Disclaimer: Haven't you figured it out yet? Not mine!
A/N: I know, I know… It's been over a month since my last update, and I feel so ashamed to have kept you waiting so long. Heck, I don't even have a very good excuse, so why don't we just get on with the show? Hopefully this lovely long chapter chock full o' Rogue/Remy interaction will make up for it!
AnalisDestiny, Picaresca, cool-chick-rae, chicita, Rogue14, darkstorm5000, demiducky25, CloeyMarie, EE's Skysong, Satin Nightingale, enchantedlight, Rikku Ree, Personage, TheRealMai, Freak87, & Cat2fat900: Oh, my lovely reviewers, you have no idea how happy you make me! Thanks, all!
Shira's Song: I don't blame you for being scared off by the summary, that happens to me too. Sometimes I purposely avoid fics I know will be angsty and uber depressing… Or at least, I try – my curiosity ends up getting the better of me, and then I'm melancholy for about a week afterwards. But the point is that I'm glad you have faith in me! Let's just hope it's not misplaced, eh? ;-)
Bluefirez: Thanks for that fun fact! I can't believe it, so many of their relationship troubles stemming from some idiot misplacing a few notes… Argh! But I suppose the angst makes everything a bit more interesting… At least, that's what I'll keep telling myself.
Eileen Blazer: You know, I have the urge to tweak your name like you do mine in your review responses, but you probably made sure yours is more resistant to tweaking on purpose, didn't you? Unless I change it to 'Eileen casual single-breasted jacket'... Yes, that's got a nice ring to it! ;-)
SweetRevenge151: You know, I'd comment on your comments about Glastonbury, or your latest one-shot, but it all seems so irrelevant now, since it was so long ago… Which is my bad. I'll try to keep up with the times!
Sweety8587: Wait, Remy's fictional? No, don't tell me that, let me live in my happy land of denial! ;-)
simba317: You wrote me another novel! It's so difficult to pick which things in your review to comment on, or else this response would be longer than the chapter! Ahh, you kept mentioning Canada Day, and that seems so long ago now, which just reminds me of how long it took me to get working on this… bah. Hey, I actually picture blonde Carol too – I think the image of Rogue's body doing Carol things is much too incompatible. Yeah, we should totally do a Harry Potter and just call her The Evil Wench or something. Speaking of, what did you think of the latest book? I still haven't decided on an opinion yet… But I'm digging the whole Tonks/Lupin thing.
missy42: Your exclamations of squished-together words and capital letters always make me smile… I imagine them being said in a really hyper and high-pitch squealing voice, almost like a chipmunk or something (if they could talk, that is – well, Alvin and the Chipmunks could, maybe that's where it stems from?). Yeah, I'm weird, I know.
IvyZoe: You're either psychic, extraordinarily perceptive, or sneaking a look at some of my notes to see what's coming up…
Calliann: Yup, you caught the 'Buffy' line… I couldn't help myself, I've been watching my DVDs and all these great lines pop out at me. My absolute favourite is when Giles tells Wesley that he has "the emotional maturity of a blueberry scone", but sadly I don't think I can find a way to squeeze that in here.
SnarkyKat: I'm guessing the urge to work that you had when you wrote the review has dwindled down into nothingness by now, right? Sigh!
And if I may direct your attention this way…
Symbiotic
Chapter 11 – Coffee
June 2005
The sunny, warm spring day was far from quiet. Birds chirped merrily, trees whispered in the gently blowing breeze, children screamed with excitement as they ran around the playground… Yet the Southern duo heard none of this as they walked together through the park, heading towards the café. Neither of them spoke, only able to focus on the deafening silence that reigned between them.
Words usually flowed so easily between them, most often those of the bantering variety. Rogue had no desire to prompt another argument however, especially after their last one had finally dwindled down. Never having been the most social of creatures, she hardly wished to start up any insipid and awkward small talk either.
Thankfully, Remy took the initiative and began, "So, uh… What happened wit' Kitty's catatonia back dere?"
The girl cursed inwardly at him for bringing up a subject she didn't want to discuss. What would she tell him, that her friend had an extremely implausible theory regarding him having feelings for her? She would rather let Carol dye her hair blonde and turn her into a cheerleader, so she simply shrugged and said, "Oh, nothin' much."
He waited for her to elaborate, but when she stopped there, he took it upon himself to continue. "Did y' manage t' snap her out o' it?"
"Yup. She's back ta her bubbly self."
"Oh, okay den… Dat's good."
A hush fell over them once more. Rogue focused on the sound of Remy's trench coat swishing behind him as he walked, while Remy concentrated on the soft thud of Rogue's boots hitting the ground, both of them determinedly attempting to ignore the quiet.
