Finally another installment to the "Ah'm Pregnant, Dammit!" Series. I know. I'm lazy. The prequels are lightly referenced, but one would not need to read them to understand the premise of the story:)
Disclaimer: I did own the rights for a while, I managed to retrieve them from Wade. However, I shant' need them much longer as "Operation: Luella Kosnowski" has been devised, and is still in progress. So for now, NO. I DON'T OWN THE RIGHTS TO ANY OF THIS BELOW.
Remy and Rogue had been sitting on the couch in the Recreation Room, idly watching TV while the latter was shoveling obscene amounts of food into her mouth. Remy glanced down at his beloved wife who was curled up at his side and enveloped in his arms, oblivious of the un-ladylike, dare I say "crude", way she was inhaling her ice-cream. He sighed, but brightened.
"Chere?" He asked softly.
"Yeah?" She grunted, slurping and smacking her lips.
"'S'jus' you an' me 'round, hein?" He inquired.
She narrowed her eyes and looked at him in irritation. "Ah'm already pregnant. We're not tryin' for another one right now."
"Non, non, dat's not what I'm talkin' 'bout. But, it's just you an' me, right?" The Cajun repeated, a glint in his eye.
"Ah think so. The kids are at school, and the most of the rest are just out. Why?" Her question was laced with suspicion.
He glanced around anxiously. "Well, nothin'... I, um... Never mind." He sighed.
She looked at him in curiosity, but the strange behavior of her husband was quickly forgotten by the renewed sight of her frozen delight. This incident was lost in her mind for several nights.
That was, until she opened the door into her and Remy's room, causing her husband to jerk up in surprise and push something off the bed out of her line of vision. An innocent smile instantly plastered on his face, he "casually" said,
"Oh, hey, petite. I t'ought ya' were bakin' cookies downstairs."
"Ah was. But Ah ate the batter before Ah could put them in the oven."
"O' course ya' did..." Remy sighed.
"So, whatcha' been doin'?" She asked, her eyes trailing briefly to the spot that he had pushed the object away from.
"Oh, nothin' excitin', a little o' dis, a little o' dat." He shrugged, anxiously wetting his lips.
"Ah jus' need to use the bathroom," she told him sweetly; her plan being to circle around the bed to get to said facilities, and in the innocent process, catch a glance at whatever he was concealing.
However, Remy, being intelligent, and knowing his wife was just as intelligent, anticipated her plan and intercepted her vision by casually moving parallel to her and positioning himself at the perfect angle to block her line of sight.
She smiled, her countenance dripping with the same sickening sweetness that her voice was laced with, as she entered the bathroom, throwing one last pleasant smirk behind her before shutting the door.
In the short time it took for her to do her business, Remy had managed to dispose of whatever incriminating evidence he had been hiding, and start to play a game of Solitaire.
"Ah'm gonna' try to make another batch of cookies if ya' need me. Or do ya' wanna' help?" She inquired with a quirked eyebrow.
Remy smiled sadly at her. "Desolé, petite. But Remy t'inks he would only interfere."
"Okay." She told him, waddling out the door and shutting it with a gentle click. However, rather than go down the hallway, proceed to the stairway, and make her way to the kitchen, she instead hovered outside the door, her ear pressed against the wood paneling. Her intent was to wait several minutes, quietly, oh so quietly, and then burst in, giving him no chance whatsoever to hide whatever his guilty pleasure was. If, as last time, he was still able to conceal it, than she would simply confront him with it and demand an explanation.
Perhaps, her diabolical pregnant mind thought, I'll even burst into tears if he doesn't tell me! That ought to get him to give me a proper explanation!
However, perhaps it was due to her pregnant state dumbing down her intellect, or perhaps Remy simply was smarter (or at least more crafty), he had also foresaw her double-crossing of remaining silently outside the door. Ergo, he was amply prepared for her sudden appearance, that was complete with the door being opened with such a force it swung back and forth a little, coupled with a satisfied smirk plastered on her lips and a defiant hand placed on her hip. Seeing that he was now, well, still playing Solitaire, her smile fell and she subconsciously furrowed her eyebrows and wrinkled her nose.
