#caljean

Caline lifted a finger to the pretty bartender, her gaze wandering over the other patrons. It was only five o’clock - the place wasn’t in full Friday night swing yet. She stopped when she saw her only neighbor at the bar - a tall man, slender, hair neatly trimmed, with a thin moustache. Caline frowned. What was the personal butler of Mayor Bourgeois doing here on a weekday?

Her glass refilled, Caline inched her way down to the man. His glass held liquor over ice, she noticed. Uh oh, she thought as she took in his bowed head and slumped shoulders. Had he been fired or something? Caline politely cleared her throat.

The man’s head snapped up, but he relaxed when he saw Caline’s gentle smile.

“Aren’t you Jean - uh, Jean-” she fumbled for his full name.

“Si, yes, Butler Jean Something-or-Other, that’s me,” he replied, droll.

“I’m so sorry. It’s just that we’ve never been introduced.”

Jean waved off her apology and lifted his glass, then stopped midway to his mouth and set it back down.

“Please excuse me; would you like to have a seat?” He gestured to the bar stool beside him.

Caline stretched up on tiptoe and seated herself, her long legs nearly touching the floor. Jean gave her a perfunctory half-smile, then raised his glass again.

“Your health, Mademoiselle,” he said, taking a small sip.

“I don’t mean to intrude, Monsieur, but is everything alright?” Caline asked.

She watched the man carefully. He had only recently been akumatized, after all. And with her own fresh experience of Hawkmoth’s control, she knew the raw emotions could linger.

Behind the glass, Jean’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “No need to be so formal. You can call me Jean. And yes, I’m alright. It’s been a trying day at Le Grande Paris, but nothing to be worried about. I won’t go running to Hawkmoth over it.”

Caline grimaced. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s a little bit what you meant, Mademoiselle,” Jean replied, but his eyes twinkled.

Caline laughed. “Well, if I’m to call you Jean, you must call me Caline. Only my students call me Mademoiselle. And believe me, you have only my sympathy - not my suspicion.”

“I believe you. Ah, yes, you teach at Collège Françoise Dupont? And you have the honor of teaching my employer’s daughter, correct?”

Caline laughed again. Jean’s tone made it all too clear the kind of honor he meant regarding Chloe Bourgeois. Jean was far from the humorless subordinate she assumed Mayor Bourgeois thought he employed. And she liked how his moustache twitched every time he made one of his ironic comments.

“She can be a real so-and-so at times, can’t she?” Caline admitted.

Jean laughed, a short, sardonic bark. He finished his glass and set it quietly back on the bar.

“I suppose that’s one way to put it. I might choose other words, if it didn’t put my job at risk.”

“She’s only fourteen. Give her time,” suggested Caline.

“Words to live by,” Jean replied. He eyed his empty glass.

“Let me,” Caline offered, putting a hand on his shoulder. She caught the bartender’s attention. “One more for my friend?”

The young woman nodded and went to ready the drink. Caline rested an elbow on the bar and set her chin in her palm. No students to see her looking so informal, anyway.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you at our little watering hole before, Jean. What brings you out?”

Jean restlessly slid his glass back and forth between two fingers, the ice clinking softly. “I am relieved by my second-in-command every third Friday for a night off. He let me sneak away a bit early this evening.”

“To drink alone?”

“Well… on short notice, yes.”

“But usually you would plan such an outing with friends?”

“Of course.”

“Alright, then,” Caline leaned back, satisfied.

“What about you, Caline? Are you not here on a Friday evening, drinking alone?”

“Ah, but I’m waiting for a friend, Jean. She just happens to be busy. And we meet here every Friday, short notice or not.”

“Mmm.”

Jean pretended to disbelieve her, but his dark eyes gave him away. Caline giggled. Was the wine going to her head? Surely not. It was only a leisurely glass and a half. Some little thrill wriggled in her stomach and she pressed on, feeling bold.

“I suppose now that we’ve met, we are each drinking with a friend, Jean.”

“Our mutual problem is solved,” he agreed.

The bartender brought Jean’s new glass and they toasted.

“Tell me about your day, Jean,” Caline asked.

