The following does not reflect the views or opinions of Marvel or the author known as 'Lizzieturbo'.
(Side note: I know I've been sucking it up on review replies, but please please PLEASE still review! I love them, I need them, I cry myself to sleep a little without them. And honestly, nothing gets my fingers a-typing faster than a big ol' buttload of reviews. And heaven knows my fingers could be faster... am I right?)
Entry number 11
The first thing you need to know is that Jean and Scott are insane.
Actually, scratch that. This is my damn blog. The first thing you need to know is that, with my new fancy-shmancy wardrobe, I am now f***ing hot. I don't even mind saying it: that colorless whore knows what she's talking about. Seriously, my ass is ass-tastic. The college experience is a lot better now. Since the White Witch worked her magic, I haven't been side-eyed or called a man once, not once. I know that's a sad victory, but I'm taking it, damn it. And a day at the mall with Kitty and Emma wasn't quite as bad as I thought it would be. I mean, it wasn't enjoyable or anything, and I still had the urge to just reach out and slap that bleached-blonde bitch every time I looked at her stupid face... but I resisted. I kept it in check. Basically the whole shopping trip was pretty event-less - if you don't count the fact that we practically had to tranquilize Kitty to get her out of Sephora. I swear, that girl is basically just a 10 year old with boobs. Anyways, the point is, there's not much to tell except for the fact that we went, we shopped, we all left the mall alive and with all our limbs, and now I'm a friggin' Dime. Holla. No need to waste a blog entry on that shit.
The second thing you need to know is that Jean and Scott are insane.
The third thing you should probably know is that Jean is in labor. She's been in labor for like five days. I'm not shitting you. Apparently this is something that can happen. The contractions started Sunday morning, so after a few hours of walking around moaning and checking their watches, the golden couple headed down to the hospital, only to be sent home an hour later. I guess they didn't see the head, or something. Honestly, I don't really know how the whole child-birth thing works. Nor do I want to. I mean, I paid attention in Health class during the "how to have sex" part, and the "how not to make a baby when having sex" part, but when they got to the "how to birth a human" part, I sort of just closed my eyes, zoned out, and thought about England. Shootin' a kid out my lady parts isn't exactly on the top of my to-do list at this point in my life, and I figure if I do ever get to a place where either a) I want to be a parent or b) Remy forgets to use a condom, a good mix of surprise and denial is probably in my best interest.
Not that I'm assuming that I'm going to have a kid with Remy. It's just, if I did happen to get knocked up by some dipshit who forgot to suit up, odds are it would be him. You know I'm right.
Anyway, long story short, Jean has now been boomeranged from the Bayville General a record four times. And the contractions are still going. I don't really blame her for being certifiable. My uterus hurts for her. Scott, however, is just driving us all bananas. I don't know, maybe we should all be a little more sympathetic - it's probably pretty stressful for him too, and it's not like he's gotten a whole lot of sleep the past few nights. On the other hand, he and his over ambitious swimmers were the ones who created this mess, all while he was simultaneously mind-boffing a different telepath (geeze, have a type much?), so screw him. Go Team Jean.
I don't know why, but I'm in a bit of a girl power mood lately. Time to break out the Sailor Moon and blast me some Spice Girls.
So, after Kitty and I got back from Columbia for the day, somehow we all found ourselves piled together in the rec room watching A Baby Story with Jean. For moral support, or some shit. Illyana was in the corner learning English from magazines with Tabby and Jubes teaching her the dirty words. Amara was off to the side eating a box of smarties while Logan sat in his barcalounger browsing through the underwear section of the Sear's catalog. Kurt, Kitty, Pete, and Scott were all trying to time Jean's contractions using different cellphone apps, arguing about which one was getting the better stats. Jamie sat right in front of the TV, like one of those puppies on 101 Dalmatians hoping they'd forget to blur out a nipple during one of the show's labor scenes, while Ray and Bobby looked at boobs in the What To Expect When You're Expecting book...
It's been an odd few days.
"I think we need to decide on a guardian," Jean announced suddenly in the middle of a commercial break.
Scott glanced up from his iPhone. "A guardian...?"