"Ya' need somethin', Anna?" He asked innocently, shuffling his cards at the advent of a new round.
"Um, no. Ah jus'-" Initiate operation:Waterworks, She thought devilishly. She began sniffling. "Ah jus' miss ya' is all. Ah jus' feel like Ah ain't seen ya' much. Ah thought maybe ya'd wanna' bake cookies, and *sniff* ya' didn't..." She began to cry. (This should read: slowly, carefully, she let a tear trickle out of her eye, and, limply lifting her hand to her eyes, wiped it and choked back a pitiful sob. Her husband, having been immune to all of her other ploys, could never handle to see her cry. It never failed to break his heart. Thus, her impishly devised plan of crying worked, and she began bawling to ensure success.)
"Aw, chere," he murmured, hurriedly sliding off the bed and enveloping her petite (aside from her massive stomach of course) body in his arms, and planted a loving kiss on top of her head.
"We still do stuff t'get'er. We can do stuff now if ya' want. Do ya' wanna' bake cookies?"
Rogue, working on phase two of her plan, pulled away from him and sat in the middle of their bed, discreetly glancing over the edge and finding nothing there other than a dirty sock. Clearly the dirty sock wasn't what he had been hiding. If it was, then she was far more troubled by that than the wildest idea she could come up with.
He sat behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting them comfortably on the bulge that contained the life of their unborn child.
"Ah wanna' do what ya' do. What do ya' enjoy doin' with ya' spare time?" she hiccuped.
"I t'ink ya' know me pretty well by now. Mos' o' t'ings I do on my own are because I can't do 'em wit' ya'." He explained to her softly, a nagging voice in the back of his head warning him it was all a ploy. But the frontal part of Remy's brain was to naive to think of his beloved Anna pulling such shenanigans to find out his guilty pleasure.
"What 'bout the things that aren't part o' that "most"?" She asked after controlling her sobbing breath.
His "spidey-sense" twitched again, but he was too oblivious in the light of her tears.
"Oh, I dunno' petite. I play Solitaire, I talk t' some people sometimes."
Rogue's breath hitched and she froze. Oh my gawd! He's seeing another woman, ain't he?!
Now, normally Rogue would have had it out with him right then and there and given him a piece of her mind. However, poor pregnant Rogue was so emotional and hormonal, her phony tears turned into legitimate ones and she began to blubber profusely, weakly struggling to get out of his arms as she believed him unfaithful.
"Aw, chere, what's wrong?" He asked. Solitaire couldn't possibly be offensive, and the only people he ever talked to were his family and sometimes ol' St. John from his Bucket-head days. The completely ridiculous thought of his cheating on her, of course, never dared to be entertained in his mind, so he assumed he had not said something to worsen her tears.
"Nothin'," she sniffled. "Nothin's wrong, Ah'm jus' tired Ah guess..."
"I know, but when little Remy Jr. Comes along, ya'll feel much better." His words, though playful in intent, and even meant to lighten the mood, only caused her to cry even harder at the idea of the father of her child (whom he planned on naming after himself) cheating on her.
"Could ya' jus' leave? Ah jus'... Ah jus' need some space," she choked through her tears.
"...Didn't ya' come in here jus' cause ya' missed seein' ol' Remy?" He asked blankly.
"Yes!" She shouted, as though the whole matter was the most obvious thing in the world. "An' now Ah don't wanna see ya'!"
"Did I do somethin'?"
"No!" She exclaimed, a tad too quickly. "Ah jus' want ya' to leave!"
"Chere?" He asked, clearly [and justifiably] confused.
"Go!" She yelled, shoving him off the bed.
