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no_true_pairTitle: Prêt à partir
Fandom: Moon Knight (Marvel comics)
Pairing/Characters: Jean-Paul Duchamp & Reese
Rating: General Audiences
Content Notes: None!
Prompt: September Two - Jean-Paul Duchamp & Reese with the title "Ready to Go"
Mr. Knight's phone rang practically the minute he'd limped out of the room. His personal phone, not the Midnight Mission one, but she only looked between the phone and the door twice before she swiped to answer, cutting off the 80s alt-rock song that was his ringtone.
After all, he'd left his phone on her desk, and answering phones was part of her job. And the sun had set, so it was office hours. It could have been business.
"Mr. Knight's phone, Reese speaking."
There was a pause, long enough that Reese thought the person on the other end of the phone might have hung up, before the caller said in some kind of pleasant accent, "And where is… Mr. Knight?"
"I think he just hopped in the shower." She hoped that was true; she could hear water running in the next room, anyway. He was grimy, and that wasn't even touching the amount of blood that had been splotched all over his gear when he'd staggered in this morning and promptly passed out on the couch. Reese had to breathe through her mouth to avoid smelling it while she put a blanket over him and called Dr. Badr to come and sew him up. "Can I ask who's calling?"
"Ah, you may call me Frenchie." He sounded amused. "An old friend of Mr. Knight's. And you are his…?"
"Receptionist," Reese answered, jotting down Frenchie on her notepad and doodling a phone cord around it. "Also phone-sitter, occasional sidekick, and procurer of food with actual nutrients in it."
The man laughed. "Bien alors, it's good to know that some things don't change. Well, Reese, please tell him that Frenchie is on his way, and he will please meet me on the roof shortly."
"The roof?" She sat up, dropping her pen in the middle of drawing a little beret on a stick figure. "Are you a superhero, too?"
She could hear the smile in his voice. "No, no. Just a pilot for one, a lifetime ago. I was Marc's man behind the curtain when he was—"
Mr. Knight, in shockingly normal jeans and a white shirt crookedly tucked in, was suddenly there, snagging the phone from her fingers at that fascinating juncture. He was faster than her sometimes, which seemed unfair, given she was the one with the vampiric bloodlust and that was supposed to come with some benefits. "Thank you, Reese," he told her, and put the phone to his own ear. "Hi, Frenchie. Are you here?"
One vampiric benefit was the enhanced hearing. "Oui, Marc, nearly," said Frenchie, his voice gone warmer. "Should I drop the ladder for you, like old times, or may I land? I'd like to meet your receptionist. She sounds very young. Are you employing a child, Marc?"
"I'm immortal, actually," Reese called in the same moment Mr. Knight said, "Yeah, kind of. But she's good. Reese is… well, you'll see. Go ahead and land, Frenchie. I'll tell the house not to throw you off the roof."
There was a pause, but Frenchie clearly knew all about the weird stuff Mr. Knight dealt with on the regular and decided it was better not to ask. "À bientôt," was all he said.
"You have a friend," Reese accused her boss the minute he hung up the phone and looked at her. "A friend who laughs and knows stories about you and is French! How did none of us know this?"
"You didn't ask. And now you know." Mr. Knight—Marc—pulled on a brown jacket she had literally no idea where he'd found, because it hadn't been in his closet the last time she'd snooped. It wasn't white. He was wearing a color. Between the normal clothes and the haircut and the lack of mask, he looked like a human being, and it was so weird.
Her hand dove into her pocket for her phone, that was how much she wanted to take a picture to show Soldier, but that seemed like it would be pressing her luck. Anyway, he was already heading for the stairs. "Do you want to meet him or not?" he said without looking back.
Reese wasn't going to question a single thing tonight, as long as he was letting her see this brand-new side of him. "Coming!" she chirped as innocently as a bird, and followed him, on fire with curiosity.
There was a silvery aircraft on the roof like nothing Reese had ever seen before, sleek and weightless-looking. Swinging out of it was a tall guy in slacks and a jacket, with a neat mustache and streaks of gray cutting through his dark hair. She hung back at the roof door while Mr. Knight strode up to him, hesitated, and carefully offered his hand to shake. "It's been a while, Frenchie," he said in an extremely neutral tone. "Thanks for coming."
Frenchie shook his head and yanked him into a tight hug, and Reese watched with fascination as the boss melted into his arms. He said something soft and serious in French, and Mr. Knight answered, and man, she wished she'd taken French in high school instead of Spanish right now.
Mr. Knight unpeeled himself eventually and beckoned to her to come over. "Reese, this is Jean-Paul Duchamp. Frenchie, my assistant, Reese."
He turned to her, smiling, and offered his hand to her. "Nice to meet you." If he was startled by her cold hand, her red eyes, or the fangs that flashed when she smiled back, he didn't show it. "Are you keeping my old friend out of trouble?"
"Oh, no," Reese assured him. "He gets all the trouble he wants." She glanced between them, the way Mr. Knight leaned into him the way he did with Greer sometimes when he thought no one was looking. It was fascinating. "Hot date tonight?"
They glanced at each other; Mr. Knight startled, Frenchie amused. "My husband would have objections if it were too hot, I think." He squeezed his arm around Mr. Knight's shoulders. "We'll behave ourselves, and I'll have Marc home well before dawn. Do you approve?"
Reese had so many more questions, but looking at Mr. Knight's expression as he looked at his friend, somewhere between hope and trepidation and love, she swallowed them all. He had a friend, and that was kind of amazing, and he definitely needed to take a night off to hang out with his buddy, and she would get answers to all of her questions later. "Absolutely," she said firmly, and flapped her hand at the two of them. "Get out of here."
