Author's note: in an effort to finish of this really old fanfiction of mine and renew my love of JQ:TRA, I've been revising previous chapters to help inspire me to finally put in prose the new chapters. As a result of these major revisions, you will find some major changes regarding some of the previous chapters; more specifically, I have deleted the insertion of some poems and songs which I considered to be "fillers." There are two reasons for this: a) they did not add to the chapter in question; b) it just got to be so hard to make the story flow with some of the songs and poems I've chosen. This made the story longer to write because I would end up deviating from my outline.
I hope the revisions are to your liking. And so, after over two years of hibernation, I give you the next chapter of…
The One and Only Jessie Bannon – A Jonny Quest: The Real Adventures Fanfiction
by Akane-Rei
Chapter Fifteen: Flirting with Fate
The streets were crowded, as usual, on a bright Saturday afternoon. Siann could hear the lazy chatter around her and she let the noise whirl around in her head. This was why she lived here. She loved the people, the sights, the whole ambiance. She loved walking in the streets, seeing the children and feeling the sun in her face. It was an inspiration that fed her artist's soul. And right now, inspiration was definitely something she needed.
She winced, remembering her argument with Luc that morning. As always, his over-protective streak rose to the occasion and reared its ugly head. Ever since Pierre had passed away, Luc would get into phases where he seemed to want to control her every movement. He would demand constant reports of her whereabouts and such, which in itself really wasn't too bad. What was bad was the fact that there were times when he would have the gall to actually try to forbid her to go anywhere.
It, of course, did not help that she was involved in some shooting incident the last time he had asked her to stay home. Oh how often he had brought up the incident as an example of why it would perhaps be a good idea to stay home on that day. She shook her head. Sometimes, he did not understand her brother-in-law. It was him (and Pierre, of course) who encouraged her to have the nerve to pursue her art and display her works in public. For God's sake, it was Luc who encouraged her to make her first public appearance. Ever since that incident, however, he had been…strange. Most especially so after the shooting at the café this past week. She bit her lip. She really wished that he would worry less about her.
As she walked towards her favorite café, she adjusted her cap just slightly. Paranoia or not, after the press conference, she had made an extra effort to hide her face when she was in public as Luc had bided her to do. Looking forward to sitting in her usual outdoor spot for a dose of people-watching, she paused mid stride when she noticed a familiar figure sitting by the café patio.
Jonathan Quest.
All thoughts of Luc flying out the window, she felt her heart skip a beat. She watched as his eyes met hers and, for that brief second, she let herself pretend that the light in those blue orbs were meant for her. It really was beautiful to see the radiance shine on his face. Unfortunately, she had a feeling that Monsieur Quest had another woman in mind, a woman name Jessie in fact, when he looked at her. The resemblance must be uncanny for him and his friend to be so bewildered at her presence.
She saw him rise from his seat when he spotted her, and in a moment of indecision, she debated the merits of joining him and hesitated before she approached. She would be lying to herself if she said that she was not interested; however, neither was she interested in being some sort of substitute for another woman. Not to mention the fact that their meeting was under such unique circumstances. She gave herself a mental shake as she approached him. She was getting ahead of herself. It was not as if he has said anything to indicate he had any interest in that direction.
She was, however, a student of human nature. And, she would again be lying to herself if she claimed that she perceived no interest from his end. She sighed. There it was…the temptation of possibilities. Ah well. Perhaps this was one of those times when she should let Fate guide her through. Maybe. She looked back at him again.
Idiot! she mentally berated herself as she caught him staring at her uncertainly. He was probably wondering by now why she was standing here, still as a sculpture, gaping at him. She had lingered too long. She shrugged her shoulders. Well, nothing else to do but brazen it out, she supposed. After all, what harm would it do to join him at this time?
"Bonjour, monsieur," she greeted as she approached his table. "I regret to inform you that you are occupying my favorite seat in this café. Therefore, being the gentleman that you are, you can do no less than offer it to me as a gesture of goodwill," she said with a deadpan expression.
He chuckled. Oh, he had a nice chuckle. Damn!