"Um, all right, petite. If dat's what ya' insist..." He mumbled, his eyebrows absently scrunched together in perplexity.
She choked back a sob and began crying into the pillow she had hugged in his absence.
Remy went down to the kitchen, sighing internally at the site of the licked-clean cookie dough bowl, and proceeded to the refrigerator.
"Is Rogue hungry again?" Scott asked from behind him.
The Cajun's eyes narrowed. Ever since Scott had been part of Jean's plot to brainwash him, he always saw an ulterior motive to the man's queries.
"Non, she jus' be up in our room," he told him stonily, extricating some leftover chili from one of the shelves.
"Oh, um, okay." Scott awkwardly said, "I'm, um, I guess I'll be going then."
Remy shook his head as he discreetly watched the strange man walk out the door, only for Logan to brush by him and take his place.
"Yer in the kitchen without Stripes? That mus' be a first." The feral man grunted, grabbing a soda.
The husband sighed wearily. "She be actin' all moody 'gain. She came in because she said she missed spendin' time wit' me, which didn't make much sense as I'm 'most always wit' her. Den she started t' cry, den, before I knew it, she was yellin' at me t' leave!" He ranted. "I mean, are pregnant women normally dis bad?"
"'Fraid so, kid." Logan responded knowingly.
Remy ran his fingers through his hair. It would be a long pregnancy.
Rogue, meanwhile, was crying her little eyes out upstairs, demoralized over the "unfaithfulness" of the love of her life. After several minutes of bawling, she at last gained her bearings, and decided to look for what she knew must be a phone that he was texting this "other woman" with. But he probably had it on him. Meaning she would have to waddle downstairs and try to pick-pocket it.
So, Rogue shuffled her way down the corridor, past the other dormitories, down the stairs, into the kitchen (where she got side-tracked and ended up spending an extra fifteen minutes eating), and lastly into the Rec room where she found Remy watching TV and chatting with Emma.
Her eyes widened. Emma? Could it be Emma? She was beautiful, and, Rogue was, well...fat. She was fat. This realization caused Rogue to have to back into the hallway to recompose herself and not fall into another fit of tears.
When the Southerner once again returned to the room, she resolutely stalked (as best as she could with a bowling ball protruding from her abdomen) over to the couch where Remy was sitting. He brightened on seeing her and immediately opened his arms in a silent invitation for her to join him.
"Feelin' better, chere?" He asked quitely when she situated herself comfortably into his arms.
She nodded, smiling sweetly, her hand resting casually on his thigh where his pocket was, and not feeling his phone. Moving onto phase two, she snuggled into him and snaked her around his waist, her hands reaching into his pockets. Thinking she was making a move on him, Remy jumped in shock and gently pushed her away.
"Uh, I don't t'ink dis really be da place for it, hein, Anna?" He told her, a slightly frightened look in his eye. Was this not the same woman, who, mere in minutes before, had shouted for him to leave?
Well at least he's too horny to figure out what I'm actually doing, She thought in annoyance. "Relax, Swamp Rat," she ordered softly, her hand reaching into the pocket, having to dig around a little more due to the angle she was at. He had the same uncomfortable reaction of arching his back and trying to get out of reach of her touch without causing a scene.
"Um, Anna?" He said anxiously, his voice an octave higher due to discomfort
Hmm, must be in that last pocket, she decided, abruptly standing up and changing sides.
"Whatcha' doin', petite?" He asked, trying to stop himself from recoiling due to her peculiar behavior.
"Never you mind," she told him pleasantly sitting down on the opposite side, once again placing her hand on his thigh and feeling pleased at feeling the solid rectangle that could only be his phone.
She casually left it there for several minutes, lulling him into a false sense of security, before stealthily sneaking her fingers in the gap and grabbing the edge of his phone with her index and middle finger. Even after successfully lifting his cellular device, she decided to remain at his side for a few more minutes for added security. At last, she stood and announced,
"Ah'm gonna' go take a shower."
