Bad Reputation

Disclaimer: None of us own X:Men

In a house, no, scratch that, a mansion as big as the Xavier Institute, one would expect to find pretty much everything and everything to suit every need. There was a pool, a danger-room (because every home should have one), many, many bedrooms, a spacious garage, and a state-of-the-art sound system, to name but a few. Apart from a major lack of enough bathrooms, it was highly unlikely that anyone of the inhabitants would want for anything (except maybe privacy, of which was a severe shortage).

But of course, two of more contrary students had felt the need to be an exception to the rule, both standing incredibly close to each other in front of the fridge, both trying to find something quick and easy to make, and which hadn't been scorched or iced in the war-zone that was breakfast at the institute.

One of the mutants was a startling handsome (and boy did he know it) Cajun wearing a skin-tight black tee shirt that clung to a set of well-defined abs and muscled arms, neither of which went unnoticed by the girl who, at that very moment, was having her a major violation of her personal space by the aforementioned Cajun.

The girl was busily rooting through the fridge, moving jars and packets around unsystematically, trying in vain to ignore the man practically draped over her shoulders and standing very, very close to her, something that virtually constituted as a hanging offence had it been anyone else. It was all she could do to stop herself from turning around and devouring the Cajun then and there.

The closeness of the pair filled Rogue's nostrils with the heady scent of his cologne (his natural scent, he'd insisted), the smoke from his cigarettes (He'd cut down, he'd promised) and the smell of motor oil from the motorbike he rode (Not as much fun to ride when she wasn't clinging to his waist, he'd whispered seductively in her ear), and when those three fairly ordinary smells were combined, they brought out something in Rogue that she'd thought she'd never experience in her life. The something that she'd only read about in the trashy romance novels she kept hidden under lock and key beneath her bed. The something that she wasn't meant to be feeling for a guy like Remy. Only problem was, there was nothing she could do about it.

He'd reminded her of that enough times, in that hopelessly sexy accent of his.

Remy's hand had gradually moved lower and lower down Rogue's side over the course of their raid of the fridge, and started to work its way across her stomach, causing a shiver and a slight moan to emerge from the woman, as cool hands made contact with flushed skin.

"Stop it, Swampy. Y'know anyone could come on in at any minute."

"Remy don't care."

"Well Rogue sure as hell does."

"No She doesn't, chérie. Where would y' find dat idea?" He asked, starting to press small kisses down the side of her neck.

Struggling to find a witty retort for the Cajun, especially when his mouth was in such close contact with the sensitive spot right under her ear, it was inevitable that Rogue would've missed the slight motion in the doorway.

"Y'think you two could save it for the bedroom?" Came a deep growl from the doorway, followed by the unmistakable sound of unbreakable metal alloy Adamantium claws being unleashed.

Remy and Rogue both turned, slightly startled, although the ex-theif was a little better at hiding it.

"As Monseiur Logan wishes." Remy shrugged, pulling on Rogue's hand in the direction of the doorway, flashing a prefect smile at the un-amused teacher.

"Stop. Right. There." He said, sticking his claws out in front of the pair in place of a barrier. "Remember, members of the opposite sex caught together in the bedroom with the door closed it punishable with a month of early-morning danger-room sessions. Minimum. And if my memory serves me well, which you bet your sweet ass it does, Monseiur LeBeau is already has a week outstanding left since the last … incident."

Logan grimaced the the memory, half-angry that the pair had such blatentlydisregard for the rules, half-annoyed that he was becoming so protective of the girls in his care, and half-embarrassed because Rogue happened to be so damn loud.

Maths had never been Logan's strong point at school.

"Oh come on Logan." Rogue said, rolling her eyes, wishing her favourite mentor didn't hate her boyfriend so much. "Remy's just messin' around, ain't y' Remy?" She asked the man, making it clear that there was only one possible answer to the question.

"Well actually …"

Logan tapped his claws impatiently on the counter, one hand still in front of the pair, preventing them from an easy escape.

"Whatever. Stripes I need a word with you."

Remy raised an eyebrow at Rogue, wondering what she'd done recently that Logan knew about. She just shrugged and leantagainst the opposite counter, waiting for Logan to start. He glared at Remy, not masking his animosity towards the Cajun, who had decided not to take the hint and leave.

