? Wasn't aware we had one." Sam glanced towards the fireplace and noted that Jean-Paul was right.
"Funny."
"Yeah, I thought so too."
"You're really not my type." Jean-Paul jumped up on the table and watched, feet dangling, as Sam shoved some wood into the fireplace.
"You're not exactly my type either."
"Too male?"
Sam shrugged.
Jean-Paul stilled and stared. "Do I need to get my gaydar fixed or something?"
Sam sniggered and turned. "I don't know... Does one night with Gambit even count?"
"Let me think. Yes. Wait. Gambit? Tall, red hair, hopeless flirt, intolerable smirk?"
"Yup."
"I thought he was straight..." Jean-Paul frowned. "Maybe I really do need to get my gaydar fixed."
Sam shook his head. "Bi. But apparently he walks the straight and narrow nowadays. Last I heard he was engaged to some girl with, and I quote, 'the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen'. 'Berto seemed quite taken with her."
Jean-Paul looked blank.
"Sunspot? Gets all black when he's powered up?"
Jean-Paul continued to look blank.
"Oh forget it... He's an old friend, okay?"
"Ahh."
"You don't memorize the current X-Men members?" Sam grinned.
"No, see, I actually have a life," Jean-Paul said dryly. "Unlike some I could mention."
"You know, I was listening while you were ranting earlier -- Well, some of the time, anyway -- and I disagree. Hell if you've got more of a life than I do." Sam paused. "Okay, possibly less villain-of-the-week themed, but otherwise..."
"You were listening? Though I guess with those ears it was kind of inevitable..."
"Would you lay off my ears?"
"No. It's too irresistible."
"The people I'm living with have managed to resist it (more or less, anyway) for four years now."
"I'm not living with you --"
"Thank God."
"--So I don't have to resist. I can not resist all I like. I'm never going to see you again after this, if I can help it, so why resist?"
Sam tilted his head thoughtfully. "Good point."
"Naturally." Jean-Paul looked smug. "I'm famous for my good points."
"Too bad none of them are visible," Sam muttered. He was lying of course, and he knew it. Jean-Paul did have many good points, and they were visible, but if he admitted that, it would ruin the whole game. And Sam was bored enough to want the game to continue.
Apparently Jean-Paul was as well.
They bickered on for the best part of an hour, then they got hungry.
"There's got to be something to eat in these cabinets..."
"Yeah, spam or canned milk, or something," Sam agreed.
Jean-Paul threw Sam a disgusted look.
"Well, there's not much of a chance we're going to find fresh fruit, now is there?" Sam defended himself.
"Still... Canned milk?" Jean-Paul shuddered. He opened another cabinet and glanced inside. He shuddered again, then reached inside it to grab a small box. He held it up for Sam to see.
"Canned milk," Sam said.
"Canned milk," Jean-Paul agreed unhappily. "Couldn't you have wished for something else? Like a steak or wine? Or both?"
Sam looked amused. "I don't think the milk magically appeared in the cabinet just because I talked about it. Sure, stranger things have happened..."
Jean-Paul reached inside the cabinet again.
"Spam," Sam said, blinking.
Jean-Paul nodded.
"We'll survive."
"Our stomachs might not."
"See if you can find any MREs too."
Jean-Paul arched an eyebrow.
"Military rations," Sam explained. "You hang around Wisdom long enough, it's amazing what you'll find out."
"I don't want to find MREs then."
Sam looked into the cabinet closest to himself. "Um."
Jean-Paul sat down on the bench. "Wonderful."
Sam cooked, if you could call it that, and Jean-Paul sulked and occasionally glanced into a cabinet in the hope that a steak might have magically appeared in there. Yes, it was a bit far-fetched, but Jean-Paul had been locked up in the cabin for seven - eight (he'd lost track) hours now. His mind wasn't working properly.
Jean-Paul looked over at Sam. Nice arse, he noted distractedly before trying to crane his neck enough to see what Sam was doing with the MREs.
"You're cheating!"
"No, I'm not!" Sam protested indignantly.
"You are so! J'accuse!" Jean-Paul stood up, pointing a finger dramatically at Sam. "I saw you. You moved five spaces instead of four!"
"Did not!"
"Did too! And I saw you! So there! Move back." Jean-Paul sat back down and gave Sam a firm look.
Sam pouted. "But that would land me right in jail."
"Which is where you should be." Jean-Paul pointed. "Move."
Sam grumbled and did as told.
They'd found an old Monopoly game under the bed, and, since they didn't have much else to do, they'd decided to play it. Sam was the hat, while Jean-Paul was the shoe.
"Top and bottom..." Sam had muttered.
Jean-Paul ignored him.
Sometime during the twelfth hour they'd been snowed (or avalanched) in, Jean-Paul kissed Sam.
Granted, they'd been playing 'Truth or Dare', so it was really Sam's fault.
Still. Jean-Paul had kissed Sam.
Neither of them was entirely sure what he thought about that.
It had been nice, of course. A nice kiss. On a scale of one to ten, ten being the best, this probably rated a seven and a half.
Sam had had nicer kisses. He was sure of that. He could dimly remember kissing Tabitha in Maui. That had been nice. And Gambit was a good kisser too. And Dani. But Dani was... well, Dani. She didn't count.
Jean-Paul was also sure he'd had nicer kisses. He couldn't quite remember when, but... Surely, somewhere in his past, there were nicer kisses. If there weren't, he really had to work on his social life. Like, maybe get one.
Fact remained, however, that Jean-Paul had kissed Sam and it was a very nice kiss indeed.
Sam looked at Jean-Paul. Jean-Paul looked back.
They thought.
Lots and lots of snow outside. No contact from either of their teams in hours. No reason to believe that they were getting out of the cabin anytime soon.
Nothing really better to do...
Sam leaned over the table. "One word about my ears, and I'll bite you."
Jean-Paul grinned and kissed him.
Sam pulled away. "Agreed?"
Jean-Paul nodded, still grinning. "Agreed."
"Wonderful." Sam smiled. "Merry Christmas, JP."
Jean-Paul poked Sam's nose. "Merry Christmas. Where are my gifts? I wanted kisses... and some hot lovin'."
"Ah, you're in luck then..."