"For the baby," Jean continued. "In case something were to happen to us. We both have dangerous occupations, I think it would be the sensible thing to do to make sure she's taken care of should the unthinkable happen."
"I - " Scott stumbled, putting his phone down. "I mean, you want to talk about this now?"
"We need to talk about it sometime, it might as well be now. Because it's not like I'm having a baby. Do I look like I'm having a baby, Scott?"
"No," he answered as quickly as humanly possible. Seriously, I don't think Jean is in the mood to be messed with. And Scott ain't stupid.
"Of course, there's no one in the world I'd trust more with my child than the Professor," Jean began, "but let's be realistic. He's getting on in years as it is, and in 10 years, is he really going to be physically capable of taking care of a preteen? Not to mention the fact that he's in a wheelchair."
"That's racist," Bobby pointed out from across the room.
"You're an idiot, Bobby," Jean snapped. She turned back to Scott. "We can cross him off the list, too."
Seriously, I'm kind of in love with Contracting Jean. She's super fun.
"What list?" Alex asked as he walked back into the room with Jean's refilled water glass in hand. "Oh hey, bitchen," he said, looking at the TV when she didn't answer due to the onset of yet another contraction, "is that bunny having her kid in a hot tub? That is one choice way to come into the world, brah."
"Water birth?" Kitty commented, her eyes darting back and forth between a clenching Jean and her app as she timed, "that is so gross."
"Nah Jem, it's natural!" Alex set the glass down on the side table and plopped down next to his still-cringing sister-in-law. "Like being one with the land. This one time, I had a few too many at this party out at Laniakea. Passed out on the beach and woke up with the tide... it was like a spiritual experience."
"I don't want to be sitting a tub of filth. Literally. Bodily fluids floating around and crap?! That's not a magical way to bring a baby into the world, that's an episode of I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant."
"You stopped your timer too late, Katya," Pete pointed out. "That is why your times are off. You were not paying attention while you were talking."
Kitty narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm a computer science major, Pete. I can talk and press a button at the same time."
"I have seen you walk into a wall while in the middle of a conversation. You are easy to distract."
Kitty rolled her eyes. "That happened one time. Geeze, you walk into one wall and people never let it go..."
"You shouldn't be holding your breath, Jean," Pete said, turning to her. "I have birthed many cows on the farm back home. You need to be breathing with the contractions."
Jean narrowed her eyes at him. "You really want to be comparing me to your cow right now, Stalin?"
"Guardians!" Scott announced, rubbing his temples tiredly with one hand. "Let's talk more about guardians. How about, um... Rogue?"
"Ha!" I responded. Seriously, that didn't even warrant me looking away from the TV. By the way, this show is disgusting.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Scott mumbled, "you were just the first person I saw. Okay, how about... Storm. She loves kids, she'd be great."
"She's claustrophobic," Jean responded, taking a sip from her water glass. "What if the baby fell down a well?!"
Scott just sort of sat there for a second. "... Okay. Um, well then, what about Logan. He'll be young and active forever and he has no problem with wells."
"You're not pawning your brat off on me, Summers," Logan called out from across the room. "If you're stupid enough to get yourself killed, the kid's gonna have to dance a pole and make her own way in the world."
"Logan!" Jean admonished.
He shrugged. "Sorry, Red. That's life. I'm not wiping your spawn's ass just cuz you two kick the bucket."
"Damn, Logan," I whistled. "Even I think that's a little off-sides. The kid hasn't even been born yet."
He grumbled. "It's all the damn hormones wafting off that one." He waved a hand lazily in Jean's direction. "They're making me irritated."
I rolled my eyes. "So, go ogle your granny panties up in your own room. No one's forcing you to be here."
He just grunted and turned back to his Sears catalog. Seriously, I didn't even know they mailed those things out still.
"Hold on a second...," Alex cut in, "we're talking about replacement parents here? That's a no brainer, brah! What better family is there for little Beyonce - "
" - Not what we're naming her - " Scott mumbled on top of him.