Logan turned back to Rogue who shrugged her shoulders in a "what can you do?" motion and lifted herself onto counter, legs clad in black fishnet stocking swinging slightly.

Sighing, Logan started to talk. "I've just had a very intresting convosation with Jamie, Stripes."

"Well Remy guesses that Spongebob is a rivetin' topic, non?" Remy commented, unable to help himself.

Rogue rolled her eyes and Logan continued without comment, although the muscles in his jaws clenched slightly. "Anyway, seems little Mutliple's started to widen his vocabulary somewhat. Wanna take a wild guess at what his new favourite word is?"

Rogue shook her head, knowing where this conversation was going.

"Well seems Jamie now likes saying 'shit' In every sentence. You know that as an older student its your responsibility to set a good example for the younger students, so I'm thinkin' you can join Gumbo here for a week of early morning danger room sessions. Any questions?"

Rogue opened her mouth, annoyed at the accusations and decided to defend herself. "Why d'ya think its mah fault? Y'all know everyone else swears around here! Even lil miss perfection-personified swears when that flawless red hair of hers gets messed up. Why blame me!"

"Because Jamie's going around swearing in a southern accent. Nobody else in the house says 'sheet' when they're pissed off."

Rogue rolled her eyes and noticed Remy attempting to stifle a laugh.

"And what about Swamp Rat, here? Ah ain't the only one from down south 'round here."

"Non. Remy says merde." Remy told her simply, looking a picture of innocence.

Rogue stuck her tongue out at him, unable to think of a suitable retort that wouldn't gain her extra hours in the danger room.

"You're not totally blameless in this, Gumbo." Logan continued, a smile playing on his lips at the thought of giving the Cajun Casanova what was coming to him. "Jamie informed me that he overheard that fun new word when a certain pair of southerners where trying to out-do the each other's knowledge of swear words. It's safe to say he picked up a few more colourful phrases, too. So I think your bill comes to a total of two weeks and three days of early morning danger room sessions. We accept all major credit cards and cheques made out t' the Wolverine 'You-Know-You-Sure-As-Hell-Deserve-This-punishment' Organisation."

Logan smirked at the reaction he got, but couldn't help but feeling that it was mainly Gumbo's fault; he was a bad influence on Stripes, and it made the annoying fatherly instincts rise up in his mind that he had always tried to quell in the past. Wolverine couldn't help but think that maybe it would be a little harder to keep Rogue and Remy apart, especially seeing as the pair were reasonably fond of each other.

Rogue and Remy started open-mouthed at Logan, but both knowing full well that arguing was futile. Instead, Rogue turned on her boyfriend, hands on hips whilst flexing the muscles in her neck, ready for a one-side argument that she would no doubt win.

Logan smiled at the picture the pair made, and decided to exit the arena, appreciating how volatile the pair was when put together. Either that, or they started making out. Both ways, Logan was not too fond of remaining in the kitchen.

"Ewwww! Bobby I swear to God if you ice my hair up one more time I will take that ice cube shooting out from your hand and ram it straight up your –"

"Amara Aquilla!"

"What!"

"Language!"

"I didn't say anything!"

"But you were going to!"

"No I wasn't!"

"Yes you were!"

"Jesus, guys can you, like, shut up? I'm trying to do my homework here!"

"Kitty, you know you shouldn't have left it 'til the last minute. Its not very response-"

"Back off, Summers. Its none of your business when Kitty does her homework."

"I, like, don't need you to win my fights for me Lance!"

"Well, sorry, Princess Katherine. I wasn't aware my input was unwanted."

"Hey! I'm the only princess around here!"

"Well where's your crown?"

"I don't have a crown."

"Well then you're a pretty shit princess, aren't you?"

"Jamie, watch where you put that milk!"

"Oh my god, that is so not fair! I didn't even swear and I got told off and Jamie says 'shit' and you don't do anything!"

"For crying out loud. Amara AND Jamie: LANGUAGE!"

"Oh come on Lance. You know I, like, didn't mean it that way."

"Fine."

"Oh don't be like that."

"Fine."

"I like you winning my fights for me."

"Fine."