“Oh, you mean what specifically drove me to a bar?” he replied.

Amazed, Caline stared. Jean didn’t employ any kind of small talk - he cut right to the heart of her meaning as though he read her mind. She nodded and he straightened up, taking on the air of a man asked to recite.

“Mr. Cuddly,” he announced solemnly, “went into the wash with the regular hotel laundry. He is specifically supposed to be laundered by hand using fragrance-free soap. His delicate seams will not hold up to machine washing, Caline. I am, apparently, too cruel for words. In addition, the floral scent is unseemly and will irritate Miss Bourgeois’ nasal membranes. My second-in-command, who will be canonized if my petition to the Pope is answered favorably, is currently completing the three hand washes required to bring Mr. Cuddly back to his normal non-scent. I, meanwhile, am in hiding lest a silver tray or some other implement of destruction is employed to remove my head from my shoulders.”

Caline’s eyes grew wider and wider as Jean spoke. When he stopped, she placed a hand over her mouth, but it was no use. Her laugh cut across the half-empty bar, filling its corners and echoing back to the two of them. Jean’s mustache twitched as he eyed her. Caline leaned over and laughed until tears were streaming from her eyes. She waved a hand at Jean apologetically, but he began to chuckle, too. He caught her free hand and then clapped her on the shoulder as he laughed.

“You- you and that damn bear! You should burn it!” she gasped, holding on to the bar.

“I can’t,” he wheezed, wiping his eyes. “She’d notice.”

“True, true. You’ll have to grin - and bear it!” Caline replied, cracking up again.

Jean looked pained as he laughed. “That was beneath you, Caline. Chat Noir’s level, even.”

“That man has a talent for word play, even if you’re incapable of appreciating it,” Caline retorted.

“Friends are allowed to respect each other’s differences,” he decided, musing. “But the jokes are not good, Caline. They are too easy.”

“Fine, fine, have it your way,” she assented. “It’s not my problem if you have poor ta-”

She was interrupted by a loud, irritating ring. Jean grimaced. From one pocket, he produced a slim phone in a black case.

“I am summoned. It appears my night off is canceled,” he said, looking at the screen.

“Oh, Jean, how disappointing. I’m sorry,” replied Caline. She frowned. “That’s not very fair at all.”

Jean shrugged. “It is what it is.”

He pocketed the phone, but stopped and pulled it back out. He tapped its screen lightly with his thumbs, then turned it around.

“Mademoiselle Bustier - Caline - would you be so kind as to - uh, that is - may I call you sometime?”

A somber, but not stern, demeanor had replaced his playful attitude. Caline looked at the man seated next to her. He wore a smooth non-expression on his face and not a single hair was astray. Then she noticed the bright pink tips of his ears and the way he held himself perfectly straight, not even breathing.

“Certainly,” she smiled.

Mendeleiev nodded, satisfied with the reaction her tale had elicited. “You know me, Caline. I never lie to our students. Cajole, badger, harp, perhaps even wheedle, but not lie. It’s… well, it’s beneath my dignity, for one thing. For another, the truth is much more fun.”

Mendeleiev wiggled her eyebrows and tossed a devilish smile at the bartender. The woman’s hair was blonde this week. Caline could tell that Mendeleiev approved. Caline patted her own ginger locks and looked at her watch.

Mendeleiev observed Caline’s nervous motions. “So tell me more about this mystery man. You’re sure he exists…?”

“Mendeleiev, don’t tease,” Caline replied, rather sharply.

Mendeleiev sat back, eyes wide, and Caline sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m nervous, that’s all. Jean’s called to talk and we’ve texted a few times, but he’s so busy - at all hours! Honestly, I never knew the Bourgeois family was so demanding.”

“But you have seen him, haven’t you?” Mendeleiev asked, curious.

“Well… he took me out to coffee. Once. It was lovely.”

Mendeleiev opened her mouth at the radiant expression on Caline’s face, then closed it and just shook her head. No point in reiterating her doubts that this Jean could become anything more than a casual suitor; Caline clearly wasn’t in the mood to entertain discussion on the matter. Caline checked her watch again.