Finally, the Cajun made an effort to start up a talk once more. "Well, um… Nice weather we're havin', henh?"
The goth turned her head in his direction, looking at him in disbelief. "Have yah actually resorted ta talkin' about th' weather?"
"I didn' know what else t' say," Remy scowled. "B'sides, it's not like y' were encouragin' de conversation!"
"An' here Ah thought that yah didn't have problems talkin' ta th' ladies," she drawled amusedly, with a teasing smile on her face.
"Who said y' were a lady?" he retorted with a grin, but tensed up in preparation to dodge in case the girl decided to hit him for his comment.
She didn't – to his surprise, she only let out a brisk peal of laughter and replied, "True…"
"Dat must be why y' haven't fallen fo' my charms," the boy realized with a wry grin. "All de ot'er femmes do."
"Well, Ah'm not like th' other gals, am Ah?" Rogue questioned coolly with a smirk on her face. "An' yo' so-called 'charms'? Please, if yah were so charmin' then yah should be havin' an easier time makin' conversation right now."
"Den let's find somet'in' t' talk about!"
"Gee, good idea," she said with a sarcastic twang. "Any ideas?"
He gave her a sidelong glance and casually mentioned, "How 'bout y'?"
"Me?" she repeated suspiciously. No, that wasn't a preferred topic of hers. "What, are yah just tryin' ta get some info? That might work with the girls yah're used ta, th' ones who're so full o' themselves that they'll babble on fo' hours, but that's not me."
"Y' caught me, chère…" he sighed in resignation. "Can't blame un homme fo' tryin'."
"It was a pretty weak attempt, though," Rogue informed him matter-of-factly.
"Yeah? Well, what would've worked better?"
She chuckled as he strove for information once more. He was smooth, she'd give him that, but she was much too cautious and wary to let a few charming words wheedle her innermost thoughts and feelings out of her shell. "Nothin'. Ah don't like talkin' about mahself too much."
He shook his head in agreement. "Neit'er do I."
"Then Ah guess we ain't gonna have a lot ta talk about, huh?" The girl wasn't sure whether that would be a good thing or a bad thing. It could mean an end to his annoyingly persistent inquisitions, or it could mean a return to his perverted innuendo.
"How 'bout I make y' a deal?" Remy blurted out suddenly. "Whatever I ask y', y' can ask me right back."
"Seriously?" She was surprised to find him offering up facts about himself. Up until now he had been carefully guarded, a locked safe fortified even further with additional defences. He was good at not making that obvious, however – she had noticed that whenever he talked he had a way of appearing to be an open book, but in reality, if one truly listened then they would realize they had gotten no further than a glance at the cover.
Yet now it appeared he was willing to open up, at least a little. "Oui," he confirmed it, nodding slowly. He didn't rescind his suggestion, even though he seemed a bit apprehensive about the arrangement.
Then again, so was Rogue. Despite her better judgement, she was interested in knowing more about him – the part she wasn't interested in was divulging anything about herself. Still, if they were both going to answer, then they would be on even footing… "All right," she finally conceded, giving one brisk nod. Still, she would feel better about the risk if she had a safety net to work with, so she quickly added, "But Ah don't promise ta answer everythin'!"
"Fair 'nough, neither do I," Remy acknowledged, and suddenly they had an agreement. "So, do y' want t' start?"
"Um, sure," she hesitantly accepted his polite offer, but wasn't sure where to begin. "Well… What's yo' favourite colour?"
"Dat's yo' question?" he asked, dumbfounded at how anticlimactic it was.
"What?" she replied defensively. "Ah don't feel like gettin' inta anythin' too intense… An' besides, th' little things are important too. So just answer!"
"Okay den," her fellow mutant laughed, raising his hands in resignation. He then thought for a moment, looked straight at her, and answered, "Green."
"Green?"
"Green. T' be mo' specific, de green o' yo' eyes." He shot her a swoon-worthy smile, but it had no effect on her.
"Oh please, flattery won't work on me, swamp rat," she scoffed. Was it too much to expect a serious answer from him? If he kept with his obsequiousness then this little exercise would be pointless.
"Hey, it's not flattery, it's a compliment," he protested earnestly. "Yo' eyes really are a belle colour, y' know. Like emeralds."
Rogue looked at him shrewdly, searching for any indications that he was joking or being his cavalier self, but there were none. Not accustomed to receiving such sincere sentiments, she was unsure of how to react, so she simply turned up the corner of her mouth into a crooked smile. "Um, okay then… Thanks, Ah guess."
He chuckled. "It's funny dat y' can give as good as y' get wit' insults, but y' don' know what t' do wit' a compliment."
"Oh, shut up," she huffed. "Ah'm just not used ta them, that's all…"
"I can't see why," he replied solemnly. "I'd imagine y' get dem all de time."