"STOP LIKE, SAYING FINE!"

"Fine."

"ARRGGHH!"

"Kitty, stop shouting at Lance. Its not his fault he's a jackass."

"He's not a jackass!"

"I'm not a jackass!"

"Jackass!"

"Jamie, language!"

"Eww! There's blue butt fluff in my cereal."

"Zat's blue arm fluff, not blue butt fluff."

"Like there's a difference."

"Vell actually …"

"Oh man, somebody stop him before we get the special extended director's cut of the difference between different type of fluff."

"But zere is a difference!"

"NO THERE ISN'T!"

"Kurt stop swearing at me in German!"

"I'm not swearing at you!"

"Mr Logan, Kurt's swearing at me in German!"

"No I'm not!"

"Yes you are!"

"No I'm –"

"WILL YOU ALL JUST SHUT UP!" Logan bellowed over his paper, already feeling a pounding ache in his skull. He knew he shouldn't have swapped breakfast duty with Ororo. Cleaning all the Institute's cars was probably the lesser of two evils, even considering the fact that Scott and Lance had got both of their cars dirty to the point of unnatural during a race through rural Bayville.

At least his motorbike didn't talk about blue butt fluff or the pros and cons of tampons, as Jean and one of the new recruits were doing. And if it did then it probably meant he'd just spent an enjoyable evening in some bar.

"RIGHT!" Logan yelled again, mentally smirking at the hush that fell over the room. "You're all going to be gone in the next fifteen minutes or you'll all be late for school. Have I made myself clear?" He growled.

All the heads in the room nodded, and Logan smiled triumphantly. His success was short-lived though, as he noticed two of the older students were still missing.

"Where are Stripes and Gumbo?" He asked, looking towards Kitty, who just shrugged.

"I like, have no idea. Rogue wasn't in bed when I went to sleep though. She was like, studying for a test or something."

"Hey, so vas Gambit! Do you think they have the same test?" Kurt asked, not realising that the chances of Remy studying without the persuasion of thumbscrews were slim to nothing.

"For Gawd's sake." Logan sighed, rolling his eyes to the heavens and turning on his feet towards the door, almost colliding with two entwined southerners, both wearing very dark sunglasses.

"Hey Rogue! We were just, like, talking about you two!"

"D'ya have t' talk to damn loud, Kitty?" Rogue half asked, half moaned as she and Remy made their way over to the coffee machine where they both unenthusiastically fought over the last dregs of luke-warm coffee.

"Well so-rry." Kitty said, turning back to her boyfriend to try and convince him that she really did like him defending her, woman's rights and homework forgotten.

The southerners compromised on the coffee situation and shared a mug, passing it between themselves, shuddering at each sip and leaning into each other as if they'd been out at a nightclub until the early hours at the morning.

In truth they'd only been at a bar until the early hours of the morning, but the results were pretty much the same, save for the aching feet of too much dancing.

"Hey Sheila, what's with the sunglasses?"

"Urrggh."

"Well that clears that up then."

"Urrggh!"

"So Remy, what's up with you? I never realised that red eyes could actually go blood-shot."

"Urrggh."

"Hey, where did you guys go when I saw you two sneak across the grounds last night? Did you go to a party? I like parties. When I was seven I had a party and all my friends came and there was cake and jelly and ice cream and people and music and games and presents and cake and music and jelly and … uh … didn't I already say that? Oh well, anyway, was there cake at your party too?"

"… …"

"Don't you remember is there was cake? 'Cos I think I would, 'cos cake is one of my favourite foods ever! That and ice cream and peanut butter on toast, 'cept Mr Logan never lets me have it for breakfast which I think is really unfair 'cos I mean, its toast so its kinda a breakfast food. So I think if you had cake you'd probably remember it, wouldn't you?"

"Jamie, Remy don't t'ink that he can remember his own eye colour, at the moment, d'accord?"

"Really? Well they're red, just in case you wanted to know, although I think it's a bit silly if you don't remember, I mean, its not like its easy to forget, is it?"

Logan and the other students watched amusedly as both Rogue and Remy gradually deflated even more and looked on the point of curling up in a quiet corner and dying, whilst Jamie continued on, oblivious to the lack of response he was getting from the obviously hung-over pair.

