Disclaimer: I wish I knew more languages. Then I could sound really cool and educated while I told you I don't own X-Men: Evolution.
A/N: Hey all! This is just a short one-shot companion piece to Social Status, a sort of prequel detailing how Remy and Rogue got together. The idea was planted by blackberryhuntress, so smiley face for her!
Without further ado, I present to you, the beginning.
They were five years old when they first met. The first thing little Anna did was tell Remy he had funny eyes. This of course led to Remy's clever retort, "You have shoopid hair." (1) She punched him. He kicked her. She bit him. He bit her back.
This was the start of a beautiful, somewhat confusing relationship. Their families sighed every time the two were in the same room together. Any time they got within arms' reach of each other (or throwing distance, as they got older), some sort of bodily injury was inflicted. Not always on the intended target. (Neither had the best aim at age twelve.)
After being beaned in the head by a billiard ball for the third time, Jean-Luc LeBeau put his foot down. Remy and Rogue (as she was dubbed by her own father the second time she snuck out of the house) were to only talk to each other when nobody else was around. And preferably outside. Their fathers were sure that since the two hated each other, they would never take pains to see each other, especially alone, and thus all non-necessary violence would stop.
And, predictably, this assumption was incorrect. Jean-Luc hadn't counted on the amount of pleasure Remy and Rogue took from attempting to put each other in the hospital. Every time the two were in the same vicinity, they were sneaking off, stolen glances communicating with the other in a secret language overlooked by the adults. Come on, let's go outside and try to toss each other in the bayou.
With the amount of animosity the two were projecting, it was a bewildering spectacle that greeted the few who were witness to the turning point of this continuous cycle.
He had taken up stalking her. It wasn't intentional, he had just seen her walking by herself one day and decided to follow her. She'd gone to the library, and then to a café. He'd watched her select her book, dark cover of course, and check out. He'd witnessed with a strange possessive pride her dismissal of the café waiter's advances. And he memorized her coffee order. Just because he could.
The second time was deliberate, but it was purely observational and scientific. He was examining her routine, and attempting to determine whether or not she strayed from this routine day to day. She did. Today she went to the market and bought some little trinkets that he couldn't ascertain a reason for. Then she visited the café, and he mouthed her order along with her. She gave the coffee boy a smile today, and he scowled. That was all she gave him though, so he relaxed and watched her drink coffee.
The third time she went out, she was going to see him. When he discovered this, he doubled back and around her to be there when she arrived. They fought, as usual, but in a different way. The insults were less biting, and more playful. The swings had less intent to hurt, and more intent to touch. She actually smiled when he called her chere, and he realized the affection hiding behind the derogatory "Swamp Rat."
She didn't know when the sight of him had stopped triggering the urge to break something. She'd never hated him really. Never actually wanted anything bad to happen to him. The summer he'd broken his arm while climbing trees with her and Henri, it had been she who had frantically gone running for help. And when he had been diagnosed with sever pneumonia, the year they turned twelve, it was she who had bathed his brow with cool washcloths, only leaving his side when Tante Mattie insisted. No, she'd never hated him.
She just had a slightly abnormal obsession with making it appear that way.
And somewhere, between him breaking his arm when they were nine, and him standing sheepishly before her as she confronted him with stalking her, she'd stopped wanting it to appear that way. She didn't want him to think she couldn't stand him. She wanted to smile when he was being silly, (or cute) as he so often was. She wanted to tell him all the great things about him, instead of highlighting the bad. She wanted him to know that his eyes were the most gorgeous she'd ever seen, and her breath caught whenever he called her chere.
Right at this moment, she wanted to scold him for stalking her, when all he had to do to spend time with her was appear. When had either ever turned the other away? She wanted to shake her head at his perusal of her book choices, which she didn't understand his apparent fascination with. She wanted to roll her eyes and stomp out his cigarette. She wanted to demand an explanation for his behavior. She wanted to laugh at his obvious jealousy when she paused to talk to the café clerk. She wanted to assure him that he had nothing to fear, that her heart belonged to him, and no one, no matter how much coffee they had access to, could ever be a good enough thief to steal it from him. She wanted to scream, to rant, to throw a tantrum.
Mostly, she wanted to kiss him.
Was she mad? Seriously, oh-my-gosh-Cajun-I'm-gonna-tell-my-dad-this-time-mad? She looked mad. Really mad. And really belle. Of course. Couldn't look ugly when she's about to kill him. Wouldn't be fitting. Then again, was she ever capable of being ugly? Nervously, he sucked in the nicotine from his cigarette.
He hoped she wasn't mad. He knew it was kinda too much to hope for, but it was all he could do. She really did have every right to be mad. He'd been stalking her for two months now. Of course she was mad! But still, he couldn't help but hope he hadn't killed any chance he might've had with her by his own impulsive nature.
Raising his eyes a little, he blinked when he realized she looked sad. Before he could stop himself, he'd blurted out, "'Smatter, chere?"
The endearment seemed to set something off. Her green eyes snapped up, and he recognized the emotion smoldering in them before she could mask it. It was the same one he knew was in his own eyes whenever he thought about her.
Later, the question would be asked as to who made the first move. Neither could tell. All they knew was that one minute, they were standing three feet away from each other with something in the air between them, and the next, that something was surrounding them, and the three feet had become nothing, and he tasted like Cajun spices, and she tasted like watermelon wine. (2)
When his still-burning cigarette ignited a small brush fire in that tiny alcove of vines and swamp fumes, the danger, the heat, and the promise of something long denied kept them at the spot, incapable of leaving. When the fire appeared to be growing out of control, they finally got the heck out of there, kicking dirt and mud over what flames they could, and trusting the fickle nature of the rains to help.
Henri LeBeau had never been more surprised in his life than the day his petite frère walked out of the bayou with Rogue's hand firmly held in his own. When questioned, Remy had given him a look implying that there was something crucial he had missed, and glanced at Rogue, who had rolled her eyes and informed him that after spending the past twenty minutes explaining it to each other (in their own special way), telling Henri why they were holding hands really shouldn't be that big of a deal.
He just couldn't understand it. One day, they loathed the very sight of each other, the next, they were exchanging small smiles (smirks, really), making innuendos, and touching, always touching. His hand in her hair, her arm through his, and their lips… He didn't get it. It just didn't make sense. Henri sighed. Maybe Merci got it.
A/N: Cute, non?
1. Buffy the Vampire Slayer reference. If you're a fan, you'll probably know. If you're not, you wont care.
2. Non-alcoholic of course.
So, that's how they got together. I don't like it as much as I would like to, but I think it's okay. It's a little plot-holey, 'cause I didn't want to give away stuff that happens later in Social Status, dealing with Remy and Rogue's families. But it's just a little one-shot, so I hope it was enjoyable.