When Bobby was twelve, his older brother Warren gave him a black eye in front of Mary Bell- the prettiest girl in junior high.
When he was sixteen, he got a flat tire in the middle of I-95.
But never, ever had he been this angry in his entire life. His knuckles grew white around the wheel. The nerve of those FOH bastards ruining his hard-earned date with Rogue. Just wait 'til I get my hands on those sons of bitches.
He and Rogue had been killing time at a small café until it was about time to start heading for the movie theatre, sipping drinks and chatting amicably. As Bobby was signing the receipt, he felt Rogue's hand clutch his arm.
"Bobby, look!"
He peered out of the large window and saw a herd of FOH members holding crude painted signs, chanting some protest or another. It appeared to be a rally. Bobby highly doubted they had the authorization to be there and inevitably police would soon be gathering to break up the party, which meant there'd be trouble. He sighed and turned to Rogue with a bleak look.
"I don't suppose we could just ditch it and pretend we didn't see it?" He half-joked.
She smiled and shook her head. "Let's go."
So there they were, speeding home to present the problem to Scott so they could assess the situation. They pulled into the drive and Rogue looked over at Bobby, sympathy etched into her pretty features.
"Ah'm sorry, Bobby. We'll do this some othah time." She ran a hand through his hair and leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek. He was on air.
It wasn't long after they returned that almost the entire team had gathered at the door.
"What happened?"
Scott soon followed, already on top of it. "The rally?"
Bobby nodded glumly. Scott continued. "Thought so. I just picked it up on the news. Alright, I want to assemble the least suspecting team appearance wise. This should be a simple in-out so I'm not terribly concerned about combat ability at the moment." Scott went on to select the proverbial blonde hair-blue eyed members of the team. "Jean, Bobby, and Warren, you're with me."
Bobby's shoulders slumped. Damn. Rogue shared a rueful look with him but smiled reassuringly. Remy nearly cringed despite himself.
The four suited up and trooped out, deciding on the less conspicuous SUV as opposed to the sleek Blackbird.
When they were gone, the majority of the team dispersed.
"This is crazy," Rogue said, trying to sound insecure even though she wanted nothing more than to go lock half of the FOH idiots' sorry asses up behind bars. Beside her, Remy nodded.
Ororo sighed. "I can not handle any more stupidity for the evening so I am retiring to bed." She ascended the stairs, her flowing dress whispering behind her, and soon disappeared around the corner.
Remy turned to Rogue. "But no reason to spoil a perfectly good evening, eh?"
"What are you talkin' about, swamprat?"
He slipped his arm through hers and led her toward the door. "Let's go have some fun, chere."
She maneuvered from his hold. "Ah don't think so, thanks. Ah was supposed to go out with Bobby tonight. Ah don't think Ah should-"
"Bobby," he repeated as if he were tossing an unfamiliar name around in his head. "Ah yes, Bobby- a boy that is not presently with us, is he?" She suppressed a smile.
"Yoah incorrigible, suh."
"No, I'm bored. Come. Let us not waste an entire Friday night." He draped an arm across her shoulders and proceeded once more for the door.
This time she let him guide her past the entrance and onto the back of his bike.
**
Rogue was on air. The night had been positively blissful. When she told him she didn't feel like seeing a movie anymore, he nodded and told her he had a perfect idea. Rogue was a tad doubtful, but he told her she wouldn't regret it and to simply trust him. She agreed, climbing back onto his bike and clinging to his jacket from behind. He revved the engine and they went flying down a highway just over a cliff on the outskirts of New York. It overlooked a raging sea with merciless waves crashing down white onto jagged rocks, a cloudy blue sky speckled with stars hovering above it like a blanket. It was a breath-stealing sight, and for an hour they rode along that strip of road, her arms wrapped around him and hair whipping behind her in a tail of auburn and bolt of white.
It was just rolling into midnight when they arrived back at the mansion. Giggling and standing questionably close, they stumbled up the stairs and he walked her to her room, a perfect gentleman.
"Ah had a real nice time, Remy." She said low in the dark hallway. He smiled.
"Good. Mission accomplished." He closed the space between them, his breath ragged on her cheeks. He leaned in slightly, and she tipped her head up in encouragement. He dove in for a kiss, to which she responded fully.
Remy had kissed a lot of women in his life, perhaps more than he'd care to count, but he was particularly fond of her kiss. She didn't press back hungrily like a desperate hound, but she didn't shy away from his lips like a nervous butterfly, either. She simply kissed back, slow and sensual. Remy adored her for that. They parted slowly, her rose-soft lips parting to release a husky breath.
She snickered, followed by a silent beat. She leaned into her door nervously. "You... wanna come in?"
His smile widened. "I don't know. Do you want me to come in?"
Rogue closed her eyes in contemplation. "Yeah," she said finally. "Ah do."
"Me too," he said, and they slipped into her bedroom, the door shutting with a soft click that reverberated off the dark hallway.
After some petty small talk but before they knew it, he was lowering her onto her pillow, cradling her head with a gentle hand behind her neck and a fervent kiss on his lips.
Rogue's mind hurled into an abyss of doubt and lust. He was beautiful, but not the way Caleb was beautiful. But she could go no further with her thoughts because every time her mind wandered to Caleb his fingers would send spills down her spine or his lips would graze across her neck leaving a hot trail of electricity and she could think no more.
"Remy," she breathed.
His hands fumbled with her blouse, his slender fingers becoming tangled and untangled in the fine loops of her woven lace until finally it was open, exposing her lacy black bra and toned abdomen. Remy, holding his weight over her on his elbows, took a brief second to admire her. Her skin was like lilies and soft like rain. He kissed her stomach, reveling in her sighs and the feel of her hands raking through his hair while her head lolled dreamily from side to side, a smile playing on her lips.
His hand roamed up to her bra to fondle a plump breast through the fabric, the other still grasping her shirt to rid her of it completely. "What is dis?" His voice pierced through the heady atmosphere and Rogue's eyes flew open.
