Sunday Morning Coming Down

by SecretAgentSmutGirl

A/N: Taking liberties with X-Men: Evolution, Johnny Cash and hot summer days. This is just a one-shot experiment in trying to feel out Rogue and Remy for another fic all the great writing in this fandom has inspired me to try at. I hope I haven't bastardized anything too badly.

I hear the train a comin'
It's rolling round the bend
And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when

Inside the garage the radio was blaring Johnny Cash, but as far as Remy could tell no one was around. All the cars were accounted for other than Scott's car, which he had seen speeding away on his walk up the drive. Scott had taken Jean, the Professor and the Blackbird had taken the New Mutants which left the rest of the team to idle on a beautiful summer day.

Remy planned to spend the down time with his favorite femme- his bike. Since he'd joined up with the X-squad he hadn't had a moment for himself. By nature he got up late and went to bed late. Early morning Danger Room sessions, dinner rotations, absurd missions that had the senior team racing around the globe in a jet that could do with at least some basic television and of all things a curfew had kept him on a tight leash. The cost of being on the side of the angels, it seemed.

Today was going to be his day to get back to his basics- he'd slept late and the blazing heat reminded him that unless he put in some basic service on his wheels they'd be none to happy. Unfortunately for him the blaring music and the stripped Harley already in the bay tipped him off that he wasn't alone in thinking that the shaded garage was the place to be. The off-color cursing that was coming from outside the open bay door was his next clue.

Following the cursing he found Rogue, bent enticingly over the dented body of the dismantled Harley. One of the Wolverine's that he'd given over with some terms, if his memory served. From behind he could see that she had her hair covered in a green bandana that couldn't quite contain the curls the humidity let loose. A green wife beater, biker gloves and jeans so full of holes and wear marks they showed a good portion of her dangerous skin and a glimpse of her underpants rounded out her outfit. He had to smile; he'd known there was a good ole girl under the goth.

So wrapped up in trying to mallet out the dents in the metal, Rogue didn't even notice his scrutiny. "Trying to kill it, cher?"

Her entire demeanor changed at hearing his voice. Her shoulder slumped and she kicked at the dirt with the toe of her ratty work boots. She let out a long suffering sigh and let the mallet go slack against her thigh. "It's already good as dead, Cajun. Ah just didn't know it."

Glancing at him over her shoulder, Remy was surprised to see her without a trace of the dark makeup that usually masked her features. Rogue scowled at his expression as if reading his mind. "It's too damn hot for all that."

"It's not that." Remy smirked and sauntered up beside her to look down into her face. "Jus' never suspected you had freckles, girl."

That earned him a rubber mallet to the gut. Then like the clouds passing over the sun, her mood changed. She was looking at the bike as though it were the Brotherhood, something to be beat and beat good. Eyeing him distractedly, she motioned at the tool bench. "Make yourself useful for once, grab me that hammer so Ah can undo all this mess."

Handing her the hammer, he surveyed the damage and whistled low. "How'd it get so busted up?"

"Kitty."

His wince proved that she didn't need to elaborate. The girls driving and parking blunders were legendary, and not just at the Institute. All of Bayville cowered in fear of the pint-sized brunette. Mentally he reminded himself to park his bike behind Wolverine's.

Abruptly the hammering stopped. "Can Ah get that mallet back?"

He handed it to her without a word. Acting as tool gopher was a novel experience, something he hadn't done since he was a boy. Once the body was hammer back into shape and Rogue went back to reassembly, he was able to get to his own project. With the heat, the music and the companionable silence only marred by metallic sounds and southern cursing on both sides, he felt like he was back home instead of exiled to the North.

When his bike was done he realized that he was alone in the garage. The radio however many hours later had changed songs, but not singer.

Well I grew up quick, and I grew up mean
My fists got hard, and my wits got keen

Cleaning up his tools, he walked leisurely across the lawn and let the stifling heat roll over him. The smell of grass, soil and motor oil that greeted him was like an old friend. Rounding to the back of the Mansion, he grinned at Storm who was holding court at the pool. She offered him a smile and a glass of cold sweet tea. Letting the sweat of the glass cool his forehead he groaned. "T'anks Stormy, you are a goddess."

Ororo rolled her eyes at the thief. "I've been told such before."

With a wink he was on his way, passing Logan who was seemingly at war with the propane grill. Whatever the Wolverine was planning on cooking for dinner, it was his night on the rotation, smelled as spicy sweet as anything he'd of put together. When supper rolled around it lived up to his hopes; five alarm chicken, salad greens and leftover cornbread from Rogue's last attempt to teach Kitty to cook.

That night, as he sat in his spot on the roof, Remy regarded with stars through the smoke of his cigarette. Maybe a boring summer of doing good wouldn't be so bad. He'd had his doubts about playing the boy scout, but it seemed Xavier's was about more than that. Overhead the lazy full moon seemed to confirm this.

Deep in thought he didn't hear Rogue approach until she'd plucked the cigarette out of his mouth and sent it tumbling into the bushes below. Without a word, innocent as could be, she slumped down next to him as though she always joined him for his nicotine break.

"Not nice, cher. Was the perfect end to a good day."

Rogue rolled her eyes dramatically before thrusting an icy green freeze-pop into his hands to replace his cigarette. "This is better."

For a moment he dumbly regarded the plastic covered treat in his hand, noting that Rogue's mouth had been stained cherry red by a previous pop. The one she was currently opening was purple, the same shade of the hideous lipstick she preferred. She looked about five years old in her summer pajamas, sun freckles and ice pop stains brilliant under the heavy moon

No, Xavier's place was always surprising him.

Finally biting the plastic open with his teeth, letting the green flavored ice melt across his tongue, he laughed. "I think I might have to agree."