"Oh, um, okay, petite," he stuttered, waiting for her request of his joining due to her peculiar actions.
She fingered waved at him goodbye, something girly that she had never done before that only served to scare him further.
Rogue ran as fast as she could (which would have been quite an amusing and perplexing sight had anyone actually seen her) up to their room and bolted herself in the bathroom, ready to find incriminating texts to confront Remy with. Carefully lowering herself onto the toilet, she opened his message box, and proceeded to read all 749 messages Remy had stored on his phone. Clearly he never bothered to delete them. There were several from St. John, a few from his brother and family down south, a text or two from one of the X-men, but a majority of them were from her. Even more ironic, most of them were from her, texting him while he was at the store with a request for something else she wanted to appease her cravings. It took close to thirty minutes to read them all, as most of them were short, so she then decided to look under his contacts and cross-check the numbers with those on her own phone, in case he was crafty enough to disguise this mystery woman's name under someone else's. However, even after this long and tedious process, all checked out. (And those she didn't have in her list, she called, all of whom she was satisfied was not the one he was seeing).
Contemplating things for several minutes, she at last came to the conclusion that he had a separate phone, one hidden somewhere in their room. Thus began her search. First place she checked was the bathroom, although she found nothing more than regular toiletries. (This should be read: she found nothing more than average, bathroom-esque toiletries. However, being the paranoid pregnant woman she was, she believed them to merely be containers, so dumped out all of the contents within, leaving a mess of lotions, body washes, and shampoos all over the floor, though mainly the tub for at first she was trying to be clean.)
Still finding no offending object, she began her scrutinization of their room. The first place she looked was Remy's underwear door. No luck. (Although she was shocked to find a pair of hot pink boxers she didn't know existed. So clearly they were from his "lover" and not a practical joke by St. John.) Clutching the dirty item in her fist, she continued to rifle through his clothing drawers, finding absolutely nothing. So next came the closet. She angrily wrenched open the door to said nook, and half-expected the extra phone to drop out. This, of course, was not the case. Sighing, she began pulling down boxes of things from the top shelf. (And by "pulling down", I of course mean taking the umbrella leaning against the wall and knocking things down because she was too short to reach.) The first box's contents, now spilled all over by her feet, revealed several gifts they didn't know what to do with: an ugly hat given to Remy, a awkward scarf made for Rogue, a half-knitted yellow-..something, a homely sweater. All Christmas gifts from those who didn't know what to get them. She knocked down another box. In this one there were several obscure things as well, at least some of them were put to use though. Such as-
"Hey, chere," A voice behind her greeted, announcing the arrival of her husband.
Rogue froze, the hot pink boxers still clutched in her fist. Turning sharply on her heel, she demanded,
"When the hell were ya' gonna' tell me?!"
His eyes widened as he saw the scene before him. "I...I was hopin' ya' wouldn't fin' out 'til it was finished..." He mumbled in shame.
She drooped, her arms dropping limply by her sides. Some minuscule part of her was holding onto the small hope that he wasn't cheating. "Ya'-ya' mean?"
"Oui... I...I don't know what t' say." His countenance fell and his hair hung loosely in front of his eyes. "I tried t' tell ya' a couple times, but I was too embarrassed."
"Remy? How-How could you? We've been so happy together." She sounded heartbroken.
Now, yes, Remy was a little ashamed of his "vice", but he didn't think it was the type of thing to ruin their marriage. It must've been "Pregnant Petite" talking (as he affectionately dubbed her).
"It's not like we can't make it work," he reminded softly, moving closer to her.
"Make it work?! The baby's on the way!" She shouted, ignoring his confused look and small utterance of "Oui, I know".
"Ah thought we would be a family! Did she give these to ya'?!" She demanded, thrusting the neon boxers in his face.
"What? Non, John did las' Christmas. An' what do ya' mean "she"?" He asked incredulously.