"But of course," he replied, moving to the side and pulling the chair back. "It would be an honor if you would join me for lunch."
She grinned at him. "Your generosity knows no bounds," she stated with all seriousness, accepting the chair and his hand as he helped her in place. She could not believe it. Was she actually flirting with the man?
He flashed her a roguish grin and her heart did a strange sort of flip. Oh yes, she thought. She would bet money on women falling over that one. She tried to reprimand herself. This was so not what she needed at this time.
"I could do no less," he replied, kissing her fingertips before releasing them.
She felt her face flush. Was she actually blushing? Hmm…perhaps she would have to revise her opinion of impetuous American males after all. She watched him seat himself facing her and could only admire at the grace in which he carried himself. She saw his self-conscious furtive glances towards her and a thought came to her head. She smiled at him, knowingly, "Tell me, Monsieur Quest," she began.
"Call me Jon," he interrupted her. At her sideways look, he continued, "Please."
"Very well," she acquiesced. "Tell me, Jon, what brought you to this particular café at this particular day?" She stared at his eyes, noting his quick glance away before meeting her gaze.
She watched in silent amusement at the red flush that covered his face. Interesting.
"One would have thought that your previous experience would have kept you away," she continued. Perhaps she was gaining some unholy amusement at his discomfiture. "And yet, here you are."
He smiled sheepishly.
Jonny always had a nice smile.
She gave a mental start. Now where did that come from?
"I must admit," he replied, his eyes twinkling, "that I had been hoping to see you."
Hmm…
She gave a mock gasp. "You mean this is not a coincidence?" she exclaimed, fluttering her lashes in an exaggerated manner. "Why, Monsieur…how forward!" Yep, she was definitely flirting.
He gave her a wry look. "Madame," he answered, "do you enjoy tormenting me?"
She smiled at him. He really was quite good-looking. Ah, Pierre, she thought. This one would have given you a run for your money.
She could almost hear her late husband's growl of indignation at that thought.
Surely not, he would have exclaimed. I thought I was the only handsome man in your radar.
She would laugh in response and claim that while she was married to him, she wasn't quite that blind.
She blinked at the memory of that often-played conversation and sighed. Now was perhaps not the best time to be dwelling on her past. She looked back at her present company and his merry gaze. There was something about him…
She relaxed her guard…slightly.
And, for the first time since seeing him in this café today, she gave him a truly genuine smile. "No," she finally replied to his query, "but I have a feeling that you need to be teased more often."
Jon grinned at her. As strange as it sounded, he was enjoying himself. He didn't know what he really expected upon actually seeing her at the café. But the truth of the matter was, he did not expect to be having…fun. He had thought to talk to her, maybe even learn about her a little, all the while basking in the presence of a ghost. What he didn't expect was to be infected by her humor. What he didn't expect was, for a brief moment in time, he had not expected to forget that she looked like Jessie.
"Some people would agree to that," he conceded to her assertion. He saw the slight wariness retreat from her eyes. He had not expected to actually like the woman apart from her resemblance to his past.
"I was hoping," he continued, "that we could get better acquainted under different circumstances."
Was that too forward? More importantly, did she think it was too forward? Ah, Quest, you are so out of practice.
Her eyes sparkled. "I do not know," she replied teasingly, "whatever will we do for excitement without the threat of snipers in the midst?"
"I'm sure I can think of something," he assured her and he winced. I'm sure I can think of something? Did he just say that? Maybe that didn't quite come out the way he wanted it to. If her raised eyebrows were any indication…Great going, Quest.
She laughed. "Really?" she asked merrily. "You don't say?"
He flushed. Again. There were times when he would give anything to have Hadji's dark coloring. "If I may start over?" he entreated. "Bonjour, my name is Jonathan Quest. I am here in Paris for a much needed vacation." He looked at her expectantly. "This is when you tell me your name and why you are in Paris."
"Alright," she conceded, having pity on him, perhaps. "I will play your little game. Siann Renard," she offered her hand. "I am here in Paris because I am lucky enough to live here." She gave him a look of pity. "Is this your first time on our beautiful City of Lights?"