" - than family?" He grinned. "Cool Uncle Alex would take her in a heart beat. I love kids. They laugh at fart jokes and they're major babe magnets. You take a kid down to the playground, toss the ball around a little, maybe work some bubble action? You're gonna be coming home for a little Afternoon Delight, I guarantee it."
He just paused, and we all turned to stare at him in disbelief.
"Yeah, okay, never mind, I just heard it," he said. "I'd be terrible, take me out of the running."
"Is it sad that I like the same baby name as Havok?" Kitty asked. I gave her the look. "What? It's powerful. She'd be all about the ring and putting things in boxes to the left."
I swear, I could hear Pete straining not to roll his eyes. Beyonce Rasputin. This is your future, Piotr. You'd better start embracing it.
"Oh, Kitty!" Jean announced happily. "I don't know why I didn't think of it first. Kitty would be perfect!"
"What?" Scott gaffed.
"Yeah, what?" Kitty added.
"Think about it," Jean explained. "She's young, she's fun, she's smart, kids love her, and let's face it, she's one of the most normally-functioning adults living here."
As one of the other 'adults living here', I took a little offense at that last part. I'm not saying she was exactly wrong, but still. Bitch.
"I don't know, Jean."
"She's clearly our best choic - oh..." She cut off as she placed a hand on her stomach with another contraction.
"I'm not entrusting my child with Kitty Pryde, Jean," Scott said with an air of boredom as he timed on his phone. "She's simply too flighty."
"Hey!" Kitty objected. "You know, I'm sitting right here."
"No offense, Kitty, but it's the truth." He looked up. "Everyone knows you're not exactly the most grounded person on the team."
She crossed her arms hotly. "Yeah well, everyone knows that that salmon-colored shirt you love so much makes your skin tone look horrible and clashes with your glasses, but we don't talk about it when you're in the room."
"Do you want to be our daughter's guardian?"
"Hell no! I mean, I literally just started college. I'm not ready to be thinking about kids, and when I am ready, I'm going to be thinking about my own kids, because you know I'd make effing adorable babies. But the point is, your daughter would be lucky to have me for a guardian. I'd be amazing. I'd guard her ass off."
Scott just rolled his eyes and ignored her. "Jean, you're consistently 2 minutes apart now."
"2.4!" Kurt called out.
"I really think we should go back to the hospital," he continued.
Jean sighed. "I told you already. I'm not going back just to be sent home again. If I'm going to the hospital, I'm having a damn baby. We can get in the car when you see her crowning."
"But the book says - "
" - the book said to go at 5-7 minutes. Which we did, days ago, and it was too early."
"The book also says that you really don't want to wait too long."
"Do you have any idea how much it hurts to have your cervix checked by a first-year nurse?" Jean glared at him. "Let's let Logan give you a prostate exam and I'm sure that'll give you a good idea. I mean it, Scott. Nobody is sticking a hand up there again unless they're ready to pull a human out."
"I think you're being irrational, Jean."
"Doctor Steve said as long as I can talk through the contractions, they're not strong enough to go."
"You are not talking through them," Pete pointed out, "you are holding your breath."
"I know what the doctor said," Scott interrupted, "but the book says - Hey, Ray! Quit being a pervert and hand me my book."
Ray tossed the book across the room, but because a) he has kind of horrible aim, and b) he wasn't really paying attention anyway, the thing veered off course and came flying in my direction. I snatched it a millisecond before it collided with my face and gave the little booger a look that'd take the hair off his nuts (if he had any) before turning to glare at Scott.
"Look, buddy," I started in on him, "we all get that you're stressed, but like it or not, the kid is in her body. She gets to call the shots. If you and your damn book want to be in charge, then next time you can figure out a way to grow a uterus and knock yourself up. But in the meantime, your only job is to sit there and shut up, because the rest of us are trying to watch the f***ing program."
And with that, I turned back to the television with an air finality. It was quiet for a minute or so before Scott cleared his throat.
"Can I at least have my book back - "
"No."
"I'm not going to say anything, I'm just going to read quietly."
"No."
"... It's my book, Rogue. You have no right to keep it from me."
I rolled my eyes. "No book, Scott."