“It’s only six hours thirteen. He just got off of work; we’ll probably see him soon.” Smiling at the other patrons, Caline took a moment to wave at a few familiar faces before turning back to her friend.

“In that case, a refill for me, please,” Mendeleiev indicated her glass and the bartender came over with a broad smile.

The door of the bar slammed open and Caline looked up, her heart in her throat. She frowned when she recognized Nadja Chamack and her colleague Alec Cataldi. They were deep in conversation as they passed Caline and Mendeleiev; clearly shop talk held over from work at the TV station.

One half of Mendeleiev’s mouth drew up in a smirk. Caline returned the look with a rueful smile of her own.

“So, any other stories about your recalcitrant students?” she asked.

“I’d rather hear about your dream class,” Mendeleiev retorted. “Any akumatizations this week?”

Caline rolled her eyes. “No, I think just about all of them have been through it now. As have I. I wonder if you can only get akumatized once?”

Mendeleiev forcefully shook her head. “Not enough data. I wouldn’t make that assumption. Besides, Ivan Bruel’s experience would indicate otherwise.”

Caline tapped her chin.

“I suppose that’s true. I’d forgotten. He was a special case, though,” she added as an afterthought. “Ladybug didn’t get rid of all the stone people around town the first time.”

“Regardless, it’s a point of inquiry I have no desire to pursue,” Mendeleiev concluded with a flat wave of her hand.

“Same,” Caline agreed and took a sip of her wine.

A quiet bump rattled their glasses. Caline looked down in alarm, then up at a tiny stream of dust filtering down from the ceiling.

“Did you feel that?” she asked Mendeleiev, whose gaze followed hers upward.

Both women covered their wine glasses as a second vibrating jolt shook loose more dust. Akuma sirens started whining in the distance. The noise of the bar quieted, then picked back up with a few shrill questions bouncing over the bed of conversation.

Mendeleiev exhaled a muttered string of curses. “Hawkmoth would have the audacity to interrupt my Friday night wine time.”

“Well, they always tell us to stay off the streets, so I’m not leaving,” Caline replied, tossing back the last of her glass.

The door to the bar opened on a quiet creak, letting in a tall, flustered man in a plum colored button-down and tailored slacks. Jean shut the door quickly and pressed his back to it, catching his breath.

“Oh! Jean!” Caline’s voice sounded unnaturally high in her ears as her hand fluttered above her head in greeting.

Jean gulped, but managed a smile as he caught Caline’s eye. The smile warmed as he stepped away from the door and joined the two women at the bar. Jean took Caline’s hands in his own. She noticed that they trembled slightly as the pair traded kisses on either cheek.

“Caline, how are you?” he murmured, his voice a low tenor.

Caline stared up into his dark eyes, her response forgotten on her lips. Had it really only been two weeks since she’d seen him? It seemed much longer. His hair was shorter; he’d gotten it cut. Mendeleiev cleared her throat and Caline started.

“Ah, Jean, let me introduce you to my colleague, Ms. Mendeleiev,” she said, pulling a hand free and indicating her friend.

“Just Mendeleiev, if you please,” the woman said with an uncharacteristically sincere smile.

“Lovely to meet yo-”

A loud crack that shook the windows interrupted their introductions. Jean winced slightly, then chuckled.

“It’s a nasty akuma this time. Ladybug and Chat Noir are already on the scene. I had to run ‘round the corner to escape the crossfire,” he explained, placing his elbows on the bar and ordering a drink.

Caline covered her mouth with one hand, but Mendeleiev’s eyes sparkled.

“A close one, eh?” she queried as the bartender poured a glass of red wine for Jean.

“A bit. The akuma didn’t see me, though. I was nearly here and already under the arches. You look...very nice, Caline,” he finished, turning back to her.

Bewildered, Caline blushed all the way to her collarbone. “Thank you. You as well.”

To her credit, Mendeleiev did not roll her eyes as she looked away to give the lovebirds a moment. There were several ominous rumbles outside as Jean took Caline’s hands again.