"Then yah'd imagine wrong."
"Really?" he blinked, looking amazed. He opened his mouth about to say something more, but then apparently changed his mind, biting his tongue. She looked at him in confusion, but he only shook his head a bit and told the girl it was her turn to answer the question.
"Oh yeah. Well, that's easy, mah favourite colour is black."
"Nuh-uh, dat's not a colour, chère, it's a neutral!" he scolded, wagging his finger at her. "I would've t'ought y'd know dat, what wit' y' bein' artistically inclined an' all."
"Oh, come on," she griped, swatting his hand away. "Semantics, that's all!"
"Hey, I'm just goin' f'r accuracy. I want y' t' answer trut'fully, just like y'd want me to."
"Ah did answer truthfully, black is mah favourite!" Rogue insisted.
"Why, 'cause it's de colour o' my eyes?" he cooed teasingly, lifting his sunglasses off and batting his lashes jokingly at her. "Oh chère, I always knew y' liked dem!"
"Dear Lord," she sighed in exasperation. Scanning the scenery around them, the first thing her eyes landed on was the plastic purple slide on the playground – it was a hideous shade, reminiscent of Barney the dinosaur, but it would do. "Okay, purple then! Yah happy?" she grumbled, just so she could put an end to the taunting.
"Well, not really, since my eyes ain't purple…"
"Oh, will yah just ask th' next question already?"
"Fine." He looked up at the sky as he thought, replacing his glasses to guard against the bright, blinding sun. "Favourite food?"
"Oh, that's an easy one – catfish," she responded instantly, a craving shooting through her at the thought of the southern delicacy.
"What, not de eggs Remy made y' dis mornin'?" he pouted.
"Sorry swamp rat, they were good but not that good. Now, what about yah?"
"Oh, I'm very good, chère, I guarantee it," he winked playfully. "Care fo' a taste?"
Rogue rolled her eyes, vaguely thinking that she had probably repeated that action more times since she had made Remy's acquaintance than during the rest of her life up to that point. "Is it even possible fo' yah ta quit with th' suggestive comments?"
"I could, but den where's de fun in dat?"
"There's no way yah could pull it off," she goaded, a plan beginning to form in her mind. "Ah'd be amazed if it happened, even fo' just one conversation."
"I'll prove it den!" Remy declared indignantly. "Heck, I'll do it right now!"
"Great!" the girl exclaimed with glee, correctly predicting that he wouldn't be able to resist the challenge. If their entire excursion was to be peppered with his innuendos she had a feeling she would have been forced to push him into oncoming traffic, but now she would receive some peace. "Now then, it's yo' turn ta answer."
He stared at her for a moment, realizing what he had just agreed too, but then gave up any argument with a weary sigh. Apparently deciding it was a battle that could not be won (which gave Rogue a rather pleasant sense of satisfaction), he instead opted to simply answer the question. "Well, it's an easy one f'r me too – gumbo."
"Ah shoulda guessed that," she chuckled in amusement. "Logan was pretty accurate with his nickname then?"
"I t'ink Logan should learn people's real names," the thief grumbled in an annoyed tone.
"Why so bitter?" Rogue asked curiously, wondering about his reaction to the mention of the Canuck. Although perhaps she shouldn't have been so surprised – they did have clashing personalities, after all. The Cajun was exactly the kind of person that would stand up to Wolverine, questioning his authority and generally driving him crazy, just for the hell of it.
Remy furrowed his brow, then shrugged. "Dunno… I guess we don't get along too well. He's been givin' me a hard time 'cause I was givin' y' a hard time."
"Ahh," the girl drawled in realization. That certainly explained the tension between them – anybody that didn't treat her right was always in danger of three sharp claws being introduced to various body parts. Even though she hardly needed the protection, she had to admit that she did appreciate him caring. "That definitely sounds like Logan… He's just really overprotective, even though Ah'm perfectly capable of takin' care o' mahself. Ah wonder if he'll ease up if Ah tell him we're friends…"
"So we're friends now?" the boy perked up, and Rogue winced at her faulty choice of words.
Silently cursing her blunder, she quickly followed it up with, "We're friendly. That's what Ah meant, we're actin' friendlier with each other."
"Sure, chère, whatever y' say," Remy placated her, the amusement ringing in his smooth voice making it clear that he didn't believe her.
He stopped walking when they reached the local Starbucks, and Rogue was thankful that a change of subject could be made before he had the chance to heckle her about the verbal slip-up. Quickly eyeing the cold, reflective glass windows and the shiny corporate culture, the goth cried, "Woah – hold on a sec, this is th' café we're goin' ta?"
The other mutant's brief elation at the accidental declaration of friendship disappeared as a frown graced his handsome features. "Uh… Oui?"