Shit! She thought, struggling to sit up.
"No, no, no" he said, his lips quirking in half-amusement. His nimble hand still planted under her shirt if not awkwardly, deftly maneuvered the metal pin from the inside of it. She nearly clawed at him to retrieve it.
"Give it to me!" She wailed, toppling over him on the bed.
He laughed. "What have we got here?" Fending her off playfully, his eyes fell on the tiny object. He examined it with wide eyes.
"Oh my God," he muttered, his defending arm dropping in shock. She seized the opportunity to snatch the tiny badge back.
"Remy-" she began, but he was already halfway out the door.
**
Jean was dozing when she heard the yelling. Her eyes immediately snapped open.
Her green cotton tank and small gray shorts would have to suffice as she bolted from her room and down the stairs to see what the commotion was all about. Remy was in the foyer, ranting like a madman in the center of a circle provided by an attentive Scott, his roused wife with mussed hair and sleepy eyes, and a frustrated-looking Rogue, standing a few feet behind him with her hands clutching at her hips in what looked like restraint from doing any physical harm to the Cajun. She appeared to be holding her tongue for her turn to speak and fighting a losing battle.
"What's going on down here?" Jean asked, stifling a yawn.
They spun at the sound of her voice, looking like deer caught in headlights. Wanda's eyes grew in disapproval, more than likely at Jean's less than modest apparel.
"Remy was just telling us he found one of Charlie's angels."
The New York native's eyebrows furrowed. "What?"
Remy went on to recount his tale of discovery. Rogue huffed behind him, sharing her side of the story, including the murder investigation. She and Logan had always planned on telling them sooner or later, she had just hoped it'd be later. After all, now that she revealed herself, the murderer would more than likely do one of two things: run or try to kill them. Either way, Rogue and Logan would have their guy and then this little search game would be over. Just the same, she was hoping for a little more time to settle into the mansion and discover the killer in stealth. Unfortunately, she hadn't bargained on Remy. "Ah'm sorry. Perhaps I should have told you, at least the professah, but Ah have to stay incognito, it's mah job, alraght? We we're gonna tell you." Jean could tell this southern pistol was irritable and cocked.
" When? You didn't even tell Xavier? What are you going to do when he finds out? This is his home, his property; you should have told him!" Jean's voice rose to a shrill pitch and she quickly regained composure.
"Look, does she gotta spell it out for ya'?" Jean's head whipped around to see Logan. She hadn't noticed him lurking in the foyer shadows upon her arrival, a fact that produced a bitter self-chastisement. "She couldn't tell anyone, not even Chuck. That's why it's call un-der-cov-er." He annunciated each syllable as if she were a child. Her eyes blazed an angry blue; he met her gaze unflinchingly.
"Hey, lay off." Scott snapped, taking a small unconscious step in front of Jean and closer to Logan. The Canadian straightened at this, taking his own step forward.
Who the fuck does this kid think he is?
The group hushed as a silent but brief tension built between the two men until Ororo, Warren, and Bobby appeared from the second flight of stairs on the other side of the foyer.
Bobby rubbed bleary eyes. "What the...?"
Rogue sighed at the sky. "Perfect. Now the whole gang can be heuh for such a special occasion. Who brought charades?"
"What is going on here?" Ororo asked, her voice mixing stern and serene in a combination thought impossible until one actually heard it.
Scott broke eye contact with Wolverine to explain. "Until the professor returns, I'm in charge and my orders are that she's free to stay until he returns, and then he'll decide if he wishes her to remain under his roof."
"Well now that you've said that I don't feel so bad about telling you that," he wrapped an arm around Rogue's shoulder and removed his cigar from his mouth with his other hand, "I'm with her."
A fresh batch of hysterics hatched.
"What the hell?"
"Who do you think you are coming into this pla-"
"How did you get past Charl-"
"The nerve of you slithering under our noses like a snake!" Scott was face to face with Wolverine now.
Logan removed his arm from Rogue, who was currently holding her own against the Cajun, to jab a finger in Scott's direction warningly, spouting his own string of curse words, obscenities, and anything else he happened to think of.
Ororo stood inches apart from the quarrelling group, finally having pieced together the situation. "Silence," she said once, and they were. Perhaps thanks to the wicked bolt of lightening streaking across the calm summer sky as she said it.
Warren looked up at her from behind his brother Bobby whom he was helping pry Gambit away from an outnumbered Rogue.
"It seems to me," she said slowly, "that we are missing the point entirely. There is a murderer among us."
A silence swallowed them and suddenly weary eyes glanced over one another's neighbor.
"Well can't Jean just take a run through our heads and see who the killer is?" Bobby piped.
"How do we know she's not the killer?" Wanda's voice was tight and Jean shot her a disgusted look.
"How do we know YOU'RE not, princess?" Jean sneered. "Besides, Bobby, I'm not experienced enough to do something like that, not without Xavier's assistance anyway."
"Yeah, and I don't t'ink I want an amateur poking around in dere," Remy tapped his forehead. "No offense, chere." He held his hands up in defense.
"None taken," Jean replied.
Scott's voice broke the silence in a collected, professional tone he worked hard at perfecting for just such a moment. "Alright, team, get some sleep and we'll sort this out in the morning."
"Oh, I'm gonna have a peachy night's sleep, now." Bobby huffed.
The crowd dispersed, albeit apprehensive and not without a few backward glances. Suddenly, it was important who went where. After little small talk and brisk 'good-nights', everyone finally settled into their individual rooms to attempt a night's sleep.
**
Scott stripped down to boxers and settled into bed beside his wife. He draped an arm across her thin stomach, which she brusquely removed with one agitated jerk.
Scott gaped at her, his eyebrows knitted. "What's your problem?"
Wanda's eyes flashed angry. "What's my problem? Don't play stupid with me, you sniveling bastard. You know exactly what my problem is!"