After a couple of minutes, though, Logan decided to take pity on the pair and reminded Jamie that his bed was still unmade and if he didn't want to sleep in his cupboard standing up (again) then he'd better go and make it.

Rogue and Remy visibly gave a joint sigh of relief before seeing Logan advancing on them, a predatory gleam in his eyes. The rest of the students in the kitchen started to quietly make bets with each other on the outcome of the approaching argument, all having good experience of the Southerners Vs. the Canadian. John had almost got as far as to film on of the infamous battles and posted it on the internet.

That was, before his camera magically managed to accumulate several deep scratches that prevented it from working ever again.

"Stripes, Gumbo." Logan nodded to each X-man in turn, as if it were any other morning when the pair hadn't both come into the kitchen strangely late with apparent signs of a hang-over.

"Logan." They said in unison, and Wolverine mentally cringed. It was freaky when they did that, which was pretty often. He could've sworn that Stripes, his Stripes, had started to incorporate a few French phrases into her everyday speaking, but that might just be the motorbike fumes talking.

"Good night of studying?" Logan asked.

"Yep."

"Oui."

"So what's the test on?"

"European history."

"European Art."

Rogue glared at Remy and quickly backtracked.

"The history of art in Europe."

"Uh huh." Logan nodded. "So you think you're prepared?"

Yeah." They said together.

"I guess you'll be good on the French artists, right Gumbo?"

"Oui, Monsieur Logan. Remy is a homme of culture."

"Is that so?" Logan asked, one eyebrow raised.

The rest of the kitchen watched with baited breath, waiting for the action to start, all thoughts of blue fluff, homework, women's rights, the last of the milk, swearing, unequal treatment between the x-men, the new maths teacher's obviously fake tan at school, metal versus pop music and the pros and cons of pads (the tampon discussion having finished) completely forgotten by the by-standers.

"Anyway," Logan continued, "How about a little pop quiz then, just to see if you're totally prepared. The adrenaline will do you good in your exam, won't it?"

Rogue and Remy visibly paled, realising that Logan was drawing in for the kill.

Smiling sadistically, Logan asked, "First question. Did you really think I wouldn't recognise a hangover when I see one, kids?"

"… …"

"Next question. Did you really think that I'd forget that Mr Lebeau doesn't even attend to school?"

"… …"

"Third question, you're not doin' too good here kids. Did you really think it was responsible to be takin' a minor out drinking, Gumbo."

"Rogue's only four years younger than Remy, Mr Logan."

"Oh don't get started on how wrong I think that its, Kid." Logan growled, not even wanting to think about how dangerous it was for his blood pressure to be rising that high, that early in the day. "I also feel that this is a time to re-read you the fire-safety rules of the institute, Mr Lebeau. I'll skip the first few and get right to the topical stuff, shall I? Number Seven: Smoking is not permitted anywhere in the school grounds, punishable by flagellation."

Remy looked up at this, a shocked expression on his face. "Not it isn't!"

Logan shrugged. "Well I lied about the flagellation part, but it's still totally prohibited. Fire hazard, you understand."

"What about John, then? Or Amara? They're both fire hazards! John set fire t' Remy's card, yesterday."

"Oh like you weren't going to charge them up anyway!" John retorted, from the corner after quickly stuffing his lighter in his pocket, deciding it wasn't the best time to be flashing it about.

"So, to conclude, seeing as you both failed miserably in the Logan-Is-ALWAYS-Right test, I think the punishment is as following."

Rogue and Remy braced themselves, not unlike two prisoners waiting for their jail sentence to be read.

"An extra week of after-school danger room sessions, since I think there are human rights laws against giving you anymore early morning ones. Also, you're both on breakfast duty for the next week. Oh, and Gumbo has to teach Half-pint how to cook without hospitalising anyone. And maybe Stripes can pick the chewing gum off the bottom of the seats in the library. And then …"

"Logan, although I hate to interrupt you when you're having so much fun," Ororo said from the doorway, a half-smile on her face at the sight of Wolverine's child-in-a-sweet-shop expression, "I'll haveto stop you there, before the kids are late for school and a charge is filed against us from the slave-labour committee."