“I meant to call yesterday and-”

“I know, I got your text.” Caline shook her head. “Did she really-”

The stained-glass window at the front of le Bar des Vosges crashed inward, spewing glass all over the floor. Mendeleiev yelled and threw one arm over her face. Shards skated toward the feet of shocked patrons.

For a moment, the bar was completely silent. Then a figure in garish shades of green and pink with motorcycles for legs revved up and through the broken bar window, screeching unintelligibly. Everyone who wasn’t seated backed up, leaving the narrow center of the old bar clear. Jean stepped laterally, in front of Caline, but stilled when the akuma’s eyes flicked over them.

The smell of exhaust and the turbulent roar of engines polluted the small space quickly. Caline covered her nose and mouth, but it didn’t help. She and her companions could hear a voice from outside, despite the cacophony.

“I’m getting wheelie, wheelie tired of chasing you, Vicious Cycle,” Chat Noir admonished, dropping in neatly through the window. Glass crunched under his steel-pawed boots as he brandished his baton.

Ladybug landed next to him. The bar hardly afforded her enough room to whirl her yo-yo. Caline was close enough to see the pink crackle of its magic.

“We’ve got to get out of here. Too many civilians,” she murmured to Chat Noir.

His ears flicked in acknowledgement. Fortunately, the akuma’s only aim was to avoid pursuit. Vicious Cycle took off at breakneck speed across the ancient floor beams toward the back exit, tires squealing offensively.

“Thank goodness,” Chat Noir sighed. “I think I may be too young to handlebars anyway.”

Ladybug made an exasperated noise and grabbed Chat Noir by the upper arm, dragging him after her. He waved awkwardly at at the bar as they passed.

“Hi, Ms. Mendeleiev, Ms. Bustier.”

The women stared at him, bug eyed. The whole bar waited in silence until they heard the slam of the back door. Immediately, everyone started chattering.

“I got it all!” Nadja Chamack crowed from a booth near the back. She triumphantly waved a cell phone above her head. “Take that, Ladyblog!”

The blonde bartender came around with a broom and dustpan, but Mendeleiev placed a hand on her arm. “Don’t bother. Just wait for the creepy magic ladybug swarm to swoop through. You deserve a few minutes’ break.”

The woman grinned and sat on a barstool next to Mendeleiev, leaning back on her elbows to survey the damage and converse. As her friend was otherwise occupied, Caline turned back to Jean. He tilted her chin up with a fingertip.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, breathless. She couldn’t tell if it was the air pollution or Jean’s fingers at her chin. “Are you?”

“Right as rain,” he confirmed, staring deeply into Caline’s eyes.

On impulse, Caline straightened up just as Jean’s head dipped down. Their foreheads met with a blunt smack. Pain shot through Caline’s head; she scrunched her eyes closed as Jean drew back and rubbed a red spot between his brows.

“Ow,” they said, then Jean’s mustache twitched and they both laughed.

“May I?” asked Caline, standing.

Jean dropped his hand and Caline smoothed hesitant fingertips over his eyebrows. She could see the tight muscles of his face relax as she did so. Her knuckles curled and the backs of her fingers slid down to rest gently against Jean’s cheekbones. He reached up and pressed one palm to his cheek, closing his enchanting eyes.

A familiar flickering light flowed through the bar, warm and pink as sunset. Jean blinked, startled, but Caline pulled him down into a kiss under the cover of magic ladybugs. His breath mingled with hers, sweet, as he exhaled in surprise. When he brought his arms around her, Caline’s other hand went to the nape of his neck. She combed her fingers through the soft hair there. She tilted her head and pressed even closer. Her heart jackhammered against her ribs as Jean moved his lips shyly against hers.

As the warmth and light around them receded, Jean reluctantly released her. The window had reverted to its former splendor; there were no tire marks on the old, scratched floor. Jean leaned against the bar top as if dazed.

“Wha - why, Caline, I-”

She placed a finger on his soft lips and smiled. “Shhh, Jean. You’re safe with me.”

Jean recovered quickly; his eyebrow quirked and the corners of his mouth drew up in a tiny smile. “I’m not sure ‘safe’ is the word I would choose.”