Where is everybody?
The Mansion was unusually silent. On a normal morning, the hallways teemed with folks bustling about on X-men or personal business. Rogue had been headed for the library when she had received Professor Xavier's mental summons to meet in his office. The message had been short—almost curt—and contained no more details than he wanted to meet with her. She figured that he was busy and probably wanted to reschedule their previously scheduled appointment to work on controlling her powers. With a shrug, she turned and headed back upstairs. The library could wait.
Behind her, a floorboard creaked. She whirled around, not wanting to let that Cajun think he'd gotten one up on her, only to find that it wasn't the swamp rat at all. Bobby stood at the top of the stairs with a cheesy grin and a carefree wave. She sighed internally. Of course it couldn't have been Remy. Her thief would never have been sloppy enough to make a sound when sneaking up behind her. He knew every loose floorboard and hidden space of the Mansion better than even the Professor.
"Hey Rogue. Did the Professor summon you too?" Bobby asked, oblivious to her disappointment.
"Sure thing, sugah." Rogue smiled as she fell into step beside Bobby. He chatted amiably about a show he'd been watching, though Rogue scarcely heard a word. Why was she so disappointed by the fact that it wasn't Remy who'd snuck up on her? It wasn't like she didn't usually enjoy Bobby's company. She was friends with Bobby, just like she was friends with Remy. Right?
When they reached the office, Rogue hesitated in the doorway. By the number of people pressed into the nominally small space, it appeared to be a full team meeting. She surveyed the room, looking for a clear path through the crowd. Besides, if everyone was here, that should mean, he would...
"What are you looking for?" Bobby leaned in close, so she could hear his query over the general buzz of conversation that filled the room. Despite his relative nearness, there was still an unnatural gap between them. They were friends, but he never slapped her on the back with the same easy camaraderie he did with Hank, or touch her shoulder to get her attention the way he did with Storm. He didn't even pull her hair to tease her the way he did with Jubilee.
No, she reined in the desire to sigh, he wouldn't dare. No one touched the Rogue, not if they valued their own health and safety. For their sake, as well as her own, she held everyone at arms length, building a barrier between her and the world. She had grown so used to pretending this was way she wanted it to be that she didn't know how to even attempt to approach anyone. Fully covered from her shoulders to her toes, Rogue experimentally shifted half an inch closer to Bobby. Without thinking about what he was doing, he moved a half inch away from her to keep the same distance between them.
This time she did sigh. "Ah'm looking for Remy, sugah."
"Why would you want to do that?" Bobby whined.
Rogue rocked to her toes and caught sight of her quarry. Remy curled up on the window seat, apparently oblivious to the others gathered in the office. Through the mass of bodies which blocked the path between the door and the window, it was hard to tell exactly what Remy was doing, though it appeared as if he was reading. "There he is. Ah'll catch up with you at lunch."
Before Bobby could say anything else that would want make her want to sock him, Rogue made her way across the room. Like the waters parting for Moses, her friends and colleagues instinctually made a path for her without anyone needing to say a word. She ought to be grateful that they respected the danger of her touch, but she craved human contact.
"Mornin' chère. Care t' join me?" Remy didn't look up from his book, though he did shift his position on the window seat to make room for her.
"Thanks, swamp rat." There wasn't much room along the ledge and when she sat her hip and arm brushed against his propped up legs. Once she was settled, he shifted positions so he was no longer curled up sideways on the bench, rather sitting upright with his shoulder pressed against hers. Subconsciously he rested an idle glove covered hand along the edge of her knee. When she pressed her arm against his, he returned the gesture matching pressure for pressure and leaned into her.
She thought she might just start crying at the freely given and received casual touch. Instead, Rogue traced her hand down her leg and stopped at her knees. She hooked her pinkie finger over his.
Remy accepted the gesture without comment and continued to read. To her continual astonishment, he treated the whole interaction—their every interaction—like it was the most natural thing in the world to touch her. With the book balanced on his lap, he ran the fingers of his free hand across and down the page as he read. When he reached the bottom of the page he glanced up and noticed her staring.
Shrugging, he feigned an easy nonchalance. "It helps me keep track of where 'm at on de page. Especially when 'm tired or de print is small."
She nodded. At present, it appeared that both were true. The dark circles under his eyes bore evidence to the fact that he was burning the candle on both ends—again. She didn't know what he did when he was out all night, though she suspected it was more than the drinking and carousing he attempted to have all of them believe.
As for the book, the pages were covered with minute printing. The slim volume appeared to make up with density what it lacked in page count. She needed to blink twice and take a double glance before she realized the book was actually written in French and not some coded thieve's cipher. "Whatchya readin' swamp rat?"
After a moment of rummaging in his pocket, Remy produced a crumpled receipt and slipped it into the book to mark his spot. "Jus' some poetry."
"In French? Surely you could have found somethin' in English..." Rogue wasn't certain why she cared what he was reading, or in which language he chose to read it. She supposed at least part of her curiosity might be due to the fact that she hadn't realized he was fluent enough in French to read it—speak it sure, but reading was something else entirely, as she knew full well.