Grunting, Logan walked out the door towards the garage, and the rest of the students followed suit, Lance comforting Kitty and telling her (read: lying through his teeth) that her food wasn't that terrible, and the rest of the pupils glancing towards the two southerners, who both looked utterly dejected, Rogue leaning her head on Remy's chest, as he tried to work out just how much damage would be caused to his person during the upcoming teach-Kitty-to-cook lessons.

"I think Remy's givin' you a bad reputation, chérie." Remy said, grinning down at the girl in his arms. She gave no reply, merely smiling slightly into his torso. They stood like that for a few moments, basking in the semi-silence before …

"You too Stripes!" Logan's voice called from down the hallway, and Rogue moaned against Remy chest, much to his amusement.

"Remy thought he was the only one who could make y' moan like that, Chérie. Didn't know scary sharp nails turned you on."

Rogue merely glared at her boyfriend, annoyed that she had managed to come out of a night of drinking with a considerably worse hangover than the Cajun.

"Want a ridet' school?" Remy asked, deciding it was a bad idea to get on Rogue's bad side that early in the morning, especially since all her anger would be unleashed on the semi-conscious students of Bayville high school. Not that he especially liked any of them, but it wouldn't help the reputation of any of the mutants that attended the school.

"Yeah, sugah. Don't think ah could stand Scott an' Jean makin' eyes at each other whilst Kurt and Bobby argue in the backseat and Jubilee plays wit' t' radio. Ah maht go homicidal."

Remy and Rogue made their way to the garage, where thankfully most of the students had already left. Remy sidled up to his motorbike, his pride and joy, and handed Rogue one of the helmets.

"You love that bike more than me." Rogue commented, making sure her school bag was done up, knowing from experience that everything could fall out all over the road when Remy took a sharp turn.

Remy grinned and pulled on his own helmet. "Oui, but you're a very close second."

Rogue swatted him lightly on the chest and watched as Remy straddled the bike, before climbing on too.

"You sure its safe for you to drive that bike?" Logan asked from the doorway, scaring the couple slightly.

"Of course." Remy replied, nonchalantly. "You think dat I would put my Roguey in danger?"

Logan raised his eyebrows when 'Roguey' didn't object to be called just that, but put it down to the excessive amounts of alcohol she'd obviously downed the night before. She couldn't have changed that much, could she?

Remy gave a cheeky wave to Logan before speeding out of the garage like a Jamie on crack, Rogue clinging tightly to his waist, hair flying out behind her from underneath the helmet.

"Honey, Remy's home!" The Cajun called, walked slowly through the entrance hall of the institute, his hangover ebbing away, thanks to much experience in the matter. Now all he had to look forward to was a full day of a pissed-off Wolverine, until his chérie got home from school.

"Great. You can help me with the washing then." A gruff voice called from the direction of the laundry room.

Suppressing a very un-masculine giggle at the thought of Logan, who was basically masculinity personified, doing laundry. Although he'd had that thought many, many times (not in the kinky way) since he'd joined the institute, it never ceased to amuse Remy, who always ended up picturing Logan in a pink frilly pinafore with a fresh-baked pie in one hand and a feather duster in the other.

"What are we doin' today then, mon ami?" Remy asked, rolling up the sleeves on his beloved trench coat. "Uniforms, jeans, greens, blues, whites, blacks?"

"Delicates." Logan said gruffly, a very faint blush rising on his cheeks.

"Excusez-moi?" Remy asked, not quite sure if he'd heard right.

"Delicates, Gumbo. Underwear. Ororo usually does them but she's at a meeting with the Professor, so we get the fun task of sorting through the girl's lacy underwear."

"I think I'm in heaven." Remy said faintly, earning a growl from Logan. "What? You're not going t' enjoy it, are you? So Remy thinks dat he should enjoy it fo' the both of us. Remy has lots of experience wit' lacy underwear."

"I have no doubt about that." Wolverine said, "I think we've probably got one of your many pairs of lacy red panties in here somewhere."

Remy gasped theatrically. "Mon dieu, are you implying dat Remy wears women's underwear?"

"Why yes, I think I am, Gumbo." Logan said, before holding up a pink lacy … something … "And what the hell is this?" He asked, holding up the offending garment, examining it in morbid fascination.