"Oh, don't start playin' dumb now! Ah-Ah know ya've been textin' some other woman-Emma maybe- and Ah know that's why ya've been actin' all suspicious an' not wantin' to spend time with me!" She began to bawl. "Ah know Ah'm fat, an' Ah'm sure she's beautiful an'-"
"Hey, hey, is dat what we be talkin' 'bout? Ya' t'ink I'm cheatin' on ya', chere?" His voice was both gentle and hurt as he placed a delicate hand on her shoulder.
"Well what else would we be talkin' 'bout?" She yelled, again as though things couldn't be more clear, her Southern spitfire personality making its appearance again.
"Petite. Da reason I been actin' "suspicious", as ya' say, ain't because I'm unfaithful. I been knittin' t'ings for da baby."
Rogue simply stared at him, her tears stopping. "What?" She asked blankly.
"Oui, oui," The Cajun replied hastily, bending down an picking up the yellow thing from the first box, which could now be clearly perceived as a not-quite-finished jacket, perfectly sized for a new-born.
"Tante Mattie been writin' me in da mail an' I tol' her how I wanted t' do more for da baby, but I didn't know what t' do. She suggested I start t' knit t'ings, she knows I like t' use my hands, an' knittin' was something I could do while I watched TV or somethin'." He explained hurriedly.
"You...You knit?" She questioned disbelievingly.
"Oui. See, ain't jus' da sweater eit'er. I mean, it took mont's for Tante t' convince me t' start, an' when I did I didn't know what color, so she said pale yellow an' green as dey can go for a boy or a girl. But once I actually started, I jus' kept makin' stuff. I mean, ya' were always in da kitchen an' shooin' me away, an' I jus' wanted t' be helpful. Here, I'll show ya'."
He got an excited glint in his eye and swiftly reached over her head and lowered a smaller box. He removed the lid and revealed, hats, booties, diaper covers, and even a blanket.
"You...You knit?!" She repeated again, feeling as though this must be the advent of the apocalypse. Or perhaps it was Mystique pretending to Remy. Which would be creepy seeing as how that would mean she touched the rear-end of her own mother to extricate a phone. Or maybe Jean had brainwashed him again. She studied his eyes and realized that this way truly her Remy speaking. A swell of happiness that he wasn't cheating on her quickly replaced the disbelief of the truth behind his "guilty pleasure".
"Oui, I was gonna' say dat dese were from Tante, I was too embarrassed t' say I knit, but dat's all it is, chere." Then, dropping the box carelessly and tilting her chin upwards toward him, he whispered, "Anna, I love ya', mind, soul, an' body. An' it hurts dat ya'd t'ink I'd cheat on ya'."
She hugged him tightly. "Ah'm sorry, it's jus' these damn pregnant hormones are messin' with my judgment. Ah know ya' love me, an' ya' know Ah love you an' that's all there is to it."
He unburied her head from his chest simply long enough to gently wipe the tears and plant a gentle kiss on her lips. "Dat's all dere is to it."
Aw, such a sweet ending *sob* So I know Remy knitting is pretty freakin weird, even for me. But a recent reminder of the Stallone movie "Demolition Man" re-inspired this story, and I finally decided to write it, so I hope I appeased you guys and you aren't sitting in a daze trying to figure out what the crap you just read. I have three more ideas for possible sequels, so I suppose they might make an appearance at some point:) And, because titles are my bane, if any of you have any suggestions I'm more than open to them:)
*to be read in cheesy announcer voice* "And now, for her infamous-impromptu poem!" *fake sounding applause track over which legitimate groans can be heard*
I haven't posted in months,
because I'm really lazy
So here's a tale of Remy's knitting,
It really is quite crazy
If one were to drop a line or two,
I might be inspired, so please review!
So the rhyming scheme is off. Cut me some slack. But heed it's advice, the poem knows what it's talking about. *stares pointedly* Although I kind of count "favoriting" as a review, so I'd accept that:)