He pouted for a second, which I took as a sign that he was dropping the subject. But as soon as I turned my attention back to the TV, he lunged forward, clawing at the item in my lap. I jumped up, moving the book out of his reach just in the nick of time.
"Okay, seriously?!" I glared down at him on the couch. "How old are you?" He scowled back at me petulantly as I made my way to the back of the room. "The book is going in the hallway. Happy now?"
Without looking, I chucked the stupid thing out of the room and into the hallway. I was about to turn back to sit down when I heard a surprised yelp from behind me.
"Mother f***!" exclaimed the voice. A second later, in walks Remy LeBeau, a beer bottle in one hand and a distinct red mark on his opposite bicep. He looked around for a moment before his eyes landed on me, standing behind the couch. "Did you just throw a book at me?"
Okay, so, there's something you should know. You remember how in the last entry, I told you that Remy said he'd call me when he got home? Yeah, well... he never did. No call, no text, nothing. And, you know, it's not like it's a big deal or anything. I didn't sit around checking my phone all day in case he checked in, like he said he would. I'm not a sad case or anything. Honestly, the only reason I care is he said he would call and he didn't. That's all. It's just rude. I mean, I don't know why I expected anything... that's so typical Remy. He'll charm your f***ing face off, but when it comes to the follow-through, he sucks ass. But the point is, it was just a little weird for me, him waltzing in looking like shit on a stick after he totally blew me off only a few days ago, and the first thing he does is berate me about assaulting him with a paperback, for f***'s sake.
It's not like it could have even hurt.
"Well," I replied, "obviously I didn't know someone was going to walk in at that exact moment. What the hell are you even doing here anyway?"
He shrugged. "Getting a beer." He looked over at the TV, his brow furrowing. "What the f*** are you all watching?"
"A Baby Story," Jamie called back over his shoulder. "It has naked ladies. On basic cable!"
"Score," he mumbled back sarcastically. He looked around the room. "What, is everyone in here? Where the hell am I supposed to sit?"
"Oh brother," I grumbled, rolling my eyes I turned to go sit back down. "Her Royal Highness is going to have to forgo the f***ing throne and pop a squat somewhere. Maybe if you'd called and told us you were coming, we could have reserved you a seat..."
He started to reply before stopping. "... what the hell is that?"
I looked back to find him motioning towards my backside. "Um, my ass?"
"I mean what's on it."
"Denim? Seriously, did you forget how to function over the last week and a half?"
He glared at my sensibly embroidered back pockets. "I don't know what's up with - " he waved his beer-bottle up and down my general form, " - whatever the hell all this is. But I don't like it."
"Are you kidding me, brah?" Alex exclaimed. "That ass is tight!"
"Thank you." Never figured I'd appreciate Alex Summers making a comment about my ass. Well played, Universe. I turned and glared at Remy, crossing my arms hotly. "And what the hell is wrong with 'all this'?"
"Nothing," he shrugged, perching on a nearby couch arm. "Just never thought I'd see you goin' for... that look."
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Kitty snapped. She helped me get dressed that morning, I think she took it as a personal offense.
"It don't mean nothing, Minette." He took a swig of his beer. "I'm sure you love it. Must be nice to have a little dress up doll to play with."
"Watch it, Gambit," Pete cut in dangerously.
"You told me to go shopping with Kitty," I shot back. Seriously, what was with the f***ing attitude coming out of nowhere? You saw, I was nice. Nice-ish. I totally didn't provoke him or anything. He just walked in and started in on me. I mean, I may have hit him with a book, but it was completely unintentional.
"I told you to go shopping if you wanted to go shopping. I didn't tell you start dressing like - "
" - Like what?"
He narrowed his eyes at me. "... Like you're asking for it."
My jaw dropped as my vision started to turn red. I was wearing a v-neck t-shirt and jeans. You'd think I was getting ready to work a f***ing street corner, the way he was reacting.
"Are you effing kidding me?" Kitty exclaimed. "She looks fantastic. She's an effing Honey now. You're just jealous because that gravy train no longer makes stops at your station." She held up her hand for a silent high five, and I relented. It wasn't her best comeback, but it was for my benefit.