Scott sat up, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Wanda, I'm tired. Let's not play guessing games. Just tell me what the hell your problem is so we can get some sleep, alright?" Though he had a pretty good idea why his wife was angry. He saw this argument brewing in her pretty brown eyes when he defended Jean against Logan, perhaps a bit overzealously.
"My problem? My problem!" Her voice rose and she stood, hurling a pillow at him. He caught it and stood as well so the bed separated them, clutching the cream-colored down pillow between his massive hands. "My problem has red hair!" She shouted now. "And so do your fantasies, don't they Scott Summers? I ought to march right down there and tell that li'l redheaded hussy just how I feel."
"Wanda!" Scott blurted. "My God, you're overreacting. Calm down."
"I'll calm down when I want to calm down. You can go to hell!"
He gripped the pillow tighter and spoke in a forced tone through clenched teeth. "Now isn't the time, Wanda. We have a real problem here. There is a murderer in the mansion, do you understand?"
"Oh, now it's a murderer. Before, my father was the problem, now it's this Heartbreaker fellow. It's not like you to turn a blind eye but you're avoiding OUR problem, Scott."
"There is no "Our" problem! It's your problem! And if you want to blame someone for the scene your father caused, you can get on the phone right now, Wanda, and tell that piece of shit how you feel, because it was HIS problem, no one else's." Scott fought for control but she was tugging at his limits.
"And that slut, Jean Grey? Whose problem is that?"
"Shut-up." She decided he was rolling his eyes. "I have bigger things to concentrate on right now than your exaggerated jealousies. Go to bed, for God's sake."
She pursed her lips defiantly. "Fuck you, Scott," she spat and flopped down on their bed. She tossed a moment before slamming off the light at her bedside.
He sighed and climbed in beside her, their backs to each other as they slept.
**
Three days passed and the team was forced to fall into a new routine. Instead of coming and going whenever they felt like it, Rogue, Logan, and even Scott preferred that everyone notify at least one other person where they were going so that there was no suspicion.
Things were tense around the mansion, so Wolverine threw on his jacket and threw open the door, the night wind catching him in the face. He inhaled deeply, caught sight of his bike, slightly older than the Cajun's, and proceeded to at least one night of freedom, perhaps go to Harry's and pick up whatever was available- blonde or brunette, it didn't matter tonight.
"Where are you going?"
Logan stopped and spun on his heel, having caught his scent before he even spoke. "Out. You have some sort of problem with that, Summers?"
Scott folded his arms across his chest. "Maybe. I thought the rule was we tell someone where we're going."
Logan cocked his head, opening his jacket to reveal the large silver badge pinned inside. "I'm the cop. I'm LOOKING for the bad guy, remember?" His tone was patronizing.
Scott's jaw clenched. "Yes, but that badge doesn't automatically rule you out. It could be any one of us. Even you." His words hung in the air between them. Finally Logan narrowed his eyes and backed away.
"Alright. Then I'm going to Harry's, okay? Do you feel better, Cyclops?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I do. Have a good time." He slammed the door shut.
"Dick." Wolverine mumbled, swinging his leg over his bike and speeding away. 'Nothing like a roaring engine between your legs, canucklehead.'
**
The next morning, Jean rose early to indulge in a morning jog. It was better this early, that way she didn't have to bother with the hassle of telling someone, just scrawl a quick note and post it somewhere noticeable. Today, it was the fridge, and while she was there, she prepared a bottle of water.
"Going for a run?" Scott sat at the kitchen table. Jean gasped, spinning and wishing for a moment that she had some control of her telepathy. If she did, she could use it for little things like sensing others mind patterns, but she chose to keep it locked tightly in her head for fear of the overwhelming voices.
"Yeah," she replied finally.
"Didn't mean to scare you," he said, turning a page in the New York Times.
She shrugged. "You an early bird too, huh?" She wasn't really, but she didn't want him to ask questions.
He nodded. "Guilty as charged. One of the quirks Wanda has learned to live with. She can sleep until noon if you let her."
Jean laughed and Scott set down the paper to look at her. "Where you running?"
"Oh I don't know, just around the lake, I guess." She finished her juice.
Scott cleared his throat. "I spoke with Wanda about her father." He said finally. He didn't know why, but he felt he just had to tell her. He wanted Jean to know that he did it, maybe for her.
She smiled pleasantly. "Good! What'd she say?"
"We're in a fight, actually." He conveniently left out the part about her. "But it'll be okay. She asked me to rub her back last night so I guess you could say we're talking again, but I think she's still mad at me."
Jean shook her head, telekinetically washing her glass out while she tied her sneakers. "Let her be, she'll get over it. She's wrong and she knows it. She has to know it."
"I hope you're right."
"I'm always right. Sometimes." She grinned and slipped out the French doors. He watched her stroll to the edge of the walkway and tore himself from the sight. His fight with Wanda last night had made him angry, but running into the object of that fight this morning simply made him feel guilt, because he knew there was some truth to his wife's arguments.
Jean took long, deep breaths and swiped some sweat from her brow. The forest echoed with her haggard panting and the snaps of twigs under her feet. She remembered why she liked running. It cleared her mind and it made her body burn and her chest ache; she loved it.
Suddenly, a large hand clamped over her mouth and a body threw itself at her from behind, sending her tumbling face first into the dirt. She screeched under his hand and clawed at his arm.
"Stop it," he hissed. "Stop it!" His mouth was close to her ear and he was covering her small frame with his own massive body. She struggled for air and attempted to wrench from his grasp. She lied still while he whispered in her ear. "I'm going to let you go, and if you scream, I swear to God I'll kill you right here. Understand?" He jerked her head and she nodded slowly. The attacker noticed her expression was solemn and not full of the usual fear in his victim's eyes. Tentatively, he released her mouth and moved off of her, his pelvis rubbing harder than needed against the back of her thighs as he rose to a kneeling position.
