Bobby let out a hoot of victorious cheer as his team scored. Rogue watched him from the doorway leading to the kitchen. They'd temporarily set up the television in the sitting room. Several of the mansion's inhabitants, all male, were seated around the screen, watching the game. Rogue's eyes moved to Remy, who was regarding the screen with a look of mild disgust.
"This is a complete trouncing," he griped from his position on the couch beside Bobby.
Kurt was perched on the opposite end of the couch. Hank was crushed onto the loveseat, idly tossing his own football from hand to hand. Logan was standing, staring at the football game, which he had pronounced as 'boring' and not as good as hockey. Hank and Remy denounced him as a traitor to the U.S. of A;. Bobby agreed that hockey was 'okay,' but football was tradition. Piotr, seated in a chair beside Remy, had no opinion, but politely watched with the others.
"Are you needing help, Rogue?" Piotr asked her.
"Nah, sugah," Rogue told him. "We've got it all squared in here. Just a couple hours yet."
"In that case," Hank said, and twirled his football on his forefinger, "perhaps we can get in a game of our own before dinner?"
"I can't watch any more of dis," Remy said and stood. "It'll put me off my meal."
Rogue gave him a once over. He was dressed in a fairly bizarre outfit, a sweatshirt that might have been made by an insane quilter, or perhaps a blind one, that was ripped horizontally near his waistline. Bike shorts, equally bright, and tennis shoes. His hair was maintained in a purple bandana. "You'd better give yourself enough time t'clean up," she informed him. "Put on somethin' suitable."
He looked down at himself. "What's wrong wit' what I got on? Don't y'all wear stretchy pants t'de table?"
"I can get on board with that!" Bobby said, hopping to his feet. He was wearing what could be charitably described as 'gym-clothes.'
"Can I be on your team?" Remy asked Bobby, and they fist-bumped one another in solidarity.
Rogue put her hands on her hips and frowned at them both.
"I'm game!" said a voice from the opposite entry leading to the foyer. Betsy was standing there, her hands also on her hips. She pointed at Remy. "I'll be on the opposite team as him! It's payback time!"
"It's on like Donkey Kong!" Remy declared, raising his arms and exposing most of his stomach.
Rogue, Logan, and Hank were standing on the sidelines of the loosely designated 50-yard line a few moments later. Bobby was attempting to call a play and Hank was shaking his head, embarrassed for the younger man, but not contradicting him. He'd made himself the referee. Bobby, Remy, Piotr and Kurt were on one side of the scrimmage line; Jean, Betsy, Ororo, and Shadowcat on the other. The rest of the ranks were filled in by the younger students.
Remy and Betsy were crouched closest to where Rogue, Hank and Logan stood, facing one another.
"I'm going to get you, Gambit," Betsy said to Remy, eyes narrowed but mouth smiling. "For that foul you pulled on me that night!"
He returned the challenge of her glare. "De only thing you're gonna get, chère, is de sight of dis tight end breakin' through your defensive line." Then he sucked in his cheeks and made fish lips at her.
Bobby called out. Betsy dove at Remy a few seconds before the snap with an animal-like cry. Remy was swept backwards by a wave of purple fury. Hank blew his whistle repeatedly.
"What's your call, Hank?" Logan asked, watching the battle unfold as the line of scrimmage broke up to make way for the flailing of limbs.
Hank scratched his head. "I mean, there are just so many to pick from."
"Personal foul!" Remy was shouting. "Ow! Personal foul!"
Ororo joined Logan, folding her arms across her chest. "It seems Elisabeth's physical training is coming along," she observed.
"I taught her that one," Logan said, pointing as Betsy threw a fist.
Several sympathetic shouts could be heard from the gathered audience. "And I, that particular maneuver," Ororo said with satisfaction.
"Uncle! Uncle!" Remy shouted to the sky. "Uncle Stephen, come curse dis woman! Help me!"
"What do you think, 'Ro?" Logan asked. "Should we make her an official part of the team?"
Ororo considered the brawl taking place before them. "I believe so. And perhaps a place for Remy as well?"
"Let's see how much of him is left after this," Logan told her and Ororo laughed.