"Cajun, do Ah look like a Starbucks kinda gal ta yah?"
"…Non, I guess not," he replied sheepishly. "Where do y' get yo' coffee from den?"
"C'mon, Ah'll show yah one o' Bayville's best kept secrets," she told him, walking away down the sidewalk and gesturing for him to tag along.
"I'd follow y' t' de ends o' de earth, chère," he exclaimed, trotting after her, and grinning when she turned to glare at him. "What? Dat's not innuendo, it's just a statement! Anyway, it's yo' question now."
"Right… Okay, um… What's yo' favourite holiday?"
"I'm shocked y' even have t' ask!" he gasped, looking at her scandalized. "Why, dere ain't no better time fo' a Cajun boy den Mardi Gras, o' course!"
"O' course, stupid question…" Rogue muttered. "Ah bet it's 'cause o' all th' women bearin' their breasts, right?"
"Dat's just an added bonus," he grinned. "Nah, it's de whole atmosphere – de craziness, de dancin', de drinkin', de fun… Y' can have a hundred ot'er celebrations t'roughout de year, but Mardi Gras is like dem all wrapped up int' one. It's a sight t' see, chère – y' ever been?"
She couldn't help but smile at the warmth and fondness she heard in his voice – it was clear he was describing something very near and dear to his heart. "Nah, never, but Ah've wanted ta. Maybe one year Ah'll take a trip down there… Durin' one o' mah months, that is."
He frowned at her last few words, but quickly masked it. "Well, will y' give dis homme de honour o' accompanyin' y'? I can show y' de real Big Easy, an' how t' laissez les bon temps rouler (let de good times roll)," he offered.
"Ah'll think about it…" she mused. "A native as a tour guide might come in handy – unless yah're just offerin' so yah can see me flash fo' beads!"
"It'd be a cross I'd somehow have t' bear while doin' my chivalrous duty o' escortin' a belle fille t'rough an unfamiliar town," he told her seriously, with a melodramatic look of pain on his face, before he burst into laughter.
Rogue found herself joining in. "Yeah, sure… Why do Ah doubt yah have th' noblest of intentions, swamp rat?"
"I can't answer dat, chère, since it's yo' turn t' answer de question," he responded cheekily.
"Why th' hell did Ah agree ta this stupid game?" Rogue growled, throwing her head back and looking questioningly up into the sky, as if the reply was emblazoned in the clouds.
"'Cause y' couldn't resist gettin' t' know mo' about dis dashing Cajun?" he asked hopefully. "Now, c'mon, what's yo' favourite holiday?"
She pursed her lips in thought as she led them down an alleyway tucked in between two brick buildings. "Actually, Ah don't really have one… Heck, Ah don't even know why Ah asked th' question, it was just th' first thing that came ta mind."
"Well, de rules state dat y' have t' answer," Remy firmly declared over the crunching of the broken glass he tread on.
"Ah did! Not havin' a favourite is a valid answer!" she insisted firmly, her voice slightly echoing behind them as they exited the alley, stepping back into the sunlight and onto another street.
"But not a very good or interestin' one," he pointed out. "What, y' don't like Christmas? Or Halloween? I figured y'd at least like Halloween…"
"Why, because Ah'm a creepy goth an' it's some sorta stereotypical rule that we all like it?" she scowled, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Non, actually I was t'inkin' dat y'd enjoy scarin' de livin' daylights outta yo' team mates…"
"Oh." She looked away from him, feeling rather foolish at her assumption. "Yeah, well, Ah actually do enjoy that… But not enough ta make it mah favourite."
"C'mon, chère, y' have t' have an answer, I don't care what y' say! Y' must at least like one a tiny bit mo' den de ot'ers, which would make it yo' favourite!" he persisted, and with the use of logic it was clear that he was determined to get a response.
"Fine! Arbour Day!" the girl finally blurted out, throwing her hands into the air in exasperation. "Happy now?"
"Not really," he admitted. "Y' just makin' dat up, aren't y'?"
"Yes," she confessed with a grimace. "But now that Ah think about it, it's really not that bad – no big celebrations, no materialism, no holiday spirit an' all that crap… So yeah, Ah think that makes it mah favourite."
Her companion opened his mouth and she just knew he was about to argue with her once more, but thankfully she noticed where they were and was able to cut him off. "Oh look, we're here!"
Rogue's strides came to a halt in front of a tiny café, nestled between a second-hand bookstore and a florist. It looked rather dim and dingy – the paint on the wooden letters spelling out 'Coffee' above the entryway was peeling and the windows were streaked, but she liked it. It had character, unlike those other cookie-cutter places. However, she could see that Remy wasn't exactly impressed just yet, so she led the way inside, knowing he'd change his mind.