Jean did a sudden pushup and was on her feet before he could make a clumsy stab at her with his knife. She kicked him once hard in the face and he fell on his back into a pile of dry leaves and dirt. She moved to where he lay and ground her foot onto his hand, his fingers releasing the knife in pain. He wailed and she kicked his head again.
"Shut-up," she said, taking a seat on his stomach and twirling the knife in her hands. She nestled it into the folds of his neck. "Who... the fuck... are you?"
He spat in her face and she stabbed the knife in his leg. "Ahhh!" He yelped. "Bitch!"
She held the knife in his thigh. "Wipe. It. Off."
She fumbled into his pockets and retrieved a handkerchief. With trembling hands he wiped her face clean. "Apologize."
"I'm sorry."
"I won't ask you again."
He held his hands up. "I'm nobody. I just came to rob the pl... Ahhh!" She twisted the knife in his leg. "Alright, alright! I'm here to deliver a message."
Jean stood. "So speak."
"No way, lady." The guy became brave now that Jean wasn't sitting on him.
Jean perked an eyebrow. "Really? Why?"
He sighed, defeated anyway. "My message is for a man you'll never know the likes of. He's killed more people, made more money, seen more things in his life than you could ever dream about," he stated. "That bastard's a legend."
Jean's eyes narrowed. "Who is he?"
The man was silent. Jean leaped on him again and clutched his chin, holding the knife dangerously close to his fat face. "I'll cut your tongue out, you son of a bitch, now who is he?"
"The Heartbreaker! Heartbreaker," he said, scared again. This bitch was crazy! "Look lady, I don't know him, honest. I'm supposed to meet him here in about ten minutes; you can bust his ass then, alright?"
Jean stood again, this time kicking dirt in the man's face. "You squealing bastard. I can't believe Julius would send a rat like you that would sing like a canary just because of what? A little knife wound in the leg? You're gonna tell me what you know and then you're gonna get out of my sight, because you disgust me."
The man's eyes became big. "You... You're Heartbreaker? Oh my God. Oh my God!" He scrambled to his knees and hovered over her feet. "Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, boss. I didn't know. I don't know nuthin'. I'm stupid."
Jean rolled her eyes. "Speak!"
"Right, right. Okay, uh, God, I'm so nervous. Um, okay. Julius told me to tell him... I mean you, that there's a cop! That's right! There's a cop in the joint so bail out!"
Jean couldn't help but smirk, if not bitterly. "My God, tell Julius he's got his sources fucked up and that he's late. I already know that."
"Well, what are you gonna do, boss? I mean, you can't stay."
"Hey!" Jean snapped. "I don't need some amateur bastard like you telling me what I can't do, you understand? Go back and tell him what I just told you, and if he wants to send me a message again, he better find someone better than a fucking idiot like you. In the meantime, I ain't running anywhere. Got it? Now get the hell out of my way."
The man moved and Jean continued her jog. She heard him make way in his own direction behind her. She felt a little guilty, being so cruel toward the guy and all, but her father Bugsy always told her that he never got anywhere being pansy-ass nice. He always said, "Jeannie girl, you're going to be a real heartbreaker when you grow up, and if you remember nothing else, remember this: men won't respect you unless you make them respect you. You gotta slap 'em around a li'l, baby doll. Make them listen."
He was killed just three months after he said that. She was eleven. Jean was an only child, so Bugsy Malone's entire underground empire lied with her after his death, with his best friend Julius helping her out until she was old enough to head the organization by herself. She didn't want it. She never wanted it. But before she gave it all up, she took the matter of her father's murder in her own hands. Three years ago, she had her people discover his killer; it was a man named Frankie Gestessi. Since then, she hunted his entire family down and pulled the trigger on them. His son Caleb was the last to go after his three brothers, all too affiliated with the mafia. Caleb had followed his father's footsteps between the years 1998-2000 until he decided he had a conscience and gave up the gangster life for a New York penthouse.
Jean had made damn well sure Frankie was left with just as much family as she was: none. After she robbed Gestessi of his family, all the while making a name for herself in the underground, Jean decided it was time she retire. She was vengeful, but she was no murderer. She decided Xavier's school was the perfect place to lay low until things blew over. Apparently she was wrong. Xavier's place was poisoned with two cops.
She contemplated running, but then they'd know it was her and Rogue would simply follow her down until she killed her- revenge was cruel like that.
So she would wait it out and see what happened. The only way she'd be discovered is if Xavier pried it from her head, and even then perhaps she could explain her situation to them. Rogue surely wouldn't be all ears, but maybe she could get some of the others to see her point of view. 'Just don't get caught,' Jean decided. 'You don't get caught and you won't have to explain anything to anyone.'
A/N
I know I promised that we'd discover Remy's lil secret in this chapter, but I decided this was enough to swallow for now, and don't worry, the next chapter is already half-way done so the wait will be nearly nothing and you'll definitely find out his secret in that one. Promise! REVIEW! REVIEW!
IMPORTANT!
Read these lyrics and tell me if I should write a fic about them centered around Remy. The song's called "House of the Rising Sun," by the Animals and when I heard it I immediately started scribbling down an outline for a story. It just inspired me! It was released in the sixties and it's a simply awesome song...
There is a house in New Orleans
They call The Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God, I know, I'm one
My mother was a tailor
She sewed my new blue jeans
My father was a gambling man
Down in New Orleans
Now the only thing a gambler needs
Is a suitcase and a trunk
And the only time he's satisfied
Is when he's on a drug
O mothers, tell your children
Not to do what I have done
Spend your life in sin and misery
In the House of the Rising Sun
Well, got one foot on the platform
The other foot on the train
I'm going back to New Orleans
To wear that ball and chain
Well there is a house in New Orleans
They call The Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God... I know... I'm one.
You've just got to hear the song; it's great. I'd obviously make Remy the main character and the house would be associated with Rogue and I'd throw my favorite couple Jean/Scott I there somewhere. Should I?
