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"Remy don' tink diss is a good idea," he said, trailing Storm up a staircase.
"Remy should keep his nose out and worry about making sure he remembers whose class he is covering tomorrow," Storm replied sharply. Remy rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in disgust.
"When you gonna let up on Remy 'bout dat?" he asked in mock despair. "I's no' like I didn' do a good job."
"Once you turned up you were very effective," Storm replied, with some satisfaction at having needled him. "It was the fact that you were forty-five minutes late that inconvenienced everyone." Their relationship had started with him being the more dominant force, since she had, at the time, been encased in the pre-pubescent body of a twelve year old girl. Regaining both her body and her memory had turned the tables on him, and she felt it was important that he should remember this fact.
"The Professor has asked me to mentor Ms Jacobson," she explained, "I am going to get her things together, bring them to her, and then outline her new job description. That's all. It's unlikely to take more than an hour."
"Remy, knows what you gonna do, 'Ro. He just don' tink it's a good idea," he replied. Storm ignored the butterflies in her stomach and gave him a steady look that said, quite clearly, that she didn't much care what he thought.
"Fine," he said, with an expressive shrug. "Jus' don' come running to Remy when diss all goes pear-shaped."
"I never do," she said softly as he stalked off. "You come running to me."
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A little over an hour later Storm was sitting in the infirmary with an ice-pack on her hand when Remy barged in. "What Remy tol' you?" he stormed. "Remy said diss was a bad idea. He told you no' to go down dere. Next time maybe you listen to Remy, non?"
"I'm fine," she replied, a little acidly. "Thanks for asking."
"Le' Remy see dat hand," he said, taking it in both his and carefully peeling back the towel and ice. "Oh, Storm, what di' you do?" he asked shaking his head. "Dat fille must have a bump de size of a house."
"You'll make a matching pair," Storm replied smiling mirthlessly. Remy's own black eye was still very much apparent, marking the crown of one cheek bone.
"What did Remy teach you abou' hi'ing people in de face?" he asked in feigned exasperation. "You hit dem somewhere soft, not in de face." Storm allowed herself another wan little smile and didn't mention the fact that she had hurt her hand when it had collided with the wall, not with Ms Jacobson's face. The woman was faster than she looked. Storm still found it disconcerting that her first instinct had been to thump the woman. Normally when irritation engulfed her there was a lightening strike. This time using her mutation hadn't even occurred to her. It was as if she was too caught up in the moment to channel her power. When Hank had pulled her away there had been scarcely a breeze, and it wasn't until they were in the corridor outside the holding room that a wind came up, whipping Hanks fur into a tangle.
Remy noted the weakness of the smile and the absence of a comment. It didn't take an empath to figure out how Storm was feeling. He pulled her to him in a hug that was more comforting than she would ever have admitted. He knew anyway. It wasn't nice to know that you weren't in control of your own actions. And it certainly wasn't reassuring to realize that you were being used as a lab rat by your own colleagues, no matter how vital the data they were collecting might be. She didn't say any of that to Remy, of course, because that might have implied she needed him.
And besides, he knew anyway.
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"'Ro hit her?" Scott asked, incredulously.
"Yep," Jean replied, she was lying with her head resting on his chest and both his arms wrapped round her. "Right in the face."
"Why didn't she fry her?" Scott asked. "I mean, it's not that I think 'Ro should have fried her," he added, kissing Jeans hair, "but you know, it's more..." he paused and pushed her beautiful red hair behind her ear so he could kiss her cheek. "It's more 'Ro. When did 'Ro last hit anyone?"
"Don't know," Jean replied, turning to gaze up into his face, "maybe just after she arrived. Remember when Warren walked in on her when she was changing." Scott laughed at the memory. They'd all wanted to walk in on Storm changing, but Warren was the only one who had taken the dare. Charles had not been impressed.
"Exactly my point," he said, "it's not like her. And if you remember she flattened Warren with a mini-tornado the following day when he was taking off… So you think we're going to need to watch her for a revenge attack on Jay?"
"We've all grown up a lot since then," Jean said, flatly, and turned away. She rested her head on his chest again, lost in her own thoughts.
"That's true," Scott said, philosophically. It was a shame really. It was fun to be irresponsible but it was a privilege he rarely felt able to grant himself these days. The trouble of assuming authority was you had to be an authority.
"And Jay's mutation is certainly capable of making people act out of character," Jean added softly, almost to herself. She toyed again with the idea of telling him.
"I guess that's true too," Scott said. He sounded a little sad. Jean decided not to say anything. "Anyway, I suppose I'd better get back to those timetables. They're not going to write themselves," he said. He absent-mindedly ran his hand over her waist as he spoke.
"Stay right where you are," Jean said making the effort to inject lightness into her voice as she stood. She looked down at him and felt his smirk, tugging at her lips. Few people but Scott had ever seen the expression on her face, so they thought of it as his smirk. She knew different. "You can play with your timetables when you're on duty. For the next seventy-three minutes you're mine." She turned away, unselfconsciously adding a little extra into her walk.
As he rose to follow her he was grinning. "I guess we'd better hurry," he said.
Luckily for him, it was often possible to have fun responsibly.
She laughed.
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