"Will no one help me?" Remy wailed.
Rogue saw a shadow fall over her from behind. She turned to see Magnus behind her. He was wearing a black coat and fedora, dark against the bright white of his hair. "Lookin' pretty spiffy there, sugah," she smiled at him. He might have smiled back.
"Dinner is nearly ready," he told her.
Rogue tapped Hank on the shoulder. "You'd better call off the game, hon," she said.
"I'm not entirely sure what this is…," Hank said idly. "More of a cage match." He blew extensively on his whistle, then announced a word that would put an end to everything: "Dinner!"
Remy crawled from the playing field and collapsed in front of Rogue.
"Y'all right there, Rem?" she asked, looking down at him as he rolled onto his back. The remaining players were heading back up towards the house.
"Sure, dis was almost as much fun as it is back home," he told her, panting slightly. "When can we start drinkin'?"
Rogue bent to bring herself closer to where he lay in the grass. "Maybe after you've changed."
He grinned at her. "You don't like my outfit?"
"Ah got a problem with this shirt," she told him. "It's not short enough!" She reached down and ran her fingers up his sides. He reflexively laughed, wrapping his arms around himself for protection.
"I thought we had a no-tickling rule!" he said, and raised his arms to her. She helped him to his feet.
"Ah have a no-tickling rule," she told him. "You're not off limits."
"You're right, no boundaries for me," he winked at her and they started up to the house. They passed Magnus on their way up the hill. He was standing where Rogue had last seen him, not moving. Remy tapped him lightly on the shoulder with his fist and said: "Hey, don't say 'Grace' wit'out us!"
Rogue looked over Remy's shoulder at Magnus as they walked by. "Ah think Ah have mah work cut out for me," she said to Magnus with a laugh. He didn't smile back.
Rogue took Remy upstairs to an unused dormitory room at the back of the men's wing. "We might be able to find you something in here," she said and opened the door. The room was chilly from disuse. She walked to the closet and opened the bi-fold doors.
"Hey, look at dis," Remy said, immediately claiming the ugliest thing in the closet, a tacky brown suit. "If this doesn't scream Barry Gibb circa 1977…"
Rogue pulled it from his grip. "No!" she said, scolding him. She hid the suit in the back of the closet, but she had a feeling Remy was likely to steal it at first opportunity. Maybe she should burn it? "Scott is about your size," she said, flipping through the old clothes.
"These Slim's?" he asked, holding forth a pair of slim checkered slacks. "Beatnik chic!"
Rogue traded the offensive slacks for a pair of khakis which Remy dropped on the floor as if burned. "I'll wear my least hole-y jeans, thanks very much," he told her.
Rogue returned from the closet with another option, a plain button down shirt and a blue sports jacket. Remy made a critical face.
"Hey, at least it's blue. Your other choices are gray or black."
"Lookin' like a funeral, dis," Remy said and pulled off his sweatshirt. Rogue handed him the button down shirt, which he pulled on.
"Do you have a white shirt t'go under that?" she asked him, regarding his bare torso.
"White? Plain white?"
"Okay, nevermind," she approached and fixed his collar. Unable to resist, she ran a finger over his chin, then down the middle of his chest.
A slow mischievous smile spread across his face.
"Now, Remy…"
"I'm just thinkin', chère," he began.
"Dangerous," Rogue said, and started buttoning his shirt.
"I mean, after a heavy meal and all. Might not be feelin' too frisky later. But right now…"
She put her fingers over his lips to silence him. "You said you wanted to be there to say 'Grace.'"
His mouth curved into a grin.
She looked up at him coyly. "We can take a nice walk after…" she began, and handed him the coat. "Maybe up to your apartment."
"I'd like to kiss you at least, right now," he told her.
"Alright," she agreed. "But nothin' else."
He leaned down slightly and she met him the rest of the way. Rogue felt a shivery feeling travel the length of her body. She withdrew and tried to pretend she felt nothing in her belly...or lower.
"Let's find your jeans," she said, and snapped the waistband of his colorful shorts. He winced. Rogue plucked the bandana off his head. "And a hairbrush."