When he was sixteen, he got a flat tire in the middle of I-95.
But never, ever had he been this angry in his entire life. His knuckles grew white around the wheel. The nerve of those FOH bastards ruining his hard-earned date with Rogue. Just wait 'til I get my hands on those sons of bitches.
He and Rogue had been killing time at a small café until it was about time to start heading for the movie theatre, sipping drinks and chatting amicably. As Bobby was signing the receipt, he felt Rogue's hand clutch his arm.
"Bobby, look!"
He peered out of the large window and saw a herd of FOH members holding crude painted signs, chanting some protest or another. It appeared to be a rally. Bobby highly doubted they had the authorization to be there and inevitably police would soon be gathering to break up the party, which meant there'd be trouble. He sighed and turned to Rogue with a bleak look.
"I don't suppose we could just ditch it and pretend we didn't see it?" He half-joked.
She smiled and shook her head. "Let's go."
So there they were, speeding home to present the problem to Scott so they could assess the situation. They pulled into the drive and Rogue looked over at Bobby, sympathy etched into her pretty features.
"Ah'm sorry, Bobby. We'll do this some othah time." She ran a hand through his hair and leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek. He was on air.
It wasn't long after they returned that almost the entire team had gathered at the door.
"What happened?"
Scott soon followed, already on top of it. "The rally?"
Bobby nodded glumly. Scott continued. "Thought so. I just picked it up on the news. Alright, I want to assemble the least suspecting team appearance wise. This should be a simple in-out so I'm not terribly concerned about combat ability at the moment." Scott went on to select the proverbial blonde hair-blue eyed members of the team. "Jean, Bobby, and Warren, you're with me."
Bobby's shoulders slumped. Damn. Rogue shared a rueful look with him but smiled reassuringly. Remy nearly cringed despite himself.
The four suited up and trooped out, deciding on the less conspicuous SUV as opposed to the sleek Blackbird.
When they were gone, the majority of the team dispersed.
"This is crazy," Rogue said, trying to sound insecure even though she wanted nothing more than to go lock half of the FOH idiots' sorry asses up behind bars. Beside her, Remy nodded.
Ororo sighed. "I can not handle any more stupidity for the evening so I am retiring to bed." She ascended the stairs, her flowing dress whispering behind her, and soon disappeared around the corner.
Remy turned to Rogue. "But no reason to spoil a perfectly good evening, eh?"
"What are you talkin' about, swamprat?"
He slipped his arm through hers and led her toward the door. "Let's go have some fun, chere."
She maneuvered from his hold. "Ah don't think so, thanks. Ah was supposed to go out with Bobby tonight. Ah don't think Ah should-"
"Bobby," he repeated as if he were tossing an unfamiliar name around in his head. "Ah yes, Bobby- a boy that is not presently with us, is he?" She suppressed a smile.
"Yoah incorrigible, suh."
"No, I'm bored. Come. Let us not waste an entire Friday night." He draped an arm across her shoulders and proceeded once more for the door.
This time she let him guide her past the entrance and onto the back of his bike.
**
Rogue was on air. The night had been positively blissful. When she told him she didn't feel like seeing a movie anymore, he nodded and told her he had a perfect idea. Rogue was a tad doubtful, but he told her she wouldn't regret it and to simply trust him. She agreed, climbing back onto his bike and clinging to his jacket from behind. He revved the engine and they went flying down a highway just over a cliff on the outskirts of New York. It overlooked a raging sea with merciless waves crashing down white onto jagged rocks, a cloudy blue sky speckled with stars hovering above it like a blanket. It was a breath-stealing sight, and for an hour they rode along that strip of road, her arms wrapped around him and hair whipping behind her in a tail of auburn and bolt of white.
It was just rolling into midnight when they arrived back at the mansion. Giggling and standing questionably close, they stumbled up the stairs and he walked her to her room, a perfect gentleman.
"Ah had a real nice time, Remy." She said low in the dark hallway. He smiled.
"Good. Mission accomplished." He closed the space between them, his breath ragged on her cheeks. He leaned in slightly, and she tipped her head up in encouragement. He dove in for a kiss, to which she responded fully.
Remy had kissed a lot of women in his life, perhaps more than he'd care to count, but he was particularly fond of her kiss. She didn't press back hungrily like a desperate hound, but she didn't shy away from his lips like a nervous butterfly, either. She simply kissed back, slow and sensual. Remy adored her for that. They parted slowly, her rose-soft lips parting to release a husky breath.
She snickered, followed by a silent beat. She leaned into her door nervously. "You... wanna come in?"
His smile widened. "I don't know. Do you want me to come in?"
Rogue closed her eyes in contemplation. "Yeah," she said finally. "Ah do."
"Me too," he said, and they slipped into her bedroom, the door shutting with a soft click that reverberated off the dark hallway.
After some petty small talk but before they knew it, he was lowering her onto her pillow, cradling her head with a gentle hand behind her neck and a fervent kiss on his lips.
Rogue's mind hurled into an abyss of doubt and lust. He was beautiful, but not the way Caleb was beautiful. But she could go no further with her thoughts because every time her mind wandered to Caleb his fingers would send spills down her spine or his lips would graze across her neck leaving a hot trail of electricity and she could think no more.
"Remy," she breathed.
His hands fumbled with her blouse, his slender fingers becoming tangled and untangled in the fine loops of her woven lace until finally it was open, exposing her lacy black bra and toned abdomen. Remy, holding his weight over her on his elbows, took a brief second to admire her. Her skin was like lilies and soft like rain. He kissed her stomach, reveling in her sighs and the feel of her hands raking through his hair while her head lolled dreamily from side to side, a smile playing on her lips.
His hand roamed up to her bra to fondle a plump breast through the fabric, the other still grasping her shirt to rid her of it completely. "What is dis?" His voice pierced through the heady atmosphere and Rogue's eyes flew open.
