Part Five: Happy Halle-daze!

Rogue wasn't normally scared by much. She learned that if she couldn't get what she wanted with southern charms, then she could usually get it with southern sass. But this...well, this wasn't something she'd prepared for...and it scared the dickens out of her.

"Once I win this bet--"

"Or I win," Ororo corrected.

Logan grunted. "After *whoever* wins this bet, we both tag team Red an' One-Eye. Deal?"

"Absolutely. What do you have in mind?"

It was the slow, methodical smile crossing Logan's lips that scared Rogue first. She knew that smile as much as she knew the man in her head. The smile he used for stealth. The smile he used for cunning. The smile, she thought, gulping, for revenge.

"After the movie, 'Ro. The walls have ears."

"I ain't gonna--!"

"Yeah, ya will," Logan said, interrupting the retort on Rogue's lips. "Can't trust ya fer squat."

"Oh, what-EVER," Rogue muttered, making a face. "It ain't like you can keep that many secrets from me. I got a carbon copy of ya in mah temple."

"But'cha ain't a telepath. An' we'll make sure ya don't spill the beans this time."

His slow smile and smoldering eyes met Ororo's...and that's when Rogue experienced the second chill up her spine. Miss Munroe's smile was just as calculating and just as devious as Logan's. And maybe, just maybe, there was a hint of lustful excitement in them as well.

"Uh, oh."

"Don't worry, child," Ororo said quietly. "We won't hurt them. Much."

"It's the 'much' part that worries me."

Ororo chuckled and softly patted Rogue's knee. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. Just push 'play' and keep score. The rest is out of your hands. If all goes well, perhaps I will forgive you for telling on us to all your friends.

"Oh, joy," Rogue said weakly, but did as Ororo commanded and turned the TV back on.

"Ready ta get yer ass whupped?" Logan asked, rubbing his hands together.

"Only if you are," Ororo said sweetly.

But there was a different air in the room now. A bonding had taken place between Logan and Ororo--a new, joint crusade had merged their passions like superglue to a duck. A joint cause that, incidentally, was directed towards the destruction of two well-known alpha mutants.

With a sickening dread, Rogue realized that in a few short minutes she'd just accomplished what Magneto had been trying to do for years.

* * *

"Hahahahah—!"

"Ahh, diable," He muttered, burying his head in his pillow. Until now, he'd been enjoying his Saturday lie-in. After a long night of gambling and drinking he'd been all too happy to have the wing entirely to himself without the pups about. The kiddos had either gone out or gone home--which meant, as long as he didn't make any sudden moves, he could suffer through his pounding hangover in virtual peace. He actually thought he could get through the ordeal, until Jubilee's squawk pierced through the six-inch oak walls of his bedroom and shattered his pseudo quiet. He was suddenly convinced that nothing--not even a sound-proof, rubber-lined loony bin--could diminish the decibel level of that child's screech.

"That's them! That's totally them!"

Remy LeBeau moaned and gripped the pillow tighter around his ears. "Dis is what I get for slammin' back dem Kentucky bourbons 'til 4am. Mon Dieu."

Squinting from the scream still ringing in his ears, he gently peeled the pillow from his head and sat up cautiously. He glanced at the clock on his wall--1:45? Well, maybe it was late enough. Late enough to miss the raised eyebrows and knowing chuckles of his fellow instructors and late enough to avoid the Professor's lecture on "Setting Good Examples for the Students."

Ever since he'd been asked...well, all right, coerced into teaching, he felt like he was losing his touch. Trading his bo staff for the teaching staff? His cocky walk for colored chalk? His devil-may-care attitude for teen ingratitude? He grimaced. The World Class Thief and knave extraordinaire had become the not-so-famous Remy LeBeau, mutant French teacher, and slayer of teenage femme's hearts. Quel dommage. He smirked. They could force him to teach but they couldn't expect him to behave, court order or no court order. Xavier'd just have to accept the compromise.

"Bobby, stop it! Cut it out!"

And yet...sometimes the punishments did fit the crime.

He yawned and, running his fingers through his thick auburn hair, decided that coffee was the way to go: Thick, brown, sludgy bayou coffee that'd keep him awake for days. He chucked on a dark, ratty bathrobe over his flannel pants and t-shirt, grabbed his sunglasses (hangovers and photosensitivity were painful combinations, after all), and decided to take the back stairs to the kitchen. Maybe there'd be fewer people asking him why he was still in his pyjamas at two in the afternoon.