Rogue shepherded him down the hall back towards his room. She closed the empty dorm room door, locking it from the inside first (not that that would stop Remy from breaking in later). Now in his room, he was searching the rumpled clothing in a bag he'd stashed under his bed. He found a pair of medium blue colored jeans. There was only some fraying in one knee. Rogue turned to the dresser to find a hairbrush while he shucked his shorts and pulled on on the jeans. Apparently, a pair of Nike's with a navy blue swoosh were going to complete his look. He approached her from behind and looked at her in the dresser mirror.
"You sure do look purty," he told her. "You always dress so fly just t'hang around de kitchen all day?"
Rogue shrugged. She was wearing a red long-sleeved dress. All of her skin was covered. "It's a special occasion," she told him. "Ah don't got much cause to dress up now, do Ah?"
"I need t'find me a client with some cash to burn," he told her. "Rescue some trinket so I could take you out proper."
She turned towards him. "First you oughta find yourself somethin' less wild ta wear."
"Y'hate my clothes so much?" he asked and accepted the brush from her hand. She tucked the front of his shirt into his jeans.
"No, Ah don't hate them," she admitted, frowning as he pulled one of the shirttails back out. "You dress however you want, sugah."
"Well, I wouldn't want to embarrass you none, hanging out with a scofflaw like me in a goofy getup."
"'Scofflaw,'" she laughed. "Your clothes are a good disguise. So you don't have to take yourself seriously, or let anyone else assume you're serious either."
"Uh-oh, she's onta me," he said. His hair crackled with static electricity. "Can't let dat happen, chère. Then people might expect things from me."
"Hm, like maybe you takin' on responsibility? You say it like a joke, but that's when you're tellin' the plain truth." She smoothed his hair. "Ah think you can handle it, if you'd try."
"Sorry, I got enough problems takin' responsibility for my own self."
Rogue sighed and let her shoulders raise and drop. "We can talk about this some other time," she told him. "Now let's get downstairs and see if Ah can't get you to start fillin' out these old clothes of yours."
"I'll agree to half of what you just said."
"Maybe the other half after a glass of wine?"
"How about three?"
~oOo~
Remy was in the kitchen at the X-Mansion. It was late, at least for the other X-Folks. To him, it was more like a late lunch (leftover turkey sandwich). He and Rogue had taken a walk after dinner, but made it no further than the boathouse by the lake. It had sustained some structural damage from when Rogue had exploded, but the interior was mostly unscathed. It was private anyway. They'd expended several hundred calories in foolin' around, then returned to the house for pie. Remy had a hand in making the pecan, and everyone who ate it promptly lapsed into a sugar coma.
Remy stared at the phone on the kitchen wall; he had been glancing at it for the last hour. He was not much for overconsumption of alcohol, what with the whole spontaneously exploding thing he'd been suffering from, but he finished the rest of the wine in the bottle that had been left on the counter. He forced himself to pick up the receiver and dialed a number. The phone rang. It was possible his family was three-sheets to the wind and one of the kids would answer the phone, probably with a rude joke. Not that it was any less likely that any other family member wouldn't have something off-color to say. A third ring and Remy was ready to hang up. Maybe he'd call at Christmas.
The line suddenly picked up as the receiver was halfway between Remy's ear and the cradle. "Allo?" a voice called. Remy thought it was one of his cousins, the nice one.
He reluctantly put the receiver back to his ear. "Hey, is Henri there?" he asked, back in his newscaster voice, as if he were telling the weather report.
"Lemme look," his cousin replied. Instead of actually looking, Remy heard the other man scream: "'On-REE! PHONE!"
"Emil, lower your voice, I'm standin' right here," Henri said. "Who is it?"
"I didn't ask," Emil responded. "Sounds like a Yankee."
Remy heard Henri make an annoyed sound, one with which he was very familiar. He could picture his older brother's expression too. "Allo?" Henri asked.
Remy swallowed dryly, wishing for more wine. "Hey. Hey, mon frère."
"Remy?" Henri said, his voice low and incredulous.
"Comment ça va?" Remy asked in a falsely bright voice.
Henri made his annoyed sound again. "Are you alright?" he asked. "Y'ain't hurt, or in trouble are you?"