Remy scoffed. "Oh yeah, that's what really gets me going. Desperation mixed with mediocre style notes."
Kitty let out a strangled squeak before narrowing her eyes at him. "Hey Remy, the School for Asshats called. You've been accepted."
Remy huffed. "That's a lame burn."
"Your face is a lame burn."
"That doesn't even make sense, Kitty."
"Hey," Scott cut in. "You mind keeping it down, guys? You're making it hard for Jean to focus on her body's cues."
Jean groaned. "Oh my hell, Scott. Will you just back off? Do you seriously think I can't tell if my uterus is bearing down on itself because there's a conversation happening? How about we put your testicles in a vice, and you can tell me if you still feel it when I clamp down on them with people talking in the room."
"What the hell is your problem?" Kitty shot across the room.
"My problem," Remy replied hotly, "is that I've had a shitty week, and maybe I don't appreciate coming home to luke warm booze, no f***ing place sit my ass down, and her - " he shot a hand out in my direction, " - in those F***-Me jeans and looking like..."
"Like what," I asked quietly.
He paused, looking at me sharply. "Like, cookie cutter Campus Slut."
I took a breath and tried to resist the urge to throw a glass of water in his face. I realized that the younger girls in the corner were way too interested in our conversation. I swear, I don't try to act like a soap opera character. It just happens.
"Okay, first off, I can dress however I want. I shouldn't even have to explain that one. And secondly, this isn't your 'home', remember? You have your own damn apartment, filled, I'm sure, with plenty of seating. You 'came home' to it days ago, you know, back when you were supposed to call me. You don't get to be huffy because we all didn't sit around all week with a Homecoming banner ready for whenever you decided to stop by to mooch our food and beer."
Logan looked up from his catalog. "You drinking my beer?"
Remy rolled his eyes. "I'll replace it later." He turned back to me. "And what the hell are you talking about? When was I supposed to call you?"
Oops. "Saturday." I straightened up. "It's not a big deal, you just said you'd call, and you didn't. Whatever."
He closed his eyes for a moment and groaned. "Are you f***ing serious? You're gonna give me shit over that? I said I'd call when I got home, so I figured since I was just coming straight here it didn't matter. But I guess you were expecting me to pull over and take out the damn phone the second I crossed into f***ing Bayville city limits..."
It took me a good second to process what he was saying. "Wait... you just got back?"
"You know, I've just spent the last six hours on the back of a f***ing motorcycle " he ranted on, "wearing day old socks, which you know I f***ing hate. But please, add some more pointless shit on plate, Rogue."
"Remy, hold up. Are you saying you literally just got back into town?"
"What do you mean 'day old socks'?" Jamie asked, turning away from the TV. "How many days are you supposed to wear them?"
"Socks are totally fine for at least two days," Ray replied with an air of authority. "It's not like they get dirty or anything. They just sit there on your feet."
"Do not listen to him, Jamie," Pete cut in tiredly. "You need to change your socks every day."
"You were supposed to get back like, five days ago," I continued.
Remy shrugged. "Yeah, well... there was a change of plans."
"Change of plans, what does that mean?"
"Hang on," Ray cut in, "you mean new socks, every day? That's insanity! How many socks do you own?"
"It means something came up."
"Something 'came up'?"
"I mean," Ray continued, "if I owned that many socks, it'd take up an entire drawer!"
Remy groaned and rolled his eyes. "Damn, girl. I wasn't with Felicia, if that's what you're worried about."
I frowned. "That's not what I was saying."
Pete sighed. "It is called a 'sock drawer', Ray."
Remy gave me a look. "Maybe if you went out and got laid yourself, you wouldn't have to spend so much energy thinking about how the f*** I spend my time."
"Whoa!" Kitty interjected before I could. "That's too far, dude! She's being nice here - you know, for Rogue - and you're coming back like a total tool!"
"It's none of her damn business what I was doing, Minette."
Kitty crossed her arms. "Yeah, well, if you weren't such a lovable douche-bag, nobody would give a shit about how you spend your time!"
He narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm not a douche-bag."