* * *

"Jean, look at this pen...Whoa, it lights up in three colors! And this...man, I could really do some major damage with this baby."

"Uh, huh. That's nice."

Scott had to smirk at himself. He was acting like a kid who got to go to McDonald's on his birthday. Inspectra Gadgets was one of those guilty pleasures he didn't tell many people about, but he felt geeky enough...why let the world know that he loved shopping for high-tech spy supplies? Luckily, the only person who really knew about his love for James Bond doo-dads tolerated the quirk. Or at least she didn't laugh out loud.

He was in the middle of reading a manual for the latest infra-red laser pointer-slash-pellet gun when his fiancée began giggling. It started as a light snort, then grew to a strong guffaw, and for one uncomfortable moment Scott wondered if she was laughing at him – or worse, his hobby. His eye brow shot calmly up and he peeked at the item in her hands.

"Palm-sized camera? Since when did they become so funny?"

She giggled again and placed the item back on the counter. "No, no, it's not that. I was just thinking."

"About?"

"About Logan and 'Ro. I can't help thinking about Logan's reaction to that little lap dance scene. I'd love to see his look of total mortification."

A small smile crimped Scott's lips. "I thought you said he didn't look like Stanley."

"He doesn't, but for the sake of argument, maybe he resembles Stanley a little bit. Maybe," she emphasized, seeing Scott's smug grin spread.

"Uh, huh. I'll want eggs and bacon for the next two months, Jean. 6am sharp. Oh, and orange juice. Don't forget the orange juice."

"Little gloater. I wouldn't be so sure about your shoe-in win."

"We'll just have to see, won't we?" He returned the laser pointer manual back to the countertop and grabbed the spy camera. "I'll admit it, I'm curious, too. I'd love to be a fly on the wall."

"Ooh, I'm so tempted. Just one peek – "

"'Ro would kill you."

"I know, I know. But they're probably arguing right now. Probably saying how much the other doesn't look like them."

"Heh. Probably."

A funny look crossed her features. "Think any of those scenes might spark something between those two...?"

"Ohh, no." Scott rolled his eyes beneath his ruby glasses. "Don't you start. The last time you played matchmaker, Warren and Elizabeth nearly tore the mansion to shreds. A match made in heaven it wasn't. Leave well enough alone. In fact, I bet as soon as Logan and Ororo see-–"

Jean glanced up as the camera clattered noisily on the countertop. "Scott? What is it?"

"Oh shit."

"What? You're scaring me, S—"

"Think about it, Jean. What one scene shouldn't 'Ro see?"

"I don't kn...oh, crap," she thought when it hit her. She clamped her eyes tight. "We're in deep doggy doo, aren't we?"

"Up to our necks." Scott checked his watch and grabbed Jean's hand, making a slow trot towards the nearest exit. "If we don't make it back in time, the weather forecast's going to jump from partly cloudy to a typhoon alert."

* * *

Remy ignored the light, nervous tittering in the sitting room and padded softly to the coffee maker, grateful for the double entrance to the kitchen. Anyone could come down the back stairs and sneak into the kitchen without tromping through the sitting room or, better yet, enter through the side door and scurry, unseen, to their room. The back entrance should have been well-guarded and technically it was...but not for a thief like him. He poured his coffee and sipped it with a small smile, thinking just how pissed Xavier'd be if he knew his l'il on-probation teacher circumvented the alarm protocols. But then the man was a telepath. He probably already knew.

"Haw, 'I'm not what you think I am'. Ain't that the truth! C'mon, 'Ro, be honest. You like givin' men hard-ons."

Remy spewed his coffee across the room. "What de hell--?"

"Don't be so crass, Logan."

"Hush, Wolvie. Civil, remember?"

"Three points to the goddess. Look at 'er. Even you can tell she's blushing."

"Hell, I'm blushin'," Remy muttered. He grabbed his coffee cup and snuck around the corner to the TV room.

"Two points," Ororo corrected. She stabbed her finger at the television. "And two points to you, Logan."

"I agree," Rogue said, before Logan could retort. She scribbled something in a notebook while Logan grumped and crossed his arms, muttering something about women sticking together.

"Now, y'know I ain't one t'pry," Remy began. He smirked, taking perverse pleasure in the threesome's alarmed faces. "But dis conversation's a mite on the kinky side, non? Sounds fun."

"Go 'way, Cajun," Logan growled. "Ain't none of yer business."

"It's a free country," Remy said, entering the room on cat-like feet. He lowered his mental shields, feeling their emotions and gauging their moods, and almost laughed out loud. Oh, he could have a lot of fun with this. A whole lot of fun.