"Crotchless panties." Remy replied, completely deadpan, internally bursting into hysterics as Logan dropped the garment on the floor like a hot potato.

"What the hell is one of the students doing with crotchless panties!"

"Would you like a diagram?" Remy offered. Logan just glared. "Hey, don't glare at Remy, its not his fault Jean likes to walk on the wild side underneath that holier-than-thou exterior."

"JEAN!"

"Y'know, she probably heard that." Deciding that the vein in Logan's forehead probably wasn't doing his life expectancy any good, Remy decided to give the poor guy a break. "Actually, I think they're just normal panties, Logan. Fully crotched. Stop worrying and/or planning Scott's demise."

Logan just muttered under his breath about Cajuns and the standard of underwear, gingerly sorting through the rather skimpy underwear in the baskets.

About ten thongs and five Wonderbras later, Logan broke the silence. "Reckon I should talk to the professor 'bout this, Gumbo. They sure as hell don't make underwear like they used to. It's not suitable for these girls to be wearin' this stuff. If anything it can't be good for their health."

Remy looked up from a green lacy bra, mouth agape. "Non, non, mon ami! You cannot do that to us. Just because you aren't getting any doesn't mean we can't, either."

Logan took several deep breaths, trying to work out what to kill the Cajun about first.

"Firstly, Gumbo, if you mention 'getting any' ever again I will report you to the police for taking advantage of a minor and watch as they cart your Cajun Casanova ass to the big house. Secondly, it's none of your business if I'm 'getting any' or not. For the record, I am actually getting some. So unless you want very graphic details, you'll keep your mouth shut for the next few hours."

Safe to say, that shut Remy up promptly.

Ten minutes later the pair were almost finished, when the phone rang. Logan, who'd found an old copy of Motorbikes weekly behind the dryer, looked up but made no effort to answer the phone.

"Remy'll get it then, homme?" Gambit asked, receiving only a grunt from the older man.

Walking briskly into the hallway where one of the phones was mounted on the wall, Remy answered the phone.

"The Ragin' Cajun's love shack. How may Remy be of service?"

"Hey Rems." A quiet voice said on the other end, followed by a muffled sniff, causing Remy to sober up immediately.

"Chérie? What's de matter?" Remy asked, worried. It was never good when Rogue called during school.

Logan's extra-sensitive hearing picked up on the concerned tone of the Cajun's voice, and he put down his magazine, listening in on the conversation.

"Oh, its nothin' serious really, sugah. Ah was jus' wonderin' if ya could come pick me up." Rogue asked, a faint tremor in her voice. "Please?"

That did it for Remy, and he was instantly saying a quick goodbye, promising to be at the school as soon as possible, and rushing off to the garage to collect his bike.

Logan was torn between following on his own bike, and letting the Remy handle the situation. It was unlike Rogue to call during school, and from the reaction Remy gave, something had obviously happened. Logan just didn't know what.

Fifteen minutes later, the familiar sound of Remy Lebeau's bike sounded from outside the mansion, and Logan fought the urge to rush out of the front doors and find out just what the hell was the matter.

Seconds later, Remy and Rogue came through the doorway that lead to the garage, and Wolverine met them in the entrance hall, quickly realising just what had transpired at the school.

Remy had his arm around Rogue's shoulders, holding her close to him protectively, planting a chaste kiss on her hair. Rogue was leaning into Remy's side, holding a dirty handkerchief to her forehead, obviously trying to stem the flow of a deep gash above her eye. Blood and dirt covered her skin and clothes, and tears, something both Logan and Remy were unaccustomed to seeing on Rogue, smudged her makeup. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but apart from that and a quick sniff every now and then, it wasn't that obvious that she'd been crying.

"Let me guess." Logan said humourlessly, concern blatant on his face.

"Ah'm thinkin' you're not gonna fall for the 'Ah fell over' routine, are ya?" Rogue joked weakly, before coughing severely. Remy looked down at her, a hint of fear in his eyes, and smoothed back a section of her two-tone hair from her forehead.

"Would I ever?" Logan asked, starting to walk in the direction of the medi-bay, Rogue and Remy following.