He shook his head. "I've been here several times," he answered. "But mostly on business. This is the first time in a long while that I've been here just for…fun."
"Oh?" she prodded him, as she made a motion to one of the garçons. When one of the wait staff approached their table, she turned to him to say, "Café, s'il vous plaît." She turned back to him. "Are you one of those," she continued in a hushed whisper, "workaholics?" She looked closely at him. "Because if you are, I must tell you that I can no longer see you. To go to Paris for the sole purpose of working," she made a dramatic sigh, "it is sacrilege. The artist in me rebels at such a thought."
He laughed at her antics. "Surely, you will take pity on this poor, uncouth American?" he cajoled. "Perhaps if I had you as company…"he let his voice drift.
"Nice try," she grinned, as she received her drink. She held the cup with both hands and gently blew at the steaming mug.
And at that moment, her child-like gesture brought home to him more than anything her resemblance to Jessie.
Goddamn it.
He had been succeeding, albeit barely, on trying to think of Siann Renard as just…Siann. As soon as they started to talk, he was able to shove Jessie in the back of his mind and try to dedicate his attention to the beautiful woman in front of him.
Not that it was too difficult. Siann, for all her teasing, kept him on his toes. She was funny, witty, interesting. He had a feeling that even without her resemblance to Jessie, he would have found himself enjoying her company.
The trouble was (and there really was no way of getting around this circle) the fact that she looked like Jessie. When all was said and done, he was here, sitting in the café with Siann, because she looked like Jessie. And, as he stared at the woman in front of him, he wondered for the first time if his being here was fair to her. For that matter, was it fair to him and his father and brother, and the Bannons? A belated pang of guilt swept through him. He would be the first to admit that the only reason he sought her out was her resemblance to that long ago memory.
Did you see here again?
He gave a silent toast to his long-suffering shrink. Yes, as a matter of fact, he did see her again. And not only did he see her, he was actually having coffee with her in Paris while they made small talk.
He must have a little too long in his thoughts because the next thing he knew, Siann was giving him a strange look.
"Is something the matter?" she asked, her head tilting in one side. "Do I have foam in my mouth?" Her tongue snaked around her lips.
Was he staring at her in his reverie?
He shook his head and forced a smile. "No, no," he assured her. "I was just…lost in thought," he finished lamely.
She gave him a teasing smile. "Am I boring you, Monsieur?" she asked flirtatiously.
"No!" he declared hastily, aghast at the thought. "No," he repeated more softly.
She gave him another strange look. Hell, he deserved it. Once he started really thinking about Jessie, his balance usually got shot.
"Are you alright?" she asked carefully, a worried frown on her face. "No after effects from the incident before?"
"Huh," he mumbled, looking at her quickly. "No," he started, "I mean…yes, I'm okay and no to the after effects." He let out a breath. He was babbling. He had to be. She must think him an idiot. "I…I should tell you something," he started. He wanted to be fair. To her. To everyone.
"Oh?" she replied with an arched brow.
He took a deep breath. "You…you look like someone I used to know," he said steadily.
She gave him a wry grin. "I sort of figured that out by myself," she said gamely with a tilt of her head.
He gave her a startled look. "Huh?" he said stupidly. He shook his head. Great, Quest. Just great. "I mean to say," he began again, mentally trying to kick some sense into him, "is that how was it that you knew?" There. That sounded reasonable.
She gave him an enigmatic smile. "Well," she replied, a thoughtful look in her face, "it must have something to do with the fact that you have called me by another name previously." She gave him a gentle look. "She must be very special."
Special.
-- FLASHBACK --
When did it first start? These feelings of tenderness that went beyond friendship? The healing of his heart? The heady feeling of euphoria at her touch? The warm glow of happiness in her company?
As he stared at her retreating figure, beyond his brother's shoulders, he wondered.
When did it first start? This aching tightness in his chest whenever he thought of her? The slight awkwardness in his thoughts that caused him to stutter? The flush of embarrassment that inevitably resulted from catching her gaze? The uncontrollable urge to…to hit something, more specifically, someone whom she may happen to smile upon?