She was a bit taken aback when he chivalrously held the door open for her, but inclined her head in thanks anyway. A jingling bell signalled their entrance, and Rogue looked around at the mural-covered walls and mishmash of unmatched furniture fondly. She liked to come here often – it was a pleasant escape from the hectic life of the Institute, and it was nice to be back after a month away.
As she headed over towards the counter at the side, she heard Remy whistle appreciatively behind her. "Hey, dis place ain't half bad, chère…"
She threw on a fake pout. "What, yah didn't trust mah taste?"
"Well, since y' don' find dis Cajun irresistible dere must be somet'in' wrong wit' yo' taste," he joked. "But I t'ink dis place makes up fo' it – reminds me of some o' de jazz clubs back in N'Awlins, in a way…"
"Aww, Ah'm glad th' swamp rat feels right at home," she teased light-heartedly. She surprised herself by not tossing any harsh barbs in retribution for the beginning of his comment – perhaps his turn to seriousness and homesickness had stopped her? The bout of sensitivity worried her. "So, how 'bout we order already?" she quickly asked, attempting to revert back to her trademarked aloofness.
"Yo' wish is my command," he told her with a bow, before bobbing his head in acknowledgement to the worker behind the cash register. "Bonjour, I'll have a large black coffee, please. An' fo' de femme, a large coffee wit' milk an' two spoons o' sugar, right?" he asked, turning to her to make sure.
"Uh, right," she confirmed, startled. "How'd yah know?"
"Noticed dat's what y' drink in de mornin's, dat's all," he replied casually. "Hey, y' still want dat croissant?"
"Sure." She couldn't decide if his knowledge of her drinking habits was creepy or sweet…
"An' two croissants, please," the young man added to the employee, before pulling out a crisp ten dollar bill from somewhere in his coat and placing it down on the marble counter top.
Each of them grabbed their mug and a plate and headed towards a table, one lit from above by a stained-glass lamp hanging down from the ceiling. They both slid onto the worn leather chairs facing each other, and a moment of silence overtook them.
Remy broke it a second later with a soft chuckle. "Y' know, I've gotta say dat's it's nice t' be able t' order a coffee in plain English!"
"That's fo' sure," she whole-heartedly agreed, wrapping her gloved hands around her warm ceramic mug. "Even though yah did intersperse it with some French…"
"Hey, it adds a touch o' class, non?" he preened. "Don' it make me sound exotic?"
Rogue shook her head once more, only this time it was more in playfulness than in vexation. Bringing her drink to her lips and tentatively taking a sip of the steaming liquid, a more thought-provoking expression crossed her face and she asked, "Hey, do yah think it's a bad sign that we argued so much that we only answered, what, about three questions on th' entire walk here?"
"I don't know if I'd call it arguin'," he said slowly, ripping off the end of his croissant. "Mo' like banter, pro'ly – which is kinda fun, henh? B'sides, de game doesn't have t' end just yet."
"Oh great, mo' questions?" the girl sighed – but in truth, she didn't mind that much.
"Oui, but I t'ink we should go beyond t'ings like our favourite colours," he told her seriously as he leaned towards her, taking off his sunglasses now that they were in a less public area.
"Ahh, so we're gonna get inta th' more in-depth stuff, are we?"
"Well, I t'ink we both know dat we didn't start dis little game t' learn about de pointless stuff, chère."
"True…" she exhaled slowly. All they had discussed so far were the tiny, insignificant things – of course, they were important in their own way, adding details to the overall picture of a person, but they only helped when there was already some sort of foundation to build upon.
"I mean, I'd like t' know mo' about y'. The real y', not just de little t'ings I could learn by watchin' y'," Remy continued candidly, his piercing eyes locking on to hers.
She broke their eye contact, his gaze becoming a little too intense, and she stared down at the table. "Ah don't really like talkin' about mah past an' all," she murmured. "Ah mean, Ah'm not exactly th' most open person."
"Neit'er am I," he divulged. However, a second later he perked up with an idea. "Hey, I t'ink I know what could help – what's yo' most embarassin' moment ever?"
"What? There's no way Ah'm tellin' yah somethin' like that! An' what good would it do anyway?" she shrieked.
"Hear me out!" he exclaimed quickly, throwing his hands up. "Mebbe if we reveal a secret we don't want anybody else t' know, it's like we build a trust b'tween each ot'er, or somet'in'…"
She raised an eyebrow slyly. "An' if that fails, we've got blackmail material, right?"
"Knew dat wouldn't get past y'," he beamed. "But o' course, it should never come t' dat, since I don't 'xpect we'll be tellin' no one, henh?"