Fandom: Moon Knight (Marvel comics)
Pairing/Characters: Jean-Paul Duchamp & Reese
Rating: General Audiences
Content Notes: None!
Prompt: September Two - Jean-Paul Duchamp & Reese with the title "Ready to Go"
Mr. Knight's phone rang practically the minute he'd limped out of the room. His personal phone, not the Midnight Mission one, but she only looked between the phone and the door twice before she swiped to answer, cutting off the 80s alt-rock song that was his ringtone.
After all, he'd left his phone on her desk, and answering phones was part of her job. And the sun had set, so it was office hours. It could have been business.
"Mr. Knight's phone, Reese speaking."
There was a pause, long enough that Reese thought the person on the other end of the phone might have hung up, before the caller said in some kind of pleasant accent, "And where is… Mr. Knight?"
"I think he just hopped in the shower." She hoped that was true; she could hear water running in the next room, anyway. He was grimy, and that wasn't even touching the amount of blood that had been splotched all over his gear when he'd staggered in this morning and promptly passed out on the couch. Reese had to breathe through her mouth to avoid smelling it while she put a blanket over him and called Dr. Badr to come and sew him up. "Can I ask who's calling?"
"Ah, you may call me Frenchie." He sounded amused. "An old friend of Mr. Knight's. And you are his…?"
"Receptionist," Reese answered, jotting down Frenchie on her notepad and doodling a phone cord around it. "Also phone-sitter, occasional sidekick, and procurer of food with actual nutrients in it."
The man laughed. "Bien alors, it's good to know that some things don't change. Well, Reese, please tell him that Frenchie is on his way, and he will please meet me on the roof shortly."
"The roof?" She sat up, dropping her pen in the middle of drawing a little beret on a stick figure. "Are you a superhero, too?"
She could hear the smile in his voice. "No, no. Just a pilot for one, a lifetime ago. I was Marc's man behind the curtain when he was—"
Mr. Knight, in shockingly normal jeans and a white shirt crookedly tucked in, was suddenly there, snagging the phone from her fingers at that fascinating juncture. He was faster than her sometimes, which seemed unfair, given she was the one with the vampiric bloodlust and that was supposed to come with some benefits. "Thank you, Reese," he told her, and put the phone to his own ear. "Hi, Frenchie. Are you here?"
One vampiric benefit was the enhanced hearing. "Oui, Marc, nearly," said Frenchie, his voice gone warmer. "Should I drop the ladder for you, like old times, or may I land? I'd like to meet your receptionist. She sounds very young. Are you employing a child, Marc?"
"I'm immortal, actually," Reese called in the same moment Mr. Knight said, "Yeah, kind of. But she's good. Reese is… well, you'll see. Go ahead and land, Frenchie. I'll tell the house not to throw you off the roof."
There was a pause, but Frenchie clearly knew all about the weird stuff Mr. Knight dealt with on the regular and decided it was better not to ask. "À bientôt," was all he said.
"You have a friend," Reese accused her boss the minute he hung up the phone and looked at her. "A friend who laughs and knows stories about you and is French! How did none of us know this?"
"You didn't ask. And now you know." Mr. Knight—Marc—pulled on a brown jacket she had literally no idea where he'd found, because it hadn't been in his closet the last time she'd snooped. It wasn't white. He was wearing a color. Between the normal clothes and the haircut and the lack of mask, he looked like a human being, and it was so weird.
Her hand dove into her pocket for her phone, that was how much she wanted to take a picture to show Soldier, but that seemed like it would be pressing her luck. Anyway, he was already heading for the stairs. "Do you want to meet him or not?" he said without looking back.
Reese wasn't going to question a single thing tonight, as long as he was letting her see this brand-new side of him. "Coming!" she chirped as innocently as a bird, and followed him, on fire with curiosity.
There was a silvery aircraft on the roof like nothing Reese had ever seen before, sleek and weightless-looking. Swinging out of it was a tall guy in slacks and a jacket, with a neat mustache and streaks of gray cutting through his dark hair. She hung back at the roof door while Mr. Knight strode up to him, hesitated, and carefully offered his hand to shake. "It's been a while, Frenchie," he said in an extremely neutral tone. "Thanks for coming."
Frenchie shook his head and yanked him into a tight hug, and Reese watched with fascination as the boss melted into his arms. He said something soft and serious in French, and Mr. Knight answered, and man, she wished she'd taken French in high school instead of Spanish right now.
Mr. Knight unpeeled himself eventually and beckoned to her to come over. "Reese, this is Jean-Paul Duchamp. Frenchie, my assistant, Reese."
He turned to her, smiling, and offered his hand to her. "Nice to meet you." If he was startled by her cold hand, her red eyes, or the fangs that flashed when she smiled back, he didn't show it. "Are you keeping my old friend out of trouble?"
"Oh, no," Reese assured him. "He gets all the trouble he wants." She glanced between them, the way Mr. Knight leaned into him the way he did with Greer sometimes when he thought no one was looking. It was fascinating. "Hot date tonight?"
They glanced at each other; Mr. Knight startled, Frenchie amused. "My husband would have objections if it were too hot, I think." He squeezed his arm around Mr. Knight's shoulders. "We'll behave ourselves, and I'll have Marc home well before dawn. Do you approve?"
Reese had so many more questions, but looking at Mr. Knight's expression as he looked at his friend, somewhere between hope and trepidation and love, she swallowed them all. He had a friend, and that was kind of amazing, and he definitely needed to take a night off to hang out with his buddy, and she would get answers to all of her questions later. "Absolutely," she said firmly, and flapped her hand at the two of them. "Get out of here."