He winced at the memory of her tears. Sometimes, he knew, he carried on the teasing way too far. But in those cases, never, never had he seen her cry. If anything, he would have expected her to tilt her chin up in defiance while she gave it as good as she got.
When did it first start? The unreasonable thoughts of rejection? The white-hot fires of jealousy that licked his veins? The need to lash out, to hurt, to retaliate? The need to do anything as long as it kept his mind of his own jumble of thoughts?
"I am sure she will be receptive to your explanations tomorrow," Hadji said in a quiet voice. "Perhaps you should take a break yourself and give yourself time to think about… everything. Things will look better in the morning."
He closed his eyes for the moment.
When did it first start? When did Jessie become special to him?
He opened his eyes and found his father and his brother staring at him. A thoughtful expression entered his father's eyes.
"Why don't we all sit down by the fire and have a cup of tea before we get back to the camp?" his father suggested, a hopeful look in his face.
Taking one last look at the exit where she disappeared, he allowed himself to be led into the circle of his family. A place where his emotions were more manageable.
-- END FLASHBACK --
A small, sad smile appeared in the corner of his mouth and his blue, blue eyes held a far away look.
"Special?" he repeated under his breath, almost to himself, that Siann wasn't sure if she heard him. "Special?" he repeated, louder this time.
She watched as memories passed familiarly through his eyes before he gave her a regretful look.
"Yes," he replied. "She was that." He looked away from her for a moment, his eyes refusing to meet hers.
Not for the first time, she wondered at the woman she resembled enough to cause so much discomfort.
Her eyes fell to his restless movements. His hands took turns running his fingers through his hair before settling forcibly at the table in front of them. A lost look crept across his face.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled.
"What do you mean?" she asked, although she was afraid she already knew the answer. She could see it in his guilt-ridden face. Again she wondered if she was willing to risk her heart for the attentions of a man who saw her as nothing more than a mere memory. She gave a startled gasp.
Her heart? Whoever said anything about her heart? Mon Dieu! This was coffee, not a romantic interlude.
And yet…wasn't that why she was here? When all was said and done, wasn't she sitting here, having coffee with him in hopes of opening the door to other possibilities?
He looked up at her with his conflicted eyes.
And once she saw the deep sorrow that hid in those depths, her hands slowly covered his while she cursed God for His gift of compassion.
"It's alright," she whispered gently with a thread of disappointment. "I think that I know."
He shook his head, whether in denial to himself or her, she didn't know.
"I understand," she told him, trying to hold his gaze. "It's okay," she emphasized. She wasn't sure whether it was herself she was trying to convince or him. She, more than anyone, knew the power of memories. With a brief sigh of regret, she said a silent goodbye to any thoughts she may have had of an impending romance.
Again he shook his head. "No, you don't understand," he said, firmly now. "I want to be fair. And honest."
She nodded, attempting to follow his train of thought.
"I want you to know that I sought you out, searched Paris for you, because of your resemblance to her," he explained.
She bit her lip. Yes, she quite knew that. Now.
"But," he continued, "I would like to get to know you better. You. Not her."
She looked at him intently. Her silence must have spoken to him, hinted at him things which she left unsaid between them. He gripped her fingers tightly and she stared down their entwined hands.
His warm hands.
"Please," he said lowly, "knowing this about me, I would like you to give me a chance."
She licked her suddenly dry mouth. "I don't know I could stand to be a substitute," she said slowly.
"Just a chance," he repeated, "to separate you from her." His earnest face looked up at her hopefully. "I'd like us to be friends."
She gave him a weak smile. Friends. Of course. The one male since Pierre's death whom she actually began to consider in a romantic light wants to be friends. To add insult to injury, he more than likely wants to be friends due to her resemblance to someone else.
"Friends," she repeated, a smile pasted on her face. "Of course," she replied brightly. "Why not? One can never have enough friends," she babbled.
A relieved smile curved across his mouth just as she mentally slapped her forehead. She must be insane. It was either that or she was a sucker for sad stories. And she was sure, as she looked across the table and into those blue eyes, she was sure that there was a sad story behind them.
To be continued.
Revised January 4, 2005