Shit! She thought, struggling to sit up.
"No, no, no" he said, his lips quirking in half-amusement. His nimble hand still planted under her shirt if not awkwardly, deftly maneuvered the metal pin from the inside of it. She nearly clawed at him to retrieve it.
"Give it to me!" She wailed, toppling over him on the bed.
He laughed. "What have we got here?" Fending her off playfully, his eyes fell on the tiny object. He examined it with wide eyes.
"Oh my God," he muttered, his defending arm dropping in shock. She seized the opportunity to snatch the tiny badge back.
"Remy-" she began, but he was already halfway out the door.
**
Jean was dozing when she heard the yelling. Her eyes immediately snapped open.
Her green cotton tank and small gray shorts would have to suffice as she bolted from her room and down the stairs to see what the commotion was all about. Remy was in the foyer, ranting like a madman in the center of a circle provided by an attentive Scott, his roused wife with mussed hair and sleepy eyes, and a frustrated-looking Rogue, standing a few feet behind him with her hands clutching at her hips in what looked like restraint from doing any physical harm to the Cajun. She appeared to be holding her tongue for her turn to speak and fighting a losing battle.
"What's going on down here?" Jean asked, stifling a yawn.
They spun at the sound of her voice, looking like deer caught in headlights. Wanda's eyes grew in disapproval, more than likely at Jean's less than modest apparel.
"Remy was just telling us he found one of Charlie's angels."
The New York native's eyebrows furrowed. "What?"
Remy went on to recount his tale of discovery. Rogue huffed behind him, sharing her side of the story, including the murder investigation. She and Logan had always planned on telling them sooner or later, she had just hoped it'd be later. After all, now that she revealed herself, the murderer would more than likely do one of two things: run or try to kill them. Either way, Rogue and Logan would have their guy and then this little search game would be over. Just the same, she was hoping for a little more time to settle into the mansion and discover the killer in stealth. Unfortunately, she hadn't bargained on Remy. "Ah'm sorry. Perhaps I should have told you, at least the professah, but Ah have to stay incognito, it's mah job, alraght? We we're gonna tell you." Jean could tell this southern pistol was irritable and cocked.
" When? You didn't even tell Xavier? What are you going to do when he finds out? This is his home, his property; you should have told him!" Jean's voice rose to a shrill pitch and she quickly regained composure.
"Look, does she gotta spell it out for ya'?" Jean's head whipped around to see Logan. She hadn't noticed him lurking in the foyer shadows upon her arrival, a fact that produced a bitter self-chastisement. "She couldn't tell anyone, not even Chuck. That's why it's call un-der-cov-er." He annunciated each syllable as if she were a child. Her eyes blazed an angry blue; he met her gaze unflinchingly.
"Hey, lay off." Scott snapped, taking a small unconscious step in front of Jean and closer to Logan. The Canadian straightened at this, taking his own step forward.
Who the fuck does this kid think he is?
The group hushed as a silent but brief tension built between the two men until Ororo, Warren, and Bobby appeared from the second flight of stairs on the other side of the foyer.
Bobby rubbed bleary eyes. "What the...?"
Rogue sighed at the sky. "Perfect. Now the whole gang can be heuh for such a special occasion. Who brought charades?"
"What is going on here?" Ororo asked, her voice mixing stern and serene in a combination thought impossible until one actually heard it.
Scott broke eye contact with Wolverine to explain. "Until the professor returns, I'm in charge and my orders are that she's free to stay until he returns, and then he'll decide if he wishes her to remain under his roof."
"Well now that you've said that I don't feel so bad about telling you that," he wrapped an arm around Rogue's shoulder and removed his cigar from his mouth with his other hand, "I'm with her."
A fresh batch of hysterics hatched.
"What the hell?"
"Who do you think you are coming into this pla-"
"How did you get past Charl-"
"The nerve of you slithering under our noses like a snake!" Scott was face to face with Wolverine now.
Logan removed his arm from Rogue, who was currently holding her own against the Cajun, to jab a finger in Scott's direction warningly, spouting his own string of curse words, obscenities, and anything else he happened to think of.
Ororo stood inches apart from the quarrelling group, finally having pieced together the situation. "Silence," she said once, and they were. Perhaps thanks to the wicked bolt of lightening streaking across the calm summer sky as she said it.
Warren looked up at her from behind his brother Bobby whom he was helping pry Gambit away from an outnumbered Rogue.
"It seems to me," she said slowly, "that we are missing the point entirely. There is a murderer among us."
A silence swallowed them and suddenly weary eyes glanced over one another's neighbor.
"Well can't Jean just take a run through our heads and see who the killer is?" Bobby piped.
"How do we know she's not the killer?" Wanda's voice was tight and Jean shot her a disgusted look.
"How do we know YOU'RE not, princess?" Jean sneered. "Besides, Bobby, I'm not experienced enough to do something like that, not without Xavier's assistance anyway."
"Yeah, and I don't t'ink I want an amateur poking around in dere," Remy tapped his forehead. "No offense, chere." He held his hands up in defense.
"None taken," Jean replied.
Scott's voice broke the silence in a collected, professional tone he worked hard at perfecting for just such a moment. "Alright, team, get some sleep and we'll sort this out in the morning."
"Oh, I'm gonna have a peachy night's sleep, now." Bobby huffed.
The crowd dispersed, albeit apprehensive and not without a few backward glances. Suddenly, it was important who went where. After little small talk and brisk 'good-nights', everyone finally settled into their individual rooms to attempt a night's sleep.
**
Scott stripped down to boxers and settled into bed beside his wife. He draped an arm across her thin stomach, which she brusquely removed with one agitated jerk.
Scott gaped at her, his eyebrows knitted. "What's your problem?"
Wanda's eyes flashed angry. "What's my problem? Don't play stupid with me, you sniveling bastard. You know exactly what my problem is!"