"Ah'm not one ta blab secrets," she said with an unsure frown. "But still, Ah don't know…"
"Look, I'll even go first," the other mutant offered, and then took a deep, bracing breath. "Dis ain't really de most pleasant o' memories, but… Well, I was at Mardi Gras a few years back an' met a nice fille. One t'ing led t' anot'er an' we went back t' her place… Which is where I found out dat she was actually a he."
"What?" Rogue burst out loudly, nearly spitting out the coffee she had in her mouth in the process. "No way!"
"Way," Remy muttered self-consciously. He had his eyes locked firmly on the table in front of him, unable to look his companion in the face as his own was turning red in reminiscence. "He was dressed in drag…"
"Hmm, so maybe mah teasin' about yo' sexuality wasn't that far off?" she taunted, unable to resist the opportunity.
"Quoi? Non! It wasn't on purpose – I was drunk! Very drunk, an' he had a lot o' makeup on…"
"So how far did yah guys get?" she managed to sputter out between her deep gasps of laughter.
The Cajun groaned. "Well, I was already in my birt'day suit when 'she' started takin' off her dress, which is when I realized dat she had some parts dat a femme's definitely not supposed t' have… So I hightailed it outta dere, runnin' down de fire escape completely in de buff!"
By this point Rogue's eyes were watering, tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. "Oh mah Gawd, that's hilarious!"
"Yeah, well, it wasn't at de time," he grumbled, taking a sip of his drink as if to distract himself. "Believe me, I've tried t' fo'get it, never told dat t' anyone…"
"Yo' secret's safe with me, swamp rat," she chortled, ducking her head while drinking her own coffee, trying not to let him see how much his story amused her.
"It better be, river rat," he shot back. "'Cause it's yo' turn now."
"Oh boy…" For a moment Rogue debated about making something up – did she really trust him, after all? Perhaps not yet, but she could almost see herself heading in that direction… And that required work on both their parts, meeting each other halfway. She supposed that meant it was only fair she recounted something real, so she decided to bite the bullet and began.
"Well, this was about a year ago. Kitty was hoggin' our bathroom an' Ah wanted ta take a shower, so Ah decided it wouldn't hurt ta use th' boy's bathroom. Ah musta not locked th' door behind me, 'cause th' second Ah stepped out o' th' shower, befo' Ah could even put mah towel on, Scott walks in an' sees me! So Ah scream in surprise, an' so does he, which brings other people runnin'. Thankfully Ah managed ta get a towel around me befo' anybody else showed up, but as luck would have it, Jean happens ta be th' first one there, an' she thought Ah was seducin' her boyfriend… Scott didn't tell anybody what he saw, but it was awful, Ah couldn't look him in th' face fo' weeks!"
She blushed and looked over at Remy, stunned to not find him laughing as she had expected. Instead, he had a dazed expression on and breathed, "Dat lucky bastard…"
"Hey!"
"Uh, I mean… See, dat wasn't so bad, was it?" he tried to save himself. "Don't y' t'ink we've bonded t'rough our embarrassment?"
"We better have," she muttered. "Ah worked hard ta repress that memory, an' Ah'd hate ta think Ah dredged it up fo' nothin'!"
"Hey, I t'ink dis was a good idea," he defended. "If we told each ot'er t'ings we don't want nobody else t' hear, not'in' else we tell each ot'er will seem as bad, henh?"
"Ah guess…."
"Bien. An' now I believe it's yo' question, chère."
The goth decided to forgo any further scolding and evasions, instead being much more interested in the possibilities of her query. "Hmm, so this means Ah can dig a little deeper under that cocky façade o' yo's?" It was time to learn about the real Remy LeBeau.
"Go right on ahead," he allowed with a smirk. "Dat was de deal, after all."
"Okay then… Well, why don't yah start by tellin' me about yo' family?"
"Huh, dis may take a while, de famille (family) is pretty big," he exhaled slowly, leaning back in his seat and getting comfortable. "Guess I should start wit' Jean-Luc – he's de one dat brought me int' it all, after he caught me pickin' his pocket…"
- X -
A few hours later…
"…An' den Lapin says, 'But I t'ought dat was de jambalaya'!" Remy delivered the punch line with a flourish, concluding his tale.
Across the table, Rogue's entire body was shaking with laughter. If the thief hadn't already been smiling from the memory he had just recounted, then surely a grin would have been prompted by the sound of the girl's amusement. She had such a nice laugh – instead of some trite, tittering giggle, it came deep from the belly, full of warmth. He found he liked it immensely…
"Oh man, that's priceless!" she wheezed, wiping at her watering eyes with her gloved hands, trying carefully not to smear her black eyeliner. "That definitely beats Kitty's misadventures in th' kitchen."
"Told y' dat de T'ieves were crazier den de X-Men!" he gloated, quite proud of the fact.