He jumped on the back of the couch and balanced his lithe body behind their heads. "C'mon. What's gotten you t'ree so riled dat your emotions're doin' de zydeco romp?"

"Nothin.' Go away."

"Yes, Remy. Please leave. This doesn't concern you."

"Uh, huh," Remy muttered. Storm was just as nervous as the Wolfman, which made him twice as determined to stay. "T'ink I'll stick around a while, t'anks. What's de story, Rogue?"

"Nothin'," the girl said quickly. He knew she had a crush on him, and he could usually get anything he wanted from her by turning on the charm. "Just watchin' some dumb ol' movie, that's all."

"Oh, really." Remy glanced at the television screen and did a double take. He suddenly burst out laughing.

"Shit." Wolverine glared at Rogue. "Here it comes. Thanks."

"Hey, Wolvie, you finally found good hair gel. Way t' spike dat hair, mon ami!"

Wolverine, to his credit, didn't turn around. Instead, he shoved his elbow backward and Remy gracelessly tumbled to the floor. "I said go away."

"Why didn't you tell us you was an actor?" Remy said, brushing himself off from the floor. He was still laughing. "I woulda hooked you an' Stormy up long ago. She's a tentatrice on de dance floor."

"Please, Remy."

"Don't' deny it, Stormy. You're hips're lethal after a few margaritas."

Both Rogue and Logan had half-smiles on their faces and turned to look at her, but she simply sunk lower in her seat. "Long story."

"I'll bet," Logan said smoothly. "Tentatrice."

Ororo shot daggers at Remy. "Don't call me Stormy," she hissed. She suddenly checked the clock on the wall and clucked her tongue. "Shame on you. It's nearly two o'clock, and you're just waking up."

"Cute bunny slippers, though," Rogue said, and Remy wiggled his feet at her.

"Yeah, I like 'em," he sighed, sinking into a nearby chair. As he got comfortable, Logan groaned. "Women love 'em."

Rogue giggled, but both Ororo and Logan rolled their eyes.

"You shouldn't flaunt your late nights in front of the children," Ororo said. "What would they say?"

"Prob'ly somet'in like, 'so dat's what a drunk Creole looks like.'" He smirked at Rogue who hid her smile behind her hand.

"Very funny."

"I t'ought so. Now, c'mon. Dis is some funny shit here. When'd you do dis movie, Wolvie?"

Logan screwed his eyes tight and clamped his teeth, reigning in his control. "For the last time. It's. Not. Me. Okay?"

Remy hid his smile in his coffee. "Sure looks like ya, homme."

Ororo started grinning now, and he couldn't resist stirring the pot. "'Ro seems t'agree wit' me. Shouldn't hide yo' assets, homme. Dey as lethal as Stormy's."

Both adults had turned to chastise Remy, when suddenly the Cajun's jaw dropped and his coffee cup clattered to the floor. "Putain de merde--!"

"What?" Rogue glanced at the television, and hid her eyes. "Oh, gawd, that's it, I'm blind, I'm nevah watchin' television again...ohhh, hell."

Wolverine turned back to the television and half-snorted, half-laughed. A huge, appreciative grin split the sides of his face. "Yeah, now that's more like it. Very nice. Very, very nice."

Ororo slowly turned and saw what they were seeing. The walls of the mansion shook. Thunder pounded the sides. "Not. One. Word," she spat. Her eyes were shockingly white as she rose from the couch. "Not a syllable. Not a smirk. Nothing. Or I'll fry your butt where you stand."

"It'd be worth every second," Logan said, suddenly giggling. Remy was already on the floor, clutching his sides. Rogue had the decently to close her eyes and rock slowly back and forth, as if she'd just seen her mother naked. Well, for all intents and purposes, she had – a naked teacher was equally horrific.

Ororo glared at Logan, but didn't say a word. She let her weather powers speak as a nasty clap came a bit too close to the house, and a small hyacinth bush burst into flames.

"Temper, temper," Remy gasped. "Hell, dis is better den dat time we went to dat club down in Nawlins, Stormy. But you were a li'l too tipsy to remember dat, last I recall."

"That tears it," Storm growled. She stomped from the room and disappeared in the kitchen.

"We're gonna have a helluva lotta vegetable soup the next few days," Logan said. Tears were streaming down his face. "Oh, vindication at last. G'head, Rogue. That's a ten-pointer. Makes us even."

Another thunderclap punctuated his sentence.