Scott sat up, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Wanda, I'm tired. Let's not play guessing games. Just tell me what the hell your problem is so we can get some sleep, alright?" Though he had a pretty good idea why his wife was angry. He saw this argument brewing in her pretty brown eyes when he defended Jean against Logan, perhaps a bit overzealously.
"My problem? My problem!" Her voice rose and she stood, hurling a pillow at him. He caught it and stood as well so the bed separated them, clutching the cream-colored down pillow between his massive hands. "My problem has red hair!" She shouted now. "And so do your fantasies, don't they Scott Summers? I ought to march right down there and tell that li'l redheaded hussy just how I feel."
"Wanda!" Scott blurted. "My God, you're overreacting. Calm down."
"I'll calm down when I want to calm down. You can go to hell!"
He gripped the pillow tighter and spoke in a forced tone through clenched teeth. "Now isn't the time, Wanda. We have a real problem here. There is a murderer in the mansion, do you understand?"
"Oh, now it's a murderer. Before, my father was the problem, now it's this Heartbreaker fellow. It's not like you to turn a blind eye but you're avoiding OUR problem, Scott."
"There is no "Our" problem! It's your problem! And if you want to blame someone for the scene your father caused, you can get on the phone right now, Wanda, and tell that piece of shit how you feel, because it was HIS problem, no one else's." Scott fought for control but she was tugging at his limits.
"And that slut, Jean Grey? Whose problem is that?"
"Shut-up." She decided he was rolling his eyes. "I have bigger things to concentrate on right now than your exaggerated jealousies. Go to bed, for God's sake."
She pursed her lips defiantly. "Fuck you, Scott," she spat and flopped down on their bed. She tossed a moment before slamming off the light at her bedside.
He sighed and climbed in beside her, their backs to each other as they slept.
**
Three days passed and the team was forced to fall into a new routine. Instead of coming and going whenever they felt like it, Rogue, Logan, and even Scott preferred that everyone notify at least one other person where they were going so that there was no suspicion.
Things were tense around the mansion, so Wolverine threw on his jacket and threw open the door, the night wind catching him in the face. He inhaled deeply, caught sight of his bike, slightly older than the Cajun's, and proceeded to at least one night of freedom, perhaps go to Harry's and pick up whatever was available- blonde or brunette, it didn't matter tonight.
"Where are you going?"
Logan stopped and spun on his heel, having caught his scent before he even spoke. "Out. You have some sort of problem with that, Summers?"
Scott folded his arms across his chest. "Maybe. I thought the rule was we tell someone where we're going."
Logan cocked his head, opening his jacket to reveal the large silver badge pinned inside. "I'm the cop. I'm LOOKING for the bad guy, remember?" His tone was patronizing.
Scott's jaw clenched. "Yes, but that badge doesn't automatically rule you out. It could be any one of us. Even you." His words hung in the air between them. Finally Logan narrowed his eyes and backed away.
"Alright. Then I'm going to Harry's, okay? Do you feel better, Cyclops?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I do. Have a good time." He slammed the door shut.
"Dick." Wolverine mumbled, swinging his leg over his bike and speeding away. 'Nothing like a roaring engine between your legs, canucklehead.'
**
The next morning, Jean rose early to indulge in a morning jog. It was better this early, that way she didn't have to bother with the hassle of telling someone, just scrawl a quick note and post it somewhere noticeable. Today, it was the fridge, and while she was there, she prepared a bottle of water.
"Going for a run?" Scott sat at the kitchen table. Jean gasped, spinning and wishing for a moment that she had some control of her telepathy. If she did, she could use it for little things like sensing others mind patterns, but she chose to keep it locked tightly in her head for fear of the overwhelming voices.
"Yeah," she replied finally.
"Didn't mean to scare you," he said, turning a page in the New York Times.
She shrugged. "You an early bird too, huh?" She wasn't really, but she didn't want him to ask questions.
He nodded. "Guilty as charged. One of the quirks Wanda has learned to live with. She can sleep until noon if you let her."
Jean laughed and Scott set down the paper to look at her. "Where you running?"
"Oh I don't know, just around the lake, I guess." She finished her juice.
Scott cleared his throat. "I spoke with Wanda about her father." He said finally. He didn't know why, but he felt he just had to tell her. He wanted Jean to know that he did it, maybe for her.
She smiled pleasantly. "Good! What'd she say?"
"We're in a fight, actually." He conveniently left out the part about her. "But it'll be okay. She asked me to rub her back last night so I guess you could say we're talking again, but I think she's still mad at me."
Jean shook her head, telekinetically washing her glass out while she tied her sneakers. "Let her be, she'll get over it. She's wrong and she knows it. She has to know it."
"I hope you're right."
"I'm always right. Sometimes." She grinned and slipped out the French doors. He watched her stroll to the edge of the walkway and tore himself from the sight. His fight with Wanda last night had made him angry, but running into the object of that fight this morning simply made him feel guilt, because he knew there was some truth to his wife's arguments.
Jean took long, deep breaths and swiped some sweat from her brow. The forest echoed with her haggard panting and the snaps of twigs under her feet. She remembered why she liked running. It cleared her mind and it made her body burn and her chest ache; she loved it.
Suddenly, a large hand clamped over her mouth and a body threw itself at her from behind, sending her tumbling face first into the dirt. She screeched under his hand and clawed at his arm.
"Stop it," he hissed. "Stop it!" His mouth was close to her ear and he was covering her small frame with his own massive body. She struggled for air and attempted to wrench from his grasp. She lied still while he whispered in her ear. "I'm going to let you go, and if you scream, I swear to God I'll kill you right here. Understand?" He jerked her head and she nodded slowly. The attacker noticed her expression was solemn and not full of the usual fear in his victim's eyes. Tentatively, he released her mouth and moved off of her, his pelvis rubbing harder than needed against the back of her thighs as he rose to a kneeling position.