"Oh, you totally are."
"I'm not!"
"You are. Charlie Sheen called while you were gone, he says your membership application has been accepted. You are now an official member of the douche-bag club. Your blow-up doll is in the mail." I gave her a silent fist bump. She totally didn't even have to ask for it. This is one of the best things about having Kitty on your side. When she's got your back, she's like a rabid little attack dog. I mean, she's small, but she's feisty. Like an attack Chihuahua.
"I'm sorry," Ray interrupted, "but can we go back to this sock thing? You guys are crazy. Next you're gonna tell me I'm supposed to change my underwear 'every day'."
Bobby looked at him in horror and scooted a couple inches away. "Ew! Dude, yes!"
Ray looked around as everyone in the room nodded their heads in agreement.
"My underwear is clean," he explained hotly. "I don't poop in my boxers, alright? So I think the better question is, why do you guys have keep changing your underwear all the time, huh? That's disgusting."
I shook my head, deciding to just not even dwell on... whatever the hell is wrong with that kid. I looked back at Remy. "Look, you don't have to tell me what you were doing. It just seems weird. And you're in a pretty pissy mood so it makes me think that maybe something shitty happened. So sue me if I'm concerned."
"I was working, okay?" he snapped.
I furrowed my brow with concern. "I thought the job was done."
"It was."
"Hey, I didn't know you had another job!" Alex piped in. "I could use me one of those. I mean, this X-man thing is cool and all, but the pay is shit. I can't really be rolling out the Benjamins at the club like I used to back when I worked the surf shop on the Island. You get health benefits?"
"So, what," I said, totally ignoring the idiot, as one should, "... did something go wrong? Are you okay?"
"F***, chere, would you just lay off?!" he exclaimed, slamming his beer bottle down on the side table. "What the hell do you want me to say, huh? You want more fuel for the fire? Fine. He called me up, okay? Had more shit for me to do, didn't give a damn if I said I wasn't exactly in the f***ing mood. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
I knew who the 'he' was that he was refering to without him saying it. "I didn't know that's what happened, Remy."
He just ignored me. "Well, I know you got an opinion on it, so just go ahead, Rogue, get it the out of the damn way and tell me I'm a f***ing idiot."
I hate that the jerk can still make my throat tighten. "I wasn't going to say that."
He snorted. "You know, it's my f***ing life. I can live it however the hell I want to, and I don't really need to be hassled about it by the damn peanut gallery."
"Okay!" Kitty jumped in. "That's enough. What the hell is wrong with you, Remy? You don't even live here anymore, but you come in where we're all watching something and start jumping down everyone's throats! We totally missed that lady BS-ing about how awesome it is to have a newborn, and every knows that's best part of the whole damn show. If you have to be a complete asshole, why don't you go do it somewhere else. I mean, isn't there a vagina somewhere that you're supposed to be in?"
Remy narrowed his eyes at her and stood up. "You know what? You're right. I'm going up to my old room... there's a TV up there too and a whole hell of a lot less lip."
Kitty stuck her tongue out at him as he turned, grabbing his beer. It was kind of immature, but I totally wanted to do the same myself.
As he started stalking out of the room, Jean suddenly called out to him. "Um, Remy?"
"What?!" he snapped without thinking. He turned around and suddenly soften, seeing Jean sitting there, all tired and disheveled and, you know, pregnant. "Sorry Jean. I mean, what?"
"Is your motorcycle blocking Scott's car in?"
Remy sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Yes, it is. But if I park behind the X-Van, people complain. If I park behind Storm's car, she complains. If I park next to Logan's bike, he bitches that I'm gonna bump him and scratch the paint! I don't know where the hell y'all want me to park - "
"Remy," she interrupted gently, "I'm not complaining. But I think you're going to have to move it. Like, right now."
"Why?"
She took a slow, careful breath. "Because my water just broke."
The fourth thing you need to know is that Alex is pretty squeamish, and very attached to his $200 '7 For All Mankind' skinny jeans, which now have amniotic fluid on them. Also, you should know that Remy totally moved his bike. Without complaining. Seriously, I'd like to see him try bitching about that.