"Good point."

The trio were silent until they reached the medi-bay, where Hank instantly jumped up from his chair and bustled over to them, taking Rogue from Remy's arms and leading her over to one of the beds.

"O my stars and garters." He said softly, pulling back the handkerchief and inspecting the cut on Rogue's head. "Aren't you in a state, miss Rogue? Attending a 'friends of the mutants conference', I assume."

"Nope, just French class." Rogue answered, taking her bag from Remy's grip and laying it on the bed beside her. As she scooted forward slightly on the bed, Remy took this as an invitation to sit behind her, letting Rogue sink back into his chest.

"Or at least ah was going to French class. Never actually got there. Couple of guys thought that it was still mutant-hunting season an' decided that kickin' my ass was perfectly acceptable." Noticing the way Remy's body tenses behind her, Rogue made an effort to lighten her tone of voice, hoping to distract him from going out and avenging her little playground scuffle. "No big deal, though. Got in a couple of elbow jabs in, whilst I was at it. Even sunk as low as girl-fight scratching. Kitty will be pleased."

Dropping a kiss onto her forehead, Remy murmured, "Proud of you, P'tite." quietly into her ear, knowing that pacing and raving around the room would only prove to piss her off enough that she'd want to stage a second round to her fight, only this time against him. Who said Remy couldn't learn from experience?

Enjoying the impromptu intimacy of the moment, Rogue lent back gently, revelling in the heat that radiated from Remy's chest, trying to ignore the sharp pains that ran up her body as she shifted her weight.

Hank walked over to the sink where he retrieved a damp cloth and some bandages, before walking back to the bed. "I think your injuries are mainly superficial, with a bit of bruising, but I'll have to give you the once over before I can let you leave, okay?" He turned to Logan and said, "I'll give you a call when we're done."

Logan nodded and looked at Remy, who didn't seem to be planning on moving anytime soon.

"Come on Gumbo." He said, casting a concerned eye on Rogue, who was wincing as Hank dabbed at the cut.

"Uh, actually, is it okay if Remy stays? That is if he wants t'."

"Where else is Remy going to go, chérie?" Remy asked.

Rogue looked pleadingly at Logan who sighed and cursed himself for being unable to say no to the girl, before putting a comforting hand on her arm and leaving the room.

An hour and a half later, Logan made his way back down to the medical room, carrying a carton of Ben & Jerry's ice cream and a spoon, deciding that it would get his message of 'get well soon or else' across easily, without him having to go all emotional and shit.

Pushing open the door, Logan found Remy and Rogue in pretty much the same position as before, only Rogue had on clean clothes and a few bandages about her person. Both were deep in discussion, leaning over a notebook, Remy with a pen in his hand.

"Non, non, chérie. You can't hand dat in to your teacher." Remy scolded, a slight smile on his face.

"And why not?" Rogue asked, offended. "All the grammar's right, ya said so yourself."

"Oui, mais if your teacher reads that she will either give you detention for the rest o' yo' life, or cry."

"She's a bitch anyway." Rogue shrugged, not seeing the problem of using out her newly-learnt French phrases on her teacher. "Don't even speak French properly, anyways. She gets it all outa textbooks. The only French ah'm learnin' this year is from you."

Logan gave a cough and the pair looked up, Rogue giving him a friendly smile before her attention was drawn to the cookie dough ice cream in his hand. "Is that for me?" she asked, already salivating at the thought of her favourite flavour of ice cream.

"Well I guess I might as well give it to ya', seeing as you're all beaten up and stuff." Logan replied, trying to make light of the situation. "What are you doin', anyway?"

"Remy is trying to prevent Rogue from mortally offending her prof du français, Monsieur Logan, although he feels it might be a loosing battle here."

Logan smiled despite himself, and handing Rogue the ice cream and the spoon.

"Well just came to warn you that the rest of the students have been callin' up to ask where the hell you are. They all seem to think that you've either bunked off school with the Raging Cajun here, or have been starting fights with the other pupils. Think you're getting a bad reputation there, Stripes."

"Nothing ah never had before."

My first attempt at a X-Men Fanfic, and I'm pretty proud. Please tell me what you think; flames will be given to Pyro to play with.