"Oui. But de practice is..." he scratched his jaw while he ruminated over the word choice, "De practice is helpful. "
"Practice?" She kept her voice low in an attempt to keep the conversation private in the otherwise crowded room.
"Dat prob'bly ain't de right word." With a shake of his head, he brushed his hair out of his eyes. Dropping his hand, he inched towards his pocket—for a cigarette probably—before glancing around the room and changing his mind. "I didn' really learn to' read 'til I was 'bout twelve. When Jean-Luc took me in. I could scribble out my name, and recognize a few words by sight—t'ough most o' dat was simple pattern recognition. I knew what I needed to survive on de streets."
"Go on," she prompted. Their voices were so low that it lent an intimacy to the conversation despite the crowded room.
Clutching the book with both hands, he twisted the spine as pent up energy tried to find a way out of him sans explosion. His patois became thicker as he grew more pensive, more lost in the past than existing in the present. "Readin' opened up a new world t' me. Once I started, I couldn' stop—didn' want t'. I read voraciously. Read everyt'in' I could get my hands on. When I finished wit' de English books in Jean-Luc's library, I started on de French. Dat was a bit more o' a challenge, still I managed t' teach m'self. Could speak it right enough, but at dat point, I had only learned t' read in English. When mon père discovered what I was doin', he was mighty proud. He made sure I always had somet'in' t' read..."
Rogue glanced up when he paused and surveyed the room. This conversation wasn't meant for anyone but her and she wanted to safeguard this moment. Storm had engaged Bobby in conversation, halting him in his attempt to follow her across the room. Despite the fact his gaze occasionally shot daggers at Remy, he made no attempt to disengage from his conversation with Storm. Further across the room, Logan had pinned Joseph in what appeared to be a rather uncomfortable interrogation. Though Joseph squirmed under Logan's scrutiny, he couldn't escape. Rogue wondered what it said about her that she was secretly glad that Bobby and Joseph were occupied so they couldn't interrupt her conversation with Remy.
When she returned her attention to Remy, he was gazing into the middle distance, not seeing the room they presently occupied. Rather, he peered into another time and place. She reached across his lap and plucked the paperback book from his fingers. The corners of the cover were slightly ragged and the edges held the softness that only came with time and frequent readings.
Remy started at the sudden movement and offered her a self-effacing grin. "Course livin' here, I don' often have a need t' read in anyt'in' but English. I jus' ain't keen on de idea of losin' my ability to read in any language due to lack of use. Feels like I'd be givin' up on something vital to who I am. Dat I'd be closin' doors." With a half-hearted shrug, he attempted to downplay the obvious importance he felt for the topic. He flicked his wrist in an insouciant manner and gestured at the book. His fingers twitched with the lack of anything to occupy them. "So, I always keep a book around t' read when I have de opportunity."
Running her thumb along the yellowed pages, Rogue flipped through the book. Scattered throughout, passages were underlined in pencil and the margins were filled with annotations in Remy's tight, precise hand. The book had a habit of falling open at specific pages. She bit her lower lip as she struggled to decipher marginalia around a passage Remy had not only underlined but starred as well. It'd been far too long since she'd done more than ramble to herself in broken French and the most she could do was pick out a few familiar vocabulary words. Rogue handed the book to him and he slipped the thin volume back into one of the voluminous pockets of his duster.
"When you're finished with it Cajun, maybe Ah can borrow it?" Rogue was rather taken aback by her boldness. She couldn't help but wonder if all his books were as marked up as this one, or if this particular volume was special. Would his notes offer her a glimpse into his thoughts? A glimpse that wasn't obscured by layers of guilt and fear.
Remy raised an eyebrow. "Certainly, chère, t'ough I didn' know you could read French. "
It was Rogue's turn to offer a offhanded shrug. "Not well, Ah speak it better than Ah can read it. Though Ah suppose even that's pretty rusty by now since Ah haven' had an actual conversation in French in ages..."
Remy chuckled that deep, genuine laugh that she didn't hear often enough. It always buoyed her spirits. Something in the way he relaxed made her think that he only laughed like that when she was around. Unable to help herself, she smiled back at him and joined him. What a pair we make.
From the hallways, the whirl of the professor's chair could be heard approaching. Scott's muffled voice responded to a question no one but Wolverine had probably heard. With the imminent approach of Scott and the Professor, the conversations in the office drew to a close and most everyone shifted to attention. Rogue slid off the window seat, ready to return to business.
Before she could step away, Remy touched her arm. "If you're still interested in readin' de book," he tapped the pocket where he'd stowed it, "we could go up to the roof dis afternoon an' I could read it t' you."
"Ah'd like that sugah." No matter how she tried to school the giddy grin on her face she couldn't disguise her excitement.
The Professor rounded the corner into the office; Scott entered a step behind. Remy languidly pushed himself off the seat and stood beside her. They weren't touching, but the distance between them didn't feel like a prescribed barrier.
As the Professor greeted them and began his prepared speech, Remy leaned in close and brushed a loose curl behind her ear. In a low rumble, he whispered, "Den it's a date, chère."