"Yeah, yeah, yah made yo' point," she grumbled good-naturedly, and was about to speak further when an employee walked over to their table and interrupted.
"Sorry guys, you'll have to get a move on now – we close early on Sundays, remember?" she informed them while reaching over to clean up the table littered with half a dozen empty mugs.
"Yeah, but it's only…" Rogue's green eyes widened as they stared at a clock hanging on the wall. "Woah, it's five already?"
"Really?" Remy asked in amazement, checking his own watch just to be sure. "Huh." They had been having such an entertaining and lively discussion that the hours had simply flown by, neither having the presence of mind to check the time amidst their debates of whose powers had manifested in a worse way, or whose foster parent was worse, or the multitude of other topics that had come up during their non-stop conversation.
He rose from his seat, offering a polite hand to Rogue once he stood. Once she was back on her feet, the duo headed out of the café, stepping out onto the street and back into the humid summer air.
"So, now what?" she questioned, but then clutched her stomach as a loud growl permeated the silence. "No, wait, never mind, Ah know th' answer ta that – food!"
"Definitely," Remy chuckled, pulling out his packet of cigarettes from a pocket in his trench coat.
He fiddled with the carton for a moment before pulling out a stick, and realizing with a start that he didn't want their fun to end just yet – if they returned to the mansion and attempted to continue on with their newfound camaraderie, it would only prompt eavesdropping and whispers, stifling the comfort that he had managed to create between himself and Rogue. No, he had a better idea.
"Drinkin' coffee all day ain't exactly fillin'. Why don' we walk back t' de mansion, pick up my bike, an' we'll head out fo' dinner? I know a place wit' great Southern cookin' – I stopped in when I first came t' Bayville, an' I seem t' recall dem havin' catfish on de menu," he proposed casually, yet felt rather anxious about her acceptance.
There turned out to be no need. "Mmm, yah said th' magic word," Rogue practically purred as they began the trek back home.
He wondered if she was aware of the fact that she licked her lips… Noticing that only made him focus on her mouth, which was sure to prompt some very impure thoughts. Before his mind could focus more on that sensual image, however, he was distracted by the cigarette being plucked out from between his lips before he even had a chance to inhale. "Hey! Dat's mine!"
"Not anymo' it ain't!" she declared, snapping it in half and tossing it into a garbage bin as they passed. "Those things'll kill yah, yah know."
"So everyone tells me," he said, rolling his eyes. "But I never t'ought I'd hear it from y' of all people – does dat mean y' really care about dis poor Cajun's well-bein'?"
"Oh, please," she scoffed, looking away from him. "Remy, if Ah'm gonna go fo' dinner with yah, there's no way Ah'm gonna stick around with yah smellin' gross. Not ta mention th' fact that dyin' from second-hand smoke ain't exactly high on mah list of ways ta go."
He was about to respond facetiously, but then her words sunk in – specifically, her calling him by his actual name. It was the first time she had ever done so, and the craving for nicotine was pushed from his thoughts. Instead, his mind focused on how nice and warm his name sounded when caressed by her husky Southern accent…
"Rogue, did y' realize dat y' actually called me Remy just den?" he quizzed her, wondering if it was a fluke or a slip of the tongue. He hoped it wasn't, it seemed like a good sign – maybe one of acceptance, or even of friendship? But perhaps that was too much to ask.
"Huh? Oh, yeah, Ah know… So what? Did yah realize that yah didn't call me 'chère'?" she asked, attempting to turn the focus back to him.
"Oui, but I've occasionally called y' by yo' name," he reminded her. "Y' never call me Remy."
"Well, don't get used ta it," she groused. "Yah'll always be a swamp rat in mah heart."
"Just as long as I'm in yo' heart, I don't mind," he chirped in reply.
"No, Ah didn't mean it that way!" she tried to back-pedal, uncomfortable at the way he had purposely misconstrued her verbalization.
"Suuure y' didn't…" He greatly enjoyed how flustered his teasing was making her – the pink tinge on her pale white cheeks was absolutely endearing.
"Argh! Ah don't know, maybe th' cigarette smoked worked it's way up inta mah brain an' it's affectin' mah neurons!" she cried, throwing her hands up into the air with a weak attempt at rationalizing her words.
"If dats de case, dat makes me like it even mo'. Mebbe I'll have t' continue smokin', henh? See what ot'er affectionate t'ings y' say."
"Don't push yo' luck, sugah," she crooned with exaggerated sweetness, emphasizing the last word.
He blinked, thrown off by the pet name – but in a good way… "What was dat?"
"What, 'sugah'? Dunno exactly, an' ol' habit o' mine, Ah guess," Rogue shrugged nonchalantly. "What, would yah prefer snookums, or muffin, or somethin'? Maybe sweetie-pie, or googly-bear?"