Jean did a sudden pushup and was on her feet before he could make a clumsy stab at her with his knife. She kicked him once hard in the face and he fell on his back into a pile of dry leaves and dirt. She moved to where he lay and ground her foot onto his hand, his fingers releasing the knife in pain. He wailed and she kicked his head again.
"Shut-up," she said, taking a seat on his stomach and twirling the knife in her hands. She nestled it into the folds of his neck. "Who... the fuck... are you?"
He spat in her face and she stabbed the knife in his leg. "Ahhh!" He yelped. "Bitch!"
She held the knife in his thigh. "Wipe. It. Off."
She fumbled into his pockets and retrieved a handkerchief. With trembling hands he wiped her face clean. "Apologize."
"I'm sorry."
"I won't ask you again."
He held his hands up. "I'm nobody. I just came to rob the pl... Ahhh!" She twisted the knife in his leg. "Alright, alright! I'm here to deliver a message."
Jean stood. "So speak."
"No way, lady." The guy became brave now that Jean wasn't sitting on him.
Jean perked an eyebrow. "Really? Why?"
He sighed, defeated anyway. "My message is for a man you'll never know the likes of. He's killed more people, made more money, seen more things in his life than you could ever dream about," he stated. "That bastard's a legend."
Jean's eyes narrowed. "Who is he?"
The man was silent. Jean leaped on him again and clutched his chin, holding the knife dangerously close to his fat face. "I'll cut your tongue out, you son of a bitch, now who is he?"
"The Heartbreaker! Heartbreaker," he said, scared again. This bitch was crazy! "Look lady, I don't know him, honest. I'm supposed to meet him here in about ten minutes; you can bust his ass then, alright?"
Jean stood again, this time kicking dirt in the man's face. "You squealing bastard. I can't believe Julius would send a rat like you that would sing like a canary just because of what? A little knife wound in the leg? You're gonna tell me what you know and then you're gonna get out of my sight, because you disgust me."
The man's eyes became big. "You... You're Heartbreaker? Oh my God. Oh my God!" He scrambled to his knees and hovered over her feet. "Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, boss. I didn't know. I don't know nuthin'. I'm stupid."
Jean rolled her eyes. "Speak!"
"Right, right. Okay, uh, God, I'm so nervous. Um, okay. Julius told me to tell him... I mean you, that there's a cop! That's right! There's a cop in the joint so bail out!"
Jean couldn't help but smirk, if not bitterly. "My God, tell Julius he's got his sources fucked up and that he's late. I already know that."
"Well, what are you gonna do, boss? I mean, you can't stay."
"Hey!" Jean snapped. "I don't need some amateur bastard like you telling me what I can't do, you understand? Go back and tell him what I just told you, and if he wants to send me a message again, he better find someone better than a fucking idiot like you. In the meantime, I ain't running anywhere. Got it? Now get the hell out of my way."
The man moved and Jean continued her jog. She heard him make way in his own direction behind her. She felt a little guilty, being so cruel toward the guy and all, but her father Bugsy always told her that he never got anywhere being pansy-ass nice. He always said, "Jeannie girl, you're going to be a real heartbreaker when you grow up, and if you remember nothing else, remember this: men won't respect you unless you make them respect you. You gotta slap 'em around a li'l, baby doll. Make them listen."
He was killed just three months after he said that. She was eleven. Jean was an only child, so Bugsy Malone's entire underground empire lied with her after his death, with his best friend Julius helping her out until she was old enough to head the organization by herself. She didn't want it. She never wanted it. But before she gave it all up, she took the matter of her father's murder in her own hands. Three years ago, she had her people discover his killer; it was a man named Frankie Gestessi. Since then, she hunted his entire family down and pulled the trigger on them. His son Caleb was the last to go after his three brothers, all too affiliated with the mafia. Caleb had followed his father's footsteps between the years 1998-2000 until he decided he had a conscience and gave up the gangster life for a New York penthouse.
Jean had made damn well sure Frankie was left with just as much family as she was: none. After she robbed Gestessi of his family, all the while making a name for herself in the underground, Jean decided it was time she retire. She was vengeful, but she was no murderer. She decided Xavier's school was the perfect place to lay low until things blew over. Apparently she was wrong. Xavier's place was poisoned with two cops.
She contemplated running, but then they'd know it was her and Rogue would simply follow her down until she killed her- revenge was cruel like that.
So she would wait it out and see what happened. The only way she'd be discovered is if Xavier pried it from her head, and even then perhaps she could explain her situation to them. Rogue surely wouldn't be all ears, but maybe she could get some of the others to see her point of view. 'Just don't get caught,' Jean decided. 'You don't get caught and you won't have to explain anything to anyone.'
A/N
I know I promised that we'd discover Remy's lil secret in this chapter, but I decided this was enough to swallow for now, and don't worry, the next chapter is already half-way done so the wait will be nearly nothing and you'll definitely find out his secret in that one. Promise! REVIEW! REVIEW!
IMPORTANT!
Read these lyrics and tell me if I should write a fic about them centered around Remy. The song's called "House of the Rising Sun," by the Animals and when I heard it I immediately started scribbling down an outline for a story. It just inspired me! It was released in the sixties and it's a simply awesome song...
There is a house in New Orleans
They call The Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God, I know, I'm one
My mother was a tailor
She sewed my new blue jeans
My father was a gambling man
Down in New Orleans
Now the only thing a gambler needs
Is a suitcase and a trunk
And the only time he's satisfied
Is when he's on a drug
O mothers, tell your children
Not to do what I have done
Spend your life in sin and misery
In the House of the Rising Sun
Well, got one foot on the platform
The other foot on the train
I'm going back to New Orleans
To wear that ball and chain
Well there is a house in New Orleans
They call The Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God... I know... I'm one.
You've just got to hear the song; it's great. I'd obviously make Remy the main character and the house would be associated with Rogue and I'd throw my favorite couple Jean/Scott I there somewhere. Should I?