"Is that Remy?" Remy heard Emil say loudly. "Lemme talk t'him. I got t'tell him 'bout what I got cursed with last week. Hey! Hey, Remy! You won't believe dis, but-!"
"Emil, get outta here!" Henri scolded.
Remy couldn't help himself, he was grinning stupidly at the calendar stuck to the wall. There was a puppy and a kitten sitting in a cornucopia on the page for November.
"Remy, you there?" Henri asked.
"Yeah," Remy said. "I'm fine, Henri. Just callin' t'tell you happy Thanksgiving, is all."
Henri sighed into the phone. "You coulda told me dat in person."
"You plannin' on visitin' New York?" Remy asked, feigning stupidity.
"You can't be thinkin' you're staying up there," Henri told him. "You must've lost your mind. It's too damn cold."
"I been invited t'stay," Remy replied. "And they haven't kicked me out yet."
"I'm sure it's a matter of time," Henri said drolly.
"Yup, gettin' t'be a habit with me," Remy said without humor.
"I'm sorry, Remy, I didn't mean dat," Henri said immediately. "You know poppa wants you back here. He's a patient man, but he's got his limits."
"Just play him some Yusuf Islam, and he'll settle," Remy said.
"What?"
"Cat Stevens, Henri. C'mon, man changed his name ages ago. Get wit' de times."
"God dammit, Remy!"
"Language! What would Tante Mattie say?"
"Probably that you're being a right pain in de butt! Worried herself sick about you."
"She's okay for real though, not sick," Remy asked for reassurance.
"She's healthy enough. Tell you what though, it's a sad state of affairs, dis holiday. There's no joy in Mudville t'night."
Remy said nothing.
"Lissen, Remy-."
"Giant starfish thing!" Emil continued, picking up another phone elsewhere in the house. "Even Strange didn't know what t'make of it. Said it was prob'ly alien! Hah! Just my luck! So it don't count as a curse officially! Nyaaaah!"
"Get off de phone!" Both Remy and Henri shouted.
"Happy Turkey Day! Gobble 'til you wobble!" Emil announced and hung up.
The two brothers sighed with impatience. "It ain't just you and him in de house?" Remy asked.
"Nah, de others are workin' their way to havin' a hangover."
"This is why I called now. Figured I'd strike while y'all were at your weakest. What are you, designated downer for de evening?"
"I'm just here in case someone needs taken to de traiteur. Y'ought to come home. I miss you, pest."
"Something-something miss you too, brother."
"You always were such a brat. You call me back then, next week. Same time. I don't want to wait 'til Christmas to hear from you again….Remy?"
"Yeah, okay."
Another sigh. "Good. Good night then. Love you."
"Sure. You too."
Remy slowly began to return the phone to the cradle after he heard Henri hang up. His brother's disappointment seemed to palpitate from the receiver. No doubt Henri would be looking for Jean-Luc now. Remy thought he heard a second click through the phone line. Remy put the receiver back to his ear, wanting to ride Emil a bit about the curse-thing.
"Emil?" Remy asked. It was unnaturally quiet. Emil must not have been on the line. Remy hung up the phone.
Home...where my thought's escapin'. Home...where my music's playin'. Home...where my love lies waitin'...silently for me...
Shut up, brain, what do you know? Remy said to himself. It was like his mind was trying to tell him something.
Remy walked into the hallway leading to the foyer. A light was shining beneath the door to Xavier's office, now repaired and smelling like fresh drywall and paint. The light clicked off as he approached. Remy paused, looked at the door. He cast his senses into the room beyond. His senses pinged him back, a resistance against his energy field. He frowned, shook his head dismissively, and turned towards the stairs.
No sense in getting bent out of shape about Wet Blanket. It was a special occasion, after all.
Random References:
Homeward Bound - song by Simon & Garfunkel
Next time: Holiday shopping and S.A.D.
Thanks for the reviews, the subscriptions, and the follows, friends. I should be kicking out two chapters a week I think. With two weeks off for the holidays, I'd finished this book and the following book, Dealing with the Devil.
PS - yes faithful follower, Rogue's mama is out there in this universe, but won't show up until Dealing with the Devil, Part II.