"Mon Dieu, non! Wasn' complainin' – I liked it, actually." Oddly enough, it seemed to remind him of home, in a way – or was it just because of the lazy way she drawled it? In truth, he didn't care. There was really no other way to describe it other than intimate, and he wanted to hear it again.
She gave a small smile and tentatively offered, "Don't smoke around me an' maybe Ah'll like yah enough ta use it again."
"Well, in dat case…" Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the entire pack and held it until it began to glow a bright magenta colour. When the molecules were moving so quickly that he began to hear a soft humming sound, the thief threw it at the brick wall beside them, where the cigarettes disintegrated into a pile of ash and smoke. "Dere, all gone."
Rogue coughed a bit, waving her arms to try and waft the smell away from her. "Don't get me wrong, Ah'm happy yah did that, but yah'll probably regret it later when yah have a cravin'."
"Den I'll just pick up anot'er pack, 's no big deal."
She looked up at him curiously. "Why do yah smoke, anyway?"
"What do y' mean?" Strangely, it was something he had never been asked before. His father had ordered him to quit because he was too young, Tante Mattie had threatened him with a rolling pin when she caught him smoking inside the house, but nobody had ever inquired as to why he had picked up the vice in the first place. Although to be truthful, he didn't exactly know – it had just seemed like something to do.
"Well, addiction's a sign o' weakness, ain't it?" she elaborated. "Ah' yah're not one ta flaunt yo' weakness."
"True," he admitted, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably, "but I don' t'ink I'd describe m'self as addicted."
"Acceptance is th' first step towards recovery…" she told him in a purposely patronizingly manner.
"Hey, I'm not addicted! I can quit any time I want," Remy insisted.
"Then quit now."
"Fine!"
"Fine?" she echoed, sceptical. "Just like that?"
"Why not?" Surely it couldn't be that hard. It wasn't like he needed to smoke – in fact, he had actually been thinking of slowly weaning himself off the habit, not that she needed to know that little tidbit of information.
"Dunno, just wasn't expectin' it, that's all."
"Dis is me we're talkin' 'bout – I like t' do de unexpected." And surely doing what she suggested would impress her, right?
"True… Gosh, Ah bet yah'll be a pleasure ta be around fo' th' next few weeks," Rogue said sarcastically. "Do me a favour an' stay outta mah way when yah get yo' nicotine fits?"
"Don' t'ink I can do dat, chère. I'll be needin' yo' company t' distract me." If anything would be able to draw his attention away from his cravings, it was her – during the whole afternoon spent in the coffee shop with her, not once did he even consider stepping outside for a cigarette.
She sighed, dropping her chin forward onto her chest and looking down at the sidewalk. "Great, what have Ah gotten mahself inta?"
"Not'in' y' can't handle," he assured her.
They walked along for a few minutes, this time in companionable silence. However, a nagging thought was repeating itself in Remy's mind, and he broke the quiet to voice it. "Hey, chère? I got just one last question…"
"An' what might that be?"
Their little excursion had been successful regarding entertainment, comfort, discussion, and numerous other factors, but he was curious about the main purpose he had originally set out to achieve. "Was de coffee good enough for y' t' forgive me?"
"Oh mah gosh, Ah honestly fo'got all about that!" the goth gaped.
"Then I guess dat's a 'oui' den?" he asked hopefully.
She stared at him evenly for a moment, the fact that she needed time to think about it making him nervous. After a few seconds she gave a small smile, however, and simply stated, "Oui."
That pleased him more than he thought it would. It wasn't the satisfaction of accomplishment, or of winning something either – it was simply… contentment.
He basked in that feeling for a minute, before hesitantly speaking once more. "…Hey, chère?"
"Ah thought yah said that was yo' last question," she teased him slightly. "Besides, wouldn't it be mah turn now?"
"Technically, yes, but dis one's pretty important…" He had asked it before, many times, but now it felt all the more critical.
Her emerald eyes were wide with inquisitiveness. "What?"
"…We friends yet?"
Again, at first there was unnerving silence. Then her eyes narrowed – no, they crinkled in the corners, with happiness instead of suspicion. Remy released the breath he had been holding, predicting an affirmative response was on its way. "…Ah guess so, sugah."
He beamed. "Bien." Yes, that pleased him quite a bit.
Well, look at that, they're friends now! Finally… Now will they ever be more?
Next chapter – Remy comes to a realization…
You know, I don't know how I feel about the new Stats feature. On the one hand, I enjoy knowing how many people look at my fics… But on the other, I get rather depressed that so little of you leave reviews. Only 9.5 percent of readers left a review for my last chapter! Let's try to beat that this time, shall we? Pretty please? 11 percent or bust!